"gawky" poems
if words are food for the mind,
then here is a glimpse of mine
if words are drugs for the brain,
then here is why i'm so pained.
abandoned, abhorrent
abnormal, absent
abstract, abuse
addicted, anxious
betray, bitterly
blank, blasphemy
bloodless, breakdown
breathless, brutal
captive, casually
catastrophe, cautiously
change, cigarettes
crucial, clueless
damaged, dangerous
deadly, disastrous
disheartened, disconcerting
dramatic, dreading
eager, eccentric
ecstasy, eerie
effete, effortless
embittered, excess
faded, failure
faintly, fallacy
faltering, fatally
fearfully, finally
garbage, gawky
gibberish, gloomy
gone, goodbye
graphic, gratify
hallucinate, harshly
hazy, heartless
hectic, helpless
hesitant, hit-and-miss
idiotic, idly
ignorant, intimacy
illogical, imaginative
infatuated, intoxicated
jealousy, jittery
journey, journal
joylessly, judicial
junk, juvenile
keen, killing
knavish, knocking
knockout, knotty
knowingly, knowledge
laborious, lacking
lame, languishing
lifeless, literature
lovelorn, lugubrious
madness, maintenance
make-believe, malaise
mean, melancholic
mellow, melodramatic
naff, naivety
nameless, naturally
nauseous, nebulous
neglected, nervous
oasis, objectionable
obliged, obliterate
oblivion, obscurity
obsolete, one-and-only
pacifist, pained
pale, panicky
paradise, paralyze
passionately, passively
raging, ranting
rationalize, raving
realistic, reasonable
rebellious, reckless
saboteur, sadness
sake, sameness
sanity, satisfactory
scar, steady
taint, tangled
tasteless, tearful
telling, temperamental
terror, theoretical
unaffected, uncanny
uncommon, unconsciously
undesirable, uneasy
unfortunate, untidy
vaguely, vanish
vanity, vanquish
versatile, vicious
violence, voracious
waiting, waking
walkout, wanting
wasteful, weary
withering, wrecking
if words are food for the mind,
then you've seen a glimpse of mine
if words are drugs for the brain,
then no wonder i'm so pained.
-djs
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 11:21 PM UTC
A loose handed emblem,
of folded thoughts,
Loss is weaponized in enchanted red,
Wrongs corrected stemming from the
blissful bare signed gawky individuals.
Homage backtracked and renounced
Barely earnest calls for a curious fathom-ability
Heaven bound birdlike shadows,
Bright light gagged and janky,
Found little finger blood tacked to the earth.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 5:11 PM UTC
Once upon a time, there was me:
A simpleton of no account,
A dunderhead by word of mouth,
An addle-pate, a cracking crock,
A crazy who deserved a lock.
Not pretty, brainy, or well-bred,
Bespectacled, a short redhead
With hands too small and far too pink
Who’d trip or fall as soon as think.
Not many prospects, they declared
With such conviction I was scared.
But the cast was short one role,
The one who’d make the halfwit whole . . .
Once upon a time, there was you:
A lord of state, of high esteem,
The answer to each maiden’s dream,
A strong man, raven-haired, and tall?
No, not this person, not at all.
You had glasses just like me,
And freckles where your skin should be.
Your clothes were rumpled, torn and tattered
Not as though that even mattered:
You walked on set and came to me
You got down on one gawky knee
You took my pink hand in your red
And, as you fixed your glasses, said:
“I love your hands, your height, your hair,
I love you up, down, everywhere.
And I hesitate to ask you this . . .
But could I maybe have a kiss?”
And, for once, my tactless lips
Did not resort to stumbling slips;
I gave you one, I gave you two,
I gave every kiss I had to you.
Once upon a time, there was us:
Two simpletons of no repute
Two dunderheads whose names were moot:
Prince Not-So-Charming and his *****
And much as cynics tried to drench
The flames of addle-pated glee
I found in you and you in me,
As much as they enjoyed pretending,
They could not harm our happy ending.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 1:28 AM UTC
If a tale need be tattled,
the snawky Snawk would arise.
With its snickley tongue of arsenic blue,
and loathsome gamboge eyes.
To the King of the stickley Snicklers,
the Snawk would spill his talk.
But scuttlebutt was all t'was,
for he was but a snawky Snawk.
Might you ask
who am I be?
I am a jawky Jawk
who talks incessantly
of the snawky Snawk,
with his snickley tongue,
and his breath of kyarn,
and Beelzebub dung.
You see I knows of him all too well
and well he knows of me.
Invidious brothers, one of the other,
same Mother both have we.
Now the snawky Snawk spins yarns
so dark and thick and odious.
One might find his fatuous canards
to be though flatulent, commodious.
But If ye be a gawky Gawk
of the snawky Snawk beware,
For his loathsome camboge eyes
can squinny a ribald stare.
To your knees his gaze will bring you,
you'll tell all the tales you know.
Then he'll tattle them to the Snickler King
and off to the headsman you will go.
That is, unless, you know the ballad
the Snawk is most offended by.
'bout the frowzy blowzy stable boy
with only just one eye.
He lost his eye in a snickering match
twixt The Snickley King and he.
But got the best of the old nabob,
for he could cachinnate you see.
He did cachinnate and aggravate,
till the old King did concede.
The stable boy was the better of the two,
his tongue cut like a snickersnee.
For the frowzy blowzy stable boy
was not able to tell a lie,
nor could he mince his words with honey,
of the truth he could not hide.
And if one day you find yourself
in the land of the quidnunc kith.
Shun the snickley Snicklers,
and their sniggering King forthwith.
But if ye meet up with the stable boy
though untidy he may be.
Dare not tattle of a soul,
he'll let fly his snickersnee.
And remember well, the ballad he sings,
of the King he did do down.
Drink in its waspy strain and keep it nigh,
lest the snawky Snawk cometh 'round.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
there must have been
a gas leak
or some drug in my drink
I think
but nothing comes to me
what shall I do all day?
gawky morbidity; decay
on this sticky hot sofa
an idiot sits like a rock
blocked and sterilized
I just can't seem to figure it
'move one leg,
at a time'
but it's like I'm laying on a big gob
of pink bubblegum
and I've nowhere to run
the cushions, the cushions
comfy & yet
closing in on me
what the hell,
am I crazy?
May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 at 10:05 PM UTC
Long auburn hair bellows behind
I’ve got so much to choose from, but I’ll just change my mind.
These hazel eyes are the mark of mystery
Yeah, once I’m famous, they’ll make some history.
Got my pencil tucked ‘hind my ear
Life for me ain’t very austere.
I’ll leave to where the wind is takin’ me
No permanent home, this is what I call free.
Gimme music or gimme death.
I never knew the taste o’ your breath.
But I don’t care.
My heart still survived ev’ry freakin’ tear.
A notebook under my arm
Yeah, y’know I’m worth three times the charm.
Let’s keep traveling, c’mon, let’s just get away.
Don’t tie me down, ‘cause I’m bound to betray.
Gawky, yeah, and not too pretty
Dude, sorry, but that’s just me.
I’ve got guitars and screaming pounding in my head.
This pain doesn’t make me wanna prove my blood is red.
Just give me sunshine and a clear blue sky
And maybe some o’ that Boston Cream Pie.
Some consider me a nerd, but I’m just as clueless as you.
Ha, I’ve got way too many library books overdue.
There’re some friendships ya just gotta reminisce.
See ya somewhere beyond this oceanic abyss.
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 2:06 PM UTC
He was gawky, she was gorgeous,
wishy-washy he was, she, boldness in all its colors;
she kept prodding "Let's forge ahead"
grit was her essence, for her, was he man enough?
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 10:15 AM UTC
Gravity's on more than usual today
and the tile is unforgiving to the gawky limbs in my shoulder sockets
that keep dropping my favorite ****
My ******* flower mug.
My flower mug, with the two-finger handle.
With the hazelnut and vanilla and almond and Columbian dark dark roast.
With the "goodmorning" and "hows life?"
"Fine."
Lifey, isn't it?
And I'll be peeling super glue off my fingers for days
even though I know it won't hold what it's meant to anymore
(Who does?)
Maybe it'll start a penny collection someday.
(Who knows?)
And I'll wait in a silence with which I'm well-acquainted.
I know
if you break it, you buy it,
but I'm broke.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 8:12 PM UTC
My son is
led from my house
in handcuffs,
as I catch a glimpse
of myself in the
hall mirror.
At least my hair
looks good today,
I think to myself,
The window of my
front door frames
his long, gawky body
and I think that
it’s almost like
a picture I have
hanging on the wall
when he was three,
except for the handcuffs and
the police car and the bitter
look in his eyes.
Could this be the same
kid who loved me so much.
