"fortuitously" poems
where shall I send my poems?
to my eyelashes,
for they beat irregularly
unconcealed and unconscious
like my poems
to my fingertips,
where they are released fluidly
they grasp, strained and staining, tapping breaths
like my poems
to my smile,
fleeting and happy weeping fortuitously
a lifetime of a whisper, glimpsed and gone
like my poems
to my brain,
where they are symmetrically born only to die ceremonially
a fireworks duration evaporating into a rich velvet
like my poems
like my poems,
none will survive me,
blemishes, pockmarks, beauty marks, residues,
in a flash bang born, in a flash bang consumed
3:08am dec. 9 2019
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 3:17 AM UTC
i.
a girl once told me that sad people close their eyes
so they do not see the world anymore,
and that i should count sheep when i cannot fall
asleep and that her favourite flowers were azaleas.
she also told me that she keeps scabs
on her knees, and on sundays
she comes to me with bleeding wrists.
another girl paints artifice out
of artlessness and human flesh. she
has scalpels for arms and a tempest on
her thighs and she lives in the
mirror and when i blow
ii.
on her i understand, through air condensation
and self- anathema, that i am the girl that she
de-fleshed maliciously herself, slit out of the cardboard
and painted out in artifice and artlessness and
i am the girl that once told another girl to ******* cut
her arm off and i meant it so she would not hurt herself
again because
i am the kind of the girl with scabs on the bone
of her halo, because i believe halos are made of
nothing but cartilage and helium bones, and a heart
as transparent as a vampire and its split opened like a monarch
butterfly, ******* off
azaleas or malarias or other pathogens
giving infants cancerous proclivities and my eyes are
swollen in mauve from divestiture because i know too well
those sheep won't jump over the fence
anymore because they have been ****** raw
in the *** by inhumane prospensity and i understand that
sad people close their eyes because it reminds them of death.
iii.
death is a scientist that theorises the
duality of elusive particles in artificial marrows
and mediocre decolourised melancholia in discordance,
it is the finger forced into our tiny vein and
it is nothing but a dream within a dream
but i could care less and this poem
is not about death, it is about how i
like ugly girls and how i'm just sorry
that i do not taste as corrosive
as the bleach in her mouth.
iv.
when people are dying, they almost sound poetic.
v.
i am the girl humanised by ribbons of
flesh and bile and atrocity, and i am the girl who
understands that a 'broken heart' is
nothing but a metaphor for utter
disappointment.
i am the sleep that dreams long for,
hope for, phlebotomise for
and i am bitter.
vi.
i am bitter because i will not believe in sundays
unless one day, fortuitously, the sun osscilates,
in the most serene of all mannerisms, down the earth
and kills us all.
i am bitter because semantics does not authenticate
the abiding human apathy towards death
and all the flowers in her hair.
i am bitter because people only read my poetry
because they think it is about them.
i am bitter because of other horrible
reasons that words can simply not express.
vii.
ugly girls are always prettier
because god loves ugly
girls, because he ***** them harder than the
rest, and because they know how to
make others feel ugly.
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 6:40 AM UTC
*One who feared LOVE
Called it unattainable
One who pondered LOVE
Pressed a rose in their books
One who ruminates LOVE
wraps it around a wick and calls it a lamp
And there is one who contemplates
Puts fire of LOVE
Burns heart to inequable use
LOVE
Serves many purposes
Warmth, care,
Compassion, touch
Companionship, feelings
And above all
LOVE loves...
But humans sold LOVE
In the bazaars of wealth & age
Education & gender
What an exorbitant cost to humankind?
Oh.. divesting LOVE to stupidity!
Fortuitously,
You told me
"Wander not far & wide
In quest of LOVE anywhere
So here I stand
Within YOU- my LOVE"*
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
My heart beat like a drum
endlessly falling for you.
I licked my lips of colored plum,
hoping it will touch yours too.
You held me like I was yours,
and it meant that you were mine.
It was a night like no other,
a feeling of cloud nine.
Your left hand wrapped upon my right.
Your right hand on my immobile arm.
I held on to you too tight
hoping that it will be no harm.
It was a feeling like no other
to finally feel loved.
