"fret" poems
The throbbing headache and nausea
I can endure; I've had worse.
Right now I could cry,
such a raw hope consumed me
as I thought about you, desperate.
It was still dark for me then,
when I needed you. Now it's day.
It brings a true smirk to my face
to know you are nothing more
than a night of binge drinking:
a foolish part of my youth,
a consequence of boredom.
I could not hold your liquor,
I vomited all that bile you said to me
in the hedges outside. Don't fret,
this is not a bad memory, in fact
you might never be a memory at all.
I am well. I will drink better and
far more dangerous poisons.
I am today, you are only last night.
Mar 13, 2012
Mar 13, 2012 at 9:55 PM UTC
On Saturday mornings it always was the same
my Nan would say come Chris we are going down the lane
I would fret want to go to the bathroom but she'd drag me out again
knowing what a powder keg she was and thought her rather insane
It did not matter how big they were she had ***** of steel
if someone crossed her path they would come off ill
I was mortified by her temper, my word but she was strong
I have seen her throw hard men right over my head and they were gone
Now at this not so tender age I am
now I understand who I am
just another dangerous creature
like my sweet old Nan
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
It's a wide open art,
from the start.
Rules are for schools.
Dont fret em,
forget em.
So
Relax with a syntax,
clown around,
with a pronoun.
Squeeze the ******
of a dangling participle.
Free flying like geese,
creative words release,
make it up if you please.
Example--the plural of mice is meese.
Flowery language isn't the exclusive domain of the professional writer, it's for everyone!
To continue then,
about the writers pen.
No write or wrong,
nothings too short or long.
Mangled,
bungled,
butchered,
bumbled, don't matter.
We don't need a librarian to admire what we have done.
Words aren't hard,
fling them unbarred.
It's not arithmetic,
or teaching a cat a trick.
Crunch them uniting,
mix them combining.
Fling them,
meld them,
Verb them,
sell them.
We don't need a New York Times best seller to enjoy the art of writing.
Uncrate it,
create it.
Use it,
and abuse it.
Don't bar us
from a thesaurus
Or a dictionary.
The spiel
is to write real
tell the tale
seal the deal.
WORD HATERS live in the town called Fictionary.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
Anom o ly
Non-named, never imagined much less realized
The left hand can't know what the right is doing,
it's a brain matter, grey area, may be a way to
imagine your unique. task, yours, not doable from here
We can do things as us that we never imagine alone.
Is there a need to negate, wait, think,
must one do any act?
Now, I see, emulating Socrates is thought easier than
emulating Jesus. Christ, you know that ain't easy, eh?
Death is the friend of being. Things change from time to time
but, you know knowledge grows in two directions,
the dark part is not evil.
evil is as evil does. The roots that ever live in the earth,
those roots are required, requirements.
Left brain uses the right hand. Don't tell the left-hand
that nearly all it's skill in serving
and being used right,
is used up by the other side.
Right or wrong, is not a chiral question, nor is good or bad. ******** Phillips's head screws with a butter knife is wrong.
It can be done right, but not if you turn it the wrong way.
Drawing on the right side of my brain has always symbolized a crossroads experience, in my mind.
I mean I draw, realistically, with my right hand, left brain.
Maybe, brains are no easier to analyze than time in an immaterial medium of messaging.
I am certain life wins.
Meaning everything you think life means.
Do you think evil is required as an activity for life to actively be?
I doubt that.
Death fixes everything. Fret not. Wait.
First make room, what was the Bronte word? Penetrium, no, cut n paste
[A]t once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason - Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge.
From <https://www.etymonline.com/columns/post/cloud-of-uknowing>
Happiness demands an agreement
Joy is in process, I agree, I am happy, haps happen and I notice
Note: Bronte was one to tweak fine puns with the word Penetralia: 1. The innermost parts of a building, especially the sanctuary of a temple. 2. The most private or secret parts; recesses: the penetralia of the soul. See Chapter one, Wuthering Heights.
----- From
bronteblog.blogspot.com/2006/03/emilys-penetralium_03.html
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 12:12 AM UTC
Most heavenly of places, this world now
Of endless beauties, a sight that wows
They're statuesque and wax-like, but hey don't fret
No wrinkles to combat, nor ripples of fat
Gazing into their arresting green eyes
That of the rabbit's, resemblance lies
Uncanny it is, this puzzling scene
Manufactured they are, from the same jellyfish gene
And since its time to seek paradise,
My wandering hands caress the prize
To search for weakness, now I must
No amount of fondling, stirs any lust
I've come so far, and this is what perfection costs?
The smoothest of skin, has left all thumbprints lost
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:58 AM UTC
Words float in the air
They rearrange themselves into a sentence
form a picture of a train and roll away
Words shaped like balloons
They float away but will be back soon
Words hiding in a tree
Leaves fall to the ground and form sentences for me
Musical notes rearrange themselves on a scale
Fingers jumping from fret to fret
or dancing on the piano keys
These are some of the things I see
Ocean waves roll in and write on the sand
Once it just wrote, "I AM"
Seashells with words lie on the beach
In a sentence they realign
Thank you Lord for this beautiful mind
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 7:25 AM UTC
Slipping into my apron,
Hungry in body and soul
Humming as a song played...
I grab my knife and chop-board
Unsure of what to cook
Strange inspirations possess me
Filling me with *****
My kitchen becomes a stage
In my hands- a plectrum and fretboard
Silver utensils- my live audience!*
As I play divine recipes
Strumming master acoustic chords
Chopping fresh, colorful vegetables.
I dash to the remote,
Punch "Repeat" and dash back on stage
Landing on E♭ minor,
Scaling impossible notes,
I slice with razor-sharp plectrum,
On onions and other root chords
My fret arrayed with colors,
Of spinach, lettuce, tomatoes
Carrots, potatoes, olives
Pepper, cabbage and cucumbers.
I hear a thunder of applause
As I ignite the cooker
Butter sizzling in the hot pan
A staccato of sharp notes,
*Ready to modulate innocent vegetables
Through spicy aromatic crescendos!*
I fight hard to suppress a sneeze,
No sneezing on-stage! Unprofessional!
Multitudes of seconds rush by and…
Voila!!!
I stand for a moment
Salivating, awed at my bravura!
Wishing I could hang it on my wall
Tis beautiful like art
But I can’t eat this cake and have it!
So I dig in…
Heaven and earth kiss for a moment
L U S C I O U S!!!
Luckily, it didn’t taste nauseating
Like my last attempt.
No time for ceremonies
I munch from pan to mouth
Pausing for what may pass for a prayer,
I relish every bite!
Not that I’m a foodie or something,
But nothing beats this combo-
Of good food and soul music.
And yes,
*Music is indeed food to the soul!*
I devour, in view- the next meal...
© Raphael Uzor
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
No food
No sleep
I can't let these things reach out and speak sweet lies
I can't let food call my name
I can't let sleep drown my thoughts
I shouldn't eat
I can't sleep
This is me
I am broken girl
Who can't eat
In fear I weigh too much
I am a broken girl who can't sleep
For my thoughts and memories
Haunt me too much
I am a broken girl who answers 'how are you?'
With 'I'm alright' even when I'm not even close
Because I don't want you to worry
I don't want you to fret
Over a broken soul
I am a broken girl who says 'I have been busy'
when someone asks me why I haven't done something
I have been busy just not in the way they think
I have been busy trying not to give into hunger
I have been busy fixating on how I'm broken
I have been busy
But not in the way they think
I am a broken girl who has let her demons
creep up on her too much
I am a broken girl who has surrendered
her soul
I am a broken girl who dates so she feels
worth something because I don't when I'm alone
I date because I need to depend on someone
Because I am not dependable for anyone
Let alone myself
I date so I can hear someone say I love you
So I can hear someone call me beautiful
Cute
Amazing
And so many other things
Even if I don't believe it
I am a broken girl who has lost so many relationships
Five to death
And so many others just because they left
I was no longer good enough
No longer happy enough
No longer
PRETENDING
I am a broken girl who pretends
And when I stop people leave
Because I am too broken
I am too clingy
I am too demanding
I'm just not enough
Or I'm too much
THIS IS ME
But no one sees
Until I let them
And when I do they worry
But please don't worry
Because you didn't when you didn't know
So why worry now?
I'm still the same me
You just couldn't see all the flaws that my eyes do
You don't see the way I do
I see a girl who's eyes are too big
I see a girl who isn't thin enough
I see a girl who's hair doesn't suit her no matter what
I see a girl with too many scars
I see a girl
But I don't
For all I can see now is a walking flaw
And no one knows that
THIS IS ME
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 1:20 PM UTC
I watch people in the world
Throw away their lives lusting after things,
Never able to satisfy their desires,
Falling into deeper despair
And torturing themselves.
