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Your garden was lush
   with poetic wildflowers
yet, darkness swayed its spirit
    'neath teeming salt tear hazes,
  tried to enrich the soil but
    ground cover was defensive,
hardened by winters' of
   contrary disconnectedness
For a good friend's special day...
harlon rivers Oct 2017
You followed down through the gathered pages
to the  labyrinth that leads back through the changes
A long and twisted line of unmapped rivers,
*** holed low-roads and tattered mileposts
glancing homeless back-alleys as dark as lonely crossroads

Past the broken wings that fell from skyward treetops
scattered feathers amongst rose petals wilted
at the hand of tear stained faded photos
of frozen black and white faces;
hidden ghosts in the closet that fell from grace

The pathway narrows where the traces dissipate
passing under burning bridges, beneath locked stairwells
A fickle feather floating upon rivers ragging
like the hubris disconnectedness of time rolling out to sea ―
Shadows growing darkest as you reach the blackest silence
and you kept the answers to all the questions at arms length
hidden in the darkness ― where you saw love disfigure me

It was then and there I knew I'd dreamed of someone like you
looking for someone more than I could ever be
Just an unsated curiosity,    trying to see beyond
your own misunderstanding,   to feel and touch
an unknown depth beyond  reach

As sunset pales the distantness, the night is yours alone
when  tomorrow's  morning  rain
hangs  on  the  falling  leaves       ―       I’ll  be  gone
Just a wayfaring loner in a lonely world

Where rivers are only water
                                         and love was once a flowing river
I thirst to swallow ― 
                                         to wash away these tracks of my tears ...


                                      rivers ... 2017
Post Script:

'I can't remember all the times I tried to tell my myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass'
nod to Counting Crows---Long December

Giving up and letting go are different
and yet the results are often the same;
at the end of the day you realize,
the things you thought mattered ―
and it’s easier being lonely ... alone

"I tried so hard and got so far but in the end it doesn't even matter." Chester Bennington. (2017) RIP

The tracks of my tears
Written by:  h.a. rivers
David Barr Nov 2013
The singing birds may waken you in the morning, only to expose you to another day of uncertain disconnectedness. However, the late afternoon handling of newspapers could result in textured fingers and a black nose, whilst ice-cold rain pelts against your jacket with a forceful concerto of magical precipitation.
As you stand dripping wet, my indulgent adolescent of traumatic naivety, always remember that Popeye will be speeding hastily toward your confectionary impulses.
The dog behaved like a royal prince, as he gracefully licked ice-cream from the cone of his masters’ desire. Further Turkish amazement could be found in the palm of his hand, whilst snowflakes fell, and the tracks of police vehicles gradually faded during blizzards of the night.
Silence truly speaks across pink morning skies, as we gaze out of the window into resounding flights of fancy.
Atypnoc Feb 2015
I'm just

I can't feel my lips
on my face
so still
i cant move them
on their own
i can't tell if they are parted
i can't tell if they exist
i can't feel my hips or
my feet, or my lefs
i can't move them
i can't feel them

i want to break
i want all of the confusion, the disconnectedness
i can cry

but i can't escape this
and i can't can't escape this
there is no break

a million scattered shattered steps
stood stunning
chameleon flattered

I can't move.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l6n_z-FdEkw&feature;=youtu.be
^unlisted
Zowie Georgia Aug 2012
Coffee first thing,
better make it a double
for the morning rush
and that train that expects me.

Closing eyes on the journey
trying to accumulate
another micro minute of
peace
maybe the silence kept me all night,
with ideas on how to change.
Or I'm overworked by the drive
that will buy an escape to freedom.

We closed our eyes
as it's too depressing to see,
too numbing to watch,
but if hearing is the last sense hanging on
then announce on our speaker
that today is not just another,
that there is something different,
something hopeful
to come back out of our heads from.
let us feel more

I feel like screaming,
maybe to cause some confusion,
so an emotion creates something
other than familiarity.
Yet more papers turn
as the melancholy deepens,
unconscious
or 20:20  
the train doors open anyway,
to close,
as though destiny decided to accept
waiting.
Just for a few more stops anyway
Tapping on phones in disconnectedness,
engaging away from that moment
as blinking just don't know where to be
sitting facing such strangers.
Nobody look at me!
fingertips planning movements
of where One shall have to be,
when these doors of limbo re-open.
Where are all those travellers!

