"inadvertent" poems
1173
The Lightning is a yellow Fork
From Tables in the sky
By inadvertent fingers dropt
The awful Cutlery
Of mansions never quite disclosed
And never quite concealed
The Apparatus of the Dark
To ignorance revealed.
16.5k
I lusted today.
It was that deep, down urge.
I stretched and moaned
Without even thinking.
It felt good to think it.
I wanted it hard enough
And got reprimanded for it.
That harsh ‘don’t do that’
Was spoken quickly in my ear.
I couldn’t help it.
I knew it’d feel good.
Inadvertent as the groan was,
It still felt good.
I knew he wanted it too.
He just couldn’t right then
And it made me want it even more.
©cc122612
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
~**My portrait was painted by Jackson *******
<|>
“***there are no lines or lies in my writings
there are no definitions and perception is only your truth.
Therefore,
my poems are splats and drips, you make them into paintings that hang in your own private museum,
but signed by me as first passenger***”
<|>
when did I write these words?
can’t recall, though undated,
they seem all too familiar, and thinking that if I didn’t,
I should have…
for the title of this ‘poem painting’ has lain in quietude,
a resident in my file of
“someday writs, awaiting,”
when the itch demands you will
essay
**the admixture of words and swords
that will cut a newborn corded reciprocity of thee and me,
an unbound bind that ties and frees us
from and by our shared senses…**
today, an inadvertent blinding sunlight stumble is demanding a
fulsome scratching
<|>
the portrait of each is the irrational intersectional of splats and drips,
each viewer, reader, filters the image through a common
uncommonality,
which is as it should be,
**for if we are each created in His image,
how glorious is the diversity of our deities,
each of us a tiny drop of paint on a tableau
of a small planet, insignificant but
uniquely beautiful intelligent species of godlike creatures,**
human
<|>
the précis of this conundrum conversation bewilders,
a single word drops,
of plaint, paint, blood,
a seconds blush blurred
that is the building blocks of imagery
I state is mine,
but now realizations swiftly fertilize,
**the portrait is not of me,
but of me blended into thee,
and this poem,
is our composition**
that hangs in each of our primary
museum,
newly re-titled,
A Passenger, Realized
Sep 14, 2023
Sep 14, 2023 at 7:10 AM UTC
Her mind is gone
Lost among the dust
Her lies pierce me
Inadvertent as they are
One day bleeds into the next
Days of the week spelled out
Empty spaces in the pillbox
Sharp eyes grow confused
Losing their purchase of life around
My heart tears amongst the dust
Lost life murmuring in the dark
Surefooted stumbles and quick falls
Blurring confusion sweeps past
Room filled memories gathering dust
Her mind is lost
Gone amongst the dust
cc1210
Dec 30, 2010
Dec 30, 2010 at 4:48 PM UTC
Where the whole that was
has finally
fragmented,
descending in an open, unremarkable blaze.
And so pieces of me shall collide
with the ground,
implanting fractures
few shall discern.
And the winds of days
and nights will continue to
persuade the dirt unto me
so my morose roots will not grow,
infesting a world undeserving
of my inadvertent pollution.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
Inadequate to the task
Humbled by the enormity of our love,
The perfection of our joining,
Where are the words kept that sufficient
Honor and portray what we have achieved?
You seated, beside me by the bay, finally,
Two old adirondack trees side by side,
By the sheltered place you bequeathed me,
Where poems are raindrops, so numerous,
And you, if not the subject, the source.
The waves rolling in, mirror the
Fluidity of thy dancing,
Fluidity of the adaptation,
Two lives, now one bay blue colored,
The merging, the unification,
Many waves, but one bay,
The Bay of Us.
Yet so different.
We are cloud worshippers,
Does not the Skye's Tableau inconstancy,
Mirror our ever changing form, individuality,
Yet, one sky,
The Sky of Us.
So many times have I lain be-sided
Even as we this afternoon sit now a-sided,
Tears welling up, above and beyond control,
This man's steady nerves, constant on patrol,
Our secret open, visible, un-hided,
Your are my Magi
My Yogi,
i.am, your, obedient devotee, shaped to you please.
This is the birthday present my words present.
Words, unremarkable,
Except for the contentment
That lies within them.
