"inertia" poems
For my cousin, Chris Goldrick
Lacing my skates
after walking two miles
in girl-strictured delight
Mom's stories of Sonja Henie--
No, not ever
Lacing my skates
with snow-ball pompoms
felt skirt
and nylon tights
Cute little hat with matching scarf
My thighs and fingers
already freezing
icy burn
from miles on foot
to get there
the lake where--
I must get out
I must get OUT!
Knowing what
to expect from my body
the quick-twitch of muscle
Could always sense
specific--
gravity of water
at 22 degrees
Desiring to feel
the motion between ice and steel
Read speed's vibrations through my body
The brain registers relation
to weather's effect
Tell of velocity
possibility of fall
Feel the slash of the blades beneath me
Throw my weight sideways, sudden
to hear that furious hiss
An object in motion tending, dire
to stay in motion
Threatening to stay there
always
in its heights-- of speed
away--
from the crowds of skaters
swirling distant in the lights
Seeking instead
the farthest reaches of Porter Lake
speed and speed and more
to overcome
inertia
of what it is to become
undone
at the outer edges, of humanity
A force
centrifugal unto myself
Avoiding
Pregnant and slow
with years and babes....
The best
must be broken and tamed
of what it takes to stay free
catching the edges with every stride
catching my toe in the quick
180
spray of frost
to the sudden still
Listen to the frigid chill
and the heave of my breath
tumbling into evidence
Gliding
Once
Forever--
on, into darkness
of woods on frozen water
The wildness of it all
So infatuated with flight
so full of grace
I forgot Sonja
The moon rose
from her seat in the treetops
and applauded
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC
When I was young and bold and strong,
Oh, right was right, and wrong was wrong!
My plume on high, my flag unfurled,
I rode away to right the world.
"Come out, you dogs, and fight!" said I,
And wept there was but once to die.
But I am old; and good and bad
Are woven in a crazy plaid.
I sit and say, "The world is so;
And he is wise who lets it go.
A battle lost, a battle won--
The difference is small, my son."
Inertia rides and riddles me;
The which is called Philosophy.
38.9k
She is a hive full of
Sweetness.
But , never far from
the sting .
“I see you “ she smiles
as she touches my face .
Upstairs she lies
with coverlets and curtains.
I am searching
and searching.
But , for what
I’m not sure .
Maybe diamonds
but probably
Fireflies and Lace .
Working towards not
losing my shadow.
My inertia’s held
prisoner
to her beauty
my moral vision
called and questioned.
The death of leaves ,
stranded on the high wire
in the back of beyond.
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 11:47 PM UTC
breathing the turquoise like lavender,
and sipping the blue summer.
bitter cold clouds glide and morph lava lather,
floating whispers cut by sweet pineapple sunshine.
soon, a moment, now
rhythms ripple the sky like skipping stones
we jump the music like puddles
splashing in the frequencies.
cobalt bass rumbles the earth hungry,
pumps the air with springing spirals
pushing and pulling the senses,
reverberating through cells.
heavy mud humming, stomping
echoes through our atoms dizzy;
balancing tuned body to innate electricity
the fizz of circulating lemonade energy.
we jump the music like puddles
splashing in the frequencies.
strawberry melodies spilling ribbons,
dolphin leaps of the spaces inbetween beats,
lines of colours overlapping,
colliding, mixing, merging, blending
in with the forest.
washing over souls the life fire sparkles
like a clear water cleansing harmonies,
sound waves crashing against inertia.
phosphorescent glow of re-charged love
for the world, for being, animation
flowing through burnt smoky ashes
of sapphire charcoal skies;
dimmed radiation of chlorophyll emerald days.
the smell of salt, dry bark, fluffy carbon mists,
trembling lights softening the eyes'
grip on outlines, loosening lies.
watching the cycles of patterns
tumbling colours through a mill rotating,
and the silence of listening
when the music comes to an end.
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 8:19 PM UTC
Sadly
you found me
STD
yes you infected
imperfected
and now you wont leave
you would think i had ***
but its just an STD
but you wont let me be
not a bacteria
inertia
or viral
spiral
just a simple disease
that doesnt invovle a sneeze
im living yes i still can breath
but i still have a STD...
See she gave it to me...
