"dizzied" poems
Enamored of the possible, and racing,
Through a winding maze of endless choices,
Daunted by the obstacles we're facing, and
Dizzied by the clamor's many voices,
Shackled by a heavy chain of causes,
Binding us to all we've ever known,
The many paths before us give us pause, as
We struggle to define which are our own,
Within a world that's not of our own making
We anxiously await the day we'll find,
A journey worthy of our undertaking, so
That purpose in our lives may be defined, but
Perhaps our fate condemns us all to wander, and
Our lives are merely mysteries to ponder
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 10:35 AM UTC
stranded in
the beauty of her throat shunted
her preference
a short drop
in a bulwark twisting knot
a hanged ghastly pendent
her feet arching desperately in search of a floor
they will never find
obedient!
yet
her face
a hideous insubordination
she dissolves like tropical butter
a screaming silence
a falling prayer
shuddering
with downward sloping limbs
she
blue
hemorrhaging
eyes wobbled
bulging to break into paradise
tumbling
like a dizzied cyclops
as numb lipped jutting howls
turn cement
always willing to help
he scums
for her
in pulsing heaves
of beatific gush
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 10:46 AM UTC
a black bat
hangs upside down
digesting a fly
his face almost human
a flying Frankenstein
he excretes
puddles of guano
like miniature buttered popcorn
a dark and wavy goulash
gods gift
to beetles and worms
dizzied overheated men look on
to an uproarious variety hour
of song and a high heeled kicks
inspiring
a tempest of throbbing
whisky drenched
folded ***** and cash
trouser trout fish,
undulant
sexed up
tape worms for love
pulse the night
egging on bunny **** pom poms
devout finger puppets of Eros
for
shimmering ****** lipstick twilled vibratos
sequined tassel spinning areolas
and lavish come **** me dance girls
bring down the house in flames
making hearts apostate
clamoring
and melt men like steaming everglades
the bat
hangs from the chandelier
licks his black lips
and looks on to panorama of hieroglyphics
hearing music
a thunderous nonsense
witnessing visions
of
flies, tasty white winged moths
and the thrill of screams
while biting the head off of another bat
in a claret stained red velvet cabaret
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
How is it, that I'm so perplexed?
You utterly confuse me
Your words, your actions, your motives...
They leave me dumbfounded.
It's always a game of guess and check
Except, I'm never right
How is that?
Do your words have a double meaning I fail to catch?
Perhaps there is no double meaning,
I'm pondering apparitions.
I'm slowly going mad,
Trying to figure out your game,
A hamster on a wheel,
Spinning and spinning in circles, dizzied.
You are my greatest challenge,
My 1,000,000 piece puzzle,
My epiphany forever out of reach,
My unsolvable riddle,
My terrible sphinx,
You will never reveal the solution, will you?
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
Memories, memories,
Demons destined to remind!
Memories, memories,
Extricate them from my mind!
Alas! They echo toward me
As ripples in the brain.
Evoked by love and roses
They prickle me insane.
Oh, I remember…
*The hour summons a restless, withered afternoon
During which I succumbed to ravenous decay.
I desperately chased feelings like an unhinged loon,
Swifting through my pond in fear, panic, and dismay.*
Impeccable beauty
& fanciful expectation:
I was thwarted by both.
Each summoned its own
Distinct, rolling shadow.
Oh I remember…
*I was washed forth by whistling tides of tomorrow,
Clinging to a heart I could not own or borrow.
My feelings, whisked in transit, dizzied by the fray,
Yearned for second chances to conquer yesterday.*
Gelid gloom would
Permeate my heart,
Tearing me apart.
Haunted by a feeling
I could not possess,
I drowned in
Darkness.
Oh I remember...
*Loneliness was chronic; slowly it tapped time;
My life become a poem lacking voice and rhyme.
As silent afternoons would coalesce into years,
My dreams burst into smoke & hope thawed into tears.*
Memories, memories,
Are nothing more than that.
Memories, memories,
**** **** ****
I do not wish to remember,
But dare not to forget
Moments that once plagued me:
Moments I regret.
*No matter how strong be my will,
These memories will haunt me still.*
Oh how I wish not to remember...
