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Mazzy Ram Jun 2017
it flusters me that
you
pour so much of this affection
and i, so weak and naive
fall each time as though i forget all the other
times you made me feel ill.
all the other times i felt betrayed and
insignificant

not by you, but by my own
shortfall of deep love
for me
for my soul.

you didn't make me feel ill,
that was me.
ronnie hunt Dec 2018
‘one medium coffee, plain and simple’ says the man at the counter
he’s the dad of my friend from elementary school
and i’m spilling the coffee and hoping he doesn’t recognize me
and i’m getting flustered
and he’s asking the total and pulling out his iphone
cause you can pay with those things now
and you don’t have to sign the receipt
and i mumbled ‘have one’
and i meant to say ‘have a good one’ and i try to repeat
myself but he’s walking away now
and he’s already through the door and i’m still standing here
trying to get the words right
talking to myself
and i’m sure he probably thinks i’m an idiot
and he’s probably glad his daughter switched friend groups in fifth grade
because she found people who liked musicals more than me
and they sang and danced at recess while i sat and read
and he’s probably glad
yeah he’s probably glad we’re not friends anymore
we’re not friends anymore
Jamie Riley Apr 2018
They look out from the terrace.

At the borders of sight
live rocky hills behind brown
and golden and olive crop
under a cloudless sky.

Sun beams brighten motley roofs
on tessellations which blacken beige
in blurry air.



























BANG!





















An artificial cloud.

































“Look,” she points, “Let’s go!”

She takes him and they fly down stairs,
diving like sparrows
into the street.

Boys sprint across pavements and climb;
men vault over fences in time
for news to reach ears.

“They’re coming!
"¡Ya vienen!"

Excitement and fear.
The rattling of cow bells
and galloping nears.

Men bait and dodge horns
and escape through doors
and up and over
red wooden bars.

Sticks beat on the concrete ground
and drive the mute beasts's sounds.

Seconds away –
until the last,
he side steps into a house;

indoors,

apart,

he runs through the foyer
and up the stairs
around a corner.

Long strides

too fast to follow.

She chooses left and
sings soprano
when doors won't budge
and a beast crashed in.

She turns and the fear is paralysing.




"FERMIN!"







































­












He leaps down steps
and explodes
as it rams her
to and fro,
bashing her head
against the wall
where horns sin
and horns gore
cement and brick.

He grips the tail
heaving its hide from
side to side as
hooves smash
crates of wine,

he slips and slides
in fractured glass
and finds a horn
and yanks the head;

is yanked instead,
half dead before the men
arrive down stairs
to shout and kick it;
strike and stick it
smack and hit it;
'til it
fits and quits
and flees the foyer
fast and frantic
flying flustered
by the frenzy
finding the
pattering
of
pavement



petering



into





the











street.





"¿Que ha pasado?
  ¿Quien ha sido?
  ¡El Balbotin
  y la Chicha!
  ¡Que una vaca
  les ha pillado!"





His hands bleed
and flesh breathes.

"¿Estas bien?"

Dizzy, she tends to him
with searching hands,
and scolding words.
Men and women
fuss and frown,
always making sure.

"Podria haber sido peor"

Another story for the herd.
This poem is about an incident which happened to my Grandparents, Fermin Yanguas Ochoa and Raimunda Ramos Frias.

It was during a bull run in their village (Fitero) in Navarra, Northern Spain. 1972
JayceeJellies Jan 2015
Will you lock me outside,
forcing me to look in?
I'm so afraid of being unaccepted.

Why must you stare at me?
Do you think I'm unaware..

I wish you'd stop talking,
Your voice makes me feel impared.

Why are they ignoring me,
Do I need to speak louder?

Everytime I try,
I just become flustered.

Maybe it's just better this way.
JayceeJellies Dec 2014
It's been a day or maybe a few,
That I haven't heard from you.
It's not exactly depressing yet,
But I know I'll cry soon, and get-
Cold sweats.

It's not like you'd care,
You don't give a ****.
I'm just sort of there,
To you, I'm throwing a fit.

And you say I have no right to.
Well what did you expect me to do-
When you're telling people such hyperbole?
Your mispresentations have flustered me.

I've never met someone so treacherous.
I trusted you and you put on a display,
Which I must say was completely impetuous.
Where did you come up with such nonsense?

I guess I never meant anything to you,
I feel like I was just a fill in for others.
Others whom you actually befriended,
Or maybe they're just like me.

