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Kim Davis Nov 2013
Be my distraction.
Distract me from life.
Distract me from friends
that make me feel excluded from everything.
Distract me from family
who my mother's driven away,  
who i see few times a year.  
who still hold pity for my loss
as if it wasn't theirs too.
Distract me from compliments
that i automatically think are sarcastic
Distract me from insults
that i respond to with smiles and laughs
because i have too much heart
to make a person feel bad,
and too many insecurities
to break down to people.
Distract me from intelligence
because everyone i surround myself with
is either significantly more or less intelligent than i am
Distract me from choices
because i've lost my sense of leadership,
i'd rather someone make a choice for me ,
be it wrong or right,
and deal with any consequence,
than spend half of my life
trying to pick one.
Distract me from future,
because i still dont know what to do with mine.
because i can only see negative, or see nothing.
Distract me from past,
because i live in it. Because i can't deal with the pain,
the memories constantly reminding me of
how good things once were, all of my grief and all of the feelings
that i didn't feel.
Distract me from you,
i'm over-thinking you, you're a good distraction,
but how can one attempt
to open their mind to possibilities
with it set on any one thing?
Distract me from everything.
I'd give up
my "open mind" ambition
to be distracted by you.
To just be with you, walking, talking, laying, doing anything or nothing,
and not think, for once in my life.
Dylan Barnes Sep 2015
Buy a new shirt
feel good
buy some items
numb the feelings
never have to think about them

feelings idly hiding
beneath the daily distractions
of life

i didn't feel anything
for weeks
and then i realized
it was all hiding
behind these things

these things in my house
these things in my room
these items
all these things

distract distract
anything to distract
from the things
i can't face
the pain
the sorrow
life we can't escape
the sadness
the illness
the death
the loneliness
just distract me
or else I won't last

distract with this
distract with that
until i'm bored
i'll take a nap
then get back
to distract

distraction after distraction
after distraction

what does it all mean?
tell me what it means
because i'm not sure
i can last in this dream
this dream that never ends

why do some suffer
and some don't
some won't know what it feels like
to be comfortable
some only know comfort
some know both

tell me what it all means
or else i'll go back to distracting
why are some distractions bad
and some good
why does it matter

distract, distract
never want to feel that
JJ Hutton Sep 2010
Sit by my side,
talk me through,
let your sweet breath
caress my swollen eyes.

I select you.

Tell me about your past,
talk me through,
each misstep and lie,
the cadence makes it fine.

Curl up next to me,
talk me through,
make sure my heart beats,
but don't let me fall victim to dreams.

Call me your best friend,
talk me through,
if I show weakness, tangle about hair,
please don't call me handsome.

If we make it past night,
if you talked me through,
I'll make you breakfast
and you will make laughter.

Will you select me too?

Let's keep the trade even,
talk me through,
I'll distract you, you'll distract me,
from all the old lovers that proved themselves typical.
Copyright Sept. 17, 2010 by J.J. Hutton
Jacob Traver Oct 2015
Distract the heart with other emotions than that of
Distract the heart with excitement, with laughter, with joy.
Distract it with memories of being a little girl and boy.
Distract it with conversations of intellectual thought,
Though sometimes distract it with those that are not.
Keep it enthralled with the day's many moments.
Enthrall it with what options that day were not chosen.
If sadness does come, welcome it to see
How deeply I do care for thee.
My dearest friend, the only
Whom I write of,
My heart is now
A Sad Alex Sep 2018
can not be found in the flesh
For as warm it may be
As soft to your fingers it is
It will lay soft and cold eventually

can not be found in gold
Yes, it never loses its luster
But many coins you need to muster
And no number will fill the gap in your soul

can not be found in others
For the laughs may distract
The facade will crack
And still you will be empty inside

ilusive as it may be
It follows you around
It never left
For within you she rest
Waiting to be awoken
And while the rest might feel great
They serve as nothing but crutches
On your own you must stand
If you are to revel
On the pleasures life offers...

To improve one self
To look on path troded
It´s essence

To know there is more
With hunger jump forth
It´s rushes

To balance the mind
With the desire of the heart
It´s key

And once held in hand
You will understand
That happiness flies like a bird
But behind she left
And the knowledge
That you can get it again...
It sounds ridiculous but only I feel productive when I'm doing nothing.
Sitting back, just relaxing.
Popping blue beans, burning bowls of green.
And just thinking.
Daydreaming about how things could have been.
How things could still be.
But how things will probably be.
Just close your eyes and let music be your guide.

Entire lives constructed and played out
in grand fashion. A world so detailed
I would rather get lost,
And never come back to this travesty of a society,
so raw and primal.
so human.
My world is so beautiful and yet so depressing
because it's what ours could be, but never will become.
Anything to distract me from this.
The 24 year old burnout grinding through school because there aren't many options left.
So where will I'll be in 5 years?
I wont.
Tanya Louise Jul 2018
thoughts in endless swirling
like a storm
and un-rhythmic beats of my chest
distract me
i should be listening
but my head is lost
far, far gone
deep, deep it's sunk
maybe its your stupid smile
or your uneven words
i should be listening
but the sparks are distracting
they'll surely be a second date
Äŧül Jun 2014
Let me be the Angel
Who bears that pain for you
I am present in your memory
And my thoughts distract you

You will forget the pain
For that lose yourself in me
Always be ready for that detail
Which you find in a stingy bee

I shall as always tell that all is well
Entice you with my newer poems
Just lie back carefree in your bed
Feel me by the side stroking you to sleep.
My HP Poem #643
©Atul Kaushal
Anonymous Nov 2014
When the boy said.
"I love you"
I nearly wept the tears which have been filling since the last one left,
Unsure of my feelings I turn away and look to the ground,
For something,
To distract myself,
I see the garbage, with the used wrappers from our affairs,
Wondering, maybe that's why,
Because why would a boy love me for any other reason but my body?
Because I have been taught to beware those three words,
For those are the words which are spoken when he wants more,
More than your touch,
Or cress,
But your lips,
His, on you hips,
For when the boy said "I love you"
I was confused and concerned,
Because why would he,
Could he,
Love someone like me.
Emily Miller Feb 2018
My father walked me down the aisle,
But my mother held my arm.
He went with me,
But we went not towards the altar,
But towards the door.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And the ***** rang through the church,
Humming through the elaborate crown molding,
Carved by my ancestors.

He went,
Not beside me,
But before me,
And I watched,
As he was illuminated by the bright,
Texas sun.

My father walked me down the aisle,
But I did not wear white.
My father walked me in silence,
And I shed tears not for a man standing at the altar,
But for the one I would never see again.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And no veil obscured my face.
All eyes were upon me, but not for my pristine beauty,
Instead for my clenched jaw and furrowed brow,
Severe and fierce to distract from my glassy eyes.

My father did not leave me at the end of our walk to sit beside my mother.
She clung to me for support and sobbed breathlessly,
And I carried her with one hand,
My sister the other,
And walked towards my future.
A future family,
Not one person more,
But one person less.
I walked,
One final time,
With him.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And I will never forget it.
Hundreds of eyes isolating my family from the crowd,
Slow and muffled sounds drowning in the deafening beat of my heart,
Blurred faces staring,
Black heels clacking against the cobbled path from the church,
The anguished wails of my mother,
The whimpering of my sister,
And the wooden box that glided before us,
A string tied to our patriarch,
The pin key of our family,
Pulled taut and then snipped with the slam of the hearse doors.

My father walked me down the aisle,
Before I had a chance to grow up.
He walked me,
Out of the church,
Away from the altar,
Never to be walked again.
Sia Jane Mar 2014
Dearest Destined Jewel,
                                         Of longest heartfelt yearning, Bestow on thee, Hamlet awaits, Ophelia picking flowers, Magnolia branches speaking, Beautifications of Spring.

Supreme buds of new life,  Magnoliaceae of Queen bees, An enterprise of wonder, Symbolic child's enchanted play, Faeries in flight whisper attractions, Fondness, Les fleurs du mal.

Ample blossoms, Bosoms of delight, Devouring light, Little birds sing, Nestling, Chirping a languishing cacophony, Blissful unawareness, Nature nurture the soul.

A slip then fall, Nearby church bells distract, Into abyss fallen, Elevated body all at once, Floating amidst flora, Drowning, Petticoat woven dress, Resting on fresh valley water, Immersion, No contention, Hamlet awaits.

© Sia Jane
Sorry for the absence and I hope to catch up on all your poems soon!!
Marietta Ginete Aug 2017
I dream of dancing with you.
Although, I'm not exactly good at it.
I dream about just us two,
Dancing and moving together, sounds fun, I'll admit.

I would love to dance,
as long as it's with you.
I'd give dancing a chance,
if you taught me how to.