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC
I have wearied of grand romances
Of deep sighs and swooning trances
Of doting gentlemen’s advances
And all manner of courtship play
I am tired of love confessions
And of dizzied, dazed professions
And of unrestrained obsessions
I grow sicker day by day
I once dreamed of adoration
Went quite mad for veneration
Laughing, flirting with temptation
The queen in Camelot
The lonely, lovely Guinevere
Dainty-masked with girlish fear
But when King Arthur wasn’t near
Dreaming of Sir Lancelot
These days I want no noble knight
Despite my seeming helpless plight
I wish to set myself aright
And tread upon the ground
Yet here I am, pedestal-high
Too close to the dazzling sky
As my life keeps passing by
And boys keep running round
I’ve let myself grow much too proud
Drew up arrogance from the crowd
Heard the cheering, bright and loud
The queen in Camelot
And though I had my faithful Sir
Still my heart was all astir
With flying fancies, all a blur
For Guinevere and Lancelot
These fantasies have grown too old
I’d rather let my bed grow cold
For I have wearied of being told
“You are mine to keep”
Men have tired me to the core
Left me sad and sick and sore
And have turned into such a chore
And I’d much rather sleep
What blasphemy for a maiden fair
To toss such doting to the air
To turn away without much care
Though queen in Camelot
But I have withered, I have tired
Felt as if my brain’s been mired
And find not Arthur much desired
Nor dashing Lancelot
Is it so bad to want respite
From endless longing, day and night?
This constant charm becomes too trite
With ever staler tone
I only wish to rest a while
Recover from incessant guile
Forget the weight of lovers’ trial
And simply be alone
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
31 days, its been 31 days and i've been dazed, you've dizzied me
I spoke to God on day 30 while you lay asleep and I held you for what felt like it was the last time
It cut and healed all at once.
As I held you and spoke to a God I know you don't believe in I said,
God you astonish me for making a being so instantly resplendent who when dissected still is flowering on the inside
You are spring,
And as spring goes else where Robert Graves' 'I will write' sits in me and I have tears stuck in my throat
I let them stay and know this has been beautiful
You are spring, you are flowering inside and I am jealous of all that will experience your constitution
But you have taught me your philosophy, painted me with your utilitarianism
So I won't pluck the flowers and pray all who revel in your immensity water you
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 10:55 AM UTC
Them bastardized youths fell outside, dizzied by a reality unsolved.
Their maws scowled judgment and drooled Pabst down improbable bodies each of them lay in the stink of subtle conformity.
Fiercely unique culture beasts starved away in suburbs; Wikidrifting, those drugged litterbugs scampered.
Dropout fish fast against the current of their time, tired from dancing through desperate crowded nights and disparate lonely dawns, dangling degrees and the specters of success burning incessant their pride.
They were the ******** made so over time contracted by blind parents to nine-to-blithes in which quiet desperation, credit nooses, and irony were the small print.
They were carpenters afraid of their hands. With chisel to headstone, they lied on the hoods of used Japanese cars, panning the radio for a real connection and gazing up at vanishing constellations.
They were their poison and they their elixir, but a cold cigarette was a much quicker fixer of Helplessness Blues and the back of a Bible where a brief intellectual wrote “I am suicidal.”
For how does the turn of the epigram read to those who care less with every new beat of a drummed-up society so high off its piety that seeing stars vanish is simply a shame?
Those ******** dropouts tragically remiss, those Supertramps, Kerouacs, Cohens, and wits.
They were the alternative, urbanite fools that littered alleys with Greek fables and Tibetan tattoos.
Criterion flash cards and the literary canon allowed them to flirt with god in verse and art clues until Pollock’s canvas did rip off their eyelids which left them to know only Socrates knew.
They danced and they writhed, then ****** to pass time, and kept on their passions till lost were their minds. Then they all died, those blasphemous ********
But at least they washed on the back of their crimes.
At least they danced.
At least they were.
And there may be something to movement in chaos.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 8:06 PM UTC
twirling sweeping circle-strokes of a paintbrush
on a color-soaked canvas
and humming softly in the
quiet
of the room
and the
quiet
of the creating
and thinking as a dip into the
swirl of color on a rainbow pallet,
the point of the brush into a dab of
yellow-green and blue
red at the corners and a swirl of
purple
and drifting across
already paint-curled surface giving
life to the lifeless and
color
depth
meaning
to something simple
and so, so complex.
studying, softly, with
open-swirled mind
dizzied with the colors and the
unspoken and unspeakable
meanings they have and they hold
you.
sighing and shifting, glancing
from one painting to the next
to your own and
spreading colors like a waterstain
beautiful and unstoppable, this
madness
this
abandonment
this
knowing of the world in a point-tipped paintbrush
this
holding of the world in your paint-stained hands.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 6:28 PM UTC
sinking drowning dying [spinning] throwing going
down
around inside my head it unfurls
the fire unleased and spent and taken
by surprise I’m falling spiralling twisting-
turning and dizzied by the lack of breathing
Picked UP and lost in the hustle of going
going being seeing buying lying through the
truth becoming clearer by nights of w a r p e d
mirrors and powdered lines in scheming minds
of the bad choiced losers of our time.