Discovering that you're really a bully.
An emotionally abusive person.
Iz Aug 2017
veins surge with static, eagerly pushing electricity through my blood like volts of frictionless energy
excitement flushes my pupils and they dilate as my lungs fill to breathe you in; an agonizingly controlled, but undeniably elated sense of euphoria at the slightest of touches
your jokes are accompanied by entirely too-perfectly-timed wit, and a lack of indication of sarcasm; I am flustered and yet flushed with happiness; a sweet conflict: self conscious with childlike glee.
you asked me to meet you at the top of the parking garage where you go to take pictures and watch fireworks; the thought makes my hands sweat and my head dizzy, the adrenaline of the height and the people buzzing below us and my hair in the wind and your face and those eyes.
Those ******* eyes that insist on making my thoughts their home.
Hannah Jones Dec 2018
"Who ever loved who loved not at first sight?"
You see, I think that was my first mistake.
For I am in a familiar plight-
before love is offered, I rush to take
the things I think someday I will desire
(not to say that I do not want them now)
then mind feeds heart events that "may" transpire
while flustered heart forms a glistening brow.
I get worked up over my fantasy
and stumble, blind, through each and every day
until my Brother I no longer see
and view, instead, the source of my dismay.

My first response: to loathe with all my might.
I can't bear to dream of your face tonight.
Written three months prior to the last piece. Different muses, different approaches to the same problem. My, how far we've come.
patty m May 7
I wanted to fall in love, to swoon beneath you kisses,
thought my wishes would all come true
and yet I'm blue, I feel crashed and at an impasse
a loose connection or a faulty wire, when we touch there is no desire.  Each time you spark, I sputter, if I had my druthers
I'd disappear, duck out of here, but I feel
flustered with this disconnect
from someone who I love and respect
yet chemistry isn't fallacy
and ours falls flat, no welcome mat
and now embarrassed we react instinctively

no longer friends, it's difficult to make amends
it depends on you, I'm open
and offer a token of respect
as I detect signs we'll probably reconnect.
batteries of memories stalled
now recalled bring on heady laughter
I think it's your turn to buy
the burgers and fries,
I'll buy the beer, have no fear,
this friendship comes without romance
yet it's enhanced with perfect schemes
how lucky I am to have you my friend even
though you're not the man of my dreams.
nadine Aug 2018
yearning for something
i desire;

what lies beneath
the ivory duvet
when the rays of the sun
spares a shy glance
around the nook and cranny
of your room;

hands aching
to lace around yours;
waiting to taste sweet you,
bitterness slowly creeping
up to its own demise,
this is why the maidens
sung their hearts out
to accompany
the grieving tremors
that shook the faulty edges
we had built,
atop of guilt and uncertainties.

flustered sheets scattered
on the floor,
pieces of myself
i can no longer get back to
whilst a gaping hole
greeting my own eyes
held a fragment of truth and silence.

( this is not my home;
this is the apparition’s
treacherous threshold. )

yearning for something
i lost;

the warmth of your embrace,
contrasting with the
glare of the sun
pouring down on me,
easiness could never
give justice to you;

sly brushes of lips against my skin,
as if chanting
bohemian chants
all over me
to get out of this
witchcraft that we call love;

longingness in your eyes,
a renaissance painting
in front of you,
begging to feel
the constellations
in your hands
cascading through
every vein in me.

still, i feel something coil
deep inside me,
were you truly mine?
again, you fill me with doubts.
Josh Vork Jan 30
The gods have conspired
They have a message
For me, for you, for us:
Slow down
Wake up
Pay attention

We coast through life
Rushing from here to there
Life a blur
Our focus on what is next
The next dollar
The next function
The next day
The next

Slow down
Rushing is fruitless
It gets you not to where you want to be
Nor where you need to be
Any faster
Only more flustered

Wake up
Stop drifting through life
As if a dream
The worst of all dreams
Until one day you are forty
With only hypertension
As proof of life lived

Pay attention
Look around at all there is
The world is your oyster
You’ve shut out all that is beautiful
All that is worthy
In order to rush

Snow has covered the earth
Bitter cold has enveloped the air
The wind is screaming
Slow down!
Wake up!
Pay attention!
The gods have conspired.
TD Apr 17
Atop the slippery slops, I slid
(slopes without the "e.")
At a loss without my seat
flustered as a rotund wallower
a-pink with plunging feet.

Below a shimmering mirror winked
its watery smile
waist high
welcoming--its embrace in sway
I often forget my fear (and "I.")

Head first I dived
(not unlike serendipity)
no guarantees of a leg to stand
crippled like a sorry hull
the shell of just woe without "a man."

Misery loved company
(apparently) so did that trepidatious "I"
such it was a staid chalk-white.
Oh to clean my slate before it framed
blemishes beyond my sight.

Paralyzed "I"
indulgently
lost my life to the deca-"dance."
When regrets too quickly again became--
the one and only chance.
self-fulfilling prophecy the Pygmalion effect

Aren't we all a bit "pig-like" at times? Wallowing in remorse, regret and then when we have finally broken free at times.. we go back to that place where we started and so our doubt becomes our recycled life story.
Madelynn Nieves Sep 2018
Stuck
Between two roads
My mind wandering
Trapped
In the ethereal state
Of wanting what I can’t have
The unexpected
The irresistible
Sinking in you
But this floating feeling
Keeps me reeling
You are the tune that I carry
The song I sing
The feelings I bury
Because this is all too scary
When you make my soul feel
Fantasy so real
Too hard to conceal
Looking at your face
This smile can’t be erased
A connection that can’t be replaced
As this heat rises
Spreading throughout my body
You’ve got my brain bumbled
And my whole body flustered
Knowing this has to stay secret
My words must stay mustered
Because I have my reasons
For not diving straight in
But I’m starting to stop caring
If I’m living in sin
Because my eyes can’t stay off of you
And I simply can’t win
when i see my handsome crush
he makes me giggle, makes me blush,
i get so extremely flustered,
it's almost as if i turn to custard,
i melt away at his gorgeous glance,
i look at him and know there's no chance,
how does he do this, i turn to mush,
my god, how my handsome crush is so lush!
Pagan Paul Jan 18
.
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 :)
.
Chameleon Jan 30
Nobody else knows what it’s like when it’s just you and another person.
They don’t see how often he makes me laugh,
the **** kind so you know it’s real.
Sometimes he will just stare at me and then go, hmm, and smile as if he’s thinking something sweet.
How he encourages and supports me at the Gym even when I’m struggling to get it right and then tell me how great I did when we leave.
Watching Game of Thrones cuddled up on the couch has become my favorite part of the day because it’s just me and him and it feels like our thing.
He notices little things about me that make him laugh, like how I get flustered when the Roku remote doesn’t seem to work.
He defends me and respects me and cares enough to grab my hands when I can’t stop pulling out my hair.
They don’t see how stupid happy I am ever since that Saturday after Thanksgiving when we just gravitated towards each other and have been together ever since.
Onoma Mar 31
--shall April be the cruelest month?

as that praying mantis poet Eliot proposed--

to begin with implosive foolery.

sagging rains that will shatter stained glass

windows, to reveal another station, of

another cross.

forgetting to joke about dead-seriousness.

the air will carry roses flustered by the

bloated piety of clouds,  soaking the earth

for worms to break surface.

stirred crazy into beaks that glut, then sing.

more than arthritic bones, the forever growing

pains of a scowling soul...ah April.
Darius May 15
Disgusted and dazed sick flustered triggered fuss in his brain

big buzzard in range, big buzz in the range fist clutched this gun's just combusted in flames this must be a twisted **** in a rage coz girls spun whirl slupms 12 swirls on his ****

disfigured lumps legs busted hands cuffed in a cage

straight outta the gate, the gateway drug's gateway's shut for a minute

system's corrupt if I build gates I still win doughs in this *****.  

the man's trust has escaped,

but the **** runt ran flustered

spazzed stunned and submitted

"You clapped **** you had my freedom in your hands for a minute"

the man's drunk plans flunked

he's ****** up as it is

He's too stupid to hear his music career's in the toilet

your jam won't get you **** to eat if you jammed musturd in your plate.
It's the fact that all the ******* runs stoked and it hides

the alcohol's a tool kit that helps him open his eyes

***'s just how he sees the truth, the real life truth serum
Try and catch the punchlines lol
Hello Daisies Apr 27
My pace is slow
My words are stuttered
My heart is flustered

I lose all my chances
I say everything wrong
I am a broken song

Would you wait for me?
If i smile at you nicely?
Will you hear through me?
If i gaze at you softly?

Why am i so invested?
Others are interested
But i like you
Would you like me too?

Am i waiting too long?
Or do i take this slow?
I really need to know

But honestly
I fear the most
You may never think about me
This crush is only pretend
In my own
Fantasy
Oof im bad with telling peoole i like them and i always ALWAYS mess it up
Warren-Johnson Oct 2018
A struggle! so just keeping it together!
Flustered and torn!
Lonely if I don’t reach out!
Emotions run through me like riptides in a vicious squall!
Not sure whether to run or hide!
Or what or where to next!
First thing everyone has always said just breathe!
Yeah if I did that from the start!
Wouldn’t burn to do just that, just breathe!
Reality kicks in, no worries I squander my soul on! can change the outcome of others choices!
Besides
I need to take ownership of my actions and face the consequences!
That needn’t render me powerless though!
For i still, have prayer!
And i am a great person!
And aim to be so much more!
I just need to show everyone i remember how to be me!
Kayal Jul 22
Let's runaway
You and me.
Just you and me.
Just like how we have dreamt,
Just the way we have always wanted.
In one of those long trains,
That takes us to destiny.
Along the other bunch of curious eyes,
Ours being the brightest,
Hand in hand, lovey dovey,
Blending with stardust,
Let's get lost into our dreams.