Let me love you more,
Recklessly abandon norms,
Kiss you at the supermarket, at the opera,
Unashamedly, take you in my arms
Wherever wonderment and wandering lead us.
T'is so very hard to compose
When tears flow upon my writing tablet,
To wipe, blot them away, I refuse,
For tears are joyous emblems,
Salty badges of love,
All compliments of our complementary beings,
The Tears of Us.
The soaring music we gather in.
The shimmering sparkles upon the bay,
My gift of natural diamonds better, this day,
Than jeweled glitterati I hide in the refrigerator.
All this treasure, part and sparkle of
The Treasure of Us.
T'is truth,
I know not, forgot, your age nor care,
The day the time the year,
What matter they to me these artifice markers,
I weep carelessly, undone, overcome,
Every day, but this day, most, united joy.
Need-No reminder,
I am a survivor,
From a concentration camp
That slow programmed to destroy,
Perhaps the kindness you claim
As the hallmark of my fame,
An inadvertent gift, from the devil?
You shook my hand on our first meet,
Don't think, have I ever let go?
Let me be your driver, entertainer, your only poet,
Let me be whatever you need,
Even as now, I laugh-cry, your tissue carrier.
For t'is I who weeps and keeps
These tissues as part of our history.
You are the first,
Who has ever read
The Words of Us.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
*step this side..
no, you.. that side!
in a line, in a line.. quiet now – get ready for fire.. no miss!
please line up the children in neat rows, get them ready…………………..*
1.
eyes are misted over – something happened in the gap
hooking-up strangely with estranged sons lost in custodial-wrangles
alienated values;
family-core defunct like a super-shiny apple with putrescent-flesh
long-beard wants a son after so many daughters, sits unwashed in the smoke
gender-penalty – sorry, sister.. you chose the wrong straw
you remain in that cage till we say come out
2.
bread-basket filled with stealth-grenades
rights and benefits squirm in slick-oil of rules
peasant skirting the limits of the city; even rats fare better
cloak of goat-skin, the shield hides serpents beneath
the hunter will aim for the head, land in the centre..
yet an inch or two too high
sentry, close the gates and bar the window-frames!
3.
inadvertent greed and control; aggressive power
news-man dies for feed that’s untrue, anyway
picture-man twists an image to suit the viewer
all kinds of lines disappear so quick – ****** jokes, theatre, life, even poems
and if you’ve never had the sad combo of sick and homeless,
famished and cold,
tired with sores
oh, war will be courteous enough to bring you all these, on a platter
and more..
*there is no border when we all roam in hunger and in fear
like the orphans in crowded-camps
high-rankers sit far away.. ominously "well-off"
chew on hard-cheese
gulp down red wine
but the throat still feels parched, and that bayonet is too short
its fear will kick in.. on a day least anticipated
would you be shocked if it is a child who will drive that wedge-stick home?*
st – 14 march 2014
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
I was young when my brother had an accident
By a rushing car appeared in an incident
Eyes in Tears thought of just a moment
Our life changed oh such a disorient
Forget all our differences and arguments
We prayed for days asked for lenience
Do we have a goal in life except to be pleasant?
Time goes by as we are inadvertent
In shock we find ourselves always hesitant
Unable to decide in which must be decisiveness
Wonder why our mind is mostly turbulence
How do we decide the path of correctness?
Just turn your head around and prepare for afterlife
Instead of wasting time in the temporal life
Ask God for continuous Blessing
As you’ll never know who is messing
Always remember you are the one whom is living
It’s in your hands and always your decision
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 5:16 AM UTC
Every now and then,
When I'm sitting alone in my
Pajamas, with a cup of hot
Chai tea and a dash of honey
In the morning
I sit against the wall
I breathe in and out
Once, twice, a few more times
And then I let down the
Gate in my mind
And my thoughts
Prance in the field of
Morbid dreams
I imagine my death
And I wonder just who
Would bother to show
And I wonder if
That boy, yeah, that one,
The one I loved for
Five years,
Would anyone even
Tell him?
Or would he be too busy
Shooting up, getting drunk,
Too busy trying to attempt
Inadvertent suicide?
I picture my mother
In her pressed black pants
And her modestly sequined
Funeral blouse that I've only
Seen three times or so
She'd rip the glasses off of her
Head and scream at my father
*Why was she such a *****
Didn't she know I loved her?*
Yeah, Ma, I knew
I knew you loved me when
You grounded me for an A-
I knew you loved me when
You glared at the food on my
Plate,
After I hadn't eaten in a week
And huffed,
*You're going to eat that?
Do you want to be an elephant
Or something?*
I knew when you read my
Diary in seventh grade
And yelled about all of the
Deep secrets I wrote to paper
I knew when you told me
How disappointed you were
When you swore you'd never
Ever
Be proud of me
Then my mind wanders over
To my father
The big teddy bear
Graying scalp, icy eyes
His suit from 1977
That always made me laugh
And I let myself wonder
If he would even
Bother to cry
I skim across my friends
Druggies
Thieves
Liars
Cheaters
They'd miss me, wouldn't they?
Last, I ponder over
Who would show up
That I wouldn't even want
To be there
The people I've crossed
And thrown away
The ones I loved
And wrote off
I'm sure there would
Be plenty of those
Spewing lies about
How I used to be
And it all swirls together
Down Tornado Alley
My ex's lack of interest
My mother's bleeding heart
My father's vacant stare
My friends' misplaced grief
My enemies' back stabbing falsehoods
And I wonder if any
Of these people
Would honestly be able to say
That they knew me at all...
Meanwhile, the Christmas music
My mother loves to blast
Flows down the hallway and
Under my door
*Fa la la la la
La la la la...*
Dec 21, 2010
Dec 21, 2010 at 5:35 AM UTC
For my brother, it meant everything
to stretch out and press
his face against the pane
of candy stretched crystalline.
To take the path away from father
for me one step away from
step-mother,
baking our dreams into
crumbs we left on the floor.
We’ll trace them back
to the place between
lost and found,
once we’ve fulfilled
our parts,
he’d always tell me.
But he doesn’t understand,
and honestly when does he,
that we’ve been doomed
from the start.
There is no Gretel,
to stoke the logs,
close the grate and latch
no heroine to fit the story’s need
there's only me
So when the witch comes back
she’ll ask
has Hansel truly grown fat?
a little pinch of the skin
an inadvertent test to see
which one of us should win?
It’s always an offering
always a suffering
always a surrender
of what makes me, she
and Hansel truly him
But I don’t mind
filling this role
I know it’s what I was made for
half baked like the crumbs
in a crummy oven
the real Gretel’s long gone
so her understudy will do.
If Mother could bake one daughter
why not try to bake two?
The witch will say it’s time
and ask me to reach back far
to find a warmth she can't see
it’s really not that odd
to hear the words escape me:
"why don't you try,
it's utterly exhausting
always having to hide"
and besides
I always desperately wanted
someone to show me
And I’ll even smile
as the crackle burns for just awhile
Hansel holding my hand
my pigtails askew.
The crumbs, our true
parents,
eaten in the leaves.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 6:06 PM UTC
in my obliviousness
inadvertent and unintentional
some may say as usual
i disturbed a wasp nest
the heightened bombilation
an anger-pitched droning
unheard somehow
therefore unheeded
until that impolite *****
a warning sting
through t-shirt to torso
followed by a few more
in quick succession
set my legs moving
apologetically away
with hands raised
chastened and contrite
both in supplication
and in order to remove
the offending article
of clothing
the oversensitive wasp
having become trapped within
defensively stinging
as nature directs
to be honest
its overzealous instincts
began to feel
more like spite
than mere survival
Aug 24, 2023
Aug 24, 2023 at 11:52 AM UTC
Embellish your lies with a wreath
to evade the wretched truth.
Wrap it around them as a sheath,
prudent as to not show ruth.
Cajole me into thinking that
most harm done is inadvertent,
and those harmed are still intact,
on their way to the top, ascendant.
Plant in me the bliss
I have been yearning for.
Elate me with calmness
from the surface of my being,
down to my very core.
Expiate the job of the universe,
and allow us all to lapse.
Leaving behind a world--cursed,
yet free of sullen poets.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC
What keeps their ball still rolling?
her innuendos he grapples with,
his enthusiasm she can't fathom,
ambiguity does the trick!
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 10:30 PM UTC
Adolescent yesterdays
Of being too afraid to care
Too afraid of sharing what makes you, you
Time stands still it seems
For fear can linger through
Making it difficult to let others in
Yet there is no true caring,
Without first cracking a window
Letting light into your heart
Push, push, pushing away
"Eventually", they all will go
Not I,
Not now,
Not ever
You push, I stand
You pull away, I stand
You glare and yell and scream
I remain
For I am not a silly, silly girl
Not a fly-by-night friend
I know who you are
I have always known
And yet, I stand firm by your side
A million miles away and always in your heart.
I see who you are afraid to let yourself be
I know what you deserve
Though you believe not
I see you
I see your heart
I feel you
Because of that, I scare you
You want so much to feel the good
To be happy you must risk sadness
Good, for a moment, feels lousy tomorrow
Lousy tomorrows, are easy
They are never hard to come by
They are always laying in wait
You can stumble through a thousand lousy tomorrows
Yet, I'm still here
After you are done with the crutches of the flesh
After you are done with inadvertent broken hearts
After you are finished doing what it is you do
I will still be here
Here to listen
Here to hold
Here to help
Here to stay
I know you.
I have always known you
I am not blind
I have not been fooled
You have never made it easy to be close to you
You, who believes that happy is for others
Fear binds you, blinds you, and ***** you dry
Love will set you free
Let it.
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 10:01 PM UTC
lactating in the shower naturally but lactating from the mouth
your whips and your chains act as inadvertent maps of the sky
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 3:12 AM UTC
A colourful butterfly,
male of the species,
utterly romantic,
in his pattern of behaviour,
says it all simply
by the his style of flight.
It is a kind of skiing
up in the air, as if on ice,
He practises it, to tail her,
a duty he quite earnestly
took upon himself.
She is visibly pleased about
all the attention she commands,
revealed by his spectacular aerobatics
her every response, tells it.
With his jittery moves,
he gives her good cover
from other pesky suitors,
with loud painted wings.
By flitting right to left
and then the reverse
he smears colors on her wings
his inadvertent gift, of love,
in the process of the courting ritual.
With his passion, he anoints her,
with all the fervour he could muster,
you'd see him tremble,
with uncontrollable delight.
as he defies the rules of the wind,
hovers over her as if she is vanquished,
Only she,sees it with a pair of different eyes:
"Love makes us both victorious,in this game"
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 9:55 AM UTC
drowning in all their tears
something that smells so sweet
sweet river of pain
must be evil
do not be fooled
the waters are tainted
not for sale
serene Nile is a torrential tsunami
full of poison
stay away
murky lake has been claimed
step away
step away
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC
I have so many wishes for you little one. But you will make your own wishes. So today I ask these things for you.
May you grow in grace and truth, in wisdom and in love.
May you have a humble, teachable spirit and a compassionate heart.
May you be blessed with common sense, good humor and fun, and a love of life.
You’ll need patience and a forgiving spirit too, especially being the little brother.
But above all these things the most we can hope for, is for you to be your own true self.
To take all the gifts that you were born with and make them marvels of beauty and ingenuity and astonishment.
You are so new to this, and for now you are content with such a little world, discovering the air, the light and the blur of faces.
But everyday expands your universe and I promise to share your joy.
I promise to get down on my knees and examine the ants in the dirt;
I promise to find the amazement in a shaft of sunlight, in a bird, in a fish, and a coloured puddle.
I promise to see the humour when you apply oodles of mud and paint on your freshly dressed little body.
I promise to understand your determined opposition to the order of things in general, for ever doing the wrong thing, at the wrong time, in the wrong place, and in the wrong way…because it isn’t wrong at all, it’s just your way.
And as you grow older, I promise that no biting, stinging word of mine, no inadvertent word of bitterness or sarcasm, jealousy or malice, will poison or diminish the joyous, loving, laughing gift I have in you.
At least, I promise to try.
I promise to always be here when you need me, as long as you need me, as comfort, refuge, breathing space, and as a non-judgmental ear.
I promise to care for you, and protect you from harm until you are grown, and then I promise I will let you fly free.
But loving you - I will do all my life.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 5:16 AM UTC
In the musty crypt.
Beneath the Norman church.
In the old town.
Orleans.
'Tis said.
Hangs a deep red tapestry.
An old gas lamp.
Stands in the corner at the end.
Currently unlit.
Curious.
Considering , you the intruder can smell the wick of recently extinguished gas.
You feel your way round.
Fighting the darkness.
You hold in your rigid hand a torch.
A plastic battery operated one.
Hidden secrets revealed.
An antiquated niche.
Carved out of the cold wall.
It hides a long abandoned tea stained book.
Itching to take a look.
Edging silently forward in a nervous state.
The dark and dust are choking you.
Your ears peeled, by your own fear.
A shuffling sound,
The dragging of the owners feet.
They're scratching.
Apparently, the owner's completely unaware.
Of your inadvertent space invading.
It's his space you're invading.
He knows you're there.
Ushered to the coffin edge.
Encouraged on by his bony finger.
Petrified.
He grabs your wrist.
Aiming your torch inside.
Inside the coffin.
Lay a mere chess set.
Made of shiny green marble.
The bare bones.
Made the first move.
You were to be his latest pawn.
From out of the gloom.
A booming voice was heard to say.
"All hallows eve".
"I'm glad you came, I so hoped, a playmate would join me today."
(C) Livvi
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
It is as if I am alone in a sand desert
In my chair, of course,
(See the poor photo, the head inadvertent)
Bay watching the sunset perform,
Except for the gusting 25 mph wind,
Easy-pretend it is July Fourth.
The sun sparkles my customized
Fireworks.
This time I have the desert deserted,
The bay is empty, the few pleasure boats
Obeying my cease and desist request.
Just me, the water sun sparklers,
The wind, and of course, you,
Besides me, as I have countless imagined.
Our crooked dock
Finger points back at me,
Sagely saying, enough poetry for one day.
But the dock is always crooked jealous,
Unless I include him in my sunset poems
So now he is smiling, albeit crookedly.
Some of you have,
Spent a few minuets of your day
Writing/riding along with me on my
Fire engine hose of words dousing.
Water welled up at 3:56 when I
Asked for a miracle of my own,
After waking and reading your poems for hours.
Here I am scratchin out one last at bat,
After being
Mesmerized by your goodworks,
Wondering why, again, I try.
So now let us write a breakup stanza.
I'm breaking up with you,
Until earlier-than-dawn tomorrow,
Though I was but one of many of your
Lovers took and taken,
Now discarded, I won't take no
For answer.
My shirt shivers, my forelock whips,
The clouds have banked my sun,
The wind is stiff, brooking no weakness,
I am total alone, how to make you believe,
That letting go, is difficult, almost impossible.
Until when, when we kiss again,
The back of your neck is my map,
My tongue the bridge between us.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
i was wondering,
what was i thinking
when i decided to fall for you?
but then i realized,
i didn't;
i didn't think,
nor did i decide;
i just fell,
deliberately.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 7:53 AM UTC
I fall into the depths for carefree conversations, where the other person isn’t pretending to be something they’re not. I fall for the childish laughters that rise deep in their stomach. I fall for the inadvertent smilies that grow without the intention of doing so. I fall for the moments right before you sleep when your eyes begin to shut and you drift away into a dream. I fall for the soul of you, not the skin which carries you.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 7:37 AM UTC
fear, loneliness, and anger lead to stress
stress leads to ulcers and anxiety
yelling and screaming absorbed like sponges
short tempers, curt responses, attitudes
nature fights nurture, there is no winner
highlighted things most hated of ourselves
inadvertent lessons learned by innocents
molded by fear, yet still guided by love
can't teach, "do as i say, not as i do"
they do what they see and learn what they live
blind to the effects of our own actions
responsibility belongs to all
more than a person, it takes a village
even more than a village it takes you
it takes you not ignoring what you see
it takes you to offer a helping hand
it takes every one of us to force change
in that change is found hope and strength and help
Community is not a neighborhood
it is not a town or its citizens
and it cannot be fostered in a word
it must grow in the hearts of the people
willingness to care and an open mind
baby steps toward each other today
and a sense of responsibility
tomorrow's flowers are planted today
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 21, 2010 at 7:57 AM UTC
Sometimes
I'm just
An Inadvertent Traveler
On the Fabric of Time.
Sep 4, 2022
Sep 4, 2022 at 7:29 PM UTC