"flabbergasted" poems
Can I have a word, please?
It can be any word.
Just give me a word.
We can all share the rest.
Just let me have one.
It can be anything.
I'd take canteen or avid.
I'd even settle for timely.
But you can't use my word,
whatever it is,
without asking.
Because it's my word.
And I'll almost always let you use it when you ask.
Unless, for example, my word is wonderful
and you want to use it to describe a movie I haven't seen yet
or a movie I saw already and didn't care for.
I really want everything.
That's my first choice.
Flabbergasted is a close second.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
Barefoot, blistered and bleeding
She wanders in from the street
People stare, flabbergasted
Very odd, unheard of in fact
She doesn’t know her size
So like Cinderella, she tries them on
Randomly selecting pretty colours
Silvery, glittery heels
She twirls for the mirror
Sales assistant sighs
Wellingtons for the garden
If she had one!
Satin ice skates
She would glide on the icy pond
Pretty sandals
To feel the sand between her toes
Boring, black brogues
Perfect!
With no pennies in her pocket
She wanders back to the street
Barefoot, blistered and bleeding
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 5:59 AM UTC
The antique shop,
a cauldron where memories
from far and near boil and froth,
where chronological order
didn't matter, time stood still,
part real, as much magic,
different lives from distant lands and time
rolled in to one.
Here they met, by chance,a man
and a mysterious woman,with an eye for unusual,
among what was on display were
things a conman would seek
and also favorite stuff fit for kings,
artifacts and articles they must have used
or hankered after.
Past uses these museum pieces
as baits for us, secretly preparing us
to surrender before future,
unkind and rude in mind;
he changed roles as both con and king,
there was a constant yes,
she was the mate in each
he couldn't take eyes off her,
and she asked what he looks for,
"The famous ****** quilt,
that was to be mine twice before,
I missed making it mine,
narrowly every time"
He wondered how did he
make up that story so quick.
"I can take you to the quilt,
but it isn't here" she said
not a bit hesitant
He was flabbergasted by
the turn of events,as if
a hidden scripted move shows the way
They left by her car,
she was eloquent about
the effects of the ****** quilt.
As they stood near the ****** quilt,
in this room he thought was part
of an antique shop, the place looked deserted,
and her eyes shone when she suggestively said
"Want to test the effect? Don't be disappointed"
It wasn't. How could one imagine, that
the quilt can be so voluptuous.
That secret shook him out of his shell,
she had nothing to do with antique of any kind,
just another visitor like him, and the quilt
was an ingenious plot she hatched
in keeping with my sudden flourish,
the quilt, was a new addition in her bed
patch worked in silk, light weight,
it wasn't a blanket, but ****** in its very touch
it was them, the moment of adventure they found
had brought the rapture,who would regret?
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
A year has passed since I crashed my motorcycle.
The road rash had since been cast away.
The fast paced life was smashed together.
A singular bash that cached my memory.
Lights flash and whiplash has new meaning.
This thrash blinked my eyelash three days later.
Dreary forecast laid flabbergasted.
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC
I was flabbergasted when given the chance
To join the renowned Roscoe's Oddity Of Circus
With no actual talent to speak of
I was pretty much dead in the water worthless
But Roscoe in all of his wisdom
Put me in charge of the Bubble machine
Low and behold people
Turns out...Bubbles is "ME"
I started out with simple patterns
Blowing one treasure at a time
As things progressed rather quickly
I soon had Bubbles dancing in Mumba lines
There wasn't a Bubble imagined
In which I could not achieve
But like I said at the very start
Turns out...Bubbles is "ME"
I even perfected what I like to call
The "Fantabulious Bubbles De jour"
In the Bubble circles in which I blow
I've become quite the Bubble Lore
My Bubble forte soon became
Floating Bubbles of Super Stars
*I'm not one to "POP" Bubble names*
Suffice it to say you know who they are
These days you don't have to go to the Circus
If you'd like my talent to see
I'm the one who does those Bubbles with the tiny words
In the Sunday comics you read
Why I've even been to the U.N.
