"disquietude" poems
I cannot recall the precise moment of my arrival at Anhedonia
memories blindsided by a phantasmagoric comorbid collage of cant
precipitated by some newspaper reportage or holocaust story
some creepy instance that breached the precipice between simple sorrow and permanent melancholia
some fatal blow that cinched the deal
some horrid event that could not heal
some dejected disappointment that could not be resolved
some moment of unguarded clarity when integrity dissolved
nevertheless I have arrived at this mangled juncture
élan a mania not even Edison's medicine can extirpate
I was quite lighthearted before the inferno
before my brain broke
ennui now a turgid companion
feeding on gaiety, never sated, seeking famine
esurient unrelenting usurper of happiness
go away, leave me alone, relish some other soul's madness
gone is any exuberance, glee or mirth
miseries are mine, many the days since birth
better I was carried from the womb straight to the grave
a fatuous existence, clamoring and grasping in vain
it's as if I was born into a well
but these waters they burn
the bludgeoning alcohol a liquid hell
Oh florid loquacity, you are an impostor
your verse is an adversary
a foray of jagged rhythm justifying a storm
a sordid verbosity assuring no norm
a plaintive scratching guild of recriminative collaboration
some alliance of fulminating disquietude
the cost for the fare on the adventure to:
the stunning moment you too will visit Anhedonia
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
The Land of Nod (Hebrew: ארץ נוד, eretz-Nod)
is a place mentioned in the Book of Genesis
of the Hebrew Bible, located "on the east of Eden"
(qidmat-‘Eden), where Cain was exiled
by God after Cain had murdered his brother Abel;
According to Genesis 4:16:
_And Cain went out from the presence of the LORD,
and dwelt in the land of Nod, on the east of Eden._
(וַיֵּ֥צֵא קַ֖יִן מִלִּפְנֵ֣י יְהוָ֑ה וַיֵּ֥שֶׁב בְּאֶֽרֶץ־נֹ֖וד קִדְמַת־עֵֽדֶן)
"Nod" (נוד) is the Hebrew root of the verb
"to wander" (לנדוד). Therefore, to dwell
in the land of Nod is usually taken to mean
that one takes up a wandering life. Genesis 4:17
relates that after arriving in the Land of Nod,
Cain's wife bore him a son, _Enoch_,
in whose name he built the first city;
"Nod" (נוד) is the Hebrew root of the verb
"to wander" (לנדוד). Therefore, to dwell
in the land of Nod can mean to live
a wandering life; Gesenius defines (נוּד) as follows:
_TO BE MOVED, TO BE AGITATED_
(Arab. ناد Med. Waw id.), used of a reed
shaken by the wind, 1Ki.14:15; hence to wander,
to be a fugitive, Jer. 4:1; Gen. 4:12, 14; Ps.56:9;
to flee, Ps. 11:1; Jer. 49:30. Figuratively, Isa. 17:11,
נֵד קָצִיר "the harvest has fled" ["but see נֵד ,"
which some take in this place as the subst.]