I walk behind,
a que of single file
and with every step
I long to run through
and against this one way system,
possibly naked
to provoke a smile
if I'm lucky
But the moment isn't opportune
I guess I will do it one day
On a day I will swear
that I will never feel enslaved
by the weight  
of obligation gripping my sole.   
Marching up stairs
with images of arrows,
follow this direction
is the wrong kind of sign
Steps continue upward
as though a continuous metaphor.
And soon I'll take my chances.
Rainswood Aug 2023
Loneliness
The primary emotion
I’m feeling these days

Enveloped in beauty,
Love,
Gratitude
Revered

And yet…
Those
Unmet needs,
They
Fester.

Emptiness swells
Filling
The void between us

Disconnectedness
Persists
Kelly O'Connor Oct 2013
My palate makes the switch from heavy hops to rooibos, ignoring
The powerlines and harmonies and busy highways.
There’s a chill in my bones upon discovering something beautiful:
Someone who can play the piano,
The disconnectedness from self I learn to love,
The gradual erasure of self
Into
Silence
Apart from the occasional clever word and smug smile.
As love spills towards me like a waterfall from the mountain,
I solemnly realize that I have a problem and the bitter-
Sweet voice replies “So do we all.”
I trust and love that voice more than everything:
More than the wallpaper that has guided my trip up the stairs for years,
More than the cigarette-smoke smelling basement,
More than the front yard that tastes like pine sap and motor oil.
I take to the neighborhood the same way
A shark takes to the taste of blood.
I could write for ages about that basement and the spaces of it I never walked
The corners I only gazed at as if they were the darkest depths of the human soul
And never touched --
Because they felt like ghosts upon my skin,
Because the television cast a glow on them that told me to avoid them.
It lives in my sternum, like the pill which sticks in my intestines
And eats away at the tender membranes til they burst.
DJDG Apr 2014
Tap tap I close the app
Tap and swipe to reopen
hoping
to feel wanted
to feel liked
to feel desired

I watch the circle swirl in anticipation
(my WIFI is being a *****)
I lay in bed
hoping
to hear a notification
to feel a vibration
to see a speech bubble
but nothing
nothing

It's been too long I've relied on
the tap tap tapping, on
the anticipation of a
vibration of a
notification:
my desperate search for
an online speech bubble

This feeling of disconnectedness
in this heavily connected
community,
I hope to overcome someday

Tap tap
Shut down
David Barr Dec 2013
I am already saddened at the severed tie of unanticipated disconnectedness.
Bonds of the soul are beyond the figment of our frail imaginations.
Black Sunday may give us what we call a “special deal”, but we have to pay greater homage to the powers that be – namely our ridiculous “White House”.
In the era of advancement and confusion of colour, I give thanks for your genuine being.
The forgotten will truly be remembered, and we will raise a final toast to the anaesthetic of contemporary propaganda.
Do you honestly think that you will be safe? Nobility does not reign in absolute finesse and the Fertility of the land is not without its benefits.
In my obscurity, I urge you to plough the fallowed ground in the spirit of the English countryside.
brokenperfection Aug 2014
My soul literally pulsates
sideways out of my body
I watch it with heavy eyes, my head
on my pillow
I hear a motor revving down the street
And it grounds me
This stranger with a completely different life than mine is running a stable engine
And he has no idea that our disconnectedness
has connected me
He doesn't know that we never met and shall never part, for that reason
He doesn't know that he put my soul back in place
I listen to that motor humming and I inhale
Suddenly, it stops-
Travis Green Sep 2021
I think back on the unaesthetic days
When all I longed for was benevolent
Friends I could hang around with,
Engage in amazing and exhilarated
Conversations, amble down the school
Hallways, deep laughs and sprightly vibes
Knowing what it meant to be connected
With the outside world, but my life
Was significantly more incomprehensible
Than that, coping with disconnectedness
More congruous with an out-of-body experience
Profoundly living within, losing momentum,
Feeling unwholesome, tremendous
Troublesome sensations thickening
Schizzing out, stomach-churning
Racked with pain, believing I could
Be enclosed in their world, to be appreciated
To be exempted from perishing
To know that I wasn’t uncherished
But cherished by them all
Nat Lipstadt Jul 20
Relax, relief, Steve, a short one, I do believe,
is coming down the turnpike, a simple
thought kernel that occurs me to each
morning, and then gets swept out to
the sea, via the sound’s currents them,
a reality check on weather.com, an internet
a daily compilation of mispredictions,
guesses and disconnectedness to our
reality… that we yet must read first,
always & nonetheless…