Where the "Big Cheese" was highly pleased
The way I blew name tags and place mats
For all the visiting Dignitaries
But my favorite pastime after all these years
Even with all the fortune and fame I've found
Is relaxing with my Circus buddies
And blowing Bubbles of "Bubbles the Clown"
Just think when I joined the Circus
I had no talent in which to show
Who knew all it was that I needed
Was one good bubble to blow
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 8:16 AM UTC
A man came to my door late last night.
It was about 8pm if my guessing is right
He seemed shaken and overcome with fright
He stuttered and stammered as I turned on the porch light
Timothy he said
Timothy he begged
Please listen to me he pled
I must save you his tongue shed
Flabbergasted at the sight,
my thoughts abstracted despite
his quadratic explanation of my plight.
We connected like an arc light.
Hold on I demanded
Wait a second I commanded
He could tell by my look I was stranded
in the immensity of the situation so he spoke candid
So your here to save my life? What do I say to something like that?
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
My bf works in Geneva, Switzerland. I go to school in New Haven. We Facetime a lot - but it’s not ideal.
“I wanted to tell you, that it’s been nice.” I told him somberly.
“What do you mean?” He asked after a moment.
“Well,” I began, “You know how I like to go down to the harbor and watch the ocean?” “Yeah,” he answered.
“Well, I was down there this evening and the sun plunged into the sea and it got dark. I think we’re all going to die.”
“Anais, you’re on the east coast,” he reported. “That’s true,” I confirmed (New York’s on the east coast and it’s 60 miles away).
“The sun rises in the east and sets in the west.” He explained. “ocean sunsets only happen on the west coast.”
“Really?’ I said, flabbergasted, “I never noticed that.”
“Yeah,” he reiterated.
“I have a confession,” I admitted, sighing.
“What’s that?” He enquired.
“I made it up, the sun and sea thing,” I admitted.
“For real?” He followed up. “Yeah,” I said. “Why?” he asked.
“Nothing happens, when you’re not here,” I disclosed, “It’s SO dull, I’m dull, I’m afraid of underwhelming you.”
“We’re going to die someday,” he assured me, consolingly.
.
.
songs for this:
I Can’t Remember Love by Anna Hauss
So In Love by k.d. lang
It’s the End of the world as we know it by REM
The end of the world by Skeeter Davis
Apr 20, 2024
Apr 20, 2024 at 9:44 PM UTC
Flabbergasted, the whale wails
Lonely upon the sea drifting ever apart
A sole ****** raises his tired sails
Forever trapped in solitary solace
Winds warping the canvas
While ominous clouds encroach
The salty breeze stinging his taste
A bitterness within the calm
Peace drowns with the fury
That the storm has yet to bring
Fear not, creature of the sea
The troublesome life is far from over
Another night trashing about
The rock and the roll of the bow
A lullaby to a tired soul
Slowly rocking to dreamless sleep
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
Running and howling in pain
His fate was suppressed with stains
Of sins he enslaved. His onus relegated
truth of everything he's denied.
Now pleading for his life
He wants to be human again
"O beautiful moon that bestowed
this curse on me, I've deigned to your
eminence. I'll do anything,
So please set me free!!!"
*Blood stains his clothes when the
transformation goes. Fever rises and
he’s left alone at dawn drenched in blood
and his transformation pain. While his
body aches as he left with shivers and shakes.
Bitten in the woods he’s been ****** by
the werewolf’s curse. He feels it
course through his veins in the middle of
the day. No prayer can make this curse go
away. Craving blood like never before he
ties himself up in shackles on his porcelain
bed room floor. Howling to the moon in the
dead of night. He breaks his chains from the
walls and looks at his claws as they cut through
the remaining clothes on his wolf body. Breaking
out free from his bedroom window making his
way down from the tree and off to the woods
where he can run wild and free. Hunting down
his prey and watching the blood drop from the
silver grey fur he finds another wolf like him near
the river stream. He runs over to ask him what
has happened to me. He howls to the moon while
saying you’ve got the gift to be forever free and
you'll never be the same again. You'll remain half
wolf and half human like me*.
Flabbergasted and petrified, this was not
what he had in mind. He wants to be human.
He wants to be free. The tears of innocence still
crying and screaming within "O brother of Lycans.
This curse that our gleaming mother has bestowed
upon us. This is a gift even the Lamias are in envy.
Feel the wrath and power O brother. Together, we
shall upraise the Lycan race!!"
