"inconveniently" poems
Reflected onto the face of the sun is you.
You, who shine so bright
are an everlasting symbol.
A symbol of what?
Of the moon, of the stars.
Of it all.
And at the end of the day when I think about you
and I think about all of them,
The Boy With The Sunshine Face,
The Boy I Love More Than All Others,
The Boy With The Bandanna,
The Girl Not Named George Lopez,
The Girl Inconveniently Wearing Boots,
and all the others,
I think about love.
And I think about this group
and how we will undoubtedly fall apart.
And I think about how there's nothing we can do about.
Things change.
I'm the same, trust me. It's only that everybody else is different
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
A woman asked me
How it felt to see my lover again
And I found myself
Most inconveniently out of words, darling
My mouth opened
I almost said
Being with him
Is like Summer rain
In the Sahara
Or the first sip of water taken
By a thirsting man
Like the cool feeling of grass beneath bare feet
In the spring
The smell of blooming Wisteria
Like a bonfire in Autumn
The sound of leaves falling from the trees
It is like the first snow of winter
Blanketing the world in white
Or the the steam from a cup of tea
But instead I smiled
And closed my eyes
"It was everything I needed it to be."
.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 7:56 AM UTC
You don’t want to die.
No.
You want happiness.
You want to wake up in the morning feeling alive with each breath that comes easily and weightless; You just want stop feeling like this is a nightmare you can’t wake up from.
The possibility of happiness manipulates you into thinking you can have it then, inconveniently at the most in opportune time reminds you that happiness is just not something you can have no matter how deep the yearning you have to submerge yourself in it; happiness is there, all around yet just out of reach so that you can see but never manage to have it.
You’re hopeless, alone in a cold darkness that suffocates you, leaving you breathless and isolated from others by past wounds that wont heal.
At times you’re overwhelmed, like a deer in headlights you can’t move; feeling paralyzed not knowing what to do, say, think, should you sit? Waiting until you “unfreeze”
you’re frozen in an attempt to pullaway from an invisible hand that has a tight grasp of your upper arm. Eventually it releases its hold allowing you to move once more leaving you to now wondering, lost on what to do .
Sometimes you’re trying to find reason to live, more reasons than your kids. If it weren’t for the kids you wouldn’t be here. You have tried so many times. But are left to fight for yourself. You’re all you can depend on in the end. Whenever that will be.
Sep 17, 2024
Sep 17, 2024 at 12:23 AM UTC
I make no demands of you
for love makes no demands
I give to you what love
demands of me
There was a time when I might
have made demands
and you might have responded
as on our first meeting
or at that later time
when I joked about kidnapping
and you said "yes please"
because you have that side
it's something I recognise
perhaps you do not yet
need to let her out
perhaps you never will
but if you do one day
then I hope you find
one who can guide you
or perhaps the day will come
when your guide appears
unbidden, perhaps inconveniently
but reaches within
touches her and bids her wake
when that happens
there is no denying of truth
just acceptance and knowing
that you are truly home
in the place where you belong
Cynthia Pauline Jones 19/1/2014
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
I stood beside the grave of him who blazed
The comet of a season, and I saw
The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed
With not the less of sorrow and of awe
On that neglected turf and quiet stone,
With name no clearer than the names unknown,
Which lay unread around it; and asked
The Gardener of that ground, why it might be
That for this plant strangers his memory tasked
Through the thick deaths of half a century;
And thus he answered—”Well, I do not know
Why frequent travellers turn to pilgrims so;
He died before my day of sextonship,
And I had not the digging of this grave.”
And is this all? I thought,—and do we rip
The veil of Immortality? and crave
I know not what of honour and of light
Through unborn ages, to endure this blight?
So soon, and so successless? As I said,
The Architect of all on which we tread,
For Earth is but a tombstone, did essay
To extricate remembrance from the clay,
Whose minglings might confuse a Newton’s thought,
Were it not that all life must end in one,
Of which we are but dreamers;—as he caught
As ’twere the twilight of a former Sun,
Thus spoke he,—”I believe the man of whom
You wot, who lies in this selected tomb,
Was a most famous writer in his day,
And therefore travellers step from out their way
To pay him honour,—and myself whate’er
Your honour pleases,”—then most pleased I shook
From out my pocket’s avaricious nook
Some certain coins of silver, which as ’twere
Perforce I gave this man, though I could spare
So much but inconveniently:—Ye smile,
I see ye, ye profane ones! all the while,
Because my homely phrase the truth would tell.
You are the fools, not I—for I did dwell
With a deep thought, and with a softened eye,
On that Old Sexton’s natural homily,
In which there was Obscurity and Fame,—
The Glory and the Nothing of a Name.
1.2k
The garden meeting adjourned and moved...
