"dislodging" poems
On a bogus hill, a man stood
in self defence and shot himself,
clean through the heart of the white
flag that hung breezily around his
neck, like a neckerchief in situ
A calm reverence, self awareness,
had positioned itself, 'enough' shone
in the deaf hours before daylight begs,
dislodging sad meanings from
ungrateful dictionaries.
You bought words, they lead you,
rocked a changed lullaby....au revoir,
checking the white flag of departure,
arrival of metal, red bled wounds,
flag swaying, stained under surrender
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 8:00 AM UTC
Indecisive and sounding as interesting as a brick
wall, I sauntered along the brick path colliding
with my brick silent mood, causing me to falter
kicking the covers, dislodging the brick,
hour on hour in the brick dark night, eyes
feeling brick heavy, tossed, turned,
the bathroom, bricked in on four sides,
plodded in the dead of night to the beat of
heavy laden feet, tic toc as the brick swings
soil, solid bricked ground, shuttered down
solitude, walking away....a heart,. brick heavy,
awash, water swirling, brick pockets....sinking
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 3:50 PM UTC
*i find the crow more eloquent,
more treacherously abiding
a fulfilment of aesthetic investigations
when walking, the crow
more beautiful than in flight,
unlike the sparrows' comic grounding,
with its epileptic quick-step twitchy
caoutchouc trot... poetically drawn
as: huh?! huh?! chirp. huh?! huh?! chirp;
really quickly.*
the only way to transition back into
the humanities from learning science,
******** p... chemistry and physics,
from these two into the humanities:
because you wrote a high standard
sociology essay plagiarising trying to
beat the anti-plagiarism logarithm
imposed... and that camus' l'étranger
also written to a 1st in the degree hierarchy...
the only transition from the sciences
to humanities is with philosophy,
which is a qausi-humanism...
mind you... edinburgh is the last gothic city,
and scotland the only place
where university can be like high school,
diverse, equipping you with many choices,
you can major chemistry, but understudy
computing, french, history, sociology, etc.
so in the background you have my favourite
theorisation: friedel-craft's alkylation & acylation /
effects of substitution on the beneze ring properties:
ortho (β) / para (ν) directing goups...
meta (π) directing groups... ipso (α) directed
at dislodging the algebraic x already attached...
i was never going to write cute poetry...
lessons in inductive effects of σ-bonds orientation
controlled by resonate (of) π-bonds...
the faustian myth continues without cute goethe rhyme.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
hearts bought and sold on whimsy
dark secrets screamed aloud
resonate in empty heart chambers
dislodging logic
as ripples shift sense to passion
sold for a song
bought for practice
eyes open, heart shut
heart open, eyes shut
bubbling cauldrons
casting spells
deeper, deeper, deeper down
darkness blinds normality
and bends reality
let go/ hold on
tighter, until hands weaken
watching shadows of self
chasing shadows of yesterday
fear or excitement
aroused or afraid
enchanting eyes in navy winter
trust a stranger and lose yourself
trust yourself and lose a connection
tied in musky fog
to the inside of another
chained to that which claimed you
for nothing more than cupidity
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
Like you were a first trip to NYC,
or a perfect view of the cosmos
from that clearing on Sylvan Avenue,
I was agape and fawning while you sauntered
out from your double doors, to the end of your driveway,
to where I rocked on my heels eagerly
on Allen Dr. at 6:23
Come 7:15, we bedecked your body
with stripped and frayed Armani
in tribute to the Walkers we've seen;
cool-white fluorescence drew emphasis
on the harmony between your ivory simper
and each cobalt marble that rolled
and flicked beneath your tuckered eyelids
by some sort of beatnik artistry.
Frankly, my chest swelled with fever
when I noted the scrunch of your nose
askance to liquid-latex applications,
or the way black cherry sap wept
from the corners of your mouth
while dislodging the blood-capsule
in-between your molars
and your stately, hollow cheek at 7:50
And I noticed around 8:00,
when I had slowed you to a halt
near the crosswalk on Montauk
between Coastal and Le Soir
to fix the scar-tissue on your chin,
that if I ever knew there to be one,
you made a most stunning zombie
with my Tom & Jerry cap lining your scalp;
Which made the stain left by the makeup
worth the trade of my hat
in exchange for your company,
as we picked up a twelve-pack
at the 7-11 just down the street
before we returned to the party.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
The rusted mailbox
creaks as it’s pried open,
dented door dislodging.