*His eyes grew bigger his claws grew longer.
He had to leave his old life behind. Family
and friends , college and work. All his dreams
suddenly came crashing down in just one day.
They soon turned to ashes of black and grey.
Time to cope with the life of the wild.
Time to leave beauty and become the beast.*
***No more tears of innocence he said. Just blood spilling
and hunting for the ****
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC
Am I the only one not understanding it?
Some poems have no likes or views
Some poems have a preview, others don't
Some poems are brand new
Some poems are two days old
There's a temperature gage that doesn't make sense
And sometimes there's a poem that disappears off it
I'm flabbergasted...
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 2:53 PM UTC
Cockroaches, I can understand that
if you had our ears, you would
run at the screams of my little sister,
who screams like she had seen a monster
crawling on the walls of the washroom
when instead she had just seen you
strolling in the late evening
basking the glory of tubelight.
But me, I come from peace,
I’m not disgusted by your existence.
I do not get flabbergasted by your
occasional flying skills. Infact I,
say hi to you when I come to brush.
But you, you go haywire in fear.
Do you sweat? Is there something
equivalent to that, that you do?
You needn’t, I wish I could talk
and tell you that I love you, and that
I do not want to **** you.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 1:31 AM UTC
Toes dip into the smoggy air
Count them down
10, 9, 8
Leaning forward
Diving into the city below
He ran as fast as he could
Tears streaming down his face
Reading that letter, flabbergasted
Every second mattered
As these stairs pulled him down
Deep breath in, exhale
Thoughts run rampant
A single tear falls down
She leans further ready to follow
She was about to plummet
As the sun rises, casting her shadow
Her shadow crying
Telling her not to go
His hand clenched tightly on her wrist
Trying his best pulling her back in
His tears form the stars
Their shadows cast upon the moon
She screams 'let me go'
Tears, drip drip drip
He took a deep breath
Exhaling, screaming his heart's out
"I've always loved you!!!
He doesn't love you!! But I do!!
And always will be!!!
So please don't leave me!!!"
She stepped back
Tears streaked her face
If he love her
The end could wait
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
You're going on the highway,
Bringing a new 4-string bass guitar,
And a drum-set too for your sons.
Now you could be a family rock band,
You could churn your own Summer of '69,
The world will know you three now.
A really hot chick hitchhikes in your car,
You are tensed as your eyes meet.
There is unfathomable longing in hers,
And the bathykolpian woman's so inviting.
You can't play the good man at this age,
You decide to cheat your own wife now.
You stop the car quickly anyhow,
A quickee's on your mind & nothin' more.
She smiles at you and lunging towards her,
You smell the inviting scent of hers.
In middle of the kiss you start foreseeing,
You forsee a bright romantic future,
Suddenly her wellbeing's lost & she vomits.
Then you bring her to the hospital,
The gynaecologist congratulates you,
"Congrats! You're going to be a father!"
Taken aback, you say, "But I just met her!"
The girl who hitchhiked says, ***"He's ****** lying!"***
The doc summons the police and your test is done,
"Good news & bad news," the doc says,
"One, you're not her baby's father."
Hearing this you're relieved.
"Now the bad news, doc," you say.
The doc says, "You could have never have fathered any even if you intended to."
You are flabbergasted, "What the hell! Why?"
The doc pacifies, "Your load doesn't have any sperms,"
Seeing you shocked the doctor says,
***"It's a birth defect that happens rarely but yes it does..."
"...You may sue the girl for everything."***
The biggest shock in your life so far.
You just shake your head and turn around to go.
You're in the middle of a nightmare,
It couldn't be true!
***If not you then the 2 kids back home,
They belonged to whom!***
Now that's the biggest tension!