I'm sorry if I step on your feet.
I'm not the best dancer.
I'll try to move with the beat,
I'll distract you from her.
Dancing never really was my thing.
Melissa Mutch Mar 2012
Distract me now
if only for a few seconds
let this chaos keep kicking up the dust
continue the scattering and never let it settle.
Distract me again
just a couple minutes longer
let pulsing veins feed the beating which is cracking open my heart
the same heart that enclosed you now sets you free.

Distract me Divert me Detour me from this jaded circle I'm Spinning.

Be my decoy.

I've freed you, but who can free me?
now so entangled, so trapped, I forget how to see.
These artist's hands smeared with the shades of shame
This poets dreams only dungeons of deep doubts and disapointments
and I can sense the echo of it's bass in the hollow of my soul
and feel how the erosion of silent suffering has made a shallow hole

Distracted too long
and not even the phoenix song
can raise my spirits from this new-found gravity.
This pressure creates a wave of liquid fire
threatening to burn me with flames to inspire
but without hope, these dreams, these hands, cannot hold what they desire

Hoplessly distracted
and time spent wasted seems exponentially extended.
The spell of worry and hesitation has overcast my mind
letting the gloom sink the sunshine.
Selfishly baiting negativity, I wore a mask. I pretended.

Distract the demon this time,
hold him off as long as you can
to escape his hold on me is my only plan
feed me full of courage, strength and wisdom, I want my belly to ache
and maybe then my voice can make his grip slip and this earth quake.
the ground will shake, this mask will break, opening my senses to the universe that I can make.

Steve Page Nov 2016
It's advent:
Angels invite you to
Adventures in worship in your
Annual observation in
Anticipation of the divine,
Awaiting, acclaiming the King.

The red coats are coming,
The red coats are coming
(but don't let them distract you).
Stay focused now.  He's no longer a babe in a manger, He's now a resurrected King.
Kirsten Autra Sep 2010
Ohhh the **** I have read online.
The **** that erupts from our mouths,
and through our finger tips,
Mine of course included in that heap
of never ending opinions.

Hey, what buttons are you clicking on now?
Pressing, and touching.
All I hear is the click clack of nothing.
So go ahead, let these very words
distract, distract, distract

Yeah, the world has changed.
Surely it has even rearranged its concepts and morals.
Just turn on the tube, and you'll see the explicit truth
displayed like the movement of our bowels.
**** I tell ya.

It's concentrated into little advertisements
for the endless materials we don't need.
Saturated in the last morsel of humanity,
we disregarded the taste,
and chose to live in the corruption,
believing something
will save us.
We wait and do nothing,
expecting it to just happen.
Well wait no longer,
just keep browsing the web.
                  I'll probably just
writing these words,
into your eyes they will be fed.

Maybe it's just my mind that has become rotten
in all the moments of life that were forgotten,
due to the distractions.
                               All the distractions.
I guess it's just difficult to grasp them,
but still, it is hard
Getting used to the stench our minds have created,
allowing ourselves to become jaded
in technology.

While without knowing
that we are telling ourselves,
                                               Why not let truth be left for the dusty books on the shelves.
Stephen E Yocum Aug 2018
Power is indeed a corruptive force,
Through all of mankind’s history
This has always been true.
Emperors, Kings, Potentates,
Popes, Presidents and Despots too.

Gathering near the Throne are the
Eager Courtier leeches reaching to
touch the anointed one’s robe.
Declaring their undying loyalty,
In the process selling their souls.
Their rewards, a speck of personal power,
Castles and new riches of gold.

Like their Master, the entitled ones
will lie and cheat, while ignoring
The principals of right and good.
Believing “Decency” is but a
poor man’s word, Never uttered
within the hearing of the Ruler.
Never a considered artifact of
absolute power.

The slaves, serfs, the common people
Matter not, but to serve the needs of the Ruler.
The power elite will start needless wars,
or offer up sacrificial lambs, all to distract
the unrest of the common man.
They will suppress human rights,
free speech and defame, banish
or imprison their detractors.

All merely smoke and mirrors to conceal,
Controlling agendas of personal greed.
From ancient times down to today
This cycle repeats. Now we are living
our own Textbooks history of tomorrow.

