"fidgeted" poems
Frantic for freedom,
It fidgeted in that cage.
Then it pecked at & clipped its own wings/feathers.
One by one, every day.
It assumed that when there would be no wings,
There'd be no freedom to crave for.
And that it would be able to make itself believe
That the cage was in fact, its nest.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 10:31 AM UTC
i played Dolores Haze
sitting sideways on your lap
on your birthday
i felt kidnapped
by incessant language
i felt intrigued by genius.
i kissed the brunette above your lip
old fashioned mustached man.
pastry eyes i could've eaten for days.
my second gemini
was thin and frail
high on amphetamines
and drunk on ego
he weaved in and out of me
like a snake looking for peace.
he fidgeted nervously
after every ******
i gave him
(or he gave himself on top of me)
mercurial men
hell bent on
changing the world
with no aid beyond
the words in their mouths
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 9:49 PM UTC
Mechanically he put out his best press
Straightened his yellowing pages
In spite of little pieces flaking off
Like dandruff
Ow !
His spine was not as strong
As in younger presses
He bathed and used aftershave
But still he had that musty air about him
He lay claim to nervous fame
As he fidgeted with the book markers
About to be given as gifts
For her , his blind date
She came in fresh in expectation
Her beauty made him full of dejection
Her cheerful voice proved
to be more than exhaultation
He fumbled for the first sentence
Of subjection , but
Managed only to say
"Please ! I'm just an open book to be read"
She eased over
And ran her fingers over his cover .
down his bindings ,
then inside his yellowing pages
She sighed ,
with pleasure ,
"Yes , this is my perfection "
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 6:41 PM UTC
Third Date
She talked and talked and talked,
an East Coast, cultured accent;
"So what are you anyway,
half-German? *** really?
But you look so......British, I guess..."
He stroked her knee.
She gesticulated loudly,
and talked.
"So you were at Princeton,
WOW, that's impressive."
He squeezed her knee.
"I baked cupcakes on Friday night,
my Mom's recipe.
I don't even eat cupcakes,
what's that all about?!?!
He squeezed her other knee.
She wore a mid-thigh,
black and white dress,
swirls, that sort of thing,
interesting cleavage.
He was back on the first knee.
She looked Italian
(it was 'Ristorante Acqua al Duo' after all),
Amy Winehouse eye flares,
head swaying,
resting on her palms,
swaying again.
He had his back to me.
She fingered the wine glass,
tall and generous,
devoured
the last inch,
came up for air and talked again.
He wore a blazer
and cavalry twill pants,
loafers and no socks.
She was hot,
really hot,
fanned her brow with the dessert menu
"Tiramisu was so deeeelicious".
75 degrees on the Prudential window.
He perspired,
fidgeted,
loosened his collar,
looked for the waitress.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 6:45 PM UTC
His finger fidgeted with the small hole in his jeans
Right above the left knee
It caressed the rust of a healing scab
He knew boyhood was sitting at the tense end of a slingshot
While balancing on a thin branch
Creeping in through the window
Of his tree house
His shins were permanently bruised
From hitting the edge of the bed
After jumping and missing
In order to avoid whatever may be living underneath it
Ten years from now he will regret
Not being in enough family photos
And for placing too many boxes full of old clothes
Underneath his bed
For anything to truly live there
He will know manhood sitting at a red light
Begging the breaks to go out
So his only option will be
To go
When he is old
And so much a baby again
He will beg time to be patient
Long enough to understand
Why when he was a boy
The slingshot band never broke from the tension
Before releasing rocks to break windows
He had to spend the summers working off
But as a man
Trapped at a red light
Why not once
The breaks ever went out
So that he might have an excuse
To go
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 6:44 AM UTC
I could do tricks with those fingers
balancing acts of precision breath
was controlled for this moment.
One false move, and that moment lost,
sighs were heard, head shamefully hung.
As I would have to start over once again.
"OK fingers don't fail me now, I rotated
getting a rhyme, I heard the excitement
as she released her ecstasy on fingers.
