"fuddled" poems
trepidation.
walk on eggshells. Don't make the wrong move. words are more powerful than you know. vanquished by them, yet again. Woulds never heal when written by a blade of sound.
walk away.
hopeless, forlorn. dejected and rejected. failure cuts a knife so deep. why. Never should make a person feel, this way. rejected. a state of being denied, shunned, dropped, jilted or abandoned. Drop-kicked is more accurate. through thoughts and feelings and walls of un-intention. Unintentional doesn't mean, unafflicting. It's not unconditional.
Up, down, turn around. Hide and seek, but words will always find you. Ominous. Noxious. Apocalyptic. Impending and inauspicious, never pending doom. Don't drown. words surround. Overpower and oppress, get in touch with loneliness. Inescapable. Better to surrender. words.
Immobilize. Can't even hear. Things being said, here. take out. shut off. take over. can't control. it's overtaking. seize power. let go. it'll never stop. Beaten. Buried. Conquered. No respite here. Weariness, none do care. Defeated, run-over. a dump truck of cruelty crushing, running over your heart. The soul is next. **** the heart, now defeat the senses. can't, survive. stressed and, suppressed.
The power of a consonant hath never been matched.
Rip apart, tear down from the start. People don't matter when reduced to mere words and petty emotion. Remove humanity. Steal personality. Nothing matters. Anymore. Disheartened and, Decomposed. Striped bare. unaware. doesn't matter, anymore.
forebodingly frightful. frustrating, feeble, failing, falling, faintheartedly framed. Fuddled. Flustered. No solution to this mess. no respite from such unbearable distress. The fright won't subside.
What a great terror, to be left outside. Alone. In the dark. words. tear, destroy. Shut out in the cold, still scared and alone. Abandoned and deserted. Desolate in a land of cruel misintentions. Uneager comprehensions.
Falling, no stopping. Fear suffocating any chance for hope. Fall.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
harbouring virtuousity, curious to express
exhibiting, she firmly held the pen
to jot down the mystic emotion,
the exquisite dream
oblivious of the mounting stress
pouring
the dissipating words recklessly fading
confused up wit
unable to sought down, the oblivion of sleep
knew not what to indite
unable to contemplate the very dream
but thoughtfully only was such the fuddled sapidness
the psychic images ; a subtle dream
dreary eyes
thirstily awaited
till the very amnesia faded
for the sole muzzy feeling, this the only manifest
suffice the unenviable question
whence crept the feeling?
whence the love aviate?
where rested the answer?
sudden diaphanous streak
stroke sorely to the pounding wit
paralyzing her for the moment being
the sudden egest
whatever the persistent burden
gone
for now
them thoughts voyaged operosely
beyond the abyssal pupil now dwelt
the glamorous face, snowy heavenly dress..
the very words ; euphoric conversation
lasting gentle tepid touch
that had dourly crept and haunted
throughout the delusive night...
penned down
finally incurred
peace
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
There was something about her
That made memories linger
But I remember her in bits
How she fuddled with her fingers
And how a glance from her
Was like recieving a hug in an envelope
There was a sparkle in her eyes
Just a bit hope
She had a sly smirk
Whenever she schemed
She found happiness where ever it lurked
Even in the saddest dreams
She saw how every detail is perfect
Or so it seemed
She was a complete mess
And justified it
When she confessed
That chaos is beauty
But lacked to see her own loveliness
Her image was disproportionate
She couldn't even fathom
That the way her way of life
Had so much value and passion
It created an effect of inspiration
To any one she spoke
And she couldn't believe
How much she meant to me
I guess she just didn't know
That there was something about her
That made her glow.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
Where did you go my queen,
Sun eluded,darkness hued the sky,
Clouds amalgamated and the sounds emerged,
Thunder tingling the mother earth,
Where did you go,you two little foot with your graceful fingers and celestial hands,
Wandering in the cosmos of obliviousness,
My mind envisaging your pastiche presence,
I see ur smile drifting on the rays of the imbued rainbow:
When the mellows of the zephyr that carried the voice of your breathe that breezed in to my breathe,
The ecstasy of tears cracked through the clustered clouds,
My hair winding as the zephyr roving through synecdoche strands...