Two yellow balloons
tethered to its post
and bobbing in the wind,
stark color against a slate sky.
The bomp bomp of the balloons barely
heard over the wind’s whistles.
Empty inside.
It’s Sunday
after all. Too easy for you to forget
the day when days
amalgamate into one
long moment. Stuck in an
everlasting condition,
waiting for the day
when your mind
at last
is quiet.
A quiet
that comes when your hands
are busy. Too
distracted by tasks to
dwell on thoughts.
Sep 20, 2023
Sep 20, 2023 at 9:12 PM UTC
i found two things bewildering,
alzheimer's attacks the pronoun
category, and other forms of it too,
but modern psychiatry
having abolished asylums for
a humane revision of its practice
has become a branch of medicine
that over-prescribes nouns,
and by such over-prescription
invents noun jargon,
it cut open an ancient greek word,
used the prefix (overly) and added a suffix (sufficiently)
to make no sense whatsoever,
it prescribes neonouns like it prescribes
pills that don't work... or if working
then in a negative way... anti-psychotics
can make you **** yourself in your bed
when sleeping, i've been drinking for some
time, and my bladder is arnold schwarzenegger,
when i used to be on anti-psychotics for
no adequate reason (living in a post-colonial
society does that to you, you can come from
lithuania or poland and be treated like a
would-be coloniser to extract the fastest
sprinters for a new country, without the "doctors"
treating you adequately),
so as i said: alzheimer's attacks the pronouns,
the iron core of the earth that's an individual
thus dislodging all the adequate orientations
of categorisations of words... like psychiatry
abuses the noun category: schizoid, schizo-affective,
plain dumb schizophrenic... bi-polar, uni-polar,
plain dumb depressed... psychiatry has long
established a monopoly on nouns...
i just use their terminology to excavate a new
grammatical categorisation of words,
from poetry, among nouns adjectives pronouns
and conjunctions... you'll find psychiatry nicely suited
and booted as a word categorisation: metaphor:
all psychiatric diagnostics should be categorised as
metaphorical... 'cos they name it... but have no idea
as to how to behave behind it: it's not like they
say cancer and you're expected to die...
you're expected to live in their terminology
of treating you for a ******* pay-cheque:
you won't even commit a crime, but they'll
treat you like a criminal... so long suckers...
i mean western europeans, i rather live in (as the
americans say) i-raq... and shoot a bunch of you
protected by what i see as the final solution
you thought was once church v. state...
how about segregating democracy (the church)
from bureaucracy (the state)... but of course
the two are mutually dependent.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
Subtly hacking its social fabric
To dismantle ancient Ethiopia
Its enemies and opportunists
Come up with this and that trick
That aims at dislodging
Every brick....
Time goes on tick,tick,tick
The problem reaches on its peak
Many harbor fear
They may lose
Their country Ethiopia
They hold dear
But always
When it is left with
A declared last chance
Displays Ethiopia resilience.
"Are you not like
The children of the Ethiopians to me,
Children of Israel? "
God-referred land
Stirs out from
Uncharted water
To remain grand
Though self- seeker dissidents
And only-me
Historic enemies
Fail that to understand.
Oct 22, 2019
Oct 22, 2019 at 4:45 AM UTC
The lines on her flesh
The slightly closing eyes
The breath
Just barely
Everyday I'd wait for you at the top of the stairs
Hiding in the shadows as the morning glare peeked through
Shining on the boxes that I had stacked up in the night
While I gnawed on my hunger
You'd come up for several minutes
Whisper to me in our stolen time
Let me smell you all over in brief embraces
And then leave
Moments in the breaks of my lightwatch
Nights and the descent of the wolves on the hunt
The scent of dusk and the ever blinking stars
And the creaking of bicycles treading through the woods
I'd look you all over in the darkness of the moon
Taste the weariness through the souls in our eyes
Mildew and the chirps of homecoming birds
Warming our bodies in unison
The whips of sunshine would come again
We'd scramble away from each other
Dislodging our joints and other such things
Tightening the knots
Every fragment I'd wait for your silhouette
Luminance granting me brief glimpses
Drawn through the curtains of prying eyes
And the numerous opuses creasing our hearts
The dots of Orion in the amber snow
Greeting our hands and chalking the rain
Pyres of pain make the distances scarce
And burrowing in my chest we'd sit
Burning in the ashes of twilight.