I can spread this thing
and even if i would
i dont thing that I should..
see it would just complacate things
No we wouldn't die tonight
but one day we just might
not from the sores and the strains
but from the aches and the pains
of being lonely again...
See its a lot more complicated
then what you are making it
you think Im just disgusting cuz of what I caught
but I pretty sure its something u thought.
lot worst then yeast cuz that will leave
more like a Herpies or ***
even tho that isn't what I've received
And I dont have the funds to splurge
so I dont know if I can scure the cure
or if she even had the bug
enough that it could be cured by her love
I caught somethin that aint easily healing......
Espcially if you dont have the disease...
I caught.....Feelings
A sexually transmited disease
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
The flood of weekend fun
has ended -- its deluge
Of waves and love and friends
. . . as waves.
Persists, propels a new inspiration.
Inertia.
Forward.
Back to reality, to work,
responsibility.
To simple morning coffee,
once again,
That reminds me, simply,
once again,
That all these forms are my reality
There is no dearth
Of reality
No dearth
Of weekends
Of mornings
Of coffee
Of work
Of responsibility
Of friends
Of love
Inertia
Forms
Waves
Reality
No dearth
No dearth
Just fun
Just flood
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
The girl with the kite
Didn't have a care
She'd run on the beach
With the wind in her hair
She'd run up hills
Lie in fields of wild flowers
Gazing at the ever changing sky
She would dream for hours
The girl with the kite
Saw faces in the sky
Angels looking down on her
From clouds floating by
She'd hold on so tight
As her kite took flight
She said she'd never let go
Of her beautiful kite
The girl with the kite
Would make daisy chains
She'd pick clover and butter cups
As she walked country lanes
Life was simple
Or it seemed that way
The sun was always shining
When she went out to play
The girl with the kite
Started to grow
She felt under pressure
To let her kite go
Demands were made
For her to achieve and perform
Make her way in the world
Please other people and conform
The girl with the kite
Felt things were going wrong
It was hard growing up
Then a man came along
He played his guitar
He brought a bouquet
As he sang his sweet song
Her kite drifted away
The girl with the kite
Heard his sweet song turn sour
His true colours were shown
As the man used his power,
Manipulation and aggression
To clip her wings
To crush her spirit
To pull her strings
The girl with the kite
Felt she was to blame
For her bad choices
She hid her shame
Kept her sadness a secret
Tried to make things right
Trapped in her world
She lost her self in the fight
The girl with the kite
Wanted to die
She couldn't live any more
She had no kite to fly
She went to the Doctor
Who gave her some pills
They just made her numb
Didn't cure her ills
The girl with the kite
Slept for a decade, or more
Life went on around her
Each day was a chore
She had to wake from the inertia
She had become bereft
When she woke from the dark sleep
She had nothing left
The girl with the kite
Had to start anew
Like a Phoenix from the ashes
She knew she'd pull through
She's found her kite
Found a beach for it to blow
Up to the angels on their clouds
This time, she won't let go
The girl with the kite
Is now a woman, strong and proud
Content to live her life alone
Independent and unbowed
She flies her kite sedately
Life is not a race
She's free to fly it when she wants to
It flies at her own pace
Nicki Tilston.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 3:45 AM UTC
implosions are for starfish and our mission is clear. we have nowhere to be from
and that's half the battle. we are seldom unbridled in the chastity of our carnal bluff...
and our cages are breathing. we are finally designing our most daring Inertia.
both mum on the details in the devil's flotsam. we jot some of the names of the nameless...
on the outside of Dixie cups. like mint julep promise to a tangerine honest.
again and again, we ache through the breeze of our soothing traumas. we court the verity of a sham.
we blast through the congregation of our adversary, snipping varmints from a stale camp
in the southernmost of our due south,; where they fear the bonfire until a vagrant maps
the flaming tongues to a long kiss.... and we crash upon the shore
of Never Asked.