so, here it is, a golden buttered kernel,
that flys past my poem seeking radar
so fast that, it has escaped for now
nearly sixteen years…

this spring chicken, lies besides his woman,
who wakes traditionally secondarily, and
she sleep best then, shedding the dreams that
come unwonted, the review and recap of life’s
tumult…and finally gets the deep sleep that
recharges our cells with restorative justice…

as she sleeps, her face sheds, a morning miracle,
deep at ease, she breathes soft, clean and clear,
silently and a m a z i n g l y, every line on her
face
eases,
disappears,
and her skin, smooth, tight,
and I’m face flushed, by guilt for never telling
her, and that guilt that has not been yet here
recorded, and yet…

a reminder that a first poem of the day (a FPOTD),
like morning ***, starts a human off right, clears
forehead, like smooth writing, fresh oven baked,
blue lines on paper, begging, asking for fufillment
and satisfaction, that has no competition, for it is,
unique, that the first deep breath of a day, when
you take in all that surrounds, and observe close
the minor miracles, all an addition, that gives our
body, the reasons to wake up, with wet eyes, and
just…
a thin, curly, half grin, hall (half+all✅) whimsy smile…

natty
6:34am
Sat Jul 20

(and this one flies out the window, past the oak trees,
to the water and the wind grabs by its lettered bones
and is sending it out to Iowa, Travese City Michigan,
Missouri, Oregon and the great  Northwest Pacific
over the Pacific, to the Philippines, India,  New Zealand, Israel, Europe, the UK as in You Know) and back past Lady Liberty in the New York Harbor, along the Long Island shoreline, to a little house on a little island, where it recenters my body, asking why oh why, no way, natty, have you not offered me
my first coffee of the day, (MFCOTD)
yet, all this traveling, loving and thinking is

so very tiring… java, por favor señor!)
Traditionally, Jews recite three blessings when they wake up:

Modeh Ani: A short prayer that expresses gratitude and thanks God for returning the soul to the body after sleep
Elohai Neshama: A blessing that thanks God for one's soul
Netilat Yadayim: A blessing that relates to washing hands, which is a symbolic way to remove spiritual impurity
R May 2015
I want to stop breaking people like glass, and I'm tired of hearing my own bones shatter because I allow others to crush them as they walk all over me. I want the world to stop changing for a moment so I can catch up with the times, but I'll never catch up, I'll never see the light of day if I keep hiding myself under the blanket of night where the stars seem to shine brighter than any future I could ever hold on this Earth. I am alone and the ground is shaking and time stops for no one and I believe it wouldn't be wrong to say that I love you because I do, but it is wrong because here I am, trying to pick up the pieces of my ever breaking heart and I can't remember a time when I could breathe because my lungs are failing and my blood is under oxygenated and I feel an emptiness somewhere in between my ribs or my less than whole and aching heart.  Everything is dark, everything leaves a foul taste in the back of my throat and the leaves my be green, but I am dead and I am a walking, rotting corpse and I am surely a shame to this world because all I have to contribute to this earth are the sad stories I tell and the random facts I know about Archduke Franz Ferdinand and horrible words that sort of sometimes turn into poems, so what is the point of living when you're just full of nothing of importance? if I died, no, when I die, I will be either put into the ground or burned, which is not what I want (I would love to either be sent into space or made into a tree) but that will most likely never happen, so at least I will live long enough to know that people **** and anything can break your heart and that you don't care, no you don't care one bit and neither should I, but I care too much about everything and everyone and that is where I'm going wrong. that is why I am dying, I have given every good part of me away and all that is left are the feelings of misery, depression, and disconnectedness inside of my burning soul. if my body were a galaxy, my heart would be the black hole in the middle, for it surely knows how to grab onto the surrounding planets and stars and make them fall in till they are ripped apart piece by piece until they are nothing.
I have no idea what this is but I am exhausted but I cannot sleep and I think I am severely depressed and I need help but I cant seem to ask for it but I'm sort of a danger to myself and the Sleepy Time mixtape you made me isn't helping. Landmines//St.Vincent "Where'd you go? please don't go."
SpiritHeart67 Jan 2019
I always struggled with
and did not understand
Those Buddhist Monks
insistent call to detachment.