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
As we begin at the starting line we know who's going to win
There's the white rabbit
Obnoxious,Cocky,A *****
Fueled by red bulls an monsters
He can barley be contained
Fur coat at attention
Like there's electricity in the air
But we're drawn to things with a flair
In our eyes his white coat nothing could compare
It's special
Then there's the turtle
Passive,majestic,shy,common
The underdog
We only like them when there's a chance they might win
It takes each step gracefully
Carefully, trying not to impress
It's been counted out shunned for its slowness
As the race begins the rabbit dashes away
Down the trail reaching its peak on the straight away
Not looking back
His speed unforgiven
Giving it the illusion of hovering off the ground
Not a sound heard as it flies by
The turtle still at the starting line
It's progress unhealthily
It to makes no sound
It's footsteps stealthy
But it stills marches on
The rabbit far ahead
Looses his sights that this is a race
He knows the turtle pace
He begins to dash around trees
Running in circles
His momentum makes the ground begins to give
making a donut effect
So detracted he begins to chase leafs
Caught in the wind
So burned out he crashes
Falls into a trance like slumber
As the turtle still moseying along
Moving at a records pace two steps per minute
Begins to catch up
Soon enough it passes the rabbit
Flabbergasted hes asleep
Quietly it sneaks away down the trail
Pace still two steps per minuet
As the race progresses the turtle has the finish line in sight
Thinking this is its moment
To shock the world
But it ain't over yet
The sleeping rabbit awakes
Yawning an switches its nose
Starts running again
He sees the turtle in his sights
Confused how this happened
There's no way he's going to lose
But fate was not on his side
As he widens it stride
Trying to catch up the turtle just near the finish line
One step and it's all over
And just as the rabbit catches up
It's too late
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 3:44 AM UTC
MEMO
FROM: Mr Phil Indifrence, Strategy Chess Insurgency Corps.
Space Headquarters, Castleview Avenue, Dunstable XY10
TO: Ms Petal Dontrun, Crimson Chess Federation.
De la Wigan Headquarters, Wigan, United Kingdom, SM00
Dear Ms Dontrun,
Please accept my greetings. I write to clarify my stance on our
outstanding matters and hopefully to deter further speculation,
gossips, rumours, distortions, misinformation and sensationalism by the media.
As you are aware I contacted you on the day as arranged only to
be confronted with a response that was astoundingly unethical, un-
professional, rude, inconsiderate and totally uncalled-for. It was
so below expected standard that it raised doubt about your suit-
ability to be seen as a matured adult much less an intelligent being.
Still in the reverberations of this seismic occurrence I called again in
the hope it was a momentary loss of composure and yet again I was
subjected to a deluxe version of the first onslaught. To say I was
flabbergasted is putting things mildly, most especially as it was
totally unwarranted and underserved. It was obvious you lacked
any sense of decorum and had become an affront to common human decency and an embarrassment to your status.
In all fairness you did call some weeks later, but it had become
apparent that the ethos, protocol and cordiality that my Organi-
sation works within may not be relevant to your Organisation,
hence my unavailability to your contact.
I write to primarily reiterate that my position on this matter and
the present status quo is not based on some immature Ego play,
stubbornness, power-play or pride, rather it's in all truthfulness it's a belief in upholding standards in ethical considerations. I do not believe that bad manners, ill-considered behaviour, ill-judgement and a lack of sensitivity and good grace are matured and progressive trends to interact cooperatively within.
In conclusion, this is my stance on this matter and I hope it helps
your understanding. I believe a formal Apology from you and your
Organisation is appropriate in this regard and will instigate a
return to cordiality between our Organisation.
If you however feel this is unnecessary I will respect your decision
and the situation will remain unresolved.
I thank you for your attention.
Regards,
Phil Indifrence. C.E.O.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 5:18 PM UTC
Discombobulated and flabbergasted, flummoxed indeed? No such bemused and befuddled? I am not perplexed on the prognosis to prospectus. They’re incongruous, I’m incredulous, it’s catawampus. Reconnaissance reconnoiter, rectilinear reciprocal rectitude. Radix repartee: Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugue-ness, estranged ensemble orchestrations and all. Some of us are even into the various assorted forms of related stranger weirdness. We’ll be having none of this putrid quasi queasy. Corrupt costume counselor siren skeptic. None of you ignominiously pusillanimous incorrigibles who aren’t brave enough to love are required.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
the worm burps crasanthyums
like hypnic ****
matter becomes metaphor
thats how the beast works with in us
we are a book of masks
and i'm up to my neck in
mirrors of the marvelous
midnight music beguiles like a blizzard of whispers
flaming candles heat like ovens
burning finger by finger
i melt flabbergasted in dark linoleum clouds
blood gluttonous
tender bites
lips like red rain and trussed thighs
she grins
a face of needles and mice
i think she wants me
this old man, soggy eyed mop
linen wrapped
before aortic aneurysms
i'm a living tarot card
the falling tower and the lovers
break downs and break throughs
my groin a slobbering clot
dreaming ******* drenched
straight jacketed on her knees
***** willow shadows
drooling exacerbations
a caffeinated candy
licked thickly
twitching blinks; rem ejaculations
her face; a tattooed ****
**** mouth smiles
brown one eyed gnome
**** the stinking cyclops
*** talk lubricates
a raspberry crumble
looking for god
omniscient
even in *****
the white swans utterance
incoherence's
dressed in a ****** negligee
her belly a thousand ******* mouths
and i press into her thunder
shattering dawns gravity
a pinhole of empty cups
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 11:47 AM UTC
I am flabbergasted, ashamed, and angry after philosophy homework
which straight up flabbergasts myself because I’ve always questioned everything
after reading a selection of Seneca’s letter’s ( ancient spanish philosopher)
Spastic Fury is an understatement
I understand this was written in a different time period
but I have to discuss this **** in class.
**** like why crying is for the weak or
how practicing habits less fortunate
than one is subordinate to
will strengthen thy noble soul for future preparation of fortune/misfortune
blah blah blah
I get all of that **** I understand the validity of living a pure,
un-judgemental, strong willed life.
what I can’t get out of my OCD head
is all of the **** I’ve been through
that was and continues to be detrimental to my sanity
and no it’s not out of vanity you naive ******
it’s called PTSD and it can be debilitating.
I know this portion of reading is designed for
the average freshman unsoiled mind, free from
trauma and full of promise but I’m not your average person.
I never will be
I remember the times I didn’t want to be a ******* person
and those moments remain anchored right on top of my mangled innocence.
Seneca claims crying is a form of selfish weakness
I claim crying is stronger than taking a razor to the skin
crying is stronger than puking until you’re dizzy
crying is stronger than getting high until you can’t
remember why you started crying
in the first place
It took me 17 years and disgusting amounts of therapy
to accept my hurricane emotions are not a form of weakness
because everything I feel is a million times more real
than the ******** we hear, see, or talk about
I know tragedy occurs everywhere to anyone
unfortunate enough to be there
but in terms of my salvation
there is an expiration date on
how long I can play in the sand before I’m choking
and gasping “i’m sorry’s” in-between scratchy breaths
I knew college would be hard,
but at least in group therapy
there was actual motivation to speak up
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
Brother: You're like that guy standing at the counter of an ice cream shop yelling at everyone who buys vanilla that they should have bought chocolate instead.
Me: Ha, but no! Vanilla is my favorite flavor. I don't even care that vanilla is associated with "conventional," it's just my favorite. Have you ever seen Thank You For Smoking? There's this part where the guy argues with his son about ice cream; about which flavor is bes . . .
Brother: Okay, chocolate then. So you're that guy at the counter telling everyone who buys chocolate that they should've bought vanilla instead.
Me: Nah bro. You got me all wrong. I'm the guy encouraging everyone to try every flavor. To go with what suits their tastes. I want them to follow their gut, then fill a cone up with the flavor they identify with the most.
Brother: So you're that annoying guy standing behind them while they fill their cup? Telling them, "Hey, try this one! Don't forget to try this one. This one is good too!" Meanwhile they just want you to **** off.
Me: Not even. I'm not even at the shop. I'm at the house of the person trying to come up with a new flavor. I'm telling him/her, "Yea, that's a great idea! Add that and let's see how it comes out. You've got a good thing going here."
Brother: Whatever man. Experiment all you want. People like chocolate for a reason - that's all I'm saying.
Me: Well then, I'm saying that chocolate isn't enough for me. I want something beyond chocolate. I want something beyond anything that's ever been invented before. I want my taste buds to be completely flabbergasted by an explosive new flavor. I want to be on the cusp of the next great thing. I don't even care if people don't realize how great it is. I want to be a part of it, that's all.
Brother: Yea dude. Do you know how rare that is? Good luck with that.
Me: Yea man. You've no idea how rare it is. That's what makes it so incredible when you find it though! It's what I live for.
Brother: Well that's . . . that's inconsistent. It's all full of gaps.
Me: Don't you understand? That's what makes it so special when it happens - because of how rare it is!
Brother: Well, good luck with your Rocky Road. I hope you don't starve along the way. Chocolate is great; that's all I'm saying. Lots of people love chocolate.
Me: Well I don't. Let them have their chocolate. I'll keep looking for the next new thing, and when that doesn't happen, there's always vanilla.
Brother: Just stick with vanilla then, if you like vanilla alright. Vanilla is where it's at. That's your thing.
Me: It's not though. Vanilla doesn't quite satisfy. I don't wake up in the middle of the night craving vanilla. Vanilla is not the ice cream I dream of.
Brother: Ha, whatever man! You're ****** then.
Me: Yea, probably. Do you wanna go get some ice cream though?
Brother: Totally.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 9:58 PM UTC
There’s got to be a way out.
I’ve been struggling in this swamp for months.
Thought to keep striving was the key.
But it seems like the key has rusted,
Not working any more.
It has been too long to be patient.
Nobody helped,
For the fear of being dragged in the situation.
I still didn’t back out,
Tried to stand firmly,
And search for a rope.
A rope of time,
That was supposed to lengthen,
To help me,
To make things better.
Looks like it has only become shorter.
Passersby say-
“You can’t escape it”,
I feel disheartened,
Belittled.
I think about giving it a last try,
In case this time I am able to hop out.
Oh boy! That was a great moment!
They were all flabbergasted!
With all my strength,
And my courage pulled together,
I came out!
Stood on the ground,
Victoriously,
Contrary to their remarks.
Then I realized,
There’s always a way out.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 3:22 AM UTC
Befuddled,
Tongue Twisted,
The things I become when I talk to you.
In hope of finding the right combination,
The exact thing to get you to smile.
Flabbergasted,
Twitterpated,
Feeling something I haven't truly felt in years.
Butterflies in my stomach,
Twisting and knotting trying to contain something.
Fighting myself,
Unsure what to do,
When all I can do is think of you.
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 5:29 AM UTC
The buzzing of a street lamp,
Echoing through my silent block.
Sounds of crickets are heard,
But the silence is deafening.
Darkness surrounding 8th Street.
An uneasy feeling of being watched,
Creeping up against my neck,
As if it's licking me so tenderly.
The neighborhood of which my home resides,
So mysteriously nerve wrecking.
Petrified to take the garbage to the curb,
I look over both shoulders to make sure.
A creepy sound of laughter,
Floods the sound of nature.
Flabbergasted by my discovery,
That I am being stalked by an unknown being.
Whispers being whispered,
My heart begins to scream.
I loathe this feeling of dreadful fear.
I can't move.
I am paralyzed.
Whatever this thing is,
Human or supernatural.
I am almost positive this is arousing,
To the terrifying being that it is.
A predator hunting it's prey,
I now become the target.
Help me.
Oh god.
Help me.
Uncomfortable shivers contaminate my bloodstream.
Freezing in July,
It's 75 degrees.
Surrounded by the supernatural.
Unwanted manifestations of spirit,
Making me their little toy.
What in god's name is the end game?
Death,
Leaving my face frozen in terror.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 3:34 AM UTC
Once said that he was baffled
Yes, flabbergasted,
that in the 6000 years of human existence
In the 6000 years of exorcisms
Crucifixions
******
Bombings
Shootings
Lying
Stealing
Kindness
Love
Mercy
Forgiveness
No one ever prayed for the one
Who needed prayers to most.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 3:01 AM UTC
Sometimes a butterfly ***** its wings
and elsewhere someone gets wobbly knees,
because he is just about falling in love with anything.
He’s on the verge of tears and on the brink of bliss.
Now this could be a monk dreaming about transformation.
If so, I guess, he ate too many sticky sweets last night.
But the story goes further: At the very same moment
the butterfly leaves the flower and surrenders to the wind –
flabbergasted, the universe holds its breath:
Are its wings strong enough for the invisible force?
There, the monk wakes up with wobbly knees.
How courageous, one must admit.
And all of a sudden the monk has butterflies in his stomach.
Things get mixed up here, he thinks, and he tries
to fall asleep again – but (un)fortunately he can‘t.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 5:45 AM UTC