Even if they get what they want
How long will they be able to enjoy it?
For one heavenly pleasure
They suffer ten torments of hell,
Binding themselves more firmly to the grindstone.
Such people are like monkeys
Frantically grasping for the moon in the water
And then falling into a whirlpool.
How endlessly those caught up in the floating world suffer.
Despite myself, I fret over them all night
And cannot staunch my flow of tears.
10.3k
Today I’ll ponder,
on these scars.
Tonight I’ll wish,
upon a star.
Tomorrow may bring,
another wound,
but wounds can heal,
if treated soon.
Yesterday,
I thought of death,
and felt the wind,
sigh with his breath.
Not today,
he whispered clear,
perhaps tomorrow,
but do not fear.
In the end,
he comes to all.
The weak, the strong,
the big and small.
He’s timeless and constant,
Death’s always “been”,
and he has no pity,
foe or friend.
He’ll lead me on,
to the unknown,
giving me the thing,
he can never own.
So I will not fear him,
and I shall not fret.
For tomorrow,
has not happened yet.
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 4:13 PM UTC
Replaying a riff four times perfectly
One missed fret and the entire day ends disastrously
Replaying moments of kindness and warmth
To overcome the feverish idea that I hold no heart
Every fourth step, threes end in ******
Maimed images constantly creep
This subconscious ludovico technique
These thoughts come and go in no particular order
A seat at the table and a serviette on my lap
What if I leapt out my chair and suddenly attacked?
What if I aimed the knife towards my hand?
I constantly question if that’s who I am
I will have a picnic with her today, all joy and cheer
When these intrusive thoughts will inexplicably get near
And terrorize my attitude as well as my image
Disassociating with a perplexed and horrified visage
I’m so incredibly tired of existing
A cruel and ironic fate
I’ve missed out on so many opportunities
All because of this miserable headspace
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 1:05 PM UTC
This is not a metahpor,
oh no this is so so real,
this is the deliciousness,
oh for my meal,
to consist of the sweet delicacy
Oh I know you know it is true,
Let us fry a koala,
Not make it into stew.
It will be chewy and crunchy,
Oh leave the bones in,
They make the meat more tender,
And toothpicks more fun,
Let your girl make it for you,
And **** you clean while eating.
That is when you've reached heaven,
And the lust and gluttony therein.
If they try to stop you,
From stealing another koala,
Tell them it is your dinner,
And they are making you quite irate.
Beat them in the face,
And shoot their families down,
Nothing must stop you from eating,
Yet another fried koala,
One might even think its fate.
When you **** it out,
Don't fret or moan,
Take it like a man,
And bless the remains,
of the once fried koala,
As you flush it down down down.
Because another lies down under,
To quench your hunger,
Forever.
For Lexi.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
I’ve died
I’ve felt the brunt of dis-ease like a disease
The final straw that has broken my heart
Drove a stake through instead
Why now?
The leftover time I’ve been allowed
Is filled with hollowed out emptiness
The screams of pain when there is no one to answer me
Bursts my life at the seams
I have died
I’m gone for sure this time
I cannot even fill the time I have in between
Because I am numb
Dead inside
Without that genuine human touch with no hurtful motive
I’ve gone and died
Withered blossoms of socialization should have fought hard
Hardly fought instead
The weak politeness crept out
I have died
With no thought for the future
I’ve cut my past off to live in the blankness of the present
Don’t fret
I never really lived anyway.
cc111911
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 11:57 PM UTC
At times I feel socially awkward
hiding away those eyes from contact
mumbling and stuttering
as though I were stumbling,
upon the words as I was discovering.
Please don’t think I don’t want to talk
when I rush out,
Please don’t think I don’t want to talk,
when I don’t open your messages.
I escape out of nervosity
I feel the fuzziness in my head
butterflies in my stomach
nervosity in my nerves
lack of air in my lungs
tremble in my muscles
and the gritting of my teeth on my nails
as it drains every ounce of energy out of me.
I hide behind shadows
so I don’t encounter any social interaction.
No matter how many times I plan
and play a conversation in my head
I shudder and fret in reality,
making myself look like an awkward mess.
I want to be friends
I want to say hi
but the words do not escape
for I feel tongue tied.
I feel conscience and dreadful
for being such an awkward mess
choking on words
unable to let them
escape my tongue.