but regret This.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 5:21 AM UTC
I fear thyself
I fear attraction
I fear unfamiliarity
I fear attention
I fear incidence
I fear conversation
I fear interaction
I fear answers
I fear questions
I fear to tell my story
I fear to hear yours
I fear compliance
I fear conflict
I fear benevolence
I fear mutuality
I fear victimisation
I fear change
I fear to love
I fear to hate
I fear significance
I fear insignificance
I fear the lies we tell
I fear the truths we hide
I fear imprisonment
I fear freedom
I fear hope
I fear despair
I fear old age
I fear children
I fear intelligence
I fear ignorance
I fear to take
I fear to give
I fear to borrow
I fear to loan
I fear to exchange
I fear to teach
I fear to learn
I fear to laugh
I fear to cry
I fear to be
I fear not to be
I fear to be afraid
I fear to be brave
I fear to die
I fear to live
I fear discomfort
I fear responsibility
I fear to gain
I fear to lose
I fear victory
I fear defeat
I fear antrophy
I fear hypertrophy
I fear inertia
I fear activity
I fear obedience
I fear disobedience
I fear justice
I fear injustice
I fear totality
I fear poverty
I fear embarrassment
I fear addiction
I fear declamation
I fear guilt
I fear pride
I fear delusion
I fear unfulfillment
I fear my apathy
I fear to be wakeful
I fear to be tired
I fear my capabilities
I fear my incapabilities
I fear my dreams
I fear my nightmares
I fear women
I fear men
I fear being disabled
I fear misinterpretation
I fear misrepresentation
I fear altruism
I fear limitation
I fear to endear
I fear to inspire
I fear to forget
I fear to remember
I fear self doubt
I fear discrimination
I fear starvation
I fear migration
I fear fragility
I fear formality
I fear banality
I fear enticement
I fear cruelty
I fear judgement
I fear to embrace
I endure what I fear
I endure because I must
I endure myself because I fear
Endure thyself
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 6:37 AM UTC
Inertia the process of doing nothing
Contradiction the art of jumping intellectual rope
Intellectualism the active engagement in educated debate
Spinning the result of which is dizziness
Dizziness a state of uncertainty
Debating the conversational to and fro
Art is conversation nothing more
Conversation a non productive but necessary social engagement
Formal education
Relative information specificity
Consider the ****** lilies
Consideration Debate Intelligence Conversation Inertia
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 8:03 AM UTC
A Few lines etched where no words give weight.
Good riddance say the veterans
Of a nation gone sour with grief
Like a lemon slice evaporating onto the tongue of the sick.
But when the young yearn for White Nights,
The old claim they are blinding lights to the cold sugary substance
That supplants an easy path.
The bullithole rush of renewal and loneliness and progress thwarted and abandoned,
Inertia seeping through
Into a cold summer's day.
Between the cursing slant of sleek paved roadstrips,
And the burning briars that thresh the border's haunt,
What is picture postcard emerald
Is in that same instance soviet architect gray.
These are the sleepers bereft of the dream
whose twenty-five stories high
or ghost estates
are domes to cast out the howling banshees, those suffrage of the real
to be re-thought as mere props which surround the haloed glowing screen.
So sheen the Motherland glows in untarnished eyes
Familiar solely with glass behemoths parading with their reflections
In grey water-drizzled streets,
Only to be replaced by iridescent rainbows that foster a hope.
A hope that was packaged and sold two decades back
Since it was not worth carrying into the New World.
The water-trough falls to where the electric line banishes, connects a spike,
"rejuvenate the breakfast table"-some far-off God reports, Hades still waiting,
Intel-chip Blue, epiphany at the gates.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 9:02 AM UTC
Rainforest rustle
Clink and chat
Cook and clean
Hustle and bustle
Think of this and that
Look at what it means
Experience the everyday wave
And inertia of now
It flows through my head
With a manner of somehow
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 5:19 AM UTC
Warrior
You fight for meaning
Live for justice
Celebrate life
Warrior
Your life is a flower
A ray of hope
Encouraging all
Warrior
You fight depression
Defeat anxiety
Banish inertia
Warrior
You bid ‘Welcome!’
To life’s true joy
And all are with you
Warrior
You battle illness
Defeating all sorrow
Extinguishing doubt
Warrior
You open the door
Bringing all peoples
Into your home
Warrior
You cure all illness
Bring peace to the world
Eliminate war
Warrior
You live for others
You are yourself
You die triumphant
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 4:15 PM UTC
Tipping point reached, one final breath
Let the waves of inertia crash, contaminate
....