I pace the hallway,
looking at my toenails
painted blush pink in my sandals,
Summertime is usually better than
this I tell myself
How was your summer?
Oh fine, it was warm, and my son was arrested
for selling drugs.
The air conditioner kicks on
as the hot air from the open screen door
flows through, and I think
of my electric bill and how much
it will cost,
when I’ve already paid way too much.
Jan 19, 2010
Jan 19, 2010 at 5:37 PM UTC
Lucita clearly wasn't a beauty.
Her grade school features were unrefined,
Awkward, plain, unattractive….
(I'm trying not to be unkind.)
Her classmates loved--as many kids do--
To find people's faults and then make fun of them.
Lucita's classmates tormented her;
I know because I was one of them.
I didn't say mean things about her,
Tease her or call her a horrible name.
My silence, however, made me complicit;
Because of my silence, I shared their shame.
How often are we silent when
We see injustice right before us?
Do we fear becoming involved
Or hope that the "evil" will ignore us?
History shows what happens to people
When others stay silent and don't speak out.
Only by standing up to injustice
Can real change come about.
Lucita didn't stay long at the school.
I think her family moved away.
I'm sure the kids found someone else
To taunt, belittle, pester, and flay.
I hope that for Lucita a happy,
Fulfilling life has been her reward;
I hope the once gawky duckling
Opened her beautiful wings and soared.
- by Bob B
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
Why does the right hand get all the good jobs,
like greeting visiting dignitaries
(such a pleasure) ,
or blowing farewell kisses to the one you love
(such sweet sorrow) ,
or playing the melody while the left
has to oompah along in the bass?
Right-handers get the best adjectives too.
I mean, we’d all like to be
adroit (as the French have it) .
So why do we poor southpaws have to be
gauche or, while we’re about it, gawky?
Tactless, without grace, ungainly, awkward,
physically and socially inept, that’s us.
And Latin’s no better.
We’d like to be dextrous too.
What makes us
sinister? Was Dracula
left-handed, or something?
Even when we can hammer
or saw or paint or drive a *****
with either hand equally,
or cut the nails on both sets of fingers,
they only say we are ambi-
dextrous, which is a bit of a left-handed
compliment, treating the left
as if it were an honorary right,
as if it had no right
to be skilful
in its own right.
I suppose my left hand ought to be grateful
(in this respect) that I was not born
into a tradition where it is laid down
what each hand can do. It could have been
condemned to a lifetime
of bottom-wiping and not much else,
and becoming cack-
handed in more ways than one.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 3:23 PM UTC
Awkward n 15 year olds stroll with thrift minks and mismatched flowerd lace klunk grandma heels and a thrill in their eyes.
Aug 7, 2010
Aug 7, 2010 at 6:28 AM UTC
You rushed into my life unexpectedly. If I didn't have my love for excitement and adrenilin, then I never would have set my eyes on you. But I did.
Once you set foot in my car and our eyes melted into each other. At that moment and so forth I was clung to you like a magnet.
We drifted apart for nearly a week, but in that week your eyes clung to another. I knew in my heart that I needed to know if our paths weren't just meant to cross once..
So there I was at your doorstep, not knowing what to expect. Then there you were, with your big blue eyes of yours staring down into mine. You were tall and gawky, and your height didn't fit you. You could barely even hold yourself straight up, not because you weren't strong enough too, but because there was a wall bearing you back.
My body was shaking, I knew this was our only chance to see if there was something in-between us and I didn't want to perish it. Once we got comfortable on your couch, stories started pouring out of our mouths. As i was spilling out these memories, I started to notice you gazing at me. When most people look at me they look Straight through me, not seeing anything at all. But when you look at me you stare right into my soul, gazing at it, giving it a reassuring smile of acceptance for everything It's done and is.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 4:22 PM UTC
my heart beats faster for you
my heart and mind ache simply for you
is this love or fear i feel
for my thoughts are solely on you
you confuse me so much
i fear you so as such
you bring out the worst in me
gawky inelegant maladroit i am around you
it's nauseating that i am, also without you
it's upsetting, i am revolted at this
is this love or fear i feel about this
my heart beats faster for you
my heart and mind seems to ache
just thinking about you
is this love or fear i feel for you
stranger at day, thief at night
you are to me
for my thoughts are solely on you you see
my heartaches specially for you
is this love or fear i feel about you
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 1:53 PM UTC
I live in a glass house
built up on polite smiles
and forced laughter.
A house that I want
everyone to look into.
But one I never look out of,
to see you walking home alone,
on these dark empty streets
with lonely branches and street lamps
as company.
If I could see you
I would love you.
Because then I would understand
that love is
listening to you sing in the shower
to an audience of watered down
shampoo bottles
and gray bars of soap.
It is seeing you stare
out your solitary window
looking for stars in a city
whose lights are too bright.
It is feeling your heart beat
under thin cotton sheets, while
your mother and father
are fighting in the hallway
and you feel like these 17
years have been a waste
because you are just a child
holding a blanket again.
I’ve kept my shades down
and my doors locked
but the foundations of my
house are cracking like thin ice on
a January morning.
I have learned that
obligatory hugs
in the hallways, at dances, and at train stations
do not substitute for love.
Love lives beyond borders,
and fences, and walls, and barriers.
Ones that I’ve been to frightened
to jump over.
But if I knew what it felt like
to hold you under the covers
to keep you as warm as these
cold hands could.
To hear you in your silence screaming
in whispers, just like I am.
If I could look at your almond eyes
and your gawky arms,
and your spongy fingers,
and your silky hair.
And let the colors wash away, and the noises
fade out, and let the scratchy feeling of
reality become soft like your fingertips grazing my skin.
I would realize that the two different
houses we live in, share common ground.
Help me leave this house
that I’ve built on fear of honesty and
hold your hand, because in between the
spaces our fingers intertwine
is your heart and mine.
Building a new home,
with cement made of vulnerability,
and bricks made of acceptance.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 10:07 PM UTC
4:17 A.M
He gazed in my direction
That awkward, gawky,
Painter
4:18 A.M
I blurted out my
Greeting
Uhm, hello..
It was late
I was nervous
He was angelic
Hey there
His smile sliced
Into me
Inadvertently
4:19 A.M
I sank into
His eyes
Blue as the sea
His teeth
Were an astonishing white
Like foggy ice
4:22 A.M
He had gone
Out the door
Swiftly vanished
4:25 A.M
Calmed down
Slowed my heart
He was there
Outside
Cancer stick in hand
Shivering in Winter
Nervous again
Cold tonight
Smooth
4:26 A.M
Blinking
Sluggish
He responded
**Cold every night
When you're alone
In this swarming
City**
4:27 A.M
He stepped on his
Cigarette
And walked out
Of my life
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 7:53 PM UTC
Maybe
If I buy new sheets
I'll have an easier time forgetting you
And your shifting eyes
All morning sun and maroon.
I had better get a new color too
Just not blue...
That was the one before you
With the thin hair and half lies
And winter city lights.
And before that I like to remember nothing besides the yellow daisies on a peachy sunrise of my youth,
But the silky stitches will forever hold
Their petals;
White centered with a splintering,
Tainted innocence;
A pasty white puddle of
Bodies too young-
Caught in the riptide of our
Childhood storms
And a desire for adulthood
Or something seemingly more....
Stable.
Details will only cause us to once again derail
so I must insist you don't question this.
I've been going out of my way so long
Trying to wrap up my Saran facade.
Now every interaction
Feels wrong
And rubs me raw.
My plastic skin is wearing thin
And I might melt against the heat
Of the confrontational defeat
That I suppose ...
We all just get used to.
I keep tripping over perceptions
Strewn across a convex looking-glass
Of stereotypes and slurs that shaped my past;
And I suppose
Made a lasting impression
Rooted deep enough
to now be the
Instigator of my regression
And unrelated, runaway thoughts
That seem to always get deeper
On accident.
Everything will become a hazy memory
And glob into two word phrases
Of the forced politeness
That accompanies the acknowledgement
Of a past regret-
Still freshly gawky
As a transitional stranger;
I am inquiring
In an attempt to find an explanation for this untold something
That remains unseen
Until we're too disheveled
To distinguish it from a
A misplaced dream or idea.
Relativity counteracts the sheen
And perspective is everything,
But I feel myself slipping away
Into a despondent complacency.
I left all my linens in places
I no longer cared to be.
Yeah,
Maybe new sheets are what I need.
C.e.M 12.23.14
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
The metro station caged the slumbering metropolis
From this dingy mid-March town fridged in January wind
A ******** clad explorer marches in mellow strides
All the way to you
To back the lover's whisper spoken by static selfies
With fleshy whiffs, a borrowed jacket and a gawky face
Blind to but maybe fiddly pepples on the ground.
Down at a backstreet diner, its locked out doorstep,
A hygge cover made for two,
Humming low is the city's nocturnal remains' dubstep
Coming from an illuminating exit,
Luring the busy hands and buckled excitement, whereto ----
Whereto the vacant main street glides them
With the at ease traffic,
Down loops of everextending branches
I followed you
To the roundabout between
two surrounding glassware towers
Where gleaming sparks ***** on each other's windows
Divining themselves by lighting up pavements, entrance signs
and glooming heavens.
Corridors, lawned with clutters from refurbishments,
Lead to glassrooms of suspended business meetings,
And that cozy cavern,
Where you flump into a swivel chair.
Your inhibited expression unwinds
As my curious caress explores
The damp torso slumping deeper into the pliable seat.
And a devoted twitch of ecstasy, blossom unexpectedly
On your face,
Which already shied itself away from its audience,
Doubtlessly, for way too many times ----
A candid sight I could only cache from you,
Because I intend to see it again, your effortless reaction.
The sarcoma-like lump left uncut at the bottom,
Wrinkled like wind waves in a Ukiyo-e drawing.
I scoop the saline ripple, so you can taste it beforehand.
Our bodies started gravitating
onto each other or all over the place.
And lips, they startlingly perched,
out of wills, like magnets
For the very first time.
I've been feeling patient.
And I love taking my time with you
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 1:13 AM UTC
There was once a boy
A boy that resembled a toy.
A boy who wore oversized shoes,
Baggy pants and unusual spectacles.
A short stub,
That lazed clumsily around the room,
A boy whose appearance was hardly noticeable,
And presence engulfed.
The poor boy was constantly annoyed,
Teased and bothered.
Thrown around the room
Like the rag he seemed to be.
There seemed no escape,
From terrifying bullies,
That roamed around the school,
Waiting patiently to crush him.
The helpless boy waited,
For the Bully to take him,
Grab him by the shoulders,
And smother his dreams in pain.
One day, however, the boy waited.
He waited patiently
For the bullies to take command,
But they never did, they just walked past.
The lonely boy discovered,
That he pertained an unknown power,
One that left him nameless,
And devoid of appearance.
He knew he was not vitreous,
See-through or transparent.
But he could roam through a room,
Unnoticed, overlooked.
He could run through a clear field,
And go unperceived.
He was able to devour a thousand meals,
And never be blamed.
Such abilities brought wonderful joys,
And grand pleasures,
However such leisure brought
Terrible solitude in return.
The assurance of his safety warmed him,
Knowing he’d be free of harm.
But the gawky boy was lonely,
Devoid of company or charm.
He roamed the halls alone,
He sat absently in his desk.
And slowly his loneliness
Began to consume him.
He was overcome
by the colorlessness of his pale skin,
The crookedness of his misshapen brow.
He slowly fainted, into a mirrored glass.
The boy had become,
That he had always been;
Another shadow,
Another gust of wind.
His pale skin disintegrated.
The oversized shoes sank.
His spectacles shattered.
The smirk evanesced.
The boy became,
That which cannot be named.
A light breeze,
A faint whisper.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
he was gawky and she was gorgeous and he was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. so he walked back to his room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, he was the drizzle and she was the hurricane.
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 7:37 PM UTC
I don’t have to make much of a sound.
I can let the sentences coalesce
in the air, a dual carriageway of words
interspersed with a laugh.
The names I store are few.
I don’t have to yank them
from the chest, swipe off clumps of dust -
they glow when they need to
like fireflies swaying in the night.
I dribble out my current affairs,
watery vowels from my mouth.
Am I boring you?
Voice like an elderly hoover,
interest tumbling down the stairs.
You’ve done more in five minutes
than I have in five weeks.
I blink, then I sink.
It’s OK.
The days of rapid chat
are six feet under,
flaws knocked out of shot,
not as blindingly bright.
I wonder where you were years ago.
We’d know more;
my gawky movements less present,
my mind not pulsing
with impossible possibilities.
Still I shudder at the distance between us.
Pauses plump as bubbles
that can’t be popped.
The flow halted
by my wodge of insecurity.
No bother.
I swallow what I can,
let the taste coat my throat.
If you sparkle
you can help me too
without being aware.
The sludge will vanish for a while.
You don’t even have to make
too much of a sound.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 11:26 AM UTC