Much as Cain's name is connected
to the verb meaning "to get" in Genesis 4:1,
the name "Nod" closely resembles the word
"nad" (נָ֖ד), usually translated as "vagabond",
in Genesis 4:12. (In the Septuagint's rendering
of the same verse, God curses Cain
to τρέμων, "trembling")
A Greek version of Nod written as Ναίν
appearing in the _Onomastica Vaticana_
possibly derives from the plural נחים,
which relates to resting and sleeping;
This derivation, coincidentally or not,
connects with the English pun on "nod";
Josephus wrote in Antiquities of the Jews
(c. AD 93) that Cain continued his wickedness
in Nod: resorting to violence and robbery;
establishing weights and measures;
transforming human culture from innocence
into craftiness and deceit; establishing
property lines; and building a fortified city;
Nod is said to be outside of the presence
or face of God: Origen defined Nod
as the land of trembling and wrote
that it symbolized the condition of all
who forsake God; Early commentators
treated it as the opposite of Eden
(worse still than the land of exile
for the rest of humanity); In the English tradition
Nod was sometimes described as a desert
inhabited only by ferocious beasts or monsters;
Others interpreted Nod as dark or even
underground—away from the face of God—
Augustine described unconverted Jews as
dwellers in the land of Nod, which he defined
as commotion and "carnal disquietude"
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 12:16 PM UTC
Sombre, pensive, disquietude
Disconnected, subtle, lewd
All emotions rolling 'round
Shattered glass on holy ground
Silver lining made of stone
Face of darkness set alone
Wings of sulphur, ashen down
Butterflies stitched in her gown
Queen of sacrilegious lies
Blood and fire stain black eyes
Lips like poison, dripping lust
Serpent tongue that whispers trust
Silken skin of granite gray
Sparkles stone when in the day
Prehensile tail and wicked strength
Ebony hair of staggered length
**** woman of the night
Seeking prey and seeking fight
Lay you down on holy stone
Death by *** though not alone
When her eyes light on your skin
Flames of lust lick up and in
Against her charms you've not a chance
So open wide and join her dance
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 5:24 AM UTC
Sitting, restless
In this changeling
Sensation
Of freshness and renewal.
Running
Rat on a wheel.
Each passing day
A different way
Of feeling,
An altered state of mind.
Seeking
To find
A man within the boy.
Hoping to see
The real me.
Alive and kicking.
Hot flushed, this post determined puberty
And the desperate need to feel.
An urgent angst to Be.
Short fuse and temper flare.
I’m not really there
Yet still somehow
Everywhere and
Everything;
Else breathing.
Dysmorphic chest
Heaving
Exigency
In this
Juncture
Soul puncture,
And bloodied bandaids
Cast off
My heart
Once worn on my sleeve.
I am finger skin,
Flesh and nail
Torn
And jagged edges
Peeling.
Perplexity kneeling,
I am deeply lost inside of me.
Begging to be found.
Compund; unbound.
They say that beggars can’t be choosers
Only losers left to dreaming.
They also say
That I may be a dreamer
But I’m not the only one.
I will come undone in this undoing.
Eschewing
A life lived unalive.
Slow unravel
To once again
Begin
To belong in this
Skin
Stitched bleeding riches
To my bare and brittle bone
He is not alone
I feel him
Running
Waiting
Sating disquietude
With an attitude
Unshackled
He is not running
Rather feet flying
A rat inside
A wheel.
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 10:47 PM UTC
renegade memories
relentless effrontery
rogue fractured intruders
a formulable formidable aside inside
man is a modified monkey
a jackdaw in peacock's feathers
contradictions, the multiplicity that is a unity
a patchwork of odds and ends
snips and snails
dreams and delusions
hopes and fears
a mystifying knot of phantasmagoric disquietude
agape in a stupefied bewilderment
as an autistic child swept up in minutiae
inscrutable incongruities
melange of matters beyond explanations
maundering machinates
necessary inventions repeating and reforming
sheltering some aspect of the mind's deforming
'reaction formations' sotto voce instructs the analyst
defending emotions at the personalities bequest
merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream
psychotherapy is no mere scheme
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
for my friend, AJB, mother, artist
why
would anyone believe in invisible...
coordinator of billions of trillions
of interactions daily,
the microscopic
the telescopic
at what level
is there intercession
where is the
intervention,
rhymed reasoning of
impoverishing failing-me inadequate comprehension
so here I am
at 4:00 am
wailing and complaining
not so much at life's happenstance,
not even a foolish why me uttered,
talking to invisibility,
demanding culpability
at the very least
an apology
by that act
admitting the fact
that in conversation with parties
invited and drop-ins welcome,
in the silence sewn
in the residence permanent
of my mind's lobe of disquietude
logic forgone,
I am a believer,
no understanding
nor forgiving
at the illogic
of my tragedy
mine,
not so divine,
wailing and complaining
this my diatribe
knowing your silence
is a listening signature,
my complaining and wailing
my curse my blessing,
my transmitting frequency
of a multivariate equation
demanding a solution
too busy mastering the universe?
your data base
endless and unfathomable
file this under
audios of
YouTubes of
complaining and wailing,
hoping you cleanse yourself
with a good long listen
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 4:27 AM UTC
Disquietude
Rustle my mind
Iron out the creases
Left me with nothing
But perfect pleats
I can't bear to understand
And flat surfaces
Lacking the wrinkles
Of chocolate
Of stories
Of moments
Maybe of passion
Maybe of clumse
Maybe of sadness
Then again
Doesn't no wrinkles
Tell the story of
A perfectly ironed shirt
A moment
A story
Maybe of passionate ironing
Maybe of clumsy ironing
Maybe of sad ironing
Who am I to judge this shirt-mind
Perhaps
The ironing
Is chocolate
In and of itself.
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 4:44 PM UTC
Buckled at the knees, face in the dirt,
one can only pray for enlightenment, but
at a time when morality is valued by
silver and gold,
a baton twirled
is mightier than the sword dipped in ink
and sprawled across ancient parchment.
Men march in unison, into foreign lands,
while chanting words of a dead language:
Democratia Sit Virtus
Flag inserted into the land, the
obligatory explanation is written
on paper, covered with black marks, in soot.
Erupt in glory, a city once was.
Redacted sentences are had for
good reason:
to keep characters in the dark.
Transparency is only a concept that
belongs on the back of a bookmark.
Dust covers
clouds and envelopes the sky,
as dark and as black as superstition.
We speak with symbols, because subliminal
advertising becomes cogitative rather than
entering one ear and leaving the other.
What belongs in the border is bold, as we
marginalize open space, although the occasional
proverbial foot will cross the line. A slash of the
throat will tell you that all eyes are dotted,
just as some lines are crossed.
Like an olive branch exposed as thorns.
A proper medium is exploiting
vulnerability under rule.
Hot air is expelled when converting oxygen,
or exclaiming honesty and integrity;
lest we forget land comes from sea.
It is in their nature; our nature to build
roots underground.
Better to keep intricacies hidden.
Never is an iceberg fully exposed.
A brain.
The Temple.
Certainly a vault.
What you keep from the people
is for the people.
And common ground is neither
left nor right,
despite what you've been made
to believe.
It's about the courage
to think before you speak.
It's the courage it takes
to gather strength and
beseech the weak.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 9:34 AM UTC
you uncoiled my winces
with your aching summer breath
desire coursed vivid thru my veins
like the diamond sparkle of dawn-light
we intertwined & you attached yourself to my soul
& when you watched me, i felt seen
--a flower blooming in the basket
on your windowsill in the teeming light
my passion dissolved the disquietude
more simply, you set me free
you rearranged me
you dismantled me
& when i revealed myself to myself
in a swirling mirrored vertigo
i was drenched & purged on the altar
& now the emptiness is the consolation
i carry like a dream in my hands
the silence between us the only refuge
then the rains came in june
& bludgeoned the sky
it groans in despair
my chest doesn't burn anymore
it feels more like a bruise
& i linger among the futility
& wind-ripped flower petals
outside your shuttered window
like a frigid dancer on the brink
of nihilistic oblivion grasping
only for the bottom
my guilt does all of the thinking
in the wasting light
& the last note of your goodbye
barely greets me long-forgotten
from the dim shore--
one last regret--
another secret kept from me.
Jun 28, 2021
Jun 28, 2021 at 10:15 PM UTC
Within stirs a persistent bane
birthed while on her mother’s knee,
endorsed with fiery warnings
loudly proclaimed from weekly pulpit.
Now her bones grate
against the cushion
while the rhythmic cadence
of rocking chair
runners on hardwood
breaks the dim silence
as past misdoings reverberate
on the back walls of her mind.
Disquietude prompts obsessions
she endeavors to prove invalid.
Her desire to flee
from reminders of falsehoods
and fake passions
nags her endlessly
like unforgivable sins
haunt a cloistered sister.
Neither pleas nor prayers
quell her remorseful ruminations.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
A mirage.
Fabricated sustenance.
A false flourish.
The brush of your almond scented exhale inspires a rush that leaves me in a desired disquietude.
Still every exhale is savored by an inhale
It meanders past sun kissed mounds and valleys
Til it hits your candied oasis.
Inspiration swells with every acme reached
until
you're satiated by my nectar
Calming to a summer zephyr
I turn over to your pillowed chest,
and drift off to an insatiable reality.
+ crowned saint
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 7:02 AM UTC
The hatchets swings from right to left
cutting sway in magical arc glittering acidic polish
labourers strive in whimsical grafts and melliferous distune
the gods in Olympus stand akimbo watching meddling mortals
No demigods in hazey disquietude sees
for those the gods forsake wear the laurels made for Pompeii
time will tell come the days of transmogrification in Cosmos Paths
the oracles files litigation before the gods against impostors vile
The seven tongues of the seven headed dragon
flicker between the dawn and dusk, between mist and flames
salacious visions mired in morbid delight cooked with arsenic dew
a cauldron boils for givers and takers, a chalice of retribution awaits
Apr 7, 2019
Apr 7, 2019 at 3:43 PM UTC
Lord how do i continue?
Thy carries the freight of past horrors and future possibilities,
Upon my shoulders
Such a sense of disquietude.
I may fall due to this Lord of Light!
as every step i take on this tightrope,
flashbacks of dreadful memories come back
putting me off balance!
Nay!
I must take a step back,
or two
or fall!
Put me out of my misery Lord of mercy!
As i wobble on this rope,
trying to find my balance
How!
When their is nothing beyond this tightrope!
Lord!
All i observe into the distance is fog!
the future is bleak for me if i continue
on this tightrope!
Hail the Lord of Forgiveness!
looking behind me i see fog
what if i just jump?
from this tightrope
Dec 16, 2020
Dec 16, 2020 at 11:26 AM UTC
through diaphanous blinds
radiant sunlit boughs
high noon;
restive breaths drawn
in palpable pain
balmy wind caresses;
disquietude loud
as sparrows chirped,
hints of perspiration
upon delirious forehead
crystallized;
she fell asleep
as calescence spread
waiting for the pain to abate
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 2:46 PM UTC
Physically frayed
Mentally mangled
Spiritually stunned
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC
liquid dawn, headphones, cold, and restlessness
pills, tears, and helplessness
it’s at times like these that I feel like I’m falling behind, without facing
disquietude, medicine short of patience
I hid in the bathroom to spit out my disappointment towards me, always the abomination
because I just can't seem to do anything right, what a desecration
they knock on the door but I have no breath left to answer
could it be because of my pounding? I can't endure the slander
lips lie then pray for attention, for someone to cry for me
but that someone is not there, and it's so dark in here
Mar 7, 2021
Mar 7, 2021 at 4:22 PM UTC
Beneath the tattered roof with rays of disquietude peeping is where you will find me
My feet swollen because I have no sandals
My clothes are torn and you can see my flesh
Tightly attached to my bones like leggings.
I am a cave man. I search only for food and a place to sleep
At night the cold cuddles and I can barely sleep
The mosquitoes sing restless hymns in my ears and my blood is the price for their service.
I go from street to street with an unwashed body
Begging, then stealing becomes the only option.
I come from a world where pain and suffering is no visitor
A world where hymns of death are sung daily
Begging to leave this world, hoping to find joy at the other side.
What if we continue this
journey at the other side?
Singing hymns of agony for eternity
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 5:35 AM UTC
Alcohol stained lips,
yours of ***** and mine of liqour.
An oddly divine combination as our tongues danced together in synchronization.
Ragged breathes and tangled limbs,
sweet honey dripping, begging for a little taste.
Hands digging into my waist,
you, between my legs.