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 3:51 AM UTC
since you don't know me
here's something to help
I leave wood splinters in my hands
so I can brag about not crying
when I clench my first
manly, yes I know
because you told me
the scales slithering
through my spinal cord
tell me many things
like when you
bit my long hair
and said it was gay
I spent years dislodging your teeth
but I think I learned my lesson
build cradles from rusted nails
sew them to your skin
so you never have to leave
I forgot the next lesson though
and was caught swallowing pencil shavings
sneers rattle from the tail in my ribcage
hissing that I'm too skinny to be a boy
the jokes hard to get at first
so I l graffitied the punchline on my mirror
my heartchambers gasping for breath
is the sound they make from
draining blood for gun powder
a strong proverb really
I'm glad I learned how
to blow up ghost sailing to my head
now my shadow walks to the store for me
because
I'm still learning how to crawl on my belly
May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 10:13 PM UTC
the symphony
played by the water
upon the shore
punctuated at times
by that errant wave
that crashed a little too hard
dislodging half-buried notions,
revealing pint-sized dreams
and tabulating forgotten score
serving watchful eyes
a fistful of sand,
and pays concerned hearts
with total disregard
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 5:44 AM UTC
Men hunting Men
Desire mixed in their molotav cocktails
a righteous dissatisfaction on each side
a twinkling dusk falling behind ruby hillsides
limbs and religions sway in the tide
Of the rupturing world
each wondering how will we
make it
& why
night undresses
her ******* are perfect
A slow dance towards the edge
A serenade of gravity dislodging itself
All the little creatures in the play
love money beauty grenades
survival of the most depraved
ah
here comes another day
May 3, 2011
May 3, 2011 at 7:02 AM UTC
Stomach full of dandelion knots, we collected in the rain
Poetry that feels like bullets tearing my flesh away
I lived beneath your bones every day
Your words spilled like paint covering me whole
I realized I don't like the taste of blood
Dislodging myself, I smell words
Heartaches first kiss
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 1:23 AM UTC
I wish I could write poems of distraction. I sit all day in rooms and there are times I am outside and it feels unnatural. I am curious to the state of my insides. Sleep is not reliable. Dreams are not patient.
It is night and it is cold, and as I look up to stare at stars and planets I see car crashes. Orion totalled by a Chevy Cobalt. A pickup dislodging each dipper and sending them reeling to infinity, smacking empty space.
Cold nights are cleansing. I need more time to think. There is so much to be thought, isn't there, so much potential just floating around, pathless, empty. The season will not change for a while. I must build a fire and warm myself.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 10:37 AM UTC
If you aren't looking
you will never see them
hidden in whitewashed caste systems
forced to conform
to federal papers
which fit in a folder
that fits in a file
of an emaciated white guy
who doesn't fit anywhere
checking the boxes and "disorders"
voted on by
a majority of uncaught criminals
who are protecting store front lifestyles
while the real merchandise of their lives
lays in the back storage room
with the rats of their conscience.
They judge sanity
setting rigid walls
and hanging permanent badges on
Salvador Dali dream catchers,
borderless thinkers,
and geniuses
of the things not yet discovered.
Just because the gifted can not
or will not
stop thinking,
they are detained for their
Difference.
State Hospital No. 3
titles every page
framed in frayed edges
and unfrayed passion.
Lions of courage stand
with childlike joy
in traveling circuses
obliterating demons of oppression,
overwhelming reoccurring ECT...ECT...ECT.
An etcetera of living
beyond electroconvulsive therapy
where the spelling of ECTLECTRC is perfect
in its grammar and definition,
standing in banners atop
the wide-eyed portraited guardians
of institutionalism.
Glorious art shuddered on a curb,
lost and intended for *******
Thank God, beauty beholders come
in all ages of eyes.
14 year olds also find treasure
in garbage piles
clutching dearly to the feeling
that greatness lies in colored pencils
dancing on unusual stationary.
Edward Deeds
comes of age
in the same moment
as the scavenging boy does
opening the binders
on their inter-joined journey
36 annuals after dislodging it
from a leftover ham and rye.