I was her fidget spinner, fingers fine
tuned to do those tricks to make her
world spin, she fidgeted in ecstasy.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 5:55 AM UTC
Yesterday, a cloud burst in mythologies
and the rain fidgeted over the retreat
of a tidal pantheon; deities swept away
by a current, and we stood awhile, watching
the moon elbow out the dusk. Breathing
is burdensome when cars float on water
and corpses leak out of cavernous
basements. Every tablet, etched, in the cold
heart of building code was read again
and then again. It wasn't enough to blame
Aeolian whim or the raging riposte of Apollo,
now that we had marvelled away Gaia's
ozone skirt. Her amnion always leaked
in folkloric floods each time she birthed
a parable. She once asked Noah to build
an ark so he could ride her waves
and we scrape the sky to impale her
in shards where her womb is soft and yielding,
as we sour the air and burn the water and strip
her of her emerald sigh and melt her hills
and silt her wetlands. Mostly it was the asphalt
plastering her yearning that calcified her veins
and arteries, as she died slowly under our feet.
We could hardly fathom her sorrow for the tears
rolled off her torso like an oil slick
and rode far into the subway for sewers.
Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 4:29 PM UTC
You told me today,
That you wanted to die.
I could tell in your voice,
That it wasn’t a lie.
I never noticed till now,
Of how you fidgeted more.
I never noticed till now,
Of the sweaters you now wore.
But I did noticed now,
How your skin seemed pailer,
How your eyes darker.
Have you been eating?
Have you even been sleeping?
But when you told me,
I finally saw.
The darkness that surrounds you.
When did you start to fall?
Why didn’t I noticed,
That your smile missed your eyes.
Why didn’t I noticed,
That your voice told such lies.
If I had noticed sooner,
Would this had ever happened.
If I had noticed sooner,
Would you had never saddened.
I screamed for you,
Wanting it to not be true,
I cried for you,
Though I didn’t have a clue.
I waited for you,
For you to react,
But the mirror stayed still,
My image intact.
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 8:17 PM UTC
He had a hole in his jeans.
I remember, fidgeting with it nervously the whole evening.
Hole, whole.
I can’t even remember his name.
(Now you know that’s a lie. His name escapes you no more than you escape yourself.)
Driving somewhere, someone’s house. Board games that make no sense.
Kisses you can’t escape. And then we slept, I on the couch and he on a camp bed.
Lost my socks, sometime in the night, lustful and half asleep. Don’t remember what we did, though he swears we didn't. I don’t know, I was asleep.
He drove me home the next day, and I fidgeted with the hole in his jeans.
(They weren’t jeans they were some sort of corduroy.)
Never did find my socks.
Mar 17, 2010
Mar 17, 2010 at 11:28 PM UTC
Footpaths fidgeted
‘Neath her fragile toes,
Wind whispered secrets
Within eternal woes.
When the lunar and
The lunatic ride ambitious
With their foes
She waits in hunger
For the fair,
kind
Wolf.
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
No color but red lips and luminescent green eyes.
My hair flowed into my golden corset dress,
into my pale legs,
to my golden heels,
they weren't my favorite heels, but they were small,
and you were rather short.
The black hair
you spent hours styling
lay across your face just right.
Black, skin tight jeans hooked
to a plethora of belts, buckles and chains,
complimented by the black and blue shoes you kept
religiously clean.
A checkered, black and blue button-up
with a black and blue scarf laced carefully around your neck.
You carried a complicated satchel by your side so that I could be handsfree
You told me I looked beautiful,
as you fidgeted with the
skull ring I gave you so long ago...
Us against the world,
trailing behind the rest,
Waltzing down the city's streets
arm in arm
clutching a black umbrella
as the rain came rushing down around us.
The neon lights of New York
creating reflective neon pools along
the grungy streets.
Thunder in the distance
and lightning
snapping across the sky.
What a beautiful night,
for perfect seats at WICKED.
What a beautiful night,
for a sushi dinner.
What a beautiful night,
to forget how sick we were,
or why I was mad at you,
or why you were mad at me,
what a perfect night,
to put the umbrella down
and let the storm take over
for a memory
of a time
when we still knew each other.
What a perfect night,
to end our friendship.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 4:14 AM UTC
The old priest sat
in the dark of the
confessional. A girl
had entered on the
other side and knelt.
A rustle of clothing,
breathing, a cough.
He was prepared for
the list of sins, the
the soft voice verbal
sprouting, the usual
schoolgirl misdemeanours.
Yes my child? He said.
Mary on the other
side stared at the grille,
tried to make out which
was the priest. Bless me
Father she began, then
the list ran. The priest
placed his hands over
his ears. The list was long,
indelicate, touching on
the obscene. He fumbled
with his beads, tried to
make out the voice,
the owner, which girl?
He thought, peering into
the grille, his eyes searching
through the semi dark.
Mary pushed her knees
together; she sensed the
need to *** She knelt holding
herself in, pushed her hands
between thighs. How long
was the old codger going to be?
She mused. The priest coughed.
Sniffed, tried to discover the
scent. He said the usual words,
about trying to avoid the occasion
of sin, have faith, and so forth
uttered in a strained voice.
He peered hard. The outlined
figure fidgeted, moved from side
to side. Never in his born days
had he. He uttered the absolution,
made a sign of the cross. Then
she was gone. The light there
then not there. A smell of sin?
What was it? No, not *****
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 4:38 AM UTC
my heart is fragile
my smile is broken
my soul is tortued
my eyes have turned blind
my fingers got burned cause of cupid
my wounds are open
my throat is dogged up
the pain is flowing
my insides are burning
(let’s just keep going)
my mind is fidgeted
my thoughts are caged
my bloodstreams are bursting
introspective is weakened
unanchored sailing takes place.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 12:31 PM UTC
sad child
where’s the love that made you
you withhold such a shattered canvas
with memories that decipher your path
you know not the comfort of peace
the sweet fragrance of freedom
has lost its taste
you know not of happiness
captured in teenage sappy
holograms of love’s collapsebility
humbles the kindness you had,
the focus you embodied,
the smile you embraced,
because of the sadness you carry.
severe depression made you whole
constant anxiety was your home
your mentality was wounded
your spirituality was fidgeted
your fragile soul
became, just, an unanchored spirit.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 6:51 AM UTC
his fingers fidgeted with the stars
comets flying like racing cars
when he glanced above, all he hoped
to sing a lullaby to the one
he loves the most
Apr 27, 2020
Apr 27, 2020 at 11:59 AM UTC
The small warfield of myriad battles
few were triumphant, a lot were fatal
burdened with despair, fidgeted and unrest
once there dreams were sought to nest
home for love, passion and reform
gloomy it turned, after the storm
beating up being weary and worn
bear the freight of promises torn
one half of mine through thick and thin
confidant of every defeat and win
the secrets that it kept within
throbbing inside like spiny whin
reconvening the shreds of heart
razed by one and was torn apart
still it is ready to be my friend
pledged to never leave me in end
Mar 11, 2025
Mar 11, 2025 at 9:07 PM UTC
By S E T
Those Shelter Island nights,
When the air hung sweet and salty
and the shell-laced, pebbly sand
still felt jagged against your toughened feet,
Inviting and profound
You walked with your best guy friend,
Tawny, and burnished from the summer
side jobs, gap tooth and lightly nasal
desperately wanting not to hear his yearning
paens to your best, most glamorous friend
lamenting her leaving
Who'd been up for half the month,
She of the glittering auburn hair
and TV roles, and heartthrob drummer brother,
and even then, deep, throaty laugh,
Wondering if she'd go for hick, Long Island him,
Instead, to feel his teen-age muscled lips
bear down on yours, even if you fidgeted
with desire and uncertainty, half-longing to bolt
Never letting on that second fiddle
was not your instrument of choice
Crossing the warm road to (pinch yourself)
board Chuck's yacht
The only one you knew who had a yacht,
not a grand affair, with modest galley and monk-like sleeper
but a yacht no less,
And drink the bootlegged verboten
beer delicious, slightly acrid,
Stealing away, out the kitchen door
after the small stones clattered against your sleeping window,
Your signal to renounce the troubled house
for a midnight ride down paradise cove.
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 5:15 PM UTC
"There are two kinds of things in life,
Those I hate
And those I don't care about."
She chewed the lid of her coffee cup.
Wrapped her fingers up in her sleeves.
Nervously.
Talking too fast,
As if afraid if she thought about what she said,
She would no longer to say it.
She talked about Africa.
It was one of the things she cared about
/hated.
"I don't understand how they live in such poverty, and we can just sit here drinking coffee."
Her companion asked her what she would do, if she was in their situation.
**** myself."
She said softly.
Unaware she was whispering.
"Not that I want to **** myself now, I mean I don't care enough to do that. Besides I think I would be too afraid."
She replied, even though only silence had followed her first answer.
She turned her attention to the now tattered sleeve,
Of the cold coffee.
Looking at it as if it had all the answers in the world
Tucked between its cardboard grooves.
"I think I think too much, about not thinking"
Silence
"I mean, the more I think, the more depressed I become. But if I try to stop thinking, I become depressed that not thinking is the only way to happiness and..."
She stopped talking.
Aware that some things are better off in your head.
Probably afraid that her listener would disagree and force her to elaborate.
Afraid of what she would say.
The rest of the car ride was silent.
Full of casual small talk regarding the clouds, and how sales are always better after holidays.
She fidgeted with her sunglasses, the coffee cup still on her lap.
Her mouth remained partially open,
As if she was about to say something,
But couldn't bring herself to making any sound.
The car pulled to a stop at the mall.
She got out, hesitating for a moment,
As if to pull herself together.
She took a deep breath.
Unconscious of what she was doing.
Tossed the coffee cup to the ground.
Then walked off to join her friend.
Pretending to care.
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 5:20 PM UTC
I will feel nothing at all when you die,
Though the leaves will swirl in early Autumn's breath,
Failing to completely cover other now defunct greenery,
It is just nature's way; after all-
And so, I will feel nothing.
I will weep no tears after you are gone;
You didn't want my tears when you were alive,
And dead, would never know that they were for you.
My tears running down your own face, you would never feel-
There is nothing left to feel, for you.
We lived in the world at the same time,
Breathed and trembled and sighed, upon the same galaxy's arms.
Dreamed and fidgeted and awoke each day, to something brand new.
But I had nothing you wanted, and you had nothing to give-
And what I will feel is simply more nothing; nothing when you are dead.
Aug 25, 2010
Aug 25, 2010 at 2:26 PM UTC
Parents Evening;
At the tender age of two,
What will they tell me,
about you?
From the beginning,
You sat there - legs swinging.
Posture slouched,
Lips placed in pout.
You looked at me,
With A smile so sweet.
Then glanced across,
Towards the empty seat.
You fidgeted you fiddled,
You picked and you nibbled.
Your teacher entered,
And she read,
Your report that clearly said -
Ava is A lovely girl,
Who speaks so well!
When in defence,
She can raise hell.
So kind to her friends, and shares a treat!
She rather has a stubborn streak.
To summarise, without much time,
Your daughter is doing perfectly fine!
I looked towards my little girl,
Our thoughts linked, our eyes synced,
So we could swap our secret smile,
For she truly is - Me as A child.
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 9:05 PM UTC
She fidgeted all the time,
working in her cubicle,
with a serious smile
always on her face
& a faraway look
forever in her pretty eyes.
Sometimes she'd wear lace skirts,
accenting her feminine graces.
Her language was often
a bit ***** (but not too much),
and occasionally sighing sounds
could be heard
emanating from her parted lips.
I thought it strange
when she requested to management
a rocking chair for her duties.
What a cutie!
There were rumors swirling around
that she was a practioner
of the Burmese bells.
I so liked working with her
before such innuendos
circulated.
Now I love it,
she's swell.....
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
*Tonight, when we said goodnight
I meant goodbye.
Truth be told I was getting cold
Stood on the doorstep.
I wanted to be warming by the fire
Yet, you stood and talked
I fidgeted and balked
at your droning voice
You wanted to discuss us further
there is no us, I murmured
yet on and on you droned
about our future, our perfect partnership.
Until in the end, I had to end the night
with ******
Until we meet again at the gates of Hell
(Where you'll be there waiting to talk again)
Please just remember my temper,
It flared that cold night
and killed you with a
jolly shove.
You hit the path and dealt yourself a death blow
At least your death wasn't slow
(unlike the goodnight at my door)
Brevity is a necessity explicitly born out of hostility.
And your obituary was less than a
paragraph.*
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 8:03 PM UTC
There was duct tape
on his automatic weapon,
his eyes fidgeted,
no smiles
& his finger
nervously
stroked the trigger.
No joke,
all of sixteen,
he was,
it made me realize,
I wasn't in Kansas
anymore.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 5:57 AM UTC