My palm is under the influence of the dripping water,
and my eyes caught you floating, like the foliage leaf,
The ellipsoidal life carried your simulacrum,
I asked the drops of globular life that where did she impersonate you,
She limned with the bubbles that spoke chirpily:
"I saw her While I was in jaunt trip with the chariot clouds and lilting thunder,
she was strolling in the frolic fields fuddled with wallowing winds....
Her long hirsuite was in harmony with the zephyr,
As the brother zephyr was billowing in to her hair...".
I don't know where the place is,even my mind tends to imagine it,,
but I feel I too could fuse with you in the midst of that perpetual bliss,
I am waiting for you as my body transferring heat to the dripping life,
Didn't u hear those imbued silences that yelled your name...
Where did u go you plenary pulchritude,It is from you that I read what undulations are.....
If you don't come,I will...when I do...you wouldn't...
We will melt as one to the one....
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
I’m avoiding a void, Freud warned me of
by worming my way in to the apple of my eye
I know it sounds paranoid as above so below
ground zero dark thirty where I heard the well runs dry.
Hell, I wonder why I try to quench my thirst for knowledge
from any ***** puddle when I’m at a cow college
‘cuz nowadays I rather cuddle up with a good book
than be-fuddled by how to transgress, ring a bell hooks?
Well looks deceive and I can guess
by the wings you have yet to receive
we have come to the some of nothing
from something I thought we were far beyond
but maybe I was wrong at the end of it all.
You said it wasn’t my fault but then again,
Freire taught me how to lock
away my thoughts in a vault.
I’m hemmed in with Hemingway in the corner of the café.
We spend half the day laughing at our neighbors savoring
their lattes but condemning how they stray away from nature
‘cuz labor’s not their taste.
He says, “What a waste of time.
Do you see a better paradigm?”
I agree because I was scared at the time
to embarrass myself in front of an idol of mine.
I know it’s futile to rival a dead mind
but when they’re better than the headlines
I don’t mind if I never shine brighter than a dying light
‘cuz it only really matters in the end if I’m trying right?
but what am I trying for when I lost a friend to love and war?
Cut the ties, I’m alive.
Who was I dying for?
Who was I fighting for?
Who was I writing for?
Shelby tells me where the sidewalk ends
and well, he’s been a better friend than you’ve ever been;
ever since you left me and met he who shall not be named
nor blamed for this game you played against us.
Again trust was just a part of it all.
I was miserable like Margaret Hall.
Withdrawals always reinforce walls of remorse
and of course, I’m the source of all your problems
but who took the time to resolve them?
You weren’t forced to endorse any course of action
except follow the laws of attraction.
Perhaps gravity magnifies abreaction
or the severity of abstraction.
Yet Apollo would swallow
all his pride and passion
hollow out his home
and throw a match in.
© Matthew Harlovic
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 2:30 PM UTC
fresh stripping decay
delicate and voraciously succulent
(on the meager rectangles
crammed with flaccid light
how grand thou art: pumping of the very stiffest asphalt garden
glinting relentlessly)
a comical filigree
spat by Mans most least clumsy
fingered mechanisms
; cLipPing the common strip of cobalt languid sky
i'm in it's jowls
the rollicking neon punch
of ***
and bricks
the addling conjure of moist trepidations
in clear or amber juice
of the fuddled *****
the barman proffers;with his grimy note
and assertive beard lined vocal shunt
"what,ll you have ?
"
Mar 6, 2011
Mar 6, 2011 at 2:00 PM UTC
I glaze a look at the street, from
our apartment window.
You are coming slowly, teetering
one leg in front other, with back slightly hunched forward,
burdened with sleepless nights and yesterday’s undones.
Vibrant spirit once you had is lost, tossed among crowded
train wagons, useless meetings and broken deadlines.
One vein in the left corner of your forehead, swells, pulses in the rhythm
of your dark, fuddled thoughts as unremitting, sprouting baldness
reflects evening lights.
Still, I smile,
for you are here, with me in all this madness
we call life, half diced with wants and haunts that braid
every tomorrow we greet together.
I would like to put you in a different frame, picture of
nor “Yeses” nor “Nos”,
just us, being us, each moment celebrating
without lamenting for what “ifs” or “shoulds” and “coulds”.