Kingdoms and Nations have perished
From this kind of poisonous corruption,
Needless to say, it will happen again.
Perhaps it already is.
Unless this write is too obtuse, We all
need to change our history to come.
Stand up and speak out and vote.
Amarys Dejai Jul 2018
Isn’t is strange how we notice things when it is too late?
This is probably the last time that all of us will be in the car together. There will be no more midnight drives from hillside theatres. No more 2am dinner plans at kerbey lane.
This is the first time that I have noticed that you twirl your hair when you drive. My eyes have shifted from cityscapes flying across backseat windows to watching you wrap your hair around your finger.
It’s not slow and flirtatious, but quick and desparate, as if you're trying to distract yourself from the fact that we are growing up. It’s making me anxious, but I can’t look away.
This is the first time that I noticed the change in our silence. We are driving down nearly empty highways, and we are leaving behind our time. We are no longer laughing, and this silence doesn’t feel like it usually does. For once, none of us have anything to say. Or maybe, we know that there is not enough time to say all of the things that we should and want to say.
This is when I noticed how much I love driving down empty highways at midnight. Everything is slow, there is no rush, and, for once, there are no expectations of me.
I am finally, truly noticing that there will never be enough time to tell you all that I love you,
to hear you talk about science,
to hear about your travels,
to talk to you about your struggles,
to drive, and laugh, and cry with you,
to watch you twirl you hair.
Now, we have grown up, and our distances will strain our years of friendships,
and there will never be enough time with you.
Madisen Kuhn Jul 2013
you told me to take up new hobbies
to distract myself from the pain
you were causing me

you told me to learn origami
so i did
and now my room is crowded
by paper cranes folded each time
your name came to mind

and you told me
to learn how to juggle
so i did
but not in the way
you were talking about
Via Vinson Apr 2016
I used to write my poems
for you.
for you to know that
you're worth more than a million words.

And even one million words wouldn't
begin to cover how much you mean to me.

But now my Love,
I write to forget about you.
I write to distract myself,
to lure my mind
from the things I want to forget.

and it's you.
you are the one i'm trying to regret.

likeaghosttoyou Nov 2014
it tears me to pieces.
it literally ***** the life out of me.
 i am already so broken; having to forget another person i love? that will destroy me. 

she said ; the next one you open up too will have to pay for that. 
 you cannot fully forget; you distract yourself from thinking. you distract yourself to keep yourself sane. 

I am on this path of destruction and it is fueled by sadness.
   soon there will be nothing left of me. 
   that scares me. a lot.
Jack Thompson Mar 2015
I'm cold. A chill in the air.
Wood fire dwindling to smolders.
Ash crisped cinders to share.
Cotton between our shoulders.
That endearing musk of burnt wood.

A soft kiss on your cheek.
My arm wrapped round you.
I whisper in your ear
those words I do love to speak.

"I'll distract you not from the beauty of this world,
nor the loves you've counted.
I'll never let you waver from your hearts dream.
Stay true - look up ahead and mine will be seen."

This faint light up ahead.
It flickers and dances.
Clawing and bubbling to break.
Daylight will be upon us, no chances.
Don't blink or you'll miss this.
The birth of life - light years away.
An explosion of color flooding the sky.
Life inspiring feeling - opposite to grey.
Rain of warm power filling my voids.

A dream born anew each day.
A love found in you.
Explored in every single way.
A never ending gift.
If only we're awake.

Just then as it broke.
Did you feel it?
I felt yours and you mine.
Our hopes and dreams become one.
A valley of trust now glowing.
Warm tones red through yellow.
Delivered by the morning saint.
My dream revealed.
Endless passion only the sun could paint.

Has it made its way to you?
© All Rights Reserved Jack Thompson 2015
brokenperfection Sep 2014
let's you and I mingle with the tantalizing Sirens

their Song, so seductive, will distract you while I

lead Odysseus to our spacious secret cave  

which-- I have newly prepared with Calypso's blessing

[I dare say she seems to have a crush on my Odysseus!]
Joanna Grace Jun 2014
the storm blew in from the south
steaming hot tea filled my mouth
and the blanket hid my insecure legs

if reading will make me sound wise
then why do these tears fill my eyes
on this journey to lose my innocence

as i learn of new thoughts and new things
and learn how to pluck at the strings
my afternoon damns the fumbling thoughts
far away in the hells of despair
i found growth but there is a winter waiting to **** it
Bleurose Dec 2016
I will not be with you forever.

It’s a simple truth many do not wish to hear, we may split apart in life due to differences of any kind, our bodies may fail us, only for our spirits to be separated for all eternity.