I longed to attain
their serene, unflappable,
gently smiling
afability.

I might as well have attempted
Mt. Everest's Summit.

Until one day
It came around the corner
and swallowed all my thoughts
& grasping need,
And finally, now
I'm beginning to see.

It's not apathy
or disconnectedness
or a lack of care.

It is release
It is peace
It is a still
quiet
open
empty clear space
Where I can finally
Breathe.

The view from Mt. Everest's Peak
can't compare
to this expansive Vista
that is now unfurled
before
within
& throughout me.

I slowed enough
for it to over take
& empty me
And now I understand
Those Beautiful Monks look
of Serene Glee...
Commuter Poet Jan 2016
How many great fables
Do tell of the battle

Between good and evil
Light and dark?

Arise hearts of sunshine!
Cast your strong rays

To banish the darkness
Of unchecked destruction!

The pathways of disappointment
Must be challenged

The disconnectedness of spirit
Must be reconnected

Abject Despair
Must transform into hope

Bitter numbness
Must not be accommodated

Fanfares will herald
The rise of humanity

Earth will be cherished
And life will abound
9th January 2016
Adya Jha Apr 2020
I crave a cigarette with my whole existence
Like I’ve never craved something before
My body aches, my joints feel heavy
My blood has stopped flowing
My nerves are dormant
My system will cease to exist without nicotine
Why is it that these getaways are all I have?
At the end of the day, I have no internal support system
Other than these fleeting moments of happiness
Why is that I feel as if I might combust?
I might tear apart anyone or anything
Because I don’t feel good about myself
And that statement is old and overused
But it is eternal and never-ending
Is there any other way to be?
I don’t want the things I used to
I have stopped trying to bargain with love
I have edged into the dent in the wall
Of sad guitar solos and sugary coffee
Of books that tell me how to breathe
And transport myself into another reality
Is it okay to be so far away from yourself?
To settle into stories like they’re all I have
Are these illusions all I have to proclaim?
When I’m 50 and they ask me what matters
I’ll tell them about youthful indulgence
And fictional stories, second-hand feelings
I’m trying to live like there’s no other day
But sometimes I feel like I should stop
And look myself in the eye and ask
“Who are you? What are your ideals?
What makes you who you are?
What do you desire?”
Playlists that make me teary
Late night battles with myself
Transcendence into places
I avoid during the day
Viktor E. Frankl said,
“The salvation of man is through love and in love”
How deeply you lived is how deeply you loved
Not just people, but life itself
The opportunities, the frivolities
And yourself
Imagine being stuck in a room
There’s constant knocking at the door
You can unlock the door if you want
But you’re unable to, you just can’t get up
And you hate yourself for it
Year after year, you’re in a war
That you don’t want to be a part of
That is how insecurities feel
Angst and rage swallow your loathing
You consider music
Baking, painting, writing
Make up, old dresses
Long showers, strangers
Mellow afternoons
Scrapbooks full of prose to make you feel alive
Create infinities
Within yourself, around yourself
By yourself
It’s like you’re trying so hard to run
From what? To where?
You don’t know
Just somewhere
Where the bells chime in solace
You drown your anxiety
Into Bailey’s Irish Cream and chug
Sloppy and smiling
Where nothing but the present matters
And you can stop running
The shadows you can’t face
The situations you don’t know how to handle
Are long gone, almost unreal
You look back and say,
“Thank god, I’m not that person anymore.”
Tell me that place exists
Tell me the city lights will feel like stars
Tell me that when I jump off a cliff into water
It will ignite my existence
I will be greater than myself
I will understand what it means
To go all in and not hold back
That even if it’s a bell jar at one point
It’s la vie en rose at another
Is there a philosophy to follow?
Am I doing the right things?
Are knowing and unknowing
Two sides of the same coin?
Can I hold your hand?
I promise I won’t fall in love
I promise I won’t give you my burdens
The phone rings but you don’t pick up
And I survive one more day
Without expecting anything in return
I know you’ll leave one day
And no matter how much I avoid feeling anything
I am not cut out for stoicism
But I sure do aim for it
Rainy evenings and windy days
Yellow flowers that scatter the street in front of my house
I reach out
For what? I don’t know
But sometimes, I feel something reaching back
Escapism and frustration
Bitterness and disconnectedness
Amidst all that
I believe in my absolute freedom
No matter how delusional
There are no circles that enclose me
There are fine lines I tiptoe on
On planes at wildly different angles
Searching for meaning
Distracting myself from the misery
Until it hits me unawares
Dostoevsky said,
“There is only one thing that I dread:
Not to be worthy of my sufferings”
And I feel myself to be of no significance
In the greater scheme of things
But as Lana Del Ray put it,
Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have
But I have it
tonylongo Apr 2020
I really wanted to express warm grattude
to the new web acquaintances I've made on here
during this trying time. Practically overnight
I got a buncha new followers as a new user, or
at least it seems like a buncha to me; then,