Alone in complexity, machinery, and everything
Perfectly formed human being
Slowly turning sour by the minute
Stale air, only growing in its bitter taste as
Seconds that feel like hours, add to feel like years
All the plans i made
All the plans i planned to make
Gone, but not forgotten
But then they were gone
Truer statement never read then
What i read on the back of the final bit found
Within my reach
Filtered through a layer of sediment
settled over my vision
Sanitized as life had been
But my shelter having been breached
To seep much longer...
Too accustomed, but it doesn't help
Found lacking in the company I had hoped to keep
A poor atonement, sinking further
Or, it kept rising
I was nearly covered.
.....
They stepped a little closer
And left appalled by what they found
Rotting in the dark, silently
Defensive at the outset, shaking at the sound
Sounding incomplete
Face down this
Eventual ending
For me
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 5:12 AM UTC
Plush and Prim is your White, Feathery Plume
Soft the Inertia of your Thighs update
I pray this time, your Victory resume,
Revive your Year's Fortress not far too late
In your eyes you reject the Gambler's View
For no such Attitude ever won Hearts
The Paddles you took - timed and faster blue
Were enough for us to make Key Remarks
This Beauty, defined as Hair-Painted Wind,
Tad effort needed to brush your Canvas red
Pour out! Pour out! Pour, Passion's Purest Sprint
And let your Spirit drape these Words instead:
I'll just be right here, cheering for your Cause
Whether win or lose my Soul will not pause.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC
A Few lines etched where no words give weight.
Good riddance say the veterans
Of a nation gone sour with grief
Like a lemon slice evaporating onto the tongue of the sick.
But when the young yearn for White Nights,
The old claim they are blinding lights to the cold sugary substance
That supplants an easy path.
The bullithole rush of renewal and lonliness and progress thwarted and abandoned,
Inertia seeping through
Into a cold summer's day.
Between the cursing slant of sleek paved roadstrips,
And the burning briars that thresh the border's haunt,
What is picture postcard emerald
Is in that same instance soviet architect gray.
These are the sleepers bereft of the dream
whose twenty-five stories high
or ghost estates
are domes to cast out the howling banshees,those suffrage of the real
to be re-thought as mere props which surround the haloed glowing screen.
So sheen the Motherland glows in untarnished eyes
Familiar solely with glass behemoths parading with their reflections
In grey water-drizzled streets,
Only to be replaced by iridescent rainbows that foster a hope.
A hope that was packaged and sold two decades back
Since it was not worth carrying into the New World.
The water-trough delving where the electric line banishes,connects a spike,
"rejuvenate the breakfast table"-some far-off God reports, Hades still waiting,
Intel-chip Blue, epiphany at the gates.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 5:24 AM UTC
Plip plop
Raindrop
Sliding down the window pane
Time doesn't stop
As it meets the blacktop
This liquid substance we call rain
The minutes they pass
Life's funny like that
How the world just keeps on turning
The moments, they don't last
Regardless of their impact
The clock keeps ticking, this I'm learning
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
With mechanical portals known to be doors
That either lead to different worlds or take you home,
These cabled vehicles like tunnels on wheels fastened on a railroad track
Stretch to both ends of the universe under a single route.
And as you get in for closure,
You put your trust on the obscure.
Just say the magic words;
It will take you anywhere you wish to be.
Even though magic always comes with a price,
The only cost are countable units of your time
And also a few dimes,
In return for the travel of your life.
Across the carpeted walkway of reaching out,
Through the glass windows of visible silver lining,
Behind the blank and arid faces that lure the soul to sink in deep wonder,
The lights and skyscrapers, and mist silhouetting the scenery,
All appear in bokeh, all blend in your eyes;
Your eyes that glow brighter than fire on ice.
The coldness lashing perennially on your skin
And shaking your bones to its final breakage,
Couldn't beat the absolute zero amity between these strangers.
But your fascination has enough radiation
To melt the tip of the iceberg
And shine over what's behind their opaque walls.
Settled on the plastic seats that serve as time machines,
They nestle between unfamiliar bodies;
Static, in a state of inertia.
Blocking out force, resisting change;
Like cars stuck on parking mode,
Couldn't bring themselves to unload.
Grasping on loose handles
With a grip more secure than seat-belts,
Some tend to pull away despite of the constant push.
Like engines on reverse, they take time to backtrack.
For all we know, for every action,
Is an equal and opposite reaction.
The brakes hit; there goes a screeching sound.
But when it comes to a break, we don't really hang back
Or fall to a complete stop;
We only slide forward.
For we must keep moving ahead,
In order to keep our balance.
The portals once again unlock to let you out to the open galaxy
And let in another for the same adventure.
You've reached the end of the trip,
But not the end of the road; nor the destination.
For the journey is infinite; you know you are going to ride again and again,
Until you've run out of wishes of where you want to be where.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
What in these symbols has power?
None of my letters could build you a tower,
But something within the screen of my phone
Has mass, has inertia, has song, has tone.
Where are the electric lines?
Neither hither nor thither, whichever one signs
But for some reason, I can't help but feel
That my electric lines are something more real.
What are the squiggles that wave from afar?
A symbolic cookie from an imagined jar?
Or are they a prize for forming a speak
That, through my squiggles, may squeak?
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 10:22 AM UTC
Nails in pocket
For future fastening
Of repellence on wood
Legs twisted, stiff, that
Forgot how to follow
In any other way than
Swaying in the wind
Hay hair shining in
Sunlight less every time
The dustbowl hits
Rags around lumps,
Stakes, rakes
Make for inadequate
Facade of waking
From afar well placed,
At ease, maybe
Somewhat untidy,
But balanced, stable
At a distance, listening
One might even hear
A raspy voice whispering
Wind to wood,
Promises of movement
Mistake a hollow stare
For vigilance
But with senses obsolete
Inertia well-rewarded
Mere being never sufficed
But for here and now
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
Stretching and shouldering night away a sun crouches
to birth black's ousting
by one more empty circle of dark's hollowed pouches
then outs in sparkling showers.
Spangled with myriad star-labour unfolding membranes,
like numberless leaves
dreamers listen to soft serenades as the universe favours
lullaby-songs to deep breathing.
Silvered surface shivers with night-eyes as glittery dust
follows with dart-swift
flight each soul's winged journey while murmuring such
mysteries to those sleeping still.
Glimmers on sightless horizon reveal light's celebration
while untrodden dew
newly writhing in close-capped life waits inertia's frame
stirring to shake before rising.
Piercing the brain time's needle regathers worn threads
and remembers that more
sown seed means now-grown grain needs re-collection
in daylight's mind-aware storage.
Open-eyed, naught is over as hinging on less or more,
sun, with slumber done,
now hurries to open the thin partition between yawns
of torpidity to more hours won.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 5:12 PM UTC
Delve into the void where ecstasy spirals her sensuality into a cosmological inertia. Do you know what it is like to be suspended in catatonic amazement? If not, then trust the keeper of the cast-iron gate, because I know the power of your appetites. Ancient battles may be considered to be trivialised injustices in the age of self-aggrandisement. But justice will prevail, whilst the indelible character of history casts her shadow of memorable resilience, where Jacobean ghosts will never rest.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
Oh yeah he wanted me
One look into those smiling eyes and I could see
He wanted to forget and feel good for a change
To be who he really was and not keep feeling estranged
Oh yeah I wanted him too
I wanted to feel alive and pretend I was someone new
I guess I found a way to self medicate again
One taste of him and it numbed out all my pain
The inertia of all our heartache
Just got to be too much...
We wanted to just live again and be off that sinking boat
All we needed was each other to keep us afloat
How could that ever be wrong and thought of as tragic
When all we wanted was just to feel wanted ~ bring out all that hidden magic
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
every morning i walk my terrier
through a winding half-mile,
but i think he’s the one walking me:
he’s always in a sprightly haste.
i don’t know how many tail wags
i miss in between slow, drowsy blinks.
elsewhere, the earth is walking her moon,
both zipping around their own usual orbit.
in the city, the suited adults manoeuvre sidewalks,
dispensing brief greetings, sparse on chatter.
punctuality is a battle through suitcase-wielding phalanxes.
overlooking the bustling crossroads, a greyed man sits,
****** from cigar compounding existing inertia.
limbs in inactivity, mind far from monotony,
slowly drifting towards a familiar wraith
in a different hurry: the one for reunion.
i think about us and wish the same.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 2:16 AM UTC