A voice is unmuted
merely by being seen.
Revelation is given
by turning on the light.
Art, music and knowledge is infinite
when boxes are destroyed,
ignorance rebuked,
and courage is embraced.
Let us dare to never be
just what we know.
Let us live to be
what we have never yet seen.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
You want to see him
Now? The receptionist
Asked. Yes, this minute,
You replied. What’s it
About? None of your
Concern. I think I need
To know before I can
Interrupt him. You need
To know jackshit. There
Was a staring of eyes.
Hesitation. A looking
Down at the phone, a
Scratching of forehead
Dislodging flakes of dry
Skin. Is it that important?
Maybe you could give
Me some idea what you
Need to see him about?
*** you mutter. ***
Yes, he came around
To my place last night
And after a real good
Session lasting until
The small hours he up
And left without so
Much as a goodbye kiss
Or whispered word. That
Right? Yes, you said. I’ll
Get him right away, I
Wanted to know where
The heck my husband
Was last night and now
I know. Are you sure
Want to see him now?
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 2:58 PM UTC
how i loved
each bare, floor
naked walls shadows on
newly empty halls
by day, my head humming
to itself of dreams, i cleaned and scrubbed
to make my life new; dislodging from the corner,
the old moths and cicadas
pinned on the screen dangling from beams,
and each windowsill clutter of dried leaves
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 11:13 PM UTC
There are faults along this desolate landscape. The concrete is falling away and stones litter the wide road.
Slowly, the rain starts. First with a light pitter patter and then later with hard knocks that dont let up. Slowly, the birds stop singing. They fly away. To the north, to the south or east or west, I do not know. I hardly felt their absence. It was the silence that made me lift up my head.
And what I see was the aftermath of an earthquake. The ancient colossal trees were snapped cleanly into half. The torrential rain was disappearing into enormous sinkholes. The collapsed buildings were ghosts watching over the dead city. The crowd has gone, so has the lights.
This destroyed land mirrors my destroyed mind. The birds have stopped singing. Everything is silent. And all I see when I open my eyes, is despondence.
*fault (fôlt)
n.
1.
a. A character weakness, especially a minor one.
b. Something that impairs or detracts from physical perfection; a defect.
c. A mistake; an error.
2. Responsibility for a mistake or an offense; culpability.
3. Geology A fracture in the continuity of a rock formation caused by a shifting or dislodging of the earth's crust, in which adjacent surfaces are displaced relative to one another and parallel to the plane of fracture. *
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
Disjointed flashbacks
and coincidences
--regurgitating, bubbling up
surfacing--
faint aftertaste
lingering then fading
Episodes disentangle and defy
Chronology
Without cause or consequence
They return to me like
Sand to the ocean
--dispersing and settling
dislodging and rearranging--
Separate scenes of specificity
Activated by change circumstance
Stirring sensations once
Lost to the churning tides of
Time and Space
Engaging emotions once forgotten
Now set free by the
Endless eb and flow,
Dissipating
Memories, thoughts, dreams
Rising up from and
Returning to
The Void
Exchanging
Manifesting haphazardly
Ever-awakening
The tapestry of
Experience unfolds
Threads of Time and Space
Unravel
And as the pattern
Recycles
The forms change
but the substance stays
the same
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
You want to see him
Now? The receptionist
Asked. Yes, this minute,
You replied. What’s it
About? None of your
Concern. I think I need
To know before I can
Interrupt him. You need
To know jackshit. There
Was a staring of eyes.
Hesitation. A looking
Down at the phone, a
Scratching of forehead
Dislodging flakes of dry
Skin. Is it that important?
Maybe you could give
Me some idea what you
Need to see him about?
*** you mutter. ***
Yes, he came around
To my place last night
And after a real good
Session lasting until
The small hours he up
And left without so
Much as a goodbye kiss
Or whispered word. That
Right? Yes, you said. I’ll
Get him right away, I
Wanted to know where
The heck my husband
Was last night and now
I know. Are you sure
Want to see him now?
