"interfered" poems
TW: r#pe culture
anxiety-riddled,
my head is a constant battle of sounds
and feelings crashing
like waves into each other;
interference scares me.
as does being out of rhythm,
missing too many beats — i am
conflict-averse but i am also
realistic:
i know that
sound travels faster
through solids and liquids
than through the air,
can be distorted
and interfered
into oblivion—
that when
push comes to shove,
whisper networks
can only reach so far.
scores of screaming matches
between metoo advocates and r#pist apologists
crescendos of nails
scraped across a board
feel a bit too familiar
like listening to white noise and broken records on repeat
while scrolling through toiletpaperworthy nonapologies
witnessing victims collectively crying in an orchestra of agony
and then be blamed for attention-seeking at best,
of causing their own suffering at worst.
although it pains me to listen to these tragic tunes,
it is amusing how so many mishear this collective choir as
survivors celebrating with silly receipts in cancel parties
serving blistering hot tea sweetened by revenge - no
all this is anything but
cathartic.
it’s to make people aware
that the same melodies are sung or screamed
by those who suffered similar pains
and so that those of a similar frequency know
there are those who listen
that their voice matters
and we are not alone.
- 20210315
May 28, 2021
May 28, 2021 at 12:44 AM UTC
Who is left that cares for what's precious and finds a way?
is there an awareness that allows for love and caring to be expressed?
what ego was more important?
what winning or need to feel better was more important?
funny how the need to rush away from the most important communications distort every communication
always in a hurry to move away from
only to never really completely have what is needed for the right communication
impatient with this, in judgment of that, closing off all feelings after the next determination
all that was missed because of this cell phone or this "appointment" who truly held no self created distraction?
where nothing would have interfered with what should have been held in the highest respect for however long it took?
what was more important than truth expressed and feelings shown?
what deserved making what was precious not a priority?
What will sit there as a stone unturned and a pain to ruminate because a mis-communication was digested as truth when it wasn't. And love wasn't allowed the path to bloom
and caring wasn't mutually expressed
Funny how the only way I could ever express myself in full is to write a book because nobody involved ever really has the time, patience, open-mindedness and lack of ego and judgment to hear it without changing what it is--being taken away or held in possession of by another to shield what is complete in explaining
so why not expose everything and be without judgment, fear, or the ticking clock
why not make that the most important thing instead of the short fuse, the agenda that makes it unimportant, the hate that ends all communication
Why not love and love with patience, caring, open-mindedness for wasn't there plenty of times where love was needed for you and it was given and given and given some more?
Where is the love?
Where is the love that has infinite patience to hear and stay with friction until it no longer is? Where is what is most PRECIOUS?
But the prissy spoile friends say no, and the television personalities say no, and the opinions of others pre-determined yours, and the opinions you chose you are a prisoner of--but why is what is so precious in the overall scheme of things not the most important thing?
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC
Tucked away in my purse
Is the card you presented to me
On our one year anniversary
Inside you wrote,
"It's crummy for now,
but will get better. I love you."
I know what you meant,
That school and work
Had interfered with our time together,
That after you get that degree
Our once or twice a week visits
Will become a memory.
But that's not why
I'm carrying around this
Anniversary card.
I want to believe that
Everything else crummy
Will get better too,
No matter how much I doubt it.
I try to keep this card close
And hang on to the hope
Penned by your hand.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
You know he’s full of stuff
When the evidence ain’t enough
And he’s acting like a cream puff
By not calling Putin’s bluff
If I labeled him a scaredy-cat
Or better yet Putin’s new doormat
Would that raise the thermostat,
And flush out that Norway rat?
When the evidence is irrefutable
To the point that it’s not disputable
His response is always mutable
And comes out as most unsuitable
Then his mouthpiece attempts to frame
An alibi, but we’re hip to her game
She can’t absolve him of the blame
Though she tries to just the same
So you better believe and trust
That she looks ridiculous
When she’s being duplicitous
By trying to fool the rest of us
It’s a sin to stand there and lie
But she gives it a college try
Like the mistress of deny
As if the Ten Commandment don’t apply
They interfered with our election
With a clear cut interjection
Of cybernet deflection
Without protest or objection
Two days before his inauguration
He was told of the Russian’s participation
Much to his own consternation
Yet he still voices reservations
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018. All rights reserved.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC
AN ATTACK ON BARBERCRAFT
[Dedicated to George Cecil Jones]
At last an end of all I hoped and feared!
Muttered the hermit through his elfin beard.
Then what art thou? the evil whisper whirred.
I doubt me soerly if the hermit heard.
To all God's questions never a word he said,
But simply shook his venerable head.
God sent all plagues; he laughed and heeded not,
Till people certified him insane.
But somehow all his fellow-luntaics
Began to imitate his silly ticks.
And stranger still, their prospects so enlarged
That one by one the patients were discharged.
God asked him by what right he interfered;
He only laughed and into his elfin beard.
When God revealed Himself to mortal prayer
He gave a fatal opening to Voltaire.
Our Hermi had dispensed with Sinai's thunder,
But on the other hand he made no blunder;
He knew ( no doubt) that any axiom
Would furnish bricks to build some Donkeydom.
But!-all who urged that hermit to confess
Caught the infection of his happiness.
I would it were my fate to dree his weird;
I think that I will grow an elfin beard.
2.3k
(To JS/07/M/378/ This Marble Monument
Is Erected by the State)
He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be
One against whom there was no official complaint,
And all the reports on his conduct agree
That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a
saint,
For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.
Except for the War till the day he retired
He worked in a factory and never got fired
But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.
Yet he wasn't a scab or odd in his views,
For his Union reports that he paid his dues,
(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)
And our Social Psychology workers found
That he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.
The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day
And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every
way.
Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,
And his Health-card shows he was once in hospital but left it
cured.
Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare
He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Installment Plan
And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,
A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.
Our researchers into Public Opinion are content
That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;
When there was peace, he was for peace: when there was war,
he went.
He was married and added five children to the population,
Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of
his generation.
And our teachers report that he never interfered with their
education.
Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.
2.1k
We began solid rock
Just you and me
You loved me and i loved you too
We had an understanding
That when an object is in motion
It should continue on forever
We were in motion on and on
-------
Until that rule was broken
And we suddenly stopped moving
Gravity had interfered
And falling back we had returned
And i checked back on that rock
Not much solid it was as before
I thought i loved you
and you thought you loved me too
But to every action there is a reaction
Like every beginning has an end
Our relationship was still young
but had gradually disappeared
Like a ghost
That slowly
f a d e d
a w a y
When it had accepted it didn't belong !
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
My Apologies, Sona
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My apologies, Sona,
if traversing my verse's terrain
in these torrential rains
inconvenienced you.
The monsoons are unseasonal here.
My poems' pitfalls are sometimes sodden.
Water often overflows these ditches.
If you stumble and fall here, you run the risk
of spraining an ankle.
My apologies, however,
if you were inconvenienced
because my dismal verse lacks light,
or because my threshold's stones
interfered as you passed.
I have often cracked toenails against them!
As for the streetlamp at the intersection,
it remains unlit ... endlessly indecisive.
If you were inconvenienced,
you have my heartfelt apologies!
Come!
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Come, let us construct night
over the monumental edifice of silence.
Come, let us clothe ourselves in the winding sheets of darkness,
where we'll ignite our bodies' incandescent wax.
As the midnight dew dances its delicate ballet,
let us not disclose the slightest whispers of our breath!
Lost in night's mists,
let us lie immersed in love's fragrance,
absorbing the musky aromas of our bodies!
Let us rise like rustling spirits ...
Old Habits Die Hard
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The habit of breathing
is an odd tradition.
Why struggle so to keep on living?
The body shudders,
the eyes veil,
yet the feet somehow keep moving.
Why this journey, this restless, relentless flowing?
For how many weeks, months, years, centuries
shall we struggle to keep on living, keep on living?
Habits are such strange things, such hard things to break!
Inconclusive
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A body lies on a white bed—
dead, abandoned,
a forsaken corpse they forgot to bury.
They concluded its death was not their concern.
I hope they return and recognize me,
then bury me so I can breathe.
Keywords/Tags: Gulzar, Urdu, Hindi, Punjabi, Triveni, translation, life, death, love, ghazal, couplet, mrburdu
May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020 at 6:18 AM UTC
We met
In a deserted street
In Kabul, capital of Afghanistan, In the next incarnation.
Thereon,
A tee shirt , with the legend
“The lovers in this incarnation
Belonged to two populations
That were at war in the last one”
Walked by.
I realized that day
That your gaze
Was a bullet
Of hatred and vengeance
Left over from unabated fury
Even after firing six times that day
And you told me
That my words
Were like
The satisfaction of chopping repeatedly,
A body long dead
Still,
When you saw popcorn on the wayside,
Why did you offer to get it?
Why did you coo, ‘what’s wrong, dear’ when I sighed?
I am clueless!
you asked
How we separated
The first time it was because the flame flared up
When lighting a taper
Once it was because the phone rang while kissing.
There was some stain on my shirt when we met in a dream
.....
.......
For asking
For not asking
For calling, not calling,
For sighing,
For laughing, for whimpering,
For crying, for eating, for not eating,
For sending, for not wishing to send,
For going to the toilet
Without asking permission
For saying a prayer for mother and children
Must have died together on that day.
The anxiety was not
About who would look after you
If I died first,
But who all will look at you!
Must have killed
If not that, God would have interfered
Whatever the rock on which it is built,
God would upset it with an earthquake if nothing else.
God and His strange ways!
In the Afghan capital city of Kabul,
It is the same us who killed with love in this fashion
When you exclaimed
“How lovely this city is”,
I lighted another cigarette
This time, another tee shirt
With the legend “I am not even born”
Passes by
I remembered
The two lines you told me
in the last incarnation,
Four days before Christmas,
A Thursday evening,
At 5:41.
I laughed without telling you that.
You gave me a kiss.
Author Notes
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 10:32 AM UTC
‘We must have entered the Latter Days
For the Moon has broken in two,’
Said Paul Maresh in the month of May
Of Twenty Twenty-two,
‘I said they shouldn’t be mining it
And drilling through to its core,
For now the Russians claim half of it
And the States have gone to war.’
‘That nuclear bomb on Ohio left
A crater, big as a lake,
And I heard that Lake Ontario
Has flooded New York State,
The world is shifting allegiances
So we don’t know where we are,
Since the Internet has crashed and burned
With my friends, both near and far.’
He went to the old style UHF
That he kept in his father’s shed,
Checked that the aerials were up
And the generator fed,
For the power had gone for the second time
And they said, it won’t be back,
With the power station the target in
That first, but brief attack.
He switched on channel 11 then,
Hoping to hear her voice,
Through shifting, drifting frequencies
He sat there, calling Joyce,
But all he got was a wailing call
To prayer, from a Dervish man,
Sent out to all of the faithful from
Some place in Pakistan.
He checked through all of the channels that
They’d used, back there in the past,
But mostly got a cracklng sound
From the swirling, nuclear ash,
His sister Joyce, having flown on out
To the States in the month before,
He thought was missing in Florida,
In the first week of the war.
Then a voice came through on channel three
That was lost, and fraught with pain,
‘Is that the Paul Maresh I met
In June, on the Sydney train?’
His mind went back to the smiling girl
With the drawn out Texas drawl,
Who’d chatted, stolen his heart away
With her laughed, ‘Be seein’ Y’all!’
They’d kept in touch on the Internet
And she said she was coming back,
Preparing to give their love a fling
On some great Australian track.
But then the world had shuddered with
That first American bomb,
So now, as frequencies swirled, he said,
‘Where are you calling from?’
He thought that she said from ‘Boston’, though
A crackle had interfered,
Maybe the word was ‘Austin’ back
In Texas, that he’d heard,
But then her voice was carried away
In a trans-pacific hum,
And the last few words he heard, she said
‘I really love you, ***
Part of the Moon has crashed to earth
In the Gulf of Mexico,
With Texas drowned in a sea of mud
And the earth’s rotation slowed,
But Paul Maresh in the Aussie Bush
Is clamped to the UHF,
Looking for Joyce and Linda if
It takes him his final breath.
David Lewis Paget
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC
Cassie the Cat and Riley the Rat
knew their love could never be
Cassie knew that he was just a plaything
Riley admired how she could climb a tree
Cassie thought he was too cute
and Riley truly loved that mangy cat
They understood the ups and downs
defying the intermingled species trap
One night while Cassie was prowling the fence
with Riley snuggled atop of her soft fur
Billy the Bat ranged overhead
following them silently, undeterred
Watching Cassie and Riley share their love
being born of the night, Billy wanted that
They’d defied the intermingled species trap
He wanted that for himself, but, who’d love a bat?
Angered by his thoughts that bought about self pity
he sought out the Animal Gods
he told them about Cassie and Riley
Horrified, they sent out the Dogs
Damon Dog was their most elite destroyer
His mission was to ensure that Cassie Cat
would be integrated back into her own species
and he was to just dispose of the rat
Damon silently stalked Cassie and Riley
as they lay tucked together, Damon did pounce
as Riley leapt in front of his mangy cat, to protect
Damon, at that moment, his mission he did renounce
Damon had witnessed their love, and sighing he said
*‘It is not possible for you to remain together
Tabby cat, you must return to your own kind and
Rat, you can no longer be with her, EVER!’*
Cassie knew from the start their love was doomed
Riley knew without Cassie he’d never be complete
Cassie sighed and returned to her humans
Riley wept as he went back to his garbage heap
Epilogue:
Billy the bat continues to haunt the night
All morose and bordering on Goth
He interfered in the intermingled species trap
and is now married to a Sloth
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 5:40 AM UTC
**"I wonder if guardian angels cry when they see it all play out;
and as they stand with their hands tied,
do they cry out loud?"**
I wonder if they ached,
when I fell in love with you the first time.
Did they shout, "Stop! You've chosen the wrong one!
Go back, this is your warning sign!"
Or if they begged God
to let them step in
when I was 16 and took too much
of my mother's prescription medicine.
Or if they stared down at me in resentment,
when I ignored the voice in the back of my head
that told me to walk on the main roads
instead of taking that back alley instead.
I wonder if they stand around my bed
when I lay empty and unloved,
wanting to reach out and hold me
but being held back by the realms above.
I wonder if they want to apologize
for my life that didn't go as planned.
And to tell me that their intentions were good,
but interfered with by the evil of man.
I wonder if they would apologize,
for not being loud enough when I made the wrong choice.
And I wonder how many times they've broken the rules of Heaven,
just to make sure that I could hear their voice.
Or if they'd tell me that they've always been watching,
but sometimes human desires overpower their will.
Would they tell me that these things my fault?
Do my guardian angels care, still?
Because the world keeps spinning faster,
and it seems everyone is only out for themselves...
but I wonder if our guardian angels live in regret
because of the times they couldn't save us from ourselves.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 7:09 PM UTC
It looked all right through the windows of
Our cosy sitting room,
The day was light and the sun was bright
But the house was like a tomb,
The other rooms were as cold as hell
With their stalactites of ice,
That dripped from the bedroom ceiling down
To meet the stalagmites.
I’d settled Eve on the couch and spread
A blanket round her arms,
I didn’t think I should tell her, just
In case she became alarmed,
She’d spent a week in the sitting room
For she wasn’t feeling well,
How do you say, ‘We’ve fallen into
The Seventh Circle of Hell!’
They taught us the laws of physics were
Impossible to change,
Gravity, mass, and basic math
Had a certain, definite range,
But men of science had interfered
With the particle known as ‘God’,
They’d built the Hadron Collider and
The results, they said, were odd.
I could have told them how odd they were
When I went outside to see,
My car was covered in mushrooms
And a train sat up in the tree.
A whale was floating beneath the Moon
And a porpoise lay in the park,
The light was bright in the sitting room
But outside, it was dark.
Nothing remained the way it was
For all the colours had changed,
The lawn, the colour of strawberry jam
And the sky was rearranged,
The stars were falling like sequins in
A cluster of drops like rain,
And ice was forming up on the eaves
That tasted like champagne.
I went inside and I slammed the door,
I turned on the News at 6,
They said there’d been an apology
But it wouldn’t be hard to fix,
They’d run the Collider backwards to
The way that they’d done before,
And hopefully, the ‘particle God’
Would be as he’d been once more.
I sat with Eve as the sun went down
And I tried to keep her still,
Away from the hallway mirror so
She wouldn’t scream or squeal,
The lines were deepening on her face
As our lease on life had lapsed,
I hoped she wouldn’t go out today
With the world outside, collapsed.
The sun rose up in the morning as
It had for a million years,
And everything was familiar,
They’d run the thing in reverse.
The News went back to the good old things
We were used to, from before,
Stabbings, murders, infanticide
And that good old standby, war!
David Lewis Paget
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 6:25 AM UTC
The hidden motive behind gangstalking, psychological warfare, or a “thought war”?
To destroy the independent thinker and then create a psychological environment with constant “stalking” that´s make independent thinking feels like a controlled, stalked, surveillanced, manipulated,
hacked, compromised, interfered, and in other word this mean,
The Racists, Thieves and their gangsters Controllers don't want anyone to wise up,
leave or free themselves from their control and become a
“independent thinking” system of the Higher Self,
So it raging psychological “thought war” against freedom and free will by constant stalking and harassment.
You little man
Stop laughing because we've got you
You know there's no one else like you around
we've got all the sheeples and they are under our control
they do all we instruct them to do because they are incapable
of independent thinking, they can't think for themselves
and we play with them as we like.
Listen, we just need to wipe your mind
and turn you into a sheeple like all the other morons
under our control.
we have to de-energise you,
demoralize you, **** your spirit and make you
like all the others.
What kind of a being are you
Look at the easy life all the others enjoy
we give them partners, they have jobs, we give them their fun
Make them believe they are free and can do what they want
Yeah, they are chained and under our control, but they don't know
Look at you, out in the cold,
Isolated, disenfranchised and suffering
and you are laughing, Mr Smartie pants
WHO have you seen brave, courageous and intelligent enough
to help you....NO ONE because they are all moronic sheeple
their egos belong to us as is their ******* souls, we own them!
So either **** yourself or go crazy
Your pure, strong, independent, real and good mind
IS DRIVING US CRAZY and we LUCIFER's GENERALs
already the baddest of the bad and raving psychopaths is too
fine a word for us!
Hahaha....hahaha....hahaha.......
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
I have stacks and heaps of poems I have misread.
Where I filled the blanks
which were not meant to be filled.
Where I was supposed to stand stupefied by absurdity of life
I tried to find some order , some reason.
Where I was supposed to sit and listen to worries
I gave advice.Or worse, interfered in lives not mine.
It was always about what I could give to life,
than what life has given to me.
So I have suffered long
trying to fill silences in heart
and words in blank pages.
And never to have made a difference.
Never to have known the beauty
of being incomplete and unfinished.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 3:54 AM UTC
You see, you were neither my friend nor foe but remember how you despised those who interfered in your affairs? The ones who made your worse nightmare become a reality within your own mind? They are the reason your partnership fell to pieces. They are the reason you are no longer but your other half has now become mine and you, my foe. For what you don't see is that you are now not only one of those who destroyed you, but you are the worst offender of all as you know how it feels to be antagonized and pushed to your emotional limits. You will curse my partnership into the same fate as yours was. It will be doomed if you choose to hold onto the haunting memories of your past rather than embrace your life for how it has become and who you have become. **Face your demons before they too become mine and you completely lose your mind. **
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 10:25 AM UTC
(A missive to the "Thursday Guy")
Pause, I tight my eyelid,
there your face again,
Lovely and winning.
Suddenly Interfered my mind,
Thereupon rested and died.
I can no longer pick you up,
In an opening w/c is abounding
Abounded by the thoughts of you
My mind, I was speaking (of).
On the Ascension Day, Maundy and Holy alike,
I am smiling deepest and ceasing the time.
I held on for you, I stared then,
(though your eyes are daft),
Foolish, Crazy, even though I was,
every hour.
Oldness has gone, I flew.
Withal,
You are still a beauty even in fancy
In truth,
I cleave solely in your memory.
Your hair, dawning from your eyes
Succored the threshold of my fantasy.
I intend to whisper a truth
Some words that will embody my longing
I don't want you to, all but dwell on my fancy
But to breathe with me in solidity.
Please, once again, I want to gain a stare.
-C.
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 10:55 AM UTC
I was alone in the dead of night,
my legs swinging over the side of my bed.
I longed for love,
the kind you write poems about.
blink
I was pushed down in the school corridor,
and some boy I had never seen before
helped me up.
I didn't learn his name until later that day
when I realised I had three classes with him.
blink
We held hands painfully tight,
scared that if a sliver of air
were to get in between us,
we'd crumble into the sea.
Scared that if anything interfered,
our love wouldn't be so special anymore.
Scared that if one of us stopped caring as much as the other,
there'd be no use in saying sorry,
because we're already done for;
we're already specks in the dust.
blink
You haven't been around for a while, and I'm scared you've found somebody new.
You wouldn't tell me if you did, would you?
You never did trust me.
blink
I was emailed last night.
You know what it was,
don't you?
An invitation to your wedding
on the other side of town.
I shook my head,
and pressed the Delete button,
just like you did
to us.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC
Wrap my slithering soul in layers of wanton and historical bark, where dendrochronology branches her gorgeously captivating system of vascular cambium and seals me within the vice of her vengeful caress.
History has truly borne witness to the brigand of robbers who interfered with travellers in the depths of the forest of aristocratic whoredom.
I am buried underneath chords of feminine expression, where the synthesis of bass, melody and harmony unite into an unspeakable realm which cannot be interrupted by parallel expressions of sterility.
Your carriage awaits, Madame.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
So much commotion!
The sounds of the pavement,
Screaming save me.
But the signal must be distorted,
One more teen being slang while one more baby is being aborted.
The cries are constantly being ignored,
For the citizen defined heroic.
Has yet to hear the sound,
While another body hopelessly fall onto the ground.
The sounds of the pavement crying out rivers of blood,
While another parent is being confronted with a simple hug,
Trying to make sense of why she is now burying her only son Doug.
So with every ounce of love!
She shouts does my cry fall upon death ears,
But the signal is interfered by the neighborhood fears.
She shouts, "HELP ME!" please confess.
But one more time her call was placed to the test.
See we are constantly being placed in a position,
Where kids are mentally missing.
And no matter how much you talk they never tend to listen.
Which leads them?
To the code of the hood,
A snitch is never good.
But that method is so misunderstood...
Static reception, static reception,
Where is the signal so needed to convey protection?
I suppose the signal is simply lost!
Or is it being masked with the sounds of the pavement and death is the cost?
From the cradle to the grave,
You can hear the pain in the pavement soaring as high as a wave.
In a voice of harmony shouting the phrase,
"Save Me"!
Aug 17, 2010
Aug 17, 2010 at 8:30 AM UTC
Read it and weep is what was said before you sleep of heavy eyes that have cried and cried denying you tried to have a stronger stride in everyone else’s lives realizing the lies of lying beside a hive of pride wears interfered with your fear’s gears given to you by piers to have you stay clear of abiding in tears bestriding you to do best impressing the depressed under arrest for theft of aggressed messes their confesses addressees you to pieces of what was needed reread the succeeded who defeated the pleaded weren’t conceited eventually forfeited.
Apparent parents nonstop watching the clock for when you will stop wallowing in the following inquiring who’s hiring without fault of firing desiring an admiring ring from a team of teens wanting a rewiring of what isn’t giving out a beam of mean to supreme schemes of more than it seems acclaims a frame of you rearranged to set fame to their game.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 10:00 PM UTC
It took a few months
Before I knew I was ready
Once, I wanted you to touch me
But after the physical excitement faded
I knew I needed more time first
It's the longest I've waited
I needed to know how I felt about you
Before *** interfered with that
It wasn't about physical gratification for me
Though my body appreciated it too
I knew I wanted to share that intimacy with you
To be vulnerable in the the barest of forms
I wanted to give you all of me
Emotionally and physically
It felt different in the best way
And I still don't know what to call it
******* is too emotionless
*** is too
But "making love" is too odd a phrase for me
But it could've been
Before, I was scared
(another first)
But in the moment I wasn't
Kissing you felt natural
Without the pressure of hyper-sexuality
It felt real and raw
Unlike anything I've had before
It's always been too physically focused
I'm used to the roughness
Used to the pleasure in pain
But you were so gentle
It felt different but I loved it
Because it was so you
Your touch and your heart
Gentle, kind, genuine, good
The things I'm usually into
I can't say I want to do with you
Because even though they're good and consensual
They may come from a place of darkness
And I wouldn't want to taint your gorgeous light
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 2:27 AM UTC
The gentle hugs you’d give
The way your arms wrapped
around me as to a blanket
leaving your colognes’ scent
My covers could never
hold me as tightly as you
The thickness of your lips
interfered with my cheek
I could only blush
of the nomadic past
My pillow could never
Kiss me as you did
The sweat on your palm
holding mine, you were nervous
The last whisper of your voice
It was simply perfect
Could never be replaced by sorrow
Can never be relived by memories
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
As we grew up
Together in the village
As young friends
In those dusty hills
Along the road
Gravity dragged us down
Gentle like autumn leaves
Either to fall in love
Or apart
And Life vicissitudes
Interfered
And I tried to play my part
From the core of my heart
Not to fall apart
Clearly
I was a fish falling in love with a bird
Living a dream of a hopeless heart
Impossible to fulfill
And hide and seek
The game we used to play
Down by the river side
And I realized
You’ve been always hiding behind lies
And I wonder why
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
Day's last thoughts play
through the creases of my sleepy mind.
Questions pile like the flakes
on the sidewalks outside.
Square of purple light in my white wall,
painted night grey,
glimpse of snowfall--a buzzing, fuzzed-out
scrambled teleplay.
Through interference I'll slide
eventually
down into
dreaming.
and change the program.
For now, the channel remains right here.
The Winter flickers 'cross my face.
And that window's purple
square is a small piece
of a tired world just trying to fall asleep;
A single view of a wider picture
that covers miles. Bends lines into a face.
Impulses race through a fading mind.
Snow is piling deeper
on the bike path outside.
Retrace my steps as eye lids close
over distance
Still that square glows--a buzzing, fuzzed-out
scrambled episode.
Through interference I'll slide
eventually
down into
dreaming
behind the credits.
For now the channel remains right here.
Half-smile flickers 'cross my face.
A different place and some different ways
to transmit greetings across this space
and to broadcast all our withheld wishes
would be fine.
But tomorrow I'll wake up.
And these re-runs never stop.
And that window's purple
square is a small piece
of a tired world just trying to fall asleep;
A single snowy, interfered picture.
A half-formed question:
Are you watching this same thing?
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 7:53 PM UTC