Slippery sweat soaked skin,
our pace getting faster and faster.
Fingernails sinking into your back
leaving red territorial lines.
My body twitches.
A final release.
I cry your name out in ecstasy,
as you cried out hers.
We lay in disquietude, our naked bodies exposed,
a one night stand I’ll forever remember,
a one night stand you’ll forget once sober.
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 1:49 AM UTC
#*
The distilled quiet
Quite a sign of disquietude
The sun shines bright
Overcast skies eclipses the light
In the shell the baby bird thrives
Invisible shells hard to break
Glass, transparent as can be seen
Breaks into shards, toughened or not
Distance, not in metrics
It’s the words, absence or otherwise
Parallel lines, forever run along
A journey, towards the end, begins*#
Feb 4, 2022
Feb 4, 2022 at 9:50 AM UTC
They prefer if you don’t come in the normal entrance,
Where your actions and demeanor may generate
A semblance of disquietude and anxiety for those clients
With simple dislocations and the de riguer colicky infants.
Instead, you are directed to an inconspicuous doorway
Around the back by the dumpsters and empty pallets
To an unadorned room with to fill out the requisite paperwork
(Which proves quite difficult because you’re shaking;
Most likely because the room is so cold,
Or the folding chairs prove ancient and unstable),
Upon receipt of which they allow you
(Although this go-round
There’s no inked footprints or photo provided)
To take your baby back home.
As children, we learned those truths we needed to know
At the feet of claymation wise men
(Proffered to us through the good graces of Rankin and Bass)
That under-appreciated misfits will receive their reward in due time,
That Mommy and Daddy will sit,
Smiling as without a care in the world,
At the kitchen table with brother and sis
Over a piping hot breakfast forever and ever, amen
Before they adjourn to the shiny tree
Surrounded by legions of dolls, brigades of fire engines
(For Santa shall never disappoint any good boy or girl),
That children shall always bury their parents.
I now know that the snowman lied,
And that when he is removed from refrigeration,
He shall not reappear as the strong, substantial man of snow,
But become merely a puddle,
Then mist rising from the sidewalk,
As invisible as the ditties children sing
While jumping double-dutch,
As fleeting as a hug in the dark
After you’ve chased the monsters from under the bed.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 10:09 AM UTC
cloistered memories
beckon thoughts
and...
I revel in moments
of disquietude
still...
feeling his presence
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 1:54 AM UTC
Within
stirs a persistent bane
birthed
while on her Mother’s knee
Now her bones
grate against the chair
amid her rhythmic rocking
that breaks the dim silence
Images reverberate
on the back walls
of her mind
Disquietude prompts alarm
as her obsessions claw
to unearth graves
of fears
she pretends are invalid
Her desire to flee
from reminders of falsehoods
and fake passions
nags her endlessly
like unforgivable sins
haunt a cloistered sister
Neither pleas, nor prayers
quell her ruminations.
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
Here the reluctance of nightly slumber
With my soul aflame with disquietude,
My fear, as darkness becomes my blanket,
That my eyes once shut will see you no more.
The blind can have their morning light unseen,
But my seeing you is morning to me.
What need have I for eyes but your beauty?
I should rather choose darkness with you.
I am scared! What if my eyelids rebel?
What if they are weighed down with jealousy?
My dreams are not enough! You are too true.
I’ll not sleep, lest my eyes stay closed to you.
I shall embrace insomnia’s madness
If my eyes can give me no assurance
That sleeping, they will open in the morn,
To you, only you, my truest sunrise.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 9:49 PM UTC
an index pressed on my lips
the air rank with cherries
spits of rain, and thunder afar
my breath at a minimum
and this love is already augured w/ scars
Under a twilight glow
Cole's incantations
ease my disquietude
her voice an effervescent hymn
lulling the snakes that reside within my soul
what paradise
to lose
a
season
under my nose
She questions the validity of her arrangement
cards dealt by "life"
she questions me
she questions the intent
she questions tonights heavy glow.
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 10:14 PM UTC