Shaking hands and sleeping bands the drum
pounds a beat in my head that I can hear as
I leap from incandescent memory to horror
film in one swift turn of phrase.
Goodnight and goodbye stars and constellations
That once played an intricate role.
you have been most helpful –
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
There is a beetle on the high street,
pushing the sun along at a fraction-
0f-a-mile-per-hour. He is pondering
his plans for the summer.
Perhaps different venues?
Perhaps different dung?
But he knows it's all foolishness.
He never goes anywhere.
Then a god falls out of the sky.
Not a particularly large one,
a medium-sized god as far as
they go. Roughly human-
shaped. Not counting those
streaming banners of fire
that pour from his eyes.
Few humans have burning eyes.
A dagger drips from an open
wound and he clenches his
blood (it is his own blood) in his hand.
More are coming he realizes.
All of them. And he's quite
correct. Without trumpets or
lights or choruses or bowls or
scrolls, it starts to rain.
The beetle pauses in his
pilgrimage to survey the
man underneath the god's feet.
A hand in a crater of asphalt
with a keen, nigh-inaudible
wheeze of breath. A cough
and a choke.
And the beetle scuttles on.
They fall from clouds that aren't,
I mean, actually in the sky. They crush
buildings and businessmen, They
eat fountains. They descend into an
unthinkable and unthinking
age like a dizzied chorus that cannot
pick up on the beat. Purple sash
and green helm, They build mountains.
Teeth chip around the clay- the men
and women- like fireworks.
The gods' great works resolve
like a finished slider puzzle, like the
back of the sun. Mannequins watch
the moving marble for a moment.
But the Mutes eventually find a voice,
they shout, they run into the fray.
Tantalus' mouth fills with
wine. The beetle walks around his
head. Sisyphus' back was broken
by a boulder. The poor little fellow
descends into an inferno and
climbs the devil's back like a
Purgative mountaineer. Such struggle,
thinks he, to have to take a detour.
Sky sets fire to the shell pink
sun at night.
The liquid spheres engulf ideas
on a dry stretch of ocean.
Clouds splinter in a victor's hands,
are frozen shut.
and everything sinks back home
in the middle of a wor
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 2:32 PM UTC
the stars quiver
brain a husk of puddled amyloid plaque
like grey powder edge
blossoming a slow disaster
from dizzied star chandlers
voice winged souls harmonize
in a citadel of nothing
the revelation of no - thing
at all
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 2:08 PM UTC
*Let me court you and bend my pride,
Venting foolish passions,
Vowing with my heart,
Volleying pebbles to your window.
Do not forsake for my sake,
Say, you are the fickle Moon
And I'm a grumpy Narra tree,
That I'm the dizzied Sun and you—
A pirouetting world, that we are
Two islands of the Archipelago.
But never say, impulsively say,
That you are the shooting star,
The Perseids, a meteor shower,
For it is then, love,
That I would have become
The melancholy,
The Universe.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
dizzied waves calm the haze
count the ways of perfect blue
hurried trees catch salty breeze
besting winded walkers by
sand surrenders to barefoot folly
warming and forming prints
a scattered sky drips a drop or two
nothing stays like perfect blue
see the sea shake
feel the heat ache
smell the sun bake
taste the cloud shapes
horizons breathe
shorelines walk
water talks
cream-filled crests crown the abyss
distant ships tilt and lilt
slippery wakes surfers skate
children trench
tanners twist
lovers tryst
caught by chance in ocean's glance
impelled to do this human dance
nature's floor a ballroom
its rhythm a rapacious hue
life cascades in perfect blue
©Jason Cole
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
I don't know where to start... I feel plane
infinite points traced around my brain.