I am thinking
more than I am speaking
I can have a conversation in my head
but somehow, I find it difficult in reality.
But then you reach out
and make the first move
It makes it easier;
only to find myself
being an embarrassment once again.
But you don’t judge
you play it cool
and remain patient
you still show an eager to talk
and maybe that was what I needed
to be comfortable and me.
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 1:47 AM UTC
I feel you, I really do.
Guess what my father wasn't there too,
a bunch of substitutes but no one solid.
A bunch of institutes couldn't give me solace.
You'll wonder about fishing
and camping trips too.
You'll wonder about shaving
or using a tool.
You'll learn from your friends
some of the above,
then you'll learn on your own
and feel so unloved.
You'll get into trouble
and a couple of fights,
you're living and learning
its the way of life.
No worries though,
I'm here to tell you,
If you give it you're best they'll see the value.
So don't fret my boy for I am you, keep faith stay strong and you'll make it through.-JS
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
sunrise, sunset
birds fly, land, and fret
doctors mend, treat and heal
write wake, write and feel.
sunrise, sunset
the fish swims while the parrot pecks,
the bees nestle back into their hives
as the moon lifts, and the sun dives.
sunrise, sunset
the diaries cease to forget
when all go back to rest
with the sunrise, sunset.
so as the babies mumble and the children cry,
the world lives and nature thrives.
the mother yawns and resets
with the sunrise and the sunset.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 12:33 AM UTC
It's never goodbye
Always see you later
Though my body is far
My mind is nearer
Than the air you are breathing
I'm with you there sleeping
Always remember
Never forget
The time that we've spent
Together again
Soon we will be
So don't you dare fret
The going gets tough
We've always had it a bit rough
Roll with the punches
And play with cards that are dealt
With a bond such as ours
We will always prevail
Over the hardships and toils
Our blood, it will boil
Tiffs and spats will be had
But, we'll never stay mad
It's been fun and will remain
Joyous all the same
Cuz it's never goodbye
Just see you later
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 11:34 PM UTC
Past years reminding me of ancient ideas, wasted hope on young lustful love
which now translates to the tune of reluctant,
senseless adoration as I watch
my first birdie take flight
and spread his wings like a majestic eagle in the sky.
I wave goodbye.
You know I'll always remember
the first summer we spent together.
In the good times, and through all the bad
concern and dim hopes were all we had
but then, she heard wings of all sorts
scattered at her front door flocking
My birdie came knocking
stopped the boat on uneasy waters from rocking.
Opened up his tormented soul for me to see
and asked every graciously "forgive me?"
I pleaded, "but it was I who'd sent you away!"
and it still haunts me to this day
that I hurt my best friend
and thinking of those tainted sheets in which I lay.
But you told me not to worry, not to fret
the past is the past,
so lets start off where we finished last
we were stupid, carefree and naive
we knew no greater truth than hair dye & ****
And simple things,
like paintings, a smile and teddy bears
were all we needed.
But I'm here today to prove
That I will always stay true
To give guidance and support all the way through
Ex-Lover,
Best Friend,
Brother
I love you.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
The burning feelings we had
Passionately we loved
Like flames enveloping us
till everything turned to dust
I guess we might have loved too much
The spark that we ignited
turned into flames we could not handle
The fire spread
From HEARTWARMING
Came to HEART BURNING
This is just heartbreaking
But no longer Shall I fret
For no longer will my heart break
for only ashes remain
From the once burning heart
From the once burning Love
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
I can't hold on,
I can't let go...
I keep on breathing
But each breath is suffocating.
My heart keeps pounding
But in my own blood,
I'm sinking.
I wanna hold on,
I wanna let go...
Smiling if I'm sad.
Frowning when I'm glad.
The past feels like a dream,
The future, a nightmare.
I'm not holding on,
I'm not letting go...
Here's the feeling I can't express:
There's a fret I can't suppress.
Words, thoughts
I've been screaming to you
Come back as whispers
Like I'm talking to my echo.
Tired of holding on,
Afraid of letting go...
I don't wanna die
But I keep on killing myself.
I need a reason to live.
I need the sun to wake me
From my restless sleep.
I can't hold on,
I can't let go...
Hands stuck in the solid air,
Standing on waters, crystal clear.
Hanging on to the nothingness,
Begging for help from the emptiness.
If I did hold on,
If I do let go...
If I fall deep into the sea,
I only wanted to see:
If I disappear,
Would anyone care?
Shed a single tear?