Still, I smile,
as I watch you battle your restless leg syndrome,
wrestling to sooth demanding expectations,
lifted bars for higher remunerations, in constant marathon
of best comparison,
for you care, you dare.
I take your hand with eyes of approval,
life’s ****** and gigolette,
ready to play each day’s illusive roulette.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 5:23 AM UTC
All it takes is a moment
A fuddled mistake
All that it takes to turn love to hate
And you don't want to own it
All that it takes is some words
Doesn't matter how or what is said
Any syllable can mean the sword
And you yell and you scream till you're dead
But who was to blame in the end?
No not just you, though you did contribute
Both needed wounds to be tended
But instead chose to ransack and loot.
A jab here
A hook there
Towards the heart a knife nears,
No, not a knife, a dagger
In a cycle of mistrust
Who started it? Does it even matter?
No, the only fact is that communication at the moment is a bust.
Words explode and you only slide further down this impossible to climb ladder.
You focus on splinters instead of climbing,
They focus on the way you climb, not that you're climbing
If neither focuses on the climbing then what's the point of trying?
If neither wants to truly speak their mind,
Will both be forever blind?
All it takes is some words
And maybe an action.
Too lost in the playing of swords....
Want to go home, but, where is home anymore?
Just a simple string of words is all it takes
To turn love to hate.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 9:29 PM UTC
she was art
she was the part
that no one could account for
greatness in her contour
creativity seeping from out of her pores
dripping onto floors
like wet paint
she ain’t
ordinary
every bit of her
extraordinary
and she wore it very coronary
as if it were a crown
and if you were to look down
on her head
what she said
was more than remarkable
the fire she kept
inside her re spark-able
like a fuse
she is everyone’s muse
truly an inspiration
a beautiful creation
freckles aligned on her face
like constellations
refusing to be complacent
adjacent from
a galaxy that glistens
driven by ambition
as she paints herself with liquin
colors vibrated against her skin
you can hear them closely,
if you listen
you could hear them as she spoke
her breath strokes like brush strokes
ever so soft and subtle
her palette slightly muddled
as oranges and blues cuddle
leaving dull minds fuddled
nothing can suddle such a divine mechanism
but her scheme vibrant with rhythm
seeing the world in her vision
through her own prism
consuming herself in the bristles
she is blissful
every curl in her hair wistful
as every lock wrapped around
one another twistful
she was sublime
as she saw herself as redefined
soaking herself in turpentine
painting a new path
like a phoenix, she arose
from the ash
bouncing back
like stretched canvas
she grabbed in a hand, with
gesso in the other
making her slate blank
to enjoy different palettes
and different paints
an artist
unable to part with
success
Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
A gill of gin to start the day and
then I'm in the zone
a hidden flagon on the wagon
I'm on the way back home.
Sometimes I make moonshine,
fire up the still only waiting to fill
another bottle with ***** for
one more light cruise
down fuddled memory lane.
On Sunday I rest
go to church dressed in my tux,
and get
a few funny looks from the Vicar.
I keep my eyes on the time
my head in the moonshine, a
couple of hymns, prelude to
a few more sweet Pimms
and the day comes to
an end.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC
I'd like to be a bird, you see.
And I might travel all the seven seas.
I might even reach a paradise
far away from their judging eyes.
What's paradise, you ask?
well, if you're so keen to know...
It's somewhere where I'm skinny enough,
and somewhere where your mind is clear.
"Sounds like heaven."
"Yes it is."
"Will we ever get there?"
"You know I'm too heavy to get off the ground."
"And I'm too fuddled to find my way around."
"Well, we never were meant to be a bird, you see."
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
Scarpered for the siren liquor
Shame-seared claret cheeks
Lost to time and regulation
Found by terrified relation
Taught that gravity was quicker
Supine in the streets
Too pie-eyed for interventions
Fuddled buccaneer
Too aware for rectifiers
No relief with pacifiers
Banished now for contraventions
No more welcome here
Therein lies the contradiction
Tricksy elbow-bender
You designed this cunning passport
Teamed constabulary transport
Speedy coveted eviction
Purposeful offender
Now we nurse the convalescent
Scarring quips ignore
Dodging pleading, wounding protest
Culpable without an inquest
Feeling without feel-depressant
Pain-drink tug-of-war
Where to put our damaged kindred
Languishing in grief
Ductile truth in glass distended
Remedies are not extended
Therapies are judgement-tinted
Distanced from relief
Imminent familiar wipeout
Nowhere safe to be
Don’t do as the doc suggested
Cede to being bottle-bested
Bottle-lock in private hideout
Throw away the key
Aug 16, 2024
Aug 16, 2024 at 12:56 AM UTC
2B or not 2B -- that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to trust
The estranged memory of my parked car,
Or to take arms against the flight of stairs
And, by ascending, remember. 1A, one floor --
No steps -- and by 1A to say we end
The footache and the thousand natural shocks
That heel is heir to -- ‘tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. 1A, one floor --
One floor, perchance no callis. Ay, there’s the rub,
For in these shoes of death what callis may come,
When we have shuffled off these mortal streets,
The lot must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of memories.
For who would bear the sores of party shoes,
Th’ endless rows of resting vehicles,
The low ceilings and countless steps,
The insolence of the inebriated, and the spurns
That patient merit of th’ unworthy takes,
When he himself might end the fuddled search
With a local inn? Who would challenge the stairs,
To grunt and sweat under buzzed breath,
But that the dread of someone waiting at home,
The undiscovered disappointment from whose bourn
No party-er returns, shaming the conscience
And makes us rather storm the steps to 2B
Than face anger we wish we knew not of?
Thus a spouse’s fury does make heroes of us all,
And thus the reality of ten more steps
Is boiled in the evening’s song and merriment
With little regard whether the car is parked in 1A
Or perhaps upstairs in 2B. -- Harsh you now,
The ground that catches me. -- Cushion, concrete bed,
I think I shall rest here.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 9:48 AM UTC
My car has got it’s brain back through
A trick automotive lobotomy hack
It was acting a little manic, the whacked
Human Machine Interface Module part
The screen was seen as a scary
Kerouac consciousness stream
An obscenity screed; a
Muddled fuddled car scene
HMIM installed anew—
Electroshock therapy
Zzzzzzhhhxt-phsssszzxt!
Initiating … initiating … initiating …
“Welcome!
Destination?”
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 12:03 AM UTC
*she lived in a bathtub
with a rubber duck
fished out of the ocean
by seafaring men
trawling for sirens to love
and mackerel
a murmuring mermaid desolated
only able to speak neptunium
i would have you believe
that i took pity upon her
but in truth i fell in love with a fish
a beautiful fish girl
it was her scent that drew me to her
a vaporis substance
like bouillabaisse
i inhaled her breath
feet
***
****
mouth
saliva
i carried her back to the indigo sea
to swim with her
always wet
shriveled and shivering
glazed and fuddled
i drowned
seven leagues under
fish food*
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 8:15 AM UTC
Once upon a time there was a man who fed on other people's fears.
He soaked them up, he seasoned them with myth and stirred them up for years.
The stew he made was glutinous. It clung
To one's intestines and it stank like dung.
The gaseous mess oozed venomous stink
That fuddled minds and made it hard to think.
This fog of hatred , fear and false report
Made careful thought
Impossible for some,
But others battled on.
They had begun in youth a search for clarity and truth
And soldiered on through media hype and politician's babble,
Ignorance and greed ( the fodder of the rabble and the man it loved; the man who spoke for it,
The man who made it fine to hate).
He promised all a blissful state where each would live and call his own
A paradise that he could have alone
For who would share it?
Who could share?
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 5:30 AM UTC
You fear as i fear in these lines
you fill my odd little places
with special graces
you will rage and i shall roar
then we will crumble with laughter
I stand strong and you stand firm
no fuddled words have we
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 4:39 PM UTC
Absinthe at dawn
a night club
a dance hall
a bordello
the world swept up
in Bohemian revolution
bright colors explode
inside fuddled brains
full of acid and do me
next or I steal your
planet Earth for my
Butterfly collection.
Orbits in orbits in
more orbits brick on
brick make a church
with graves outside
fading light at vespers
when they pray forever.
Jul 30, 2022
Jul 30, 2022 at 9:18 PM UTC