Many ticks ***** injustice migraines
Right now I wanna vent on hot air blimps
self proclaimed pimps
till my tongue twists limp
or turn a loaded gun on immature mutual funds
my grain is rough
and I've grown bitter an tough
my mind metal is scuffed
I Dizzied my Gills be cheeks blowin up guts
what happened to the wonderful world
musta been the Tea.. now I'm Ralphing up Chucks
high society
in memory
it used to be
where I wanted to be
Visa Via
English living was the life for me
guess I'd traded up for some Hot **** reaL-It-Tea
I think I've had enough
guess I stuffed and over fluffed
had too much empty v (MTV)
sipping on that 4 twin Tea
Now I gotta V!
I vibrate so viciously
I violate all variations of conform Ahh!, Tea
Been too long slipping on and spilt ma Chi
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC
She told me over dinner one evening
that I should switch to white wine—
less tannins and calories, she claimed.
I smiled and shook my head,
a vintage cabernet stubbornly clinging
to my bleached white teeth.
The next day I found a couple bottles
of chardonnay chilled in the fridge,
a note tethered to one’s neck:
Drink Me!
I did not.
Four months later,
we signed divorce papers;
she packed her things and left.
I drank the chardonnay that last night,
dizzied by the herringbone pattern
of the old parquet floor, and wondered
what would happen if I ate our frozen cake top.
Jan 5, 2021
Jan 5, 2021 at 8:13 PM UTC
Dizzied by a porch swing's varnish Chloroform,
I shared a silver hook with a knotted rope
snake for stability. Although my finger
constricted the viper against the cold metal,
it did not hiss or spit psychedelic venom.
I braced my bare foot against the truck's
wheel cover around a twisted corner
by an empty church, tolling
my heartbeat. Cardboard acted
as the bed liner, I played the liability
if the swing should slide past the flush tailgate
and take me along with it. If it did,
shifting gravel guitar solos and cherry pie blood
would swing my pain away.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
*The thing about love is that
It is strategically tragic,
Built to last, made to make you feel,
Feel good and alive, to feel enough,
Gracefully and sudden
Like a gentle kiss, the spreading
Of wings of the soul, the fall
Of listless stars, but
Just as lasting.
I do not know what else to feel
Upon seeing this ocean, except
To remember you with the same
Natural feeling, inexplicable,
Like the color blue catches on
With the bleach of white,
Aiming to accentuate, searching
For the old burn of red
In vain.
And beauty is felt more
Than it is seen. Eyes have
Seen more than they have rested,
And they have seen things best,
While they are closed.
More than sorrow, pain and suffering,
More than sure looped-goodbyes,
It is the serendipitous affection
That rules over all, overthrowing
The flowing madness of passing worlds,
Passing all the lovers by, mad enough,
And mad still, yet the fight
Is worth loving for.
Love is worth fighting with.
Life is worth it. Love
Is priceless, yet, I love you
A little less
Than love itself.
Love never grew, it just stays beside,
Just beside, them, us, blown
By the havoc of life, fate and time,
Drifting amongst the drifters
Surrounding us, dizzied,
Ever-tested, enduring all.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
I remember when I met you
you were different to all of her other many boyfriends
we could talk about the things I liked
you liked them too.
Months after you and her had finished your chapter in life
you stepped into mine
you dazzled dizzied bewildered me
showed me that it was alright to like the things I did
You wrote poems
you made me feel special
I thought that you liked me
the way I liked you
Then you left for what seemed a thousand years
the night I found out about your new girl I didn't cry
I remained content until an excessive amount of alcohol brought out all the feelings
the words spewed out of me
the same way the varied assortments of drink would do later that night
We still spoke on occasion
we shared an embrace or two when we accidentally met in the street
I was still crazy about you
even though I was aware that you were crazy about her
You ignore me now
we don't talk
you cast me aside
like everybody else did
I think of you a lot lately
but not in the way I used to
If I ever had the pleasure of speaking with you again
I would remain silent
I have nothing to say to you
The only things I have are the memories of you
the arguments
the embraces
the exams
It's all over now.
I understand that everything I thought we had was all in my imagination
when you said you loved me you didn't mean it in the way I did
but I can't be with anybody else because I feel as if it should be you
I'd like to say you ruined me but you didn't
I've ruined myself
I'm so used to being in a state of heart break that I will put myself back there in order to feel comfortable
I want to forget you
in the same way that you've forgotten me
thrown me away
left me
I hope you never find out how much I cared for you
because it's embarrassing for me
I can't believe I ever felt that way about anybody
I let somebody through the hard exterior that I have
I pretend I have no emotion but you made me vulnerable
I let you in.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 8:14 AM UTC