Fortuitously slept, rather
than talking to my beloved.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 5:11 AM UTC
I've been in some pretty big fights with the people I love the most in my life, yet time after time we find ourselves unscathed, undamaged, and unflustered. Patching the pain I fortuitously cause others isn't some errand I bitterly await, it seems like more of a human duty.
I never have a hard time fixing things that are broken in my life. A glass shattered on the floor this morning, & now it sits stitched flawlessly on the shelf.
It just feels right to leave something the way I found it, or at least try my damnest to get it near perfect. It really is the try that matters.
And I just don't understand how it can be... so easy for me to say I'm sorry, while it's somehow so easy for you to unapologetically lacerate every inch of my sympathetic soul.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 4:53 AM UTC
I crumble
Into insignificantly small pieces
And spill
Through the cracks of insanity
Insuppressible
Falling so slowly
It feels almost as if i'm floating
Dispersing
Once i reach the callous bottom
I was once surrounded
By brightness
Never acknowledging
The precedence it didn't receive
The light was always a given
A requirement for life
It was never anything
Extraordinary
Captured by crazy
I lay still in the dark
Watching beams of light
Flicker
Through the very cracks
That made everything
Vanish
After i fortuitously invaded
From this angle
They look almost like
A possibility of hope
A way to reclaim life
Infiltrating
The dark that suffocates me
The rays sweep over
Just long enough
For me to inhale
Every glimmer
Now imperative
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
Fortuitously my memories are stumbled upon,
Like smooth river rocks beneath the flow of a gentle stream,
Triggered by an anomaly in the day,
A bump in the pavement,
A loud bang,
A missed step up a flight of stairs causing a momentary stumble.
The provocation for today was innocent:
My feet pushing against the artificial pavement--the treadmill
Memories seemingly harmless take a dark turn.
I'm now running down memory lane,
A dark well once thought empty,
Gushes forth with a violent burst.
Some memories, especially violent ones, call for severance,
Or the mind will deteriorate.
Heavy breath, sweat cascading down my brow,
This is the only time I can feel her talk to me,
You see, she and I are disconnected;
And we have been for quite some time,
I increase speed, not listening to her cries,
She pleads with me to stop, I ignore her.
The only acknowledgement she gives is a stabbing sensation,
She reminds me I have a heart and lungs,
She tells me I am alive.
My body and my mind are two separate beings,
One within the other,
Like oil and water,
We do not mix.
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC
If only she knew
What I went through
To find her
Fortuitously
Nonetheless
Then remind her
Each day I seek only her smile,
Her laugh
To say something worthwhile
Crossover her path
Before my epitaph
Crosses over
Unknown
And all that I have written her
Not set in stone
Dec 23, 2021
Dec 23, 2021 at 12:13 AM UTC
since that destined afternoon
when we met, I've failed at every attempt
to script a poem for you
for whenever I drew your portrait in my
palace of conception, it always was
amorphous and white for unrevealed
was what shall light the fire of muse
but last mighttide I poured in
colours and paints I conceived
from our short colloquy.
i saw strange shades
that laign with mine fortuitously
and I crave to see the colors and their shades
that sit quietly, unknown to me.
do not doubt these verses and even
though they intend to smear flattery, I
script no colourless lies when I say
in the world, you're the only poem in flesh.
Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 6:05 AM UTC
At the end of the bar, Sally sat
Eyeing the mice like a big bad cat
Her lone eyes beckoned like cheese
Drawing a catch to her knees
Fortuitously she caught a rat
Logan Robertson
9/05/2019
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 12:37 AM UTC
Maybe another story can furnish the mood
let fate wave a sensation
the passage between you and I,
its tantamount to a binding ;
fortuitously a lit spark
will shorn your withholding the truth,
a silent yearning reached,
long set as a promise.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
The amazing maze constructed out of old ideas and rotty themes has its grip on me.
My feet in still wet cement have to get some direction from the top, the Man in charge.
I’m going to cut in line to tell him that this is a metaphorical matter of life or death.
I hope and pray that he will anoint me with his special touch and show me a new way.
Fortuitously my appeal would be heard. Some winged figures issued me into his chamber.
But all I could hear was a growly old man behind a green curtain that was suddenly invisible.
And the wiggly “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.” Man or god, I now have
The courage, the brain, and the heart to find my own way. It’s an old path, to my home.
Dec 3, 2019
Dec 3, 2019 at 12:49 PM UTC