(2010 POEM)
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 6:37 AM UTC
a wodge uh Wrigley’s
‘ard an knobbly on thuh underside
uh desks
shufflin’ tuh DJ Caspar
in thuh ‘all
unduh thuh gaze uh
year three’s
it were
packed lunches,
dislodging mi brace
from thuh roof of mi mouth
like extractin’ a tooth,
scoffin’ bars uh white chocolate
years-old Blu-Tack
stamped black intuh carpets,
grey plastic-y chairs,
writin’ learnin’ objectives,
underlinin’ dates
with shatterproof rulers,
I upgraded tuh a pen
in year four
same time
remember listenin’ on the radio
in Scottish Clark’s mobile
when it wuh Ingland v Brazil,
summer uh ‘02,
thuh likes of Sheringham, Beckham
in audio only, no picture,
and thuh TA came in
‘alfway throo a lesson,
said ‘we’re out’
and the time
I cort that cricket ball,
dived and it stung mi hand,
a crimson-drizzled palm,
throbbin’ ring
and the time
we played football wi’ tennis *****
and I blurted intuh a trio
uh eager classmates,
a tumble-shirt compote,
knee flecked wi’ grit, mi own spit,
skinny whispers uh blood
and thuh time
I plagiarised Potter
around Azkaban,
got a Woolies notebook,
ragged Pritt-Sticked cuttins’
of Watson in the pink ‘oodie,
but it wuh the seed
for thuh next decade and more,
standin’ up,
tellin’ a story,
somethin’ or othuh
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 2:47 PM UTC
I have a haemorrhoid,
It causes me much pain,
I once strained too much,
Unfortunately dislodging this vein,
Sometimes it causes hemorrhaging,
Especially when lacking fibre,
I wish I could fix this with duct tape,
Like a lavatory dwelling Macgyver
Or maybe some elastic bands,
Potentially it could fall off,
Then I wouldn't have to check my ***
When letting out a cough.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
It feels as if a spinning top has been turned
and I'm stuck to it,
one side me a month ago
and who I am now on the other.
I was so happy.
I didn't realise before that such happiness existed,
or that I'd ever feel it.
But I did
and you let me
and I smiled so hard from morning till night that people were asking me if I was okay.
Okay??
I'd gotten all the way to then without ever really being okay,
but now I was
exactly right.
You woke parts of me up that I didn't even know were asleep,
helped me see things that before I'd ignored -
you made me feel like something worth wanting.
The mirror held me differently
so that I barely recognised my own reflection.
Did she always walk with her shoulders so far back,
stand with her head held so high up??
The second time I met you
I felt something physically change within me.
A sudden jolt somewhere behind my belly button,
the dislodging of stars and hot insides.
I wondered if you'd noticed,
if I'd changed on the outside too,
but you were too busy
tracing the tree trunk ring lines on my fingertips with your lips,
to notice.
Then I'm spinning
and spinning
and spinning,
and I'm grabbing hair
and tshirts that smell like you and home
and fingers that fit perfectly in mine
and stained with paint duvets that keep us safe
and door handles that lead to places I've never been before
and flowers and rain and mountains and oceans and forest
and I've landed somewhere hard and all too familiar
with the wind knocked right out of me,
like a boat being spat out of a storm.
Everything's dark.
Everything's cold.
Everything's exactly how it was before -
except,
now,
I know.
I know what could be
and who we could be
and who I could be
but now I'm stooped so low that I can't even see myself in the mirror,
people are asking me if I'm okay and my mouth is too sore to answer,
I can feel something just behind my belly button
but it hurts
and makes stomach acid swim up my throat.
I spit it out on pavement
and wonder if it burns.
I hate you so ******* much for doing this that it scares me.
You took me at my worst,
rolled me in your hands like clay till I was somebody new,
and then crushed it between your palms
so now I'm so broken it hurts to breathe
and bits of ***
plate and vase,
rattle in my lungs
till I cough blood.
And just a month ago,
before you span the top,
I loved you so much it scared me
but now I don't know the difference.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
**The reality
of who we are resides
in this word..
It may seem as loneliness
an ungrounding of roots
frightening perhaps..
Or an unchaining from the
hold of a place
a dislodging into a
space-like fullness
a non-local experience
of real freedom...**
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
There's a hole in
you, a missing
piece. Listen, if you shove
in any piece
you think might vaguely
resemble your
hole, you will end
up disrupting every
single one of your other
parts. Darling, we
are looking for all
the puzzle shards alongside
you, just watch
out, as dislodging us would
make our attempts so
much harder.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC