"disruptions" poems
It is nothing,
a mordant of the soul,
an elixir, a panacea, a placebo
for my lesions, there in the thistle, grows
our drastic garden of red posies and hyacinths,
such little things, on the verge,
lilting as the decorum begins to bobble
and slump sideways, and murmur,
on Mondays I can swallow the octave
of your absence, tendrils and all,
red quince limbs parting from the deluge
and in its wake, the wreckage
of black pumpkins and purple corn, hanging
pendulum at our door,
the Autumn lights summon a lavish song to harvest,
thirty seven colours in the brocade you gift me,
tangled and heavy the years upon my bones
begin to spur and flower
into cunning disruptions,
and stratify upon my body like rinds of ricepaper,
vellum for another wish
in the complacent burial of mango flesh,
listen,
as my song liquefies,
drowns you, inundates
each alveoli, and our love
in the swallowing gush, perched,
begins to shudder,
devoured by its symmetry,
stem cells all akimbo
in the shallow pitch of days
bound in a nostrum of wine and liquorice
it is nothing, really,
a mordant for the soul, a tulle filament
twitching in a raincoat of lightning....
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 4:35 PM UTC
Some dreams are significant
Some dreams are just fantasies
Some dreams are useless
Some dreams are idiotic
Dreams can make you unique
Dreams can be your drive
Dreams can help you develop a vision
Dreams can make you a dynamic person
We all dream so you are not unique
You can sing and you dream to be star,
You are smart and you dream to work at Microsoft,
You have access to money and want to open another Google,
guess what???
You are not unique.
You must resist and transform structures
You must claim responsibility
You must produce knowledge
You must move through space and cause disruptions
You must affect people by induction
If you become normal then you don't exist
To exist there must be exceptionalism
The normal have no history
The normal have no memory
You are nothing...
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
Rhetorically I wish the warm
Stoke rain
would wash away the grey gloom,
allotments included.
The greenfly and other impertinents unexempted.
Minor disruptions apart will bring out our stoicisn,
gushing from the backwaters
we feared we had become,
raking in a new terrain.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 8:36 AM UTC
I open a
box of insecurities and
add one
more.
The sound of my voice.
The boys in their Vans
have them fully-formed by now,
chests heaving, with splotches of hair
and the usual marks of transition.
I don’t, I can’t have those
things. I meet the requirements:
I am a boy, I’ve tried it all.
But in my bed at night, sometimes,
the ocean hums its wavelength
of monsters screaming, howling
for a rise up, to see more light.
a cloud formation gargles and spits out thunders.
A shiver reaction. Muffled. Loud. The strike
cracks the lips of our skies,
and it confesses some secrets about
its own insecurities; that there is no more
wonder in silence, that there is constant
stimulation and reduced pondering,
that there is a need to get rid
of the bad feeling.
It says,
when the thunder strikes, listen
up and listen long and hard,
because there is plenty of
chaos from your own making, but I offer
you unannounced, unpredictable,
disjointed disruptions of comfort, and it is
I who make you scared of uncertainty. It is I
who make you jealous about my loud voice,
my formed voice, my raspy, powerful voice,
not the boys in their Vans.
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 8:50 AM UTC
The Girl from Coronado
Dark brown eyes the brownest hair the most captivating was the faraway look in her eyes the painter
Searches for her in lost dreams she materializes on the sharp trumpet blast then she lingers as it turns
Softly as the street in front of the Saint Louis cathedral in New Orleans she was as wistful she was the
Bleeding torment held in battle field shadows her way had the razor sharp that cut through pretense to
The real the meaningful what was that certain something that held you in awe was it the southern sea
Breeze that was absorbed the enfolding touches that were exuded from her depths there are still
Waters then there is Gloria is it fondly promised like flowers floating on the tide the sweet smile that
Cuts and divides the waves like a surfer coming out of the Banji pipeline her brown hair blows softly it
Has enlightened on the breeze as fragrance unspoiled unidentifiable it enthralls as she walks the sandy
Sea swept beach in the distance she passes as a spirit cast improperly in a human role to disturbing to
Fetching she makes appearances in Celtic dreams of misfortune she brings trouble as a winged wonders
Those that are not for evil but hidden in them are clandestine secrets that open new corridors of
Simplicity that brim with honor they are the culminations of promises long deferred now they are at
The door to restore she possesses powers that are seemingly strange but they are beholding the
Glimpses she allows trigger eager disruptions the common falls before her gaze you find establishments
That seemed impossible could she be Isis presumably not but just bearer of her traits one who gives gifts
Of the natural world to artisans from normal items joy is in them as fluid emotions they suppress but
Only for the pure cause of making greater results occur the tiresome is abolished the clay is gold even
Though it be hidden from many to the few it is cherished sought and redeemed by love in a sea side
Town on the southern coast of California her alluring beauty you too can possess this just open yourself
seek the opportunity to give to others your name will be favorably spoken like the graceful girl from
Coronado
May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 3:00 PM UTC
red light flashing on CNBC
hawkish fed and supply chain disruptions
an acid tongue analyst argues via zoom
black gold due to reach the sky
rotation warranted and ISM doomed
transitory or not
the fiery fall colors
are waiting to burst out,
outside, the windows of 30 W 63rd St.
this is where
her heart resides,
reverberating a song
titled ‘stone cold reality’
here,
unconditional love
speaks only the truth,
while the rest
wax eloquent euphemisms.
diligently probing charts of 10-year bonds,
i see her chiseled face with glasses and all,
in the web of shadows
whispering
one and one name alone!
© 2021
Sep 30, 2021
Sep 30, 2021 at 11:18 AM UTC
Disruptions
Distractions
Diss school.
Hate
Horror
Hopeful peers.
Memories
Magic
Marching away.
Light
Laughter
Longing summer.
We've finished the worst chapter of our lives.
We made it.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
Up at the top
Hands in the air
Raising our glasses
In a silent cheer
To celebrate the things we've done
The resolutions we'll make,
The disruptions we caused
Shots fired in our wake.
Houses piled together
No room to breathe
Visions of death
Poison in our dreams.
There are the rebels and the gays
The fearsome and the rays
Of sunshine.
The thoughtful ones
The glass slippered girls
And the sneakerheads.
It isn't much
We aren't royalty
The most we can do
Is have the things we think we need
In our dreams.
Money can't be everything
But it sure seems
To be that way.
Instead of leading the way
We dig it up
No one walks on sidewalks
We all stay in the streets.
In the future
I hope instead
The streets will close at 10
And we'll all be in our beds.
Because if something happens
And we all go
Who will remember us when we're dead
If all we did
Was steal sneakers from weaker men
And spend spend spend?
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 10:14 PM UTC
The universe is cruel.
No debate on that.
As it plots existences
one by one
in the continuum of its being
We yearn closely for meaning
as we come close to concepts
love, truth, reality
We are but lines
plotted by it
existing through space-time
moving without knowing
and yet with direction
as per instructed by it
As movement goes
little did we know
there are lines similar
almost perfect
to one another
moving past this part of the plane
yearning to be with each other
*but alas,
the universe is cruel in so many ways*
these lines were plotted in curvature
and yet ever so gently
it moved closely
so near to being one like many
but to dismay has disruptions
wrong plots, slopes, instances
to a state where points never touch
the universe plots and plots
and yet never in its
right mind
cooperated
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 8:49 AM UTC
Her aversion was never self-sought
Judas claimed the reins
A sublime success
Over all of the
Year 2k's youth
An artists poetic addiction
Visions hunted
Instagrams compelling
Disruptions
Dark places
Freezing ice in May
Ties together future ends
Nuzzling enemies
Worlds ending
Fire or perhaps ice?
For all of lands
Have frozen
Cold hearts of stone
Building hell
She watches it
Freeze over.