Pull me up here?
As the gravity drags me deeper...
As the light vanishes from my sight...
As the waters conceal my tears falling...
As I keep on holding on,
As I finally let go...
As I talk to my echo...
And drowning...
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 4:59 AM UTC
let go, brother
let go of your forest
your ocean spray
your frantic
manic
tendencies
the ability to wipe it all away
lost somewhere in the wind
let go of your rain
let go of your shaky hands
and hold your pencil straight
with your teeth
don’t fret, forest
don’t burn, brother
hold
hold tight
the hallucinations of what swims
a polished stone skipping
in one endless encephalon cycle
fogged and
fogged again
the forest smokes
and the rain to put it out wanes
steam
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 4:37 PM UTC
Ears pressed cool against
glass tables and vinyl flooring
words score high drained slowly
slow like wasps caught in guttered draining
not like velvet names etched in casing, but weathered like bricked and beaten graffiti –
Waning like wax always melting
Tools: spelling and grammar – uncheck
Don’t fret too many gerunds grounding air suffocating hearing between the lines that past lower truths out straight in dirt and stinky face: eyes drawn with pensive staring
lines drawn global remains of words unused: boycott form because it isn’t daring.
Adopt sonar because it traces the smokestack between eaves drop
and scrap metal hearing like thorns prickled cut by cleaver.
Clink, clink, clank.
Unlatch cellar doors of images fixed in meaning: glances slanted
heads poked out behind legs enchanting ink under eyelids.
Clank, click, click.
Wishing: Sunday morning came to rest and the cat perched rest without the windowsill and the space between my legs lost meaning.
Forgetting: Painted houses haunting furniture misplaced, training lessons in memory fading.
Dreaming: Sounds dipped in vegetable oil, Van Morrison in teething states caring.
Still lost without my last breathe wondering…
Mar 2, 2011
Mar 2, 2011 at 1:31 PM UTC
It is all I ever wanted
With you
To sit and wait
In this crowded space
Waving in vain
To the waiter in distress
And I crack up
To calm you down
No need to fret
His smile tender
Once we place our order.
Between bites
And overhearing
The couple beside
I bask
In delight
Eating
My obsession
While you carry on
With the conversation.
I pass by
Quickly catching this sight
I stand outside
At at loss it is not I
Savoring sushi at your side.
I walk past all I ever wanted
With you
You sit inside
Reveling in my sushi
With another one than me.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
JOHN KEATS’ LAST POEM WRITTEN IN ROME ON 21st February 1821*
(From The Imagination Of The Writer)
I am fading, fading fast, Fanny, my love eternal
Far away from you and home
I am dying, the hours I am counting
In what I liken to my grave that is Rome.
All that I seek in this dark loneliness is solace
Moments of respite thinking
Of you and our past exchanges of affection
Dissolved by fate with our hopes descending
Unto the oblivion that had been pre-ordained
Tears are comfortless and what is to come
Is but this pain that seared love must bear unknown
Only self-felt and suffered without end that renders my heart totally numb.
I can’t understand and it defies reason
The human heart should bear so much pain
While the tranquil stars hold so steadfast and the song
Of the nightingale drifts so sublimely in every sweet refrain.
Youth once gaily clothed in such beauty but now
Grows spectre-thin and here is but fret and fever
Where the old and infirm hang their heads down
In tearful reminiscences of happy days that have fled forever.
And now, my ***** my only love, you alone in this
The saddest schemes of things should share
This my life so wretched , lost, unfulfilled and joy-bereft
I beg forgiveness, only remember my poems—sorrow let us silently bear.
John Keats one of the greatest English romantic poets died on 23rd February 1821 in Rome, aged twenty-five
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
To be a human being is to be riddled with thousands of imperfections.
Full of flaws; scrapes, spots, and scars cover broken and bruised skin.
But robots need not fear and fret about fixable, trivial defections.
Humans perpetually throw themselves at cold, apathetic, greedy clinicians
Only to be given terrible news and told there is no cure for a horrid death.
Meanwhile, robots bask in the glow of love from a passionate technician.
Humans can never agree when it comes to the dealings of the heart.
Always one-sided, they take turns ruthlessly destroying each other.
Robots, oblivious to the issues of any and all feeling, live freely.
Naive humans will work tirelessly, only to see nothing but certain failure,
But life has never once benefited those of us who are currently living.
So, humans crafted robots, to always succeed where they could not.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC