"inopportune" poems
Jealousy
My fine feathered friend
At the most inopportune moment
You come flying in
Creating havoc
Before you take leave
What is there to say
Jealousy
Jealousy
You take the leap
Fly off the handle
Before time to think
Take any situation
To the utmost degree
Where is your confidence
Jealousy
Jealousy
The crazy train's set to leave
You take to the tracks
Before you digest what you see
Reaching conclusions
That only you heed
You need to take a back seat
Jealousy
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
for Harlon Rivers
the river potion,
the river portent,
the river potent
it is all of these and not one
he is bank sided,
observing the false idols,
the image mirrored
in the glass of the river
transfigured molecularly
he becomes something ferried frothily, forcefully
as if a twig
or a small thing of human manufacture,
an object tossed up airborne-repeatedly
his poetry:
the clash of particles at the many junctions
of objects and water, eddies and the currents,
ceaselessly circumnavigating,
searching revisionary pathways
directed,
but randomized,
prisoner of the flows,
servant to the wind's directives and the
earths magnetic indivisible undulating waves
thinking,
this life,
its unsteady gait,
the irreverent wavering of drunkenness
resultant from potent potions,
portents of inopportune position
in him,
my own histories,
my poetic recordings
also become
water borne,
watermarked,
replayed back for me,
for erasure, censure, closure
and rededication
this River
is a tapestry,
a torn map,
drawn on broken shards
of slivered water,
living with all the others
but we,
are the untitled,
we,
are the un-entitled,
and he is the
Rivers
<•>
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 2:36 PM UTC
Hey, past me from so close yet seeming long ago...
A knot from my sweater's bow I regret tying despite how unkempt the ribbons look hanging by my sides because now it's digging into my back
The hair I can't decide if I want out where it's pretty and makes me look less like a generic nerd yet gets in my face and food and life
The jeans I insist upon wearing without a belt even though their slipping down my **** may actually outweigh the pain of loosening the belt
The tennis shoes I'm too attached to give up that emit a constant squeak, squeak, squeaking through the hallways whether it's caused by residual rain from outside or not
The glasses, fond of slipping down my nose at frequent intervals, covered in smudges I rarely notice till they get out of hand
The phone whose screen happened to crack at the most inopportune moment and takes forever to read my finger print
The jacket that should be a highlighter blue but rather presents itself as a canvas of the week's tomato stains
The face covered in acne-
The stomach with fat instead of muscle-
The arms lacking muscle-
The legs with too much hair-
I've always acknowledged that perfection is not possible, yet I have to at least try to strive
I think, as I sit at my desk, fingers typing fragmented sentences, attempting to convey thoughts speeding too fast to grasp
Yet, just a simple poem of reflection brings to light these numerous deficiencies, many of which I COULD fix were it not the invisible fiend upon whom I stamp the label-laziness
These deficiencies, many of which aren't even noticed by those around me, some of whom are better some are worse
But it's not as simple as that, I've known I can't just be "one of the people", I need to find something, some identity, some way out of my seemingly impossible to escape label of "just above average"
In academics, in extracurricular activities, EVERYTHING, I seem to be at a stagnant
I've done bad, I've done "just above average", but never above. What is the point if you get plenty of losses and plenty of "fine" but no victories?
It's something about me though, somehow I believe, subconsciously, I'm impeding myself. I'm holding myself back.
...
Why?
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
My body is the training ground for
All of the reject demons
My inner demons failed to qualify as the right sort of fight
To match with any worthwhile struggles so
My inner demons are over dramatic children
They do not wage wars
They throw tantrums
They stand inside my temples and pound the walls
When they do not get what they want
And shriek ringing into my ears until they turn blue
Then fall asleep when they get tired
Forgetting that they were supposed to be upset
My inner demons are pretentious
They call themselves demons
When they are more like imps
They tickle at anxiety with the nerve to call it an attack
And separate velcro and seams with the audacity to say that
They broke something
Then press on my heart
Daring to call it an ache
My inner demons are clumsy
They walk with their toes curling around my eyelashes
And slip and spill their handfuls of tears
At inopportune moments
As I tremble due to the ones
That have tripped and tangled themselves
In my heartstrings and vocal cords
Causing me to grasp my rib cage in desperate attempts to reach them
And tear apart the inconveniences
My inner demons are shy
They sway in my veins to the rhythmic pulse
With clawed hands outstretched to the blue walled sky
Cautious to never leave a scratch through my skin
They dance on nerve endings and muscle tissue
With footwork just gentle enough to not summon bruises
And hold themselves still against my capillaries
As if their presence might distract my blood from
Its daily circulation
My inner demons are hoarders
They over-stuff the filing cabinets in my brain
With reports and analysis of too many situations
And pick up old emotions and hide them in the recesses
Of each ventricle and aorta
Creating pseudo-space for newer, stranger, replicas
Then pack extra breaths into my lungs
Storing "just in case" inhalations and overused sighs
They insulate their homes with extra calories and extra clothes
Hiding until they can forget themselves
My inner demons are moody
They like to stitch up new wounds with the thorns of roses
And pry open old ones with feathers
They tie my tongue with pages of foreign textbooks
They tie my tongue in gauze and cotton
They tie my tongue with other tongues
And pins and needles and teeth and drawstrings
They are self depreciating and they know that they
Are not worthy of their title
My inner demons are pathetic
I suppose they're right where they belong
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
Fireworks!
In such a razzle dazzle fireworks flash and bash in vibrancy,
In a spectral aura of contorted colours,
Stars sparkling, noisily highlighting the sky,
Release the Gods of chaos, as on the sparks they fly,
Amid a colour scheme supreme, a total fascination,
In an argument inopportune as fireworks hit home,
In a firework of a love-struck soul my body is vibrating,
Travel on a firework fly beyond the moon,
For on a pyrotechnic dream, embark beyond those stars,
Saw rowdy fireworks the day I met you,
Still seeing them now, those flashes,
For in my heart those fireworks are popping still,
Wish I could ride upon a rocket to be with you today,
Make the fireworks flash in procession,
Let the marching band play on!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
There's an item that's truly essential
Of a roughly cylindrical frame
It's a marvel of modern invention
And a legend it duly became
It surpasses the birth of electric
And eclipses the slicing of bread
If it wasn't for this innovation
Then I think I would surely be dead
Oh, Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Stick with me
Fix my wardrobe
Effortlessly
Hold up the curtains
Wax my thighs
Gaffer-tape Gaffer-tape
Improvise
It's useful for picking up hamsters
And it serves as a passable tie
As a gag for a amateur gangster
Or the crust of a blueberry pie
For a mite of podiatry pleasure
You can use it for mending your socks
If Pandora had come up against it
Then she'd never have opened her box
Oh, Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Holding fast
Adhesive savior
Unsurpassed
Smooth as mirror glass
Diamond tough
Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Marvelous stuff
It's bringing our nations together
And it's holding them firmly in place
You can use it to pull back your wrinkles
For a genuine Hollywood face
It'd surely have saved the Titanic
And they took seven rolls to the moon
Keep it near and be calm in a crisis
And predicaments inopportune
Oh, Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Mending sails
If you're tired
Of hammering nails
Buy some now
It's a thing to behold
Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Solid gold
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
i want to be here for
the ugly.
the inopportune,
the odious.
moments when
your back breaks
from carrying
a heavy load,
when your heart bursts
from the inside,
when your tongue
becomes toxic.
i want to
plant hydrangeas
in the crevices
of your spine,
rose bushes
in your heart,
peonies in your mouth,
so that when nurtured,
you are able to stand,
able to love,
able to speak of yourself
splendidly.
know that this
is never ending.
know that even when
my hands grow weary,
and
my knees become
scabbed and
dirt- covered,
i will happily
wipe the sweat
from my aching brow
and tend to you.
because all of the ugly,
the inopportune,
the odious,
will be forgotten,
the moment
you begin
to blossom.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
You are the early 2000s playlist in my memories
A poster big black and faded, advertising a white face
Pictures of the past I struggled to survive
The words which I spewed on a dime
I still dream of the things I want to say
I want to be your good time
But also your whole life
You see, this is the dilemma in my own weird way
But I don't want to fall back and die
Or live beside the ocean
Because that would be the same as all my other days
Lonely
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
L’appel du vide
The call of the void
Is a deadly call indeed
Scary and sudden
It can lead to temptation
Like the forbidden fruit
Giving fruition to feelings
Twisted to most
But alluring to some
What if you...?
No, you shouldn't.
Fear the the dark call
For it comes unexpectedly
At the most inopportune time
A gaping chasm
Swallowing all other thoughts
Instantaneous and all-consuming
L’appel du vide
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 2:34 PM UTC
Would you like some Opportunity?:
Make the Opportunity inopportune!
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
Day one,
Hour three
I don’t know you
You don’t know me
But I already have a question.
It went downhill from there
Questions coming as fast as the seconds passed leading up to my parents
Departure.
You didn’t know what you were getting yourself into when you said I could count on you
And then you let me follow you home
Like the lost puppy I was.
I didn’t know what I was getting myself into
When I said
Let’s be friends.
Because now all I want to do is trust you
When all my head says is keep it to myself,
Baby, I came here with more than just clothes in my baggage.
But I can’t keep myself from saying too much
And I can’t keep you from saying too little
And I can’t keep myself from wanting to save you.
When I need to save myself.
Because I can’t do this
Again.
I’m supposed to forget my past
But her words were dragons that continue to rear their heads
At inopportune moments.
For every question I ask you, I ask myself fifteen more
And the answers?
Well they’re with the slippers I forgot to pack.
I’m in love with a bunch of letters.
Little pieces of paper that make me nauseous just to look at.
Words that used to mean the world are now just contradictions.
So please don’t ever write me a letter
Because I’ll take that to mean you’re leaving me too.
I know her actions don’t have anything to do with you
But my past isn’t gone
It’s just been put on a shelf
Somewhere else.
And I’m trying so hard to forget where.
You deserve more than this.
You deserve more than the cheesy clichés and the useless words.
You deserve more than the part of my past I won’t tell you
And the rubble that I’m left with.
And for you I want to be more.
I’ve given you my heart on paper multiple times before
I want you to know
That for you, there is no door.
Forget my shoulder,
Let my lend you my spine.
And please if you ever need it,
Let our fingers intertwine.
Friend,
I want to be your windowsill.
I want you to know I’ll always be there,
For you to put your crap on.
I want you to know you can open up my head and look inside and rummage around for a while
If for some bizarre reason you would ever want to that.
I don’t know why you would ever want to do that…
But anyway.
I want to be the notebook that you can write your secrets in
And know no one will ever find them.
I want to be the magic eight ball that you turn to for help
And that has the courage to tell you what you don’t want to hear
Because I know you need to hear it.
I want to be that sticker you put on your wall.
You don’t always look at it,
But you know it’s always there.
Most importantly though,
I want you to think of me as a bottle of glue.
It doesn’t matter what you throw at me,
I’ll always stick with you.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 3:13 AM UTC
their clocks tick. sure, his
is off-beat much like his life
and hers ticks along
sluggishly. o how
a heart can stumble into
another in the
most inopportune
manner! this doesn’t make sense,
she whispered that first
night, and he could do
no more than agree. this is
pointless, he rejoined,
and instead of that
expected sombre moment
they both just snorted.
death’s conventional
and the night is young, though their
days are old and mourn
for the loss of hope.
kiss, touch, **** love. it’s enough
for two criminals.
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 1:55 PM UTC
My Leah was lovely
in her pearl bedecked dress.
as she circled the chuppah
seven times , not one less.
In the presence of friends
I gave Leah my ring.
That how we were wed,
it's the nature of things.
Our party was loud
and in truth seemed a blur.
My bride filled my vision,
such was my love of her.
At some point, the Steward,
our wine sommelier ,
grew concerned at the drinking-
Running out was a fear.
As we both have large families,
and they like to drink wine.
your supply may run dry
at inopportune times.
Cousin Jesus was there,
with Mary, his Mother,
a studious soul
and devout like few others.
When they heard our plight;
learned the shame we would face.
That's when cousin Jesus
got up from his place.
I don't know what transpired,
I'll just say what I heard-
How he made wine from water
by the strength of his word.
A superior vintage
My palate proclaimed!
The guests were all pleased
and the party was saved.
Even our wine Sommelier
was impressed
He wondered why we
saved the best wine for last.
These three years that followed
filled with sadness, not mirth.
Jesus died on a cross,
Leah died giving birth.
I sit here alone,
as the last of my line.
Now sleep only comes
with the last of the wine.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 9:37 AM UTC
*My muse can be thought of as a curse
for it comes at the most inopportune times
but she also plays nice
and brings me peace of mind*
*My muse pounces on me to write
Hit by the force of nature in nature
The sound of crashing waves guide my hand
Releasing words from my body*
*My muse is like a lover
She comes to me in dreams
She teases, pleases then leaves*
*Calliope my lover comes often
She's never satisfied
This temptress of the tablet*
*Just think we could feel
the warmth from the same sun
Hear the same whispers in the breeze
Wish upon the same fallen star
and look up to the same majestic trees*
*She connects all
No matter the place
Her sirens song on the wind for all
Under the same night light constellations
Wreathed in the fog under veiled trees scribbling*
*She is a giver
When allowed to live within us
She gives a whole new view
Bringing two poets together
Even though there are miles in between
She gives her heart and soul
and the drive for us to dream*
*Her gift is poetic eloquence
Stirring within two
Beautifully scribes new words
New places to explore
Distance means nothing to a muse
She bestows everything she has to her
chosen oracles*
By Melissa S and Palmer
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 11:15 AM UTC
Bruised.
Left and right, top and bottom,
Inside and out.
I survived that hellish tsunami of pain
that, flying like a 18-wheeler with cut brakes
on spiteful repeat
wrung my mind and emotions to alternating panic
and zombie-like numbness.
Funny how bruises blossom in different ways;
your betrayal, so deep, sends up saplings to sting me
at the most inopportune, unpredictable times.
I thought I was immune now,
Enough brushes against the anemone
sufficient tapering of the drugs of anger and regret
And I was sure,
sobbing alone,
in the bathtub,
done.
.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 6:29 AM UTC
1) If x = distance then y = desire
then y increases at the same rate as x.
Show your work
Explain why this happens
2)As A = going to sleep and B = I have something important to do right now,
Solve for AB = my mind loves to wander at the most inopportune of times
3 )Find the difference for L - C
where L = your life where you are now
and C = your comfort zone
the answer is where you need to be
so it's a numbers game
yet it never adds up
but you always lose
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 12:05 AM UTC
More than twenty years ago...
Your parents
who foolishly believed after several months of false courtship
of skirting the law in a way that could make anyone's jaw
drop down to the worst possible city
to live their lives in unholy matrimony.
The greatest mistake two people in hate could make
is to have someone be born from their hatred and take
everything they've ever felt.
Slowly, through their mistakes, you would rack up
so many defects, which then cause the effects
to never be visible.
Every bad trait was inherited. Every flaw absorbed. Every error
they ever made in their lives
recalculated and saved to be avoided in the worst possible way.
People hated you for you, and people hated them for getting in the way.
People hated them for you, and people hated you for not getting in their way.
People stopped hating you eventually, so you hated them instead.
And right at the very last second
when you felt you could be loved
when you felt the world could actually embrace
someone as broken, and desolate, and worthless as you
someone who has failed so many times
someone who has thrown away so many opportunities
someone who has balked and hid in cowardice
someone who has fought and defended themselves in inopportune times
someone who truly felt, thought, believed, and expressed nothing
you ******* it up.
At least, you think you did.
The truth is others did it for you.
But you know deep down it was you.
Every facet of you is one unending mistake, and the only reason
you still stand
is because even God looked upon you and said,
"Well, if he can't serve as an example,
he'd be better put to use as a warning unto others."
You'll die alone and you're fine with that.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 4:24 PM UTC
This music between you and me
is meant to be played
by your heart and mine.
It was meant to make us move and dance,
to pull from us the passions
that make our souls alive.
It was meant to crescendo
at inopportune times.
It was meant to go flat
or strike a wrong chord,
to fall quiet
so no one can hear it
but us.
It was meant to be erratic
and cacophonous.
It was meant to be peaceful
and harmonious.
This music between you and me,
it was meant to sound like this.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 5:47 PM UTC
I foster demons
So if have any that scare you at night
wake you from dreams with a terrible fright
make themselves known at inopportune times
or force you to contemplate terrible crimes
bring them to me.
Tell me your tales about sad childhood days
regrets for things done in a teens drunken haze.
Name all the people who hurt and betrayed you,
sick evil ******** who laughed as they played you.
Recount the memories that cause so much pain
open your heart, let the bad feelings drain.
I foster demons
I'll welcome them into my soul, I will tame them
directing their rage into good, I will train them.
And when the times right and I know they are strong
I'll channel their anger to where it belongs.
You see-
I'm working on a hit list, it grows longer every day
and soon those demon makers are gonna have to pay
I foster demons
Bring them to me.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
*
Christmas lights wove a
rainbow across the trees where
I sampled sound tonight
^
and you, in your far-off wonder, I
believe your mom was smart in allowing
us memories to refresh our smiles
^^
love, you connect my days, string
hope 'tween the branches that grow
overwhelmed with sensory
reflection at the most
inopportune times
^^^
I know you still, so
thoroughly glad we continue with
our lovely living story
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
My heart hurts… I feel it physically. Tug. Tug. Tug. My breath shallow and stilted. My face, in a frown. Burrowed brow. Eyes sunken. With a sadness that permeates them.
You know, sometimes I see people notice the sadness in my eyes. Of all people, I can tell my Mother In-law sees it.
They catch a glimpse of your sadness, mid conversation. And they don’t understand it, but they can’t explain it away. So it nags at them.
I can’t hide my sadness. It’s inside me, just below the surface. Oozing out of me at inopportune times. It feels like it’s soaked into my DNA. It’s me now.
Aug 24, 2022
Aug 24, 2022 at 8:28 AM UTC
Twenty-nine belts bravery from a bottle.
It feels like all talk and no game.
Twenty-nine has thighs that don't lie
and a finger that motions you
to come closer.
It relearns each facet of love
and finds beauty in its own reflection.
Twenty-nine betters the invention
instead of reinventing it.
It imagines kissing strangers to feel alive and
gifts the pearl to the jewel thief
with no words- only smiles.
Twenty-nine strikes a match
in the middle of a pitch black nowhere,
only to see the smoke twist up and away.
It cracks and hisses when it feels its been forgotten.
It smells like pine needles, orange peel, and sun bleached cotton.
Twenty-nine forgets those who have forgotten it
but thanks them for the lessons.
It likes church but only for the music, architecture, and sociology.
Twenty-nine won't apologize for passion or pity,
but it will drip with empathy at inopportune times.
Twenty-nine steeps itself in scalding water
only to discover its true flavor.
It finds no comfort in the opinions of others
but will only rest at the signal of a nod of approval.
Twenty-nine looks down into the neverending
and can't decide if it wants to jump or run.
It handstitches a parachute
as it dangles one foot over the edge,
says a prayer to no god
but writes hymns that bring tears.
Twenty-nine keeps breathing.
It keeps breathing.
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 11:17 PM UTC
Life, be not arrogant, though some have called thee
Terrifying and delighting, thou art so; sowing random confusion,
Overthrowing mortals with unequal puzzles of both extremes,
Humans, condemned, to collect travails, improvident provisions,
Live, Life! But only through us, for thy are slave to imprecisions, conflated constant reversible, the free choice of souls' decisions,
Random and inopportune, thy bedeviling choice of hurdles,
Our swelled heads so vulnerable to robbers and roadblocks,
But cannot thou onfess, rare is thy victory, oft thy defeat.
Until we meet thy comrade in arms, our paths irregular coursing,
Of our own choice, so acknowledge thou makest our path to veer,
Impotent prince, 'tis always our hands, arms upon the tiller to steer.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 7:06 PM UTC
There are those whose words find them at inopportune moments.
And become lost when needed.
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 7:55 AM UTC