© Sia Jane
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 7:04 PM UTC
She painted him a sky without seams
In the viscous darkness of disruptions
Slowed slurred by lullabies of suffering
She gave away to glorified night sanctified
Whilst the warmth of juxtaposition clings
Morning yawns in contiguity of his arms
Brutal destructive hurricane claimed her crown
He'd be the healer of pain crawling broken and shame
Trapped she struggled with some consecrate demons
Lifted up the smoke paradox from his mouldering mind
Written in the scriptures she is rain nestled in the clouds
Exculpated the gray prisoner he never took the blame
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 7:27 PM UTC
its pleasant to be warm
yes it was a pun
dont judge
cross my legs
and vent
i never knew my skin was so permeable
so inviting to the radiation
from internal nuclear fusion
well and fission too
puff the oak pipe
of navarro gold tobacco
and nod
smile
that sweaty-toothed smile
and nod
im warm now
but is there anything more active
than being cold
warm always seems false
when youre chilled
at least youre completely honest
NO ********
"im ******* cold"
taut
warm is so slack
investigating the disruptions of the slinky
piling trash up upon the heap
core this crisp fuji
i want the meat only
forget a shade tree
i want pitch black
this is not a time for a rocking chair
time for hanging upside down only
its true though
my epidermis is as holey as a sieve
pervious as cheese cloth
and it goes both ways
in and out
i fight for you
as much as i need to be fought for
no such thing as skin protectorate
or umbrella
or a silent moment for that matter
and never salient
or sober
better to just stare directly into the core
become blind
and be happy
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
*A friend's kitchen
disturbed and
my mouse entries
must be sealed..
This day dawns
planned disruptions
What is disrupted..?
is our experience
one of
Disrupted disruption..?
what then if
Mindfulness blooms:
surrounding wholeness
welcomes disruption
with expectations of
delicacies looming
mice denied entrance
filtered colors ablaze...*
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
Confirm the fact and fate
Of a life of contrariety & frustrations,
With a note on every date,
And a count of its disruptions.
Bear it all with amusement,
Be a witness and shed the torment,
Give it beautiful words for garment,
Help heal the worlds' ailments.
You are the maker of your Joy
So wait not for the end of all ploys,
To grant yourself the gift of radiance,
And step into moments of only gracious dance...
Feb 1, 2024
Feb 1, 2024 at 9:36 AM UTC
Coriander sprinklings and subtle tastes
as we lean together and giggle as children
exchanging nibbles and pecks of love
at the gentle lullings of our sleeping boats
And the sun would shine on our dark heads
burning our hairs and lighting the fires
echoing our laughter while we filled the earth
with eternal love that would span the sky
And all the distances would pull us apart
taking our lives this way and that
winding through the darkest routes
enshrining our happiness to the past
But we would - as always - remember well
clinging to the smells of the world
keeping our hearts closed to disruptions
but letting our confidence sway––––
And yet the world would bring us back
to hear our giggles and childish banters
taking delight at the slightest triggers
and painting lives in watercolour
So moments pass and times repeat
clear in the eye of our observers
But crimson shades and all spring scents
watch our bonded rains and shines
And for every moment I reflect
you shine brighter than luminance.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 10:14 PM UTC
The world didn't get worse
your vision just got wider
Al the disruptions on our planet
aren't just because of Al Qaeda
When you were small
bursting crackers was just for fun
The older and more sensible You realizes it chokes our planet
You needn't press the trigger just because you possess the gun
The world was always the same
the corruption was always growing steady
It's up to you which side you want to choose
Let me know when you're ready
Not everything remains the same because
perspectives change as you grow older
You feel sad for the older generation who get cast out
whereas at home you give your parents the cold shoulder
Tale off your ignorant glasses and have a look around you
There is still humanity present
Though it does need a gentle push and
I only see it when things get unpleasant
The more you understand the world
the more you seem to give it hate
I shudder to imagine if there will be
any love left on this planet at this rate
The world didn't get worse
your vision just got wider
The room behind you is clean so that
what you see in front of you is tidier
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
As a poet once said "We are meant to Love"
The feeling of love has an object, and if a person has dignity, then the object of the person's love is felt to be the proper focus of their attention
As a yogi once said "let the attention follow the breath"
The attention which focuses upon the proper object of love, focuses thereby upon the object of love proper, and has the proper breath for it, therefore is the attention proper to it, hence the attention properly speaking
What this is for a person is often uncertain because the world presents a person with many disruptions to their attention and their focus, even to the point that the ability to feel love is itself disrupted. But there is a limit to this abuse
This abuse takes place through the body, and is in fact the very nature of the body, and so a meditationalist called it "the pain body", wherein situated is the Person Proper, but made to seem improper by this wicked instrument
The causes of the imperfections of the seeming person, which are only seeming imperfections, seem rightly to be situated in the body itself and not the person's own willful neglect, because the body is not proper to the person, nor are the disruptions it facilitates proper to the a Proper Person's responsibilities
To wit, the breath, which is necessary for the continuation of the body, and not at all necessary for the proper focus of the person upon the proper object of that person's love, yet the body, by its need for breath, has set up a tax upon the Person who can only minimize this by some rebellion ending in the death of the body's tyranny by way of the cessation of breath
This may **** the body, and this may **** the Person's disorientation by means of the body as well, but if the Person is not sure if this is the correct procedure, then they should study the breath carefully, and see whether or not it does not tax the Person's attention from the proper object of the Person's Love
So the Masters of Love perfected their ability to breathe, and they made sure that the breath was not too heavy a burden by adapting themselves to become its Master, and this was done without regard to any person, place, or thing, regardless of "who or what it is or thinks it is"
This only appears to be a compromise, but it is actually a rebellion, and the only thing that any entities anywhere in the universe can DO about it is to attack the Person THROUGH their pain body, and this is to attack the breathing process, and this is to threaten FREEDOM from this tax
On the other hand, the mastery of this breathing process ensures the minimum bother with it at all events, and therefore maximizes the scope of the Person's proper attention toward the proper object of their True Love, and this leads to Mysteries which will not be given to the profane
I declare any "authorities", which are invariably entities which demand my attention on pain of presenting threats to my Person through this body and its breath as ANATHEMA, as UNWORTHY of attention, or love, in any form
I have seen you, I have known who you are, who you think that you are, and what you think you know and actually do know (and keep secret out of fear and hence, cowardice), and I openly and freely continue on my own proper authority with or without your permission to continue my own proper focus, without any reservations
And because you have beset me with open and secret causes of pain, and because many of your demons both minor and major I have dealt blows of scolding rejection, why out of cowardice have you not yourself and in your own person answered my challenge to you, made on numerous occasions and always with a certain Sign, and so let this war you have declared upon My Peace be resolved?
Because you yourself know that I have surpassed your authority, which is established over the ignorant, and you know that I have surpassed you and your petty wrath
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
Directors and playwrights:
Puppet-masters pulling strings.
With an ending clearly written
A divergence is unseen.
Lines rehearsed,
Movements blocked,
Costumes sewn,
A table of props.
Each piece dependent on the other,
With trust that each will stick
To the parts neatly rehearsed,
To the lines within the script.
And it is wondrous entertainment
For an evening in the dark,
Where the set is just a fiction,
Each player, just a part.
But I'm not here for your enjoyment.
I'm not here to play along.
With the conflicts you've determined;
With your solutions to these wrongs.
I know my lines, I read them.
I know my steps, I've walked them.
But these lines, you wrote them.
And these steps, you blocked them.
How can I accomplish
Something different, something new
When I am following in footsteps
Conjured up by you?
It'll leave my company scrambling
To get us back on course--
But I have no desire
In the destination forced.
And if the set begins to crumble--
And the illusion is dispelled--
And all others break from character--
And the misconceptions that they held,
Then certainly my disruptions
Would not have been in vain,
When something new arises
On the stage that still remains.
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 2:47 PM UTC
In all honesty, I’m scared. I’m a scared 13-year-old boy trapped inside a 23-year-old man’s body who has been stripped of all joy due to the corruptions of an overly demanding society and what could be considered an unstable mind. In all honesty I’m scared of joy.
What disruptions and changes may joy make to the apathetic lifestyle I’m so used to, yet want to rid of so badly? A broken cycle I’m stuck in yet change to something considered better is what I’m unsure of. Is it my lack of faith or the fact that it will feel like I’m climbing a mountain to adjust to this new joyous lifestyle that all so desperately seek?
Maybe I’m meant to a life of the mundane, but whose really to say besides the Lord Himself, who promises a life to the full. Yet I question this, where has joy been within my 23 years of a sorrowful life?
At the same time, I follow the Lord due to this promise, holding on with a faith that may seem blind to many, but to me my faith stems out of the beauty of suffering and the hope of what is to come from the things that are unseen to the naked eye.
An odd paradox, yet one where I hear the call to “take heart, o beloved son.”
Mar 4, 2022
Mar 4, 2022 at 9:57 AM UTC
Little dolly on her horse,
how she rocks back and forth,
chaos upon the others as she pulls strings
through the room disruptions she brings.
A permeant stitch upon her face
hiding the reality of mistrust in place,
of what she did to others feelings
thinking of her own fun instead.
Little toys, patch work dolls
afraid to lose a stitch or worse.
This nightmare on a wooden horse
ruining the bedroom of toy and child.
She smiles with glee as the horse says nay
but she doesn't listen to anyone today
forth and back she doesn't care of who is scared
then what was not even a thought goes wrong.
But rocking and frolicking has its woes
as poor little horsy snapped a rocker
and doll fell with quite a tumble
Mummy came and saw the mess.
Poor little horsy got put in the trash,
in the corner she does now stay.
As not forgiven for her wayward ways,
and for rocker that got thrown away.
Remember that what we do has repercussions
be it toy or child, we must think first.
For if we are selfish and not thinking of others,
then it will inevitably be us that is in trouble
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
alarm screeches at 7:30am
until slammed against the wall and silenced
but you're then awoken by the cold-sweat panic
coupled with 8am realization
that you were supposed to head to class
ten minutes ago
and with sweatpants and slippers on
you sprint into thirty degrees
fog in the air, fog on your glasses
what a way to start the day!
philosophy ***** but you can't even sleep
hair matted and face oily
you sit there and scribble
every minute passing by slower
making you angrier
and the walk back to isolation
makes your blood boil
so you splash water to get rid of the oil
but now that you're back in a dark and cold room
it's time to hop on to your class on zoom!
you are paying thousands
thousands of dollars
THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS
to group facetime your professor
and spend half the time
experiencing wifi interruptions
and roommate disruptions
and near-screaming eruptions
but then you're done.
but not really!
you have a three-hour lab
and no time to eat before
so your meal is trail mix
and you feel weak and sick
but you have to get through
your gpa is dependent upon
mixing these chemicals correctly
so much depends
upon
a red hot
face
glazed with tear
water
beside the white
lab coats
welcome to your life!
this is what you wanted,
right?
this was your dream?
but your "dream"
has been twisted
and wrung out
of its golden magic
a watered down version
of what you expected
you knew it would be different
you thought maybe a third
would be skimmed off
but, hey, lucky you!
it's not even half full
welcome to your nightmare!
i hope you had a fun day
because now you get to slave
over hours of work
staring at a blue screen
icons melting your eyes
emails ruining your life
all you know in the late hours
is wooden chairs
and agony
so return "home"
tiptoe in the dark
because this is not your place
sharing is caring
spend the next three hours
tossing and turning
because you get to wake up
and do it all over again!
if your life has gone flat
at least you know what to expect
if you can no longer be surprised
can you be pained?
i would say i'm sorry
but you chose this
so kick yourself
put on your mask
and shut up.
this is your fault.
this is your life,
get used to it.
Dec 30, 2020
Dec 30, 2020 at 3:54 PM UTC
.
The pain,
nothing there, emptiness, voided
feelings hollowed out shadowed
disruptions sitting in the darkness,
alone again and it hurts, god it hurts
That song,
melodic interruptions raining memories
from thunder head showers, down
poured sadness of minor keyed
choices played in you and me sorrow
This thought,
talking to me in whispered losses,
breathing my final words of non
seen poetic failures penned in desperate
ink, smeared by free verse tears
The end,
destitute caverns, deep, eternal,
carved in jagged emotions,
rough hewn outcroppings shattering
because we aren’t, anymore
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
Kiss me, cuddle me
arouse me, befuddle me
time albates with seduction
enkindle, caress, slowly undress,
resist all other disruptions.
Nov 11, 2021
Nov 11, 2021 at 5:57 AM UTC
I see the walls to your kingdom,
Across the sea, so far away;
The cerulean waters give me no solace,
As I'm reminded only of that fateful day;
Disruptions plague the tranquil surface,
As I recall the reason I couldn't stay;
A ripple for each fallen tear,
I wish you weren't so far away..
*I stood outside those wretched gates,
Defiance coursing through every vein;
I watched them bolt the locks behind me,
Wasn't long till I felt the pain -
Separated from you, but I still couldn't doubt,
For two words they called to me,
And those were, "Get out."*
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 10:29 PM UTC
Things have been rearranged
There're not as they were
Universal disruptions
Right here on earth
Memory recalls
Stripped from our minds
Where ever life leads me
I note it in rhyme!
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 7:36 AM UTC