rather suddenly, it seems like everybody at
once stopped reading my stuff. Given the current situation,
I sincerely hope that this doesn't mean you have...
no, it's too terrible to think of, much less say.

Nevertheless, my gratitude for your recognition,
however momentary, is heartfelt and continues,
and I want you to know that I will continue to
value our association for as long as this period of
social disconnectedness lasts, after which
I will re-evaluate rationally based on a cost-benefit model.
Joking! really! of course
Ken Pepiton Apr 8
Until the peace essential settles, phonelessness
is disconcerting, unsettling mix up of a sorted outness,

tares and corn compilations sorted out seed,
useful to us, useful to life beyond us, seed

broadcast, laughing on a recent object's point
discerning irrealis indigo

from been there, done that, blues.
Babu we had no reason, worthless we,
as long no--w,
wow, this hole anchors in grammar, ai knows,
I do not, so some times I am only qwerty guy,
I just work here.

Real disconnectedness,
real off-grid, no bars, no wires, no antennae

disconcerting, mixing all harmony
with living will used to let be these things
that , we had no mind gives reason, merely so, so what.

Confirming suspected situation,
confiding chiral certainty reflection,
consenting acceptance

any time now, any time,
accepted use acknowledging need
to know certainly, now, this time
to learn and live beyond unknowing.

Which knowing would we be better without?
Knowledge of unknowables? Curiosity,
our inherent knowing how to ask,
what is this, what
you may call it, what those
in the old world
told the elites who sent useless boys
to learn discernment
of good
to know
from all that ever thought

All things, as comprehensible, thinkable,
all things working as one thing, universally,

we thinkable things, me thinking you think,
each word, each speakable sound still
English, but accessible

So old the scam, make believe, laugh
at presented absurdity, never heard words

fit to dancing steps,
fit to taken breaths,

fine for fixing infinite definitions, endless
conjecture and objections, guessings
this way or that, go on into unknowns,
or conserve the energy going on uses,

waiting in reasoning state, weighing why
and how, why and how not,
preposterous, before and after at once,
all the knowledge set in secret agreements,
minds let be used to make up gangs and crews,

many hands make light work,
many minds make gravitas willingness

out of tune, discordant, disconcerting noise
a susserating


Disaster, stars aligning against failure,
super positioning every instance,

superstitious curiosity inhibition,

singularities uniting senses inhabiting
rational reasonless senses

A mode
or modality, clarity
Summarizer
Mode and modality have different meanings.1
Mode refers
to the way in which something happens or is experienced,
while modality refers
to the distinction between a real action
and an intended, possible,
or considered action.
Mode is closely linked
to the idea of the "channel" of communication,
such as face-to-face,
epistolary, or SMS.
Modality is mostly used
in grammatical analysis,
when it refers
to the distinction
between a real action
and an intended, possible, or considered action.2
When people refer
to treatments, whether
medical or psychotherapeutic, as modalities,
they mean mode/method/procedure,
as in different types of treatment.3
Mood is a grammatical notion,
while modality is a semantic notion relating
to such concepts.0
Google it if you think I thought you thought
------- so little sense that makes to me
so I go to Redit and find this answer, assuming
I meant mood, and not mode, an aimodality,
may hap, as random wills to show a novelty.

Modality. A kind of meaning involving non-factuality or non-assertion:
He may know her presents his knowing her as a possibility; You must go presents your going as an obligation.

Mood. Verbal category expressing various kinds of modality. Mostly marked in English by modal auxiliaries. The were of I wish that were true is an isolated irrealis mood form.

{A Student's Introduction to English Grammar by Huddleston and Pullum (ASITEG).}

Gads, great gobs of precise distinctions,
real or irreal, isness irrealis or realis
-the whirr of I wish it were
As ifs, ai of a most ancient intentional will
to discern corn
from tare
BLT called for used conjectures, and I had this one lying around rusting.

— The End —