Come, Lets runaway

From all these planned chaos,
Organised crimes, so called selfless responsibilities.
Let's free ourselves from this cage.
This cage, locked by the society.
We've gotta escape it.
Not like the dewdrops slipping through the leaf,
But like the warriors breaking through the fortification.

Come, Lets runaway,

I don't know where
Let's just run till we find our destination.
Inevitably this will be a long run,
But this will never be tiring
Because we are together.
We will be tormented with storms
Don't be scared, we are together.
We will survive the storm.
When the journey gets harder
Don't be flustered, never step back.
Hold my hand tight, we'll be fine.
Trust me, this is what our every single heartbeat wished for.
Every breath out of our lungs went in search of this quest.
Lets get it and feed our souls.
Lets run away.
headache- Pop two Advil
But we can do better than that

Down the whole Advil bottle with a handle of jack
and whiskey throttle into the worlds atmosphere

Stepping into the black hole that holds your life in fragments of their soul
Speeding in the fast lane riding in a limousine
When you’re the only passenger on board

The moon may seem like a cool place to venture
But give me the sun so I can sense what it feels like to be the center of attention and revolve into the shotgun of his heart

To burn and no one says anything about it because that’s the way the cookie crumbles

And no one knows how fresh that bakery is down the street on mars because it all tastes good so no one questions it

That’s funny though, isn’t it?
If everything is going as planned
And nothing is wrong
Life’s sweet memories taste sweeter than the last
And there’s never a bitter taste on your tongue, or in your brain,
No one questions it

But as soon as the sun stops shining into your tinted limousine
And the cookies aren’t as fresh as they used to be
We get all fussy and bent out of shape and start trying to fit the wooden square into the circle imprint
And wonder why the hell its not going in,
Our brain matter turns into the static of that old tv
And our eyes get flustered
Things start looking fuzzy
When we awaken after a long nights sleep and everything is blurry

A morphine drip hanging above our bed inserted into our arm
Anesthesia shoved needles into limbs

look I get it
We think we deserve better than the last
“You can do better than that”
But what if the last thing was the best thing
And what if,
it doesn’t get any better than that?
Julian Delia Aug 2018
My heart
Feels like a frostbitten cave nobody should ever go in.
My soul
Feels exhausted, drained and spread really thin.
My mind
Feels like its fighting battles it can never win.

I find my thoughts
Consumed with anger and despair,
Evil feelings who have created a lair –
A base of operations within my mind,
Staring at the world with a terrifying glare.

And yet, despite all this,
Nothing kills me more than being alone.
This need to experience humanity
Is not simply an act of vanity,
Or a call for attention,
But an attempt at reclaiming sanity.

We are the loneliest generation of all time;
Previous overlords used force to rule,
And whoever didn’t follow was lambasted,
Marked as a traitor and a base fool.
Now, force is merely a tool,
One in many of a lethal arsenal.

Social hierarchies are fake, sometimes downright farcical –
Now, we are divided and conquered.
Our communities have collided,
Our love for each other is drained and flustered.
We are armed with shields of prejudice,
Careening towards a perilous precipice
Of watching out only for ourselves,
With no room in our hearts for anyone else.

I just wish I could let go –
I wish I was an atom of boiling water,
About to break free and become steam,
I wish to taste of true freedom,
To at least get one, tiny gleam.
Yet,
I find myself weary, tired and trapped,
A torturous routine so well-travelled
That, at this point, I could say my brain has it mapped.

I close my eyes
And see visions of you I wish I could forget.
I wish I’d looked before I leapt,
Rather than live with this pain and regret.
I close my eyes, and see
Years of seeking somewhere I belong,
Brothers and sisters with whom I can stand strong.
Yet,
All I seem to find
Is people struggling with their daily grind,
Souls that are just as tired as mine, if not more.

And so, I find myself
Dealing with this constant craving,
Ranting and raving,
Hoping that this frosty cave is still open to reclaiming,
Hoping that my soul is still worth saving,
And that my mind still finds this battlefield worth braving.
This feels like the breaking point.
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