But no matter what happens, a part of me will always love you, and I know this. You’ve wrapped yourself so tightly into me, and I didn’t notice. How?
I will never know how, when I had pushed my walls up higher than they had ever been. If a prince could not love me then what good was I to anyone else. I had given up until you convinced me to try.

I don’t miss you like I feel I should, I know I am broken but I hate it, it is not fair on you. Should love be suffering? I’m not sure, I never have been sure.

I develop crushes, I watch tv shows – all to distract myself from the thought of you, the thought of loving so deeply again.

Please understand that I do not understand, but I theorise it is because I am terrified of losing myself. I’m scared of splitting into pieces that I can’t stick back together because ****, the last time I loved, oh the last time I loved I gave my entire self in all its forms and it wasn’t enough.

But I’m trying to make sure you stay, because, without you, I’d be so lonely and lost. I am trying to communicate and...

I'm sorry.
Claire Hanratty Apr 2017
It is ironic, Salvador, because
I am afraid of many things in the world and when I am with you I feel safe,
Yet your company is the one thing I am afraid of most.
I know that I love and need you more than you will ever love and need me and that
One day you will be free
With another woman and I will be
Left paying for my sins against God and
My rights against the state.

I thought that our love would have no limits;
You said that I am a Christian storm but
I know that you can brave this tempest and
Save me from myself.

I am a poet, Salvador, but
Whenever I sit down to try to write a poem about you,
Or even just how I feel about you,
I am unable to because
I am lost for words.
I can no longer express myself.  

I remember the beach.
We would lie there for hours
And on its sand we would kiss not just with our lips but
With our eyes.
The water will miss our visits,
Its body seldom taken by another-
As opposed to being constantly engulfed by two artistic lovers.
I have received my seaside medicine
-Via touch of tongue
And word of hand-
But have come to the realisation that you have in fact
Poisoned me.
I shall never be cured now.

The smoke from silent guns has already risen but
I am severed from the call to a fight with myself;
A conflict to choose between God
and you,
Despite the fact that you are the same.
You distract me from every focus-
Even though we are miles apart;
Even though you have replaced my words with your art,
You have broken me, yet
You make me

Where is your warmth now, Salvador?
I am alone by the sea trembling with the cold
That you swore I would never feel again.
The winter will devour me as a result of your failing to relight the fire that is supposed to
Ignite me.
You promised me life with a portrait machine
But in all honesty
What I really want to be
Promised with is your faith,
In me.
Nicola-Isobel H Jan 2011
I choke on tears,
Between the smiles you bring,
While he pushes me closer,
Closer to the edge,
Closer to Death,
You beg me not to give in,
I don't know if I want to anymore,
Distract me some more, please?
©Nicola-Isobel H.     02.01.2011
Give me a smoke to ease this pain
Burn down my lungs to distract this brain.
Ryan Jakes Dec 2014
My dream girl found a lover
She speaks of him in rhyming lines
the joy she feels dancing between every heart shaped syllable,
thumbing it's nose at my breaking heart.

My dream girl found a lover
the deal was sealed with a rain soaked kiss
and hands that fit just-so.
A love tightly bound,
according to her rose tinted ink.

My dream girl found a lover
I hope he hears the fragility in her sighs
over the beauty that radiates when her smile crinkles her nose,
for that alone can distract a man from the sound of breaking.

My dream girl found a lover
to mend her broken heart,
a coveted position filled.
Leaving me forever dreaming
of almosts and half smiles.
She really did, I'm not surprised, just happy for her, sad for me....story of my life.
lucia vieites May 2015
I have trust issues.
not because I mistook a raisin for a chocolate chip,
but I mistook you as a person who wouldn't hurt me.
Who wouldn't let me be tortured under the world's pressures
You knew I was treasure but locked me away in your cheap jewelry box
So, when I was freed of a year's slavery,
I built my wall
Much taller and stronger than before,
just to hope  it'd scare away monsters like you from my door.
Until one learned how to climb.
In time, I let his angel face distract me from his devil's soul
But the guards of my heart blocked him out before I paid another toll.
My wall was built and rebuilt a million times
I installed the blinds and laid alone.
Until a price charming climbed along
or does he belong to those monsters?
My heart says no
but my trust issues say yes
what if he can actually break the spell placed on me?
Sam Bowden Jan 2019
My darling...
Look around, and tell me what you see?
Glittering gold?
A buffet of bodies?
Fake smiles, and money?
Even in the desert oasis of this world,
most things are a mirage,
meant to distract us from what’s most important.
So please,
my darling...
When you find something real,
that gives life depth,
and grabs you by the throat,
hold onto it for dear life.
Pagan Paul Jan 2019
Jerrica had found Lost.
The treasure buried above ground.
The memory foam with dementia.
The quill with no nib …
she thought about feather pens.
Catching herself from falling
the swoon had caught her cold.
This **** ****** sword
was proving to be elusive
and now she was under sustained attack.
From a personal fetish.
It just wouldn't leave her alone,
creeping into her mind unbidden.
She needed to scratch an itch,
if only she knew what that itch was.

Trolls are magickally bound to their bridge.
Leaving it is usually fatal.
But Gyb had bones to gnaw,
and once he had his teeth employed
his mind was a captive onlooker.
A crazy plan formed in his head,
possibly avoiding the brain.
He took mud and formed a figure,
then some of his hair clippings
moulded into the head.
Then he took a leap of disbelief!
He looked into the river and … Click!
Snapped his fingers and fixed the image.
He cut it out of the meniscus
and attached it to the doll familiar.

“Did Achilles have damp ankles
or was he well heeled?”
Morfine had asked Choklut.
“Neither. He was the one who sneezed
and opened the Fête of the Suitors”.
“No. I think he was called Telemarketing,
he sneezed and they drew the tombola raffle”.
“Wasn't there a Goddess involved as well?”.
“Um … Yes, maybe the Goddess of Tissues?”.
“Snivel? No, she is more tears than snot.
I think its the one who turned her husband
into a swan, and made him ****** her handmaiden”.
“Oooo Nasty!”
“No, Nasty fell in love with his own profile,
and called things off with his nymph,
the reverberations can still be heard today”.
There was a brief pause … then,
“What are we doing Choklut?
We found a magickal sword and …
talking of which, where is it?”.
“I don't know. You had it last”.
Just then a serving girl gave them a note.
It said. Tomatoes, Peppers, Onions, Eggs …
“Not that side you dyk” she said.
Morfine turned the note over and read.
“Quick, no time to lose.
Someone saw the sword in the river.
We have to get to stanza 8
before it goes over the waterfall!”.
“Oh” said Choklut “I've never seen a stanza belly flop”.

It was true.
Contrary to the laws of physics.
Kelm saw the sword floating down river.
It looked like any other sword.
So he let it be, dismissed it.
He couldn't swim anyway.
He mused on the irony of that.
Nobody learnt to swim and yet drowning
was an undignified death for a barbarian.
If he could swim
he could find the fishes hiding places.

Jerrica had also been musing.
With a Poet.
That was during the last 3 stanza's.
But now …
she saw a sword floating in the river.
Something didn't quite fit.
Something was not in the right place.
She placed the Poet back in her breast pocket.
'If only he wasn't just 4 inches high' she thought
'he is rather handsome and intelligent'.
Bingo! She had it. But she didn't want it.
Armydiseases Principle of Liquid Dispersement!
It states!
Introduce a solid object into a body of liquid,
then the corresponding volume of liquid is dispersed
back to the nearest solid.
So, right now there is a very small flood
in the shape of a very small sword
ravishing the local area.
She decided, quite rightly as it turns out,
that she was feeding herself a red herring.

Slim stood on the bridge
staring at the churning water below.
How did it happen?
A stanza all of his own,
ruined by the intrusion of morons.
“Morfine and Choklut” he bellowed
“I'm going to eviscerate you”.
The wind carried a few of the words away,
but that was the gist of it.
“Hello” a voice said.
Slim had an accident, and jumped out of his skin.
And plunged into the cold water.
A strong arm pulled him out,
and he was face to face with a troll.
“My name is Gyb. I hate Morf Chok also”.
Nothing had prepared Slim for meeting a troll.
Not even the etti-queue-etti lessons at school.
'Would you care for afternoon tea?'
seemed rather inappropriate.
Gyb broke the awkward silence.
“Look! Sword floating”.
Slim didn't look.
Convinced the troll would eat him.
Thats their way. Distract and devour.
But he couldn't help it, he snuck a look.
And the sword slid on by gently bobbing,
tiny little runes glinting in the sun.

For its part the sword was serenity itself.
Chilled out to the max.
Resting on the water. Relaxing and reclining.
Life was good for the sword.
It had just passed a boy fishing,
poking his rod down a fish hole.
It had passed a young woman,
who looked confused and flustered.
It slid under a stone bridge.
A troll with a doll,
and a man with questionable odour.
And then he heard the roaring.
He sent out his senses,
no mean feat for a sword,
and 'felt' its surroundings.
Its image eye caught sight of the future.
It was an effing great waterfall.
And the future was the way he was heading.
For now.

Narrative Interlude

At this point in the story the author, Pagan Paul, is compelled
to inform the reader/listener of a complaint received
from Messrs Morfine and Choklut.
The substance of which amounts to the following:
That the said author is willfully under using their talent
as supporting cast and denying them access to many stanza's.
Furthermore they are threatening to expose the authors
'irregularities' in his relationship with Princess (name redacted).
The author, Pagan Paul, responds thus:
I should like to remind Messrs Morfine and Choklut
that, with astroke of my quill, I can eradicate them.
Drop them from the story all together.
And with reference to Princess (name redacted) -
'Its my Poem and I'll irregularit if I want to'.
Dear reader/listener prepare yourself for stanza 9.
It has a waterfall in it.
Maybe Morfine and Choklut will appear, maybe not.
They are the ones over a barrel.

Minutes after the sword floated by
something else caught her eye.
To boys on a barrel, in the water.
Boys barreling along or a barrel buoying along?
Choklut noticed her by the bank.
'funny place to have a cash machine' he thought.
Doing his best to impress and look brave.
Morfine waved and nearly fell off.
Suddenly the barrel lid opened
and Slim poked his head out like a tortoise.
“What the …?” said Choklut.
“Just repaying a debt boys” he said.
“But you owe us nothing” Morfine replied.
“Oh but I do” snarled Slim
“I owe you one times intrusion into your own stanza”.
He ducked back inside, and slammed the lid.
“Of all the fatherless ...”
“I blame the author” said Choklut.
“Yeah well, he is the one who's gonna be sorry,
we've just muscled in on stanza 8,
and relegated that waterfall to stanza 9” Morfine chimed.
“Morfine. Morfine! I hear the waterfall coming”.
“No! Not now. He has to leave it until 9 now,
we are about to cross the finish line on 8”.
The waterfall loomed.

Actually the waterfall knew nothing of weaving.
It just stayed where it was, pouring.
Spectacular, it was a very pretty waterfall.
It must be. It attracted tourists.
And it had fun!
It loved watching detritus tumble,
teeter on the brink. And fall.
Especially tourists.
It was over 300 paces high,
less than 40 paces wide,
its descent magnificent liquid ballet,
sparkling droplets shining like jewels,
forever transcending light refraction,
and plunging, plunging, plunging,
into a gorgeous azure puddle.
About ankle deep.

© Pagan Paul (17/01/19)
3rd poem in my Strange World collection.

Part 3 out soon :)
Mir Nov 2015
"Distract me"
"From what?" he asked, looking into her dark pupils.
"My mind" she answered,  fixating her attention on scars englufing her broken body.
who knew a mind could be so ******* lethal?
A Sad Alex Aug 2018
I wonder if you dream of me
If you remember me at all
I dream about you sometimes
It´s all I have since you are gone

I dream of us alone
People are so much noise
They distract me from what I want
You smile, your kisses and so much more...

I wonder if you think about me
If you can even think anymore
I think about you often
The cuddling, the hugs, the walks...

And it fills me with memories
Of things that can´t return
I yearn for remedies
For the malady of your loss

Yet what my heart aches
Is nothing compared to yours
I hope you can think of me, my love
As you lay dead on the earth
And you mind on the void...
Well time to honor my pen name with a sad poem, I find that now I just think of verses and try to build the poem around it, before I just felt a jolt of inspiration and poured it onto writting, but now I´m growing more methodical, guess reading as many poems as I do now to seek inspiration does that, regardless of that I hope you fine folk enjoy it nevertheless!
Shaun Meehan Nov 2014
Features, my reflection—
subtle hints stare back offering wordless reply,
their evidence a betrayal of age.
A wrinkle looking deeper,
mane of face, of head—hairs
fresh lacking pigment.

Vain attempts made to mend heart,
to sooth soul's dread.
Testimony of experience
of wisdom, persistence, perception,
an impotent contraceptive, the argument

Regret to cloud memory, my youth
seeming a flesh and blood cliche.
Tiny footnotes heavy with prose,
words in bold
to distract mind's eye—a demand of attention.
Edging out tomb's more beautiful weight
of love and heartache
of passion's attempt failing,
to try again, sinking before succeeding.
An era's dusk and dawn anew, life's advent
unpredictable—without cause changing.

Notion hanging lingering, poisoning future,
the venom of defeat an insidious invasion.
This new age creeping toward night
in this stage my life's sun less bright.
Maturity's introduced responsibility,
some enjoyable while others to own hostility.
A brigand mugging freedom—time for leisure.
Spurring combat for what remains of youth,
fingers wrapping air in futile seizure.

The inevitable to command subservience,
presuming ownership of life, though the mature
demonstrate the defiance of the immature.
Objects, activities, music assaulting ear,
their manner,
symbols of strict adherence to who once was—
a spiteful surrender refusal.

A piece of me defining me until no more,
years holding power—threatening
to change who I am at very core.
Canvas construction the colour of murre,
rubber toe caps the shade of pure.
Design worn since youth, dead and resurrected;
a million mile shoe of valorous resistance—insurrection,
a Converse rebellion.
In torment of age's scars,
I'll never be too old to wear my All Stars.
Mara Dec 2011
How many times can I check facebook, check facebook check facebook?
Glance, browse stalk, stalk harder.
How many times can I watch a show on my computer?
Watched, finished, next episode next episode next episode-caught up
How many times can I get distracted, get distracted check emails—no new messages
Entertain me, distract me, disconnect
I want to be turned on standby, autopilot, you can think for me
Keep the walls of paper from burying me, suffocating me
Intellectually flat-line, a mental goodbye
Lose consciousness, fake my awake
Get lost, then found then actually find my way back to my workload
Attempt the task that terrifies
Look it in the eye,
Unafraid eager and tackle it down to the ground
One subject two three,
But the pile it looms over me, consumes me
I bit off more than I can chew
Teeth that don’t release, don’t retract
All I think of is how I should act
Attack, straight on? That’s the best bet
Nothing was ever accomplished by sitting down in fret
The stakes are just too high to try
A failed attempt changes impressions
On a sunny brae alone I lay
One summer afternoon;
It was the marriage-time of May,
With her young lover, June.

From her mother's heart seemed loath to part
That queen of bridal charms,
But her father smiled on the fairest child
He ever held in his arms.

The trees did wave their plumy crests,
The glad birds carolled clear;
And I, of all the wedding guests,
Was only sullen there!

There was not one, but wished to shun
My aspect void of cheer;
The very gray rocks, looking on,
Asked, "What do you here?"

And I could utter no reply;
In sooth, I did not know
Why I had brought a clouded eye
To greet the general glow.

So, resting on a heathy bank,
I took my heart to me;
And we together sadly sank
Into a reverie.

We thought, "When winter comes again,
Where will these bright things be?
All vanished, like a vision vain,
An unreal mockery!

"The birds that now so blithely sing,
Through deserts, frozen dry,
Poor spectres of the perished spring,
In famished troops will fly.

"And why should we be glad at all?
The leaf is hardly green,
Before a token of its fall
Is on the surface seen!"

Now, whether it were really so,
I never could be sure;
But as in fit of peevish woe,
I stretched me on the moor,

A thousand thousand gleaming fires
Seemed kindling in the air;
A thousand thousand silvery lyres
Resounded far and near:

Methought, the very breath I breathed
Was full of sparks divine,
And all my heather-couch was wreathed
By that celestial shine!

And, while the wide earth echoing rung
To that strange minstrelsy
The little glittering spirits sung,
Or seemed to sing, to me:

"O mortal! mortal! let them die;
Let time and tears destroy,
That we may overflow the sky
With universal joy!

"Let grief distract the sufferer's breast,
And night obscure his way;
They hasten him to endless rest,
And everlasting day.

"To thee the world is like a tomb,
A desert's naked shore;
To us, in unimagined bloom,
It brightens more and more!

"And, could we lift the veil, and give
One brief glimpse to thine eye,
Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live,
BECAUSE they live to die."

The music ceased; the noonday dream,
Like dream of night, withdrew;
But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem
Her fond creation true.

Published in the 1846 collection Poems By Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell under Emily's nom de plume 'Ellis Bell'.
Nameless Jan 2016
When it comes for the weekend,
I'm happy to have a short break
from the hectic daily life of school.
I'm grounded, stuck in my room.
Netflix, Youtube, and video games
help distract me...
I feel really lonely.
so inexplicably lonely.

— The End —