Management abruptly cleared the premises,
Canceled return visits,
Speculations inconveniently disrupted,
Wonder-rousings interrupted...
We found ourselves somehow
Standing on the Great Outside.
No wistful entreatments heard He,
The Grand Proprietor,
In spite of our new knowledges,
Our now-wise forays philosophical,
Our sophisticated posturing;
He seemed without empathy
In His Garden's sudden closure,
In our ejection and dismissal.
Stumblers of unexpected freedom,
Following a shadowed river
Narrowing down into a Valley,
Darkening down into a pinprick end,
We gaze behind, ahead, behind,
To see, high sword gleaming,
The standing doorman, glowering.
Eden, receding from our view,
Serpent joins us as we walk,
"Where were we when we left our talk?"
His lowered voice renews.
We notice now, the air is chill
As an endless sun slips down
Behind a darkening hill.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 1:56 AM UTC
We never cracked the mysteries of Pittsburgh,
and Baltimore bled out inconveniently before
our eyes, another nervous snitch knifed outside
the corner convenience store in broad daylight.
Salt Lake City was too pure, too white,
theocracy carved into a wafer of snow.
We grew tired of watching Los Angeles
pleasure itself in the sun like a **** star,
interminably tan and vacuous.
And Chicago was too ******* cold.
So we settled here, where streets turn
the soles of our shoes to palimpsests
where every apartment elevator
offers a wall of infinite buttons
where grocery stores stock their shelves
with bottles and bottles of octopus ink
where neighbors open their curtains
and stand shimmering in moonlight
where weather mixes with nostalgia,
creating immutable, poetic forecasts
where water tastes like redemption
and the skyline rises like a chorus,
so much taller than the cities
we inhabited when we were
alive.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC
A little ball of brilliance,
occasional stroke of genius,
has trouble finding Jesus,
but practices her patience.
Her mind? No problems speaking it,
so she never valued silence,
and depending on the season,
her shoes are just a hindrance.
Yet lady follows every sequence
achieving her achievements—
chooses paths not quite so lenient,
drums those patterns not quite so seamless.
Despite the lack of easiness
she never masters the art of grievance,
but lady loves with a vengeance
and makes love with ******* vehemence.
Although lady was obedient
and always vowed him her allegiance,
lady never found it quite convenient
to be inconveniently a convenience.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 4:44 PM UTC
Why do you always return out of nowhere at the most inconveniently convenient time
Where do magicians go when they disappear, it's a secret we're all dying to know.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 1:16 AM UTC
*The contraption they made for me wasn't made of mahogany or pine. It didn't have my name carved on the side or top or woven in between a lovely vine.
The mask I wore was hard and plastic, reaching down my throat, stealing my voice, my choice, my right for air, my only care.
I'm inconveniently sewn wrong. Stitched little ***** with a piece of my hair going nowhere, breaking, splitting, and firing a blank flare. In that me made contraption, that not so piney box. I need to detox.
The mask grips my face tighter, the spider beneath the box is a fighter but not me you see. No no not me. I'm the malnutritioned meal deal for the arachnid to steal. I close one eye grieving the salty cheek, I can feel the watery streak leave it's message bleak across my pale cheek.
This plastic prison wasn't comfortable or maced with satin or lace. I understand for light years beyond my grasp of taste that once upon a time ago I must have lived a life of disgrace.*
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 12:56 PM UTC
a genius metaphor
that displays wit and insight
is more a matter of inspiration
than of the will
I did not experience
the PCH a day removed
if not for the use of a muse
is the sun nothing more
than a mass of flammable gas
or perhaps a nuclear gumball
leisurely crushing the horizon
radiant backlit heavenly body
meets with a pacified body of water
for a consensual coitus
orange and purple
two thirds of
the secondary color wheel collide
panoramic dusk in the rear view
as the moon prepares to mount the sky
gathering waves like a shepherd
lazy tides that vacation on sandy beaches
beaches that conceal mysterious truths
beneath cold infinite grains
tucked inconveniently between my toes
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 12:07 PM UTC
Her voice resonated through my mind, cushiony like cotton.
oh if only I hadn’t forgotten.
Her words would ruthlessly tare through my flesh like a dagger.
I try to tip-toe, but inconveniently stagger.
When will she become too perfidious for her throne?
if she were to atone for her sins, how would I know she had grown?
I will sedate.
my emotions for you will try and dissipate.
Now because of you I will never follow fate.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 10:54 PM UTC
Suddenly... Your idea of someone is shifted...irreparably, so it seems. At first. At the least. Maybe over time you'll forget, somewhat. That is to say, whatever disappearing moment may transition into a partial, fickle memory.
You will recall it, inconveniently, possibly with slight inconsistency, and they will claim, should you choose to mention it, some sort of factual discrepancy.
It may well hover, all the way to the end of your personal eternity, and it may go unnoticed, covered by each new epiphany, layering in thin, single coats to be reminiscently noticed as a shadow.
No matter how deep into someone's secrets you may go,
There is always more to know.
There is always more to know.
2.23.2017
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 8:29 PM UTC
I'm sorry that I will find myself more in broken skin and ****** blades than I will ever find myself in another human being
I'm sorry that the bottom of the bottle holds every type of emotional bond I've ever felt with another soul
I'm sorry that "I love you" is never enough because my hands will never only pull your skin in closer and my hands will never only write about your breath taking, infatuating kiss
I'm sorry. I'm truly, inconveniently sorry.
But I will fall asleep with the smell of your hair wrapped up in my lungs only to be awaken by the choking I feel without you next to me
And I will spread my torn up broken pieces all over your bed sheets while you rub my head mumbling I love you's like you're talking to an incoherent second grader because what is love if you are never going to be loved back
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
My aunt likes to tell this story / where her and my grandma used to have this vibrant garden / and she'd make salsa out of the Crimson tomatoes / from the crops. / one time when I was two / she / made this spicy salsa / and I / ate the whole *** of it / before/ she could catch / me
I am two / with hungry eyes / and a raging tongue.
I am sixteen / and I know every time I hear my / parents yelling or / my dad angrily snapping at my mom or / my heart like explosion in my body / killing everything around it / because I know the fire in his voice is about me
Our tongues both bleed Crimson / both hold salsa in our cheekbones.
Our tongues collide inconveniently / now every time I am home from college / I wonder when I'll be kicked out or / wonder if I should leave my room or / wonder if I should drive away / make example out of my dripping body / cut open my skin and bleed my overwhelmed corpse of its screaming / parts
Body, fueled by rage / family, fueled by fire / just like / my tastebuds and / my / yearnings.
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 11:52 PM UTC
Start writing
the words will follow
Start asking
the answers will come
Start loving
let it change your heart
Fill the page. Fill the blanks. Love inconveniently.
Just start.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 8:11 AM UTC
I reluctantly gave my heart
To an island boy who treats people like toys
With wavy raven hair and deep emerald eyes
Who longs to learn and is good with lies
And no matter how hard I push
He'll push right back
Countering my pessimistic logic
With his own brand of truthful facts
Opposites are we
In time and space
In maturity, in race
In love, in grace
And yet here we are
Inconveniently in love
Me, the old cynic
He, the young optimistic critic
Yes, I know that my disconnect frustrates him so
His mood swings like a pendulum as the wind blows
He strives terribly; eager to please
Which makes me wonder am I difficult to appease?
Daily I question his unyielding affection
And daily he replies despite my perplexion:
"I love you, it's all I can do
Whether you believe me is all up to you"
And to myself quietly I say
"I guess it's ok; come what may"
With that he professes his love for me every single day
As his days grow longer, mine grow shorter
Mine grow colder, and his even warmer
You see, he and I are as paradoxical as they come
I am the night, he is the sun
No matter how much I wish to flee
He's always there pulling at me
I imagine one day we'd live happily
Desires of his love plague me so inconveniently
Dear sweet island boy who brings me much joy
I pray you aren't playing with me like a toy
Because my heart is quick to build walls and slow to heal
After this I doubt I'll be able to feel
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 11:44 AM UTC
Council coin counter padlocks the door,
**** here no more they pronounce.
The lady Mayoress of 1952’s dreams are dead,
How she simpered,
Cutting the municipal ribbon,
Beckoning flys to open for her creation.
Now,
Coffeers in the red,
Fred from the chrome door plated department of the WC’s, bolts the whole fancy and flys zip back up.
Brexit ******** means no exit from our miserly mendacity in the face of civic decline.
“You can **** in your own home”, the local Wig proclaims,
Fiscal pressure means a motion that stops your motions mate.
The council bids your poohs adieu and asks you to refrain from complaint.
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 3:33 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
....For thinking that you could call me any name
You want,
.....Won't be the slave of love anymore to adore you,
Silly you ,
You had it all , you had my love , you were my everything,
Silly you ,
You had it all , you had my love , you were my everything,
Sitting here crying to myself about my mistake of finding you
So inconveniently in love with everything that you said
Putting me in some sort of trace in ****** Embrace where
Ones mind will link up to another,
You found you another,
Under pillows I smother myself in these walls , these walls,
Im reaching but I've reached long enough,
Can I bare...it all,
When you honestly left love it was tough,
Use to fall,
How could I put a decent price on a cuff if you regret it all,
Silly you ,
You had it all , you had my love , you were my everything,
Silly you ,
You had it all , you had my love , you were my everything,
I could stand the rain but in advance I can not stand the pain,
Silly you ,
You had it all , you had my love , you were my everything.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 8:00 PM UTC
You know,
When I woke up I did not remember dreaming.
I did not feel defeated by the rising of sun and
Everything that it encompasses in second.
I ate a lonely breakfast and reflected.
In a day,
I am the person who chooses misery over dispute.
Openly accepting each movement and action I meet.
Not once have I pushed against the grain in vain.
I made my coffee and drank it in peace.
In minutes,
I get lost in an infinite timeless thought.
I come face to face with inevitability and its sisters.
Bravely I encompass every thought and feeling
That is placed inconveniently in front of me.
In time,
I have become a stone wall against the storm.
I have learned to live with everything I see
And soon my voice will be a whisper in the wind.
Soon, I will be deterred and I will rise high
And then come down on it all
So very, very hard.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 4:05 PM UTC
Inconveniently
These thoughts wrap around our fingertips
dancing from corner
to corner
Circular edges enclose their flaws
Awkwardly stretched
Cowards
they fear the truth
Like their creator they run
from the flame
Paths tangential
to what we knew
Burnt away
Laugh at me
you will at best
To hide that ugly reflection
Mock what you always denied
Surely its not only me
Trapped
but completely free
With no barriers
we are both confined
You and I
Why ?
we ask ourselves
The answer uncomfortably apparent
Why endure the torment
Of knowledge?
The same reason we do everything else...
Love..
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
Wave your solemn goodbyes,
And sink deep into
This murky clot of my
Broken memories
And messy past,
For you've chosen that as your
Dwelling place.
Is there such a thing as a beginning?
I refuse to believe it is so;
There are only endings.
Even this poem,
A safe outlet for the tension
In my mind to come forth into a
Half-sleeping existence,
Did not begin.
Before I wrote this line,
There were more, and before the
Very first of them,
Before I even put my pen to the paper,
There was a thought.
Even before that thought came to be,
It was a memory:
A memory of an event
And the events before then, spanning
History from its first breath
To its culminating heartbeat.
Shall we neglect the technicalities
And philosophical musings for a
Brief moment
And return to the single drop of water
Not quite yet, I rather enjoy confusing
My own mind.
Do you ever wonder why I
Tend to cleave to you now?
Because when one has nothing and
Gains even the most trivial of things,
It becomes infinity.
Everything in one's world becomes
Filled with the
Essence of what was once so scarce.
Give me a grain of sand
And my world becomes a desert.
Give me a pebble
And my universe becomes a mountain.
Give me a raindrop
And my eyes behold a waterfall.
Give me a seed
And my feet take root in a forest.
Give me nothing
And I shall remain in darkness,
As I was from the start,
But never from the beginning.
You dare give me your affection?
You're dealing drugs to the addict.
My empty life becomes a
Panorama of your love, and what more
Does humanity exist for
Than to be loved as passionately
As they do.
Lines blur as if
The world has inconveniently
Placed itself behind a foggy window.
My horizon becomes the sky,
My sea becomes the shore,
My feet become the grass,
And everything--
Everything there is--becomes you.
My heart becomes yours,
My mind becomes yours,
My soul becomes yours,
My skin becomes yours,
My lips become yours,
And my breath becomes yours...
Oh especially that , I am sure
Because you stole it right from my
Sensitive lungs.
All my senses can detect is you
And there is nothing better,
Nothing more I could want for.
I will be whatever I wish to
Because I refuse to sit still and
Settle into the
Preset mold prepared for me,
Yet now that I see you
I loose my identity in your
Fine dark eyes.
I wish to be noting more of less
Than what you choose to make me.
Who am I? All I can process
Is what thoughts sweep across your
Beautiful mind.
You finally realize what I
Questioned all along: how can
You love someone who is no one?
I am the grain of sand
And you are the desert.
I am the pebble,
And you are the mountain.
I am the raindrop,
and you are the waterfall.
I am the seed
And you are the forest.
I am nothing
And you are everything
To me.
Hastily recoil and retreat with all
You bestowed upon me
If that is what pleases you.
I will still be nothing
And my world will also be nothing,
And you will be nothing but a face
That tugs at my nothingness of a heart,
Sinking deep into
This murky clot of my
Broken memories
And messy past.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
of your inconveniently perfect face
there 2 eyes utterly
big and effusive of laughter
almost larger
almost drunker
of beauty than the
rest of you nay never
there is of you a body
who is a divine rush
-ing river through my hands
is delightfully irridescent
with the heaped lather
of ***
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 10:24 PM UTC
my heart and my mind
are not effective
when attempting to work together
my mind keeps telling me not to
but my heart of course is inconveniently head over heels in love with you
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC