"interruptions" poems
the earth shook the neighbors again today
but truly, i can't say that i felt it.
yours is the only one that still hits me.
your earthquake spirals through my veins
interrupting the day, awakening me by the night
i await the tremors with anxiety and need
disrupting intellectual thought, curving daily motion.
absence of your presence denies me
everything, yes, everything.
grasp ahold of me, my love, and shake me
shake me from the depths of this nightmare
return, return and make this right
troubled mind shrouded by memories
that which flow to my very core
this dark red heart beats for you
my courageous veins are your love's roots
weaving through flesh and blood
daring to grow more and more sturdy
your earthquake scares me, my love
for i cannot control it.
your memories will not crumble with the earth
shaking and trembling, i'll stand my ground
holy is your image, voice, and touch
hot is the molten passion, coursing through my young heart
rupturing from the only place that i know
your earthquake, my love, determines so much
faulty is the mind and brave is the heart
crazed intuition lurking from daily interruptions
my love, continue to shake my world
for i know you are still there
my love, continue to shake my world
for i know nothing else
if a day pass where i cannot feel that vividness
all will be forgotten. all will be dead.
my love, i beg of you---
send me that earthquake today.
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 1:10 AM UTC
He means very little to me-
on a regular, uninterrupted day.
But when he talks to me,
he is maliciously welcoming.
He's toxically enduring
and determinedly warm.
It's possible Stockholm Syndrome,
it's definite injustice.
Sweet, sweet injustice.
Sweet interruptions.
My sweet bitterness to his sweet nonchalance.
And then;
sweet realisation that I may not be alright,
but merely distracted.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 4:31 AM UTC
People say I’m always late,
And that I always make them wait;
I take so long to arrive,
They could **** me with their eyes.
I don’t mean any disrespect;
And if I could I would correct
This awful quirk of mine,
Of never getting there on time.
Could I have a broken clock?
I wish I knew the method to unlock
The secret to a scheduled life,
And thus avoid so much strife.
I’ve tried the systems, plans and schemes,
To change my life has been my dream;
But interruptions plague my day,
Distractions lead me all astray.
It’s not that I am unaware
Of Time’s passage or don’t care.
No, I savor every minute;
I wish I had them without limit.
The seconds pass, I feel them go;
I mourn them all, you know.
I want to hold them, keep them fast;
Not let them slip into the Past.
And that’s the reason I’m a mess
At schedules and the rest;
I can’t work fast, I can’t resist;
The weight of Time I can’t dismiss.
I hope the world will understand
Just why I botch up every plan.
Confusion is never my desire;
Each moment’s like a jewel to admire.
I ask your patience, if you please;
I’ll try my best to appease;
But if I’m late have sympathy,
I mix up Time with Eternity.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
The scuff of sneakers, boots and flats form the solid and stable beat.
Add in the chuckles, silences and brief interruptions to create the varying and rhythm.
All that remains is what goes unsaid but is speeding around in your mind.
That man from Uzbekistan,
He was telling us how peace and non-violence starts with us,
With middle-schools, with teens, with future leaders
To all those who laugh, when I say violence is never the answer,
You're the ones I worry about
That man from Uzbekistan,
He was speaking to us about how the kids had a parliament in Uzbekistan
Those kids had a say in what their fate would be
Believe it or not,
But adults are not the only things to make up our society...
Infants, toddlers, 5th graders, 8th graders, 11th graders, seniors, the diseases make up us, us..
So maybe parents shelter us too much, or not at all.
And kids throw fits in the grocery store
While teenagers attempt to jump off the nearest bridge
This is our society..
But we're like those kids in Uzbekistan
We have a say in what our fate will be
That man from Uzbekistan,
He was sharing out how blessed he was to be living here in the United States
Even though he could live in a much more peaceful and welcoming society.
I have no idea how many years i will be,
Or what has to happen before we get the message across..
That's what's played out isn't acceptable
The American people,
Were baffled, devastated, overwhelmed
That all those stereotypes really were mixed within us.
Obama stood up in that room
With a shaky camera man, staring while he slumped and grieved
He addressed our nation,
Homeland,
Country
Community
Family
About Newtown,
Clackamas Town Center
No leader should ever be forced to speak about children dying long before there time was up
Or about average people ducking and diving from bullets
Gun Control is only a little layer
And that's the start of our restoration to end up being a peaceful, safe country
It begins with how youth are shown how to solve problems.
I'm willing to reach my hand out to every single state in this country
And if that means devoting everything I've got to making our restoration successful,
Then so be it..
No leader or person should be raising candles to the sky for little kids to see that they are missed.
And I took all of this in at a Lebanese Luncheon
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
- Joseph Childress
Construction
Some people
Put
Their worth
In the hands of others
Let them
Decide
Others fight
Off
With words
Or get
Disturbed
By interruptions
In class
Why reply
With what I believe
Are the makes
Of I
When it’s
Construction
Is still
In progress
The finished
Monument
Will stand
Before all soon
And no one
Will question
Its greatness.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 2:43 AM UTC
A simple bottle,
Cheap chunky plastic,
Designer garbage.
Empty of its liquid energy.
Glossy label parrying the flash,
Glaring retrieval of light.
Sickly bold orange cap,
Impudently tight,
Defending the blanched carpet below.
Moment of fragility,
Suspended on the humid waves of air,
Eternity in an insubstantial moment.
It wafts away from his fingers,
Plastic given wings,
Fixed by his steely eyes,
A forced arc,
Stretching to the ceiling.
Focused intensity.
An infinite gap looms
Instants before the catch.
He didn’t notice the stray,
A camera pointed his way,
Capturing this moment,
Making it magical.
Clarity is threatened by obscurity,
People pressing in,
Bending the frame.
Time is lost,
Too much wasted on boredom,
And playing catch with yourself.
Spine lax, body slumped.
Interruptions and distractions surround.
His face vivid in the mix,
Lost in the wash of faces,
So much like his,
Flushed by the same blood.
His unwavering gaze
Holds the emptiness in shackles.
Second of silence in the crushing sound,
Relentless muttering rumble,
The voices of family,
So constantly buzzing.
Jumbled tumbling voices.
A peanut gallery seeking constant attention.
The camera congeals the moment,
Silencing the mass.
In the absence the bottle and the boy
Infinitely alone,
Endlessly still.
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 10:33 PM UTC
Freedom is being able to use my razor.
Freedom is being able to use my razor.
To glide it without caution against my skin; with no interruptions from noisy roommates.
To glide it without caution against my skin; with no interruptions from noisy roommates.
In the warmth of these curtains I am safe.
In the warmth of these curtains I am safe.
I let the warmth soak me in the droplets caressing my skin, washing away the dirt.
I let the warmth soak me in the droplets caressing my skin, washing away the dirt.
I lather myself in the memories of the day as I unwind, the tension fades.
I lather myself in the memories of the day as I unwind, the tension fades.
A smile comes to my lips as I step out of my night time ritual; Showering.
I smile comes to my lips as I step out of my night time ritual; Cutting.
Freedom is being able to use my razor.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
Desired to be more attuned with idols
Their private lives gleaned from
Stills and moving images cutting swaths across
Skyscraping billboards, TV screens
The sides of passing buses
Subway cars headed deeper in,
Further in, beneath
Magazine spreads pulled out for
ad-hoc posters taped and tacked across
the plaster-sputtering suburban drywall paths
Like screams in arctic winds
Many, the young mean-spirited things
Wanting kinship with these enemies
Trying to plot a course to
**** diagonally-up across
their strident wildlife scenes
Attuned with idols riding their
phantom wavelengths with the
maverick assistance of Reds and
water-cut pints of irish whiskey
Then Father comes in proclaiming
to have saved our democracy on
the whim of a lever-pull upon
a municipal voting machine
No interruptions now please
I will direct the favors of my unborn
I am honed in on what really matters:
Hemingway hedonism.
Getting dead with generations
slinking in and out of frame
from before and after
me
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 2:25 PM UTC
And the question is, “What constitutes the good life?” And the neurons in my brain automatically begin to connect and arrange themselves into a conveyor belt of possible responses. This is not about fancy cars and giant mansions. This is about searching high and low for the unique existence of character buried in the depths of your heart. The labyrinth of suffering is something that traps and consumes every single one of us. Being aware and accepting the circumstances that will occur after exploring all the different solutions of discovering a way to escape is a major fundamental element needed to survive. Ostracizing yourself from the countless number of distractions in today’s generation to truly identify your individuality is the most crucial procedure in recognizing an outbreak from conforming to false associations. Infinite minutes are wasted every day because there are numerous amounts of interruptions that interfere with our life’s mission. Eliminating these disturbances will erase people’s impulses to shake hands with laziness. More people need to realize that utilizing time and wisely spending the precious moments we have left should be more carefully valued before it is too late. At times like this, it is perfectly acceptable to be self absorbed on account that working towards a goal is in effect. Take the time to focus on figuring out how to learn and how to proceed in expanding the mind’s personality. It is so important to acquire the ability to control the aspect of reason. But once enough experience is achieved to gather the information on how to conquer the labyrinth of suffering, you will then inaugurate the good life.
There is only one way to assemble the knowledge as to where the door lies and that is by simply living life and never giving up. Take chances and live on curiosity. We learn by putting ourselves in situations that are out of our comfort zones, giving the opportunity to mess up. Overcoming the situation is when we gain the confidence to promote ourselves to the next level. Life is full of mistakes but it is about being intelligent about those obstacles. Building up from those faults and taking advantage of everything life offers. We will move on from every mistake only to come face to face with another one. But life carries us. It challenges us. And the brave souls that accept that challenge are the ones that go on living the good life.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 4:09 PM UTC
Cheap toxic plastic in friendly packaging;
bending under heat,
breaking under pressure.
What pseudo-efficiency.
Take out the silver!
Savor the feast, and
abolish interruptions.
Or stick with hollow forks.
Perfect polymers that crack
under the weight of your gluttony.
Your life– a feast, punctuated by
the casual dismissal of those
disposable *****
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
Sweet the skin,
The taste of hazel,
Her eyes the colour of passion.
The curvature of her bones like the number of August.
The sheen of her body the colour of Spring.
Between her lips the warmth of an ocean
To be liberated from its dam of cotton.
Warm silk,
Thick, warm to the touch
Like the flesh of a peach,
Sweetness of a plum.
A lock to a key,
The sand to the sea.
Freedom --
And creation.
Humidity of the Amazon,
Sweat of the wild.
Intensity of fear
Gravitys pressure
Lost in space between flesh,
Covered in a flickering light
Just the outline in your sight.
Her body akin to mans best friend
Each nerve touched to the brainwaves sent,
Glee only seen by the twitch of the bottom kiss.
As the light protrudes through the window pane,
No interruptions,
No aubade.
Into the light,
To match heat emitted of the Sun.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 5:48 AM UTC
We arrive home
and I see you look over there.
I've been so happy
just spending time with you.
It's been just the two of us,
a welcome escape.
It's not often this happens,
when we get time alone
without interruption
from texts or a phone call.
But tonight we are free
and we have the most
mundanely grand plans.
And I look forward to them
with utmost glee.
But then it happens.
We pull in and you say
you're going there
"just for a minute."
I'm not fooled,
it's never just a minute.
Our plans are derailed,
I'm left to bring in the groceries
alone.
And do the dishes,
alone.
We said we'd tackle them
together,
tag-team the massive pile.
Yet here I am,
alone.
And I get left feeling like
a complete and utter *****
because I'm upset at the fact
that you want to go home
to tell your parents good night.
I just want this to be your home.
And I'm afraid
it never will be.
You'll always have to go there
and we'll always have some
sort of interruption.
And I'll never have you
all to myself, never,
and sometimes I'll be left
feeling completely *******
alone.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
Walking step by step,
my mount makes his way through the deep green forest.
Mayapple leaves and redbud trees, visible.
Slowly making our way down the trail
Meandering here and there,
Watching the deer munching young spring leaves,
Staring at us as we stare at them.
Its easy in the saddle,
No stress, no calls, no incessant interruptions.
You can take in nature, rest your mind.
Relax in the saddle, hang your feet out of the stirrups,
Pat your equine friend on the shoulder,
and just be.
He will flick an ear, or swish his tail, sidestep,
or shy away from some unusual object once in awhile.
But mainly, just easing down the trail,
listening to the babble of the nearby brook,
watching the sunlight filter through the leaves.
Squirrels and red-headed woodpeckers
chattering angrily at our passing.
I don't know that there is anything quite so peaceful.
Just moseying like an old cowhand.
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 3:44 PM UTC
I watched my very own
Charles Bukowski
eat a tangerine outside of
the arthouse
where we were reading.
His name is not really Bukowski,
but he has told tales in the same
vein as the Laureate of Drunkards
for longer than I have been alive.
I have listened to that same back alley
patois,
and barroom wisdom for long
enough that I feel a certain level
of comfort in calling the old gizzard
this municipality's own
Charles Bukowski.
The grizzled old poet
is telling wanton tales
of love and honeydew.
He goes on and on,
recounting the times
that he's drunk
strong potato liquor
with Bengal tigers
in the backseats
of roaring taxis
on his way to parties
hosted by zebras and
gazelles.
We each light a cigarette,
pausing to smoke for a while.
Seeking to continue
the conversation with
my salty comrade,
yet knowing my own
stories cannot compete,
I surge onward nonetheless.
His interruptions jam my
traffic before I can even make
it onto the onramp of his
particular, peculiar highway.
His mouth is already working,
though his tangerine consumed.
He's chewing his next story into
digestible, deliverable bits.
And, now he's chewing the rind.
His mouth,
his words,
his life,
and my own for all of it,
is full of
zest.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2017
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
While Abraham was binding Isaac
to Mount Moriah he was interrupted by
a knock at the door.
"Who could this be?" he thought.
"We don't even own a door," he cried.
So he continued binding Isaac to the
altar. Again, a knock that could make
the deaf hear. Abraham had to stop
and look for the door.
He yelled, "Leave me alone, I'm doing
God's work!" and returned to continue
the akedah. And again a knock interrupted
him, and again, and again---Abraham
did not know what to do, whether to laugh
or to cry.
And then he thought: "This will be
the history of my children. When we will
be doing our work or God's work there will
always come a knock at the door to interrupt
us...whether we own a door or not." And
it came to pass that the history of the Jews
is a history of interruptions.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 3:37 PM UTC
I awoke to my conscious talking me today.
She said: "You were talking in your sleep again, when will you learn?"
I apologized.
Then I asked her, what I said.
She refused to tell me.
She said: "Your subconscious is a dangerous being, I'd rather not make them mad."
I left it at that.
I don't think I want to know.
I just wish I could rest when I need to.
Even my sleep seems to come with interruptions
I wish I could tell you all that I think,
but there aren't enough minutes in the day,
to explain.
I wish I didn't have to have these conversations,
constantly having to remind myself who I am,
and why I'm worthy.
Trying to shut out my disappointment in myself,
I carry it like a bag of bricks everywhere I go.
If I could I'd build a house with them instead,
to protect me from my thoughts.
I tip-toe around every word that comes out of my mouth,
trying so hard to make sure it sounds exactly like I need it to sound.
Kicking myself for the stupid things I've said,
the stupid outfits I've worn,
the stupid mistakes that I've made.
I've heard some of the things said about these other people,
the ones who wore their hair wrong,
or made a stupid joke,
but,
when I'm not around I must be "other people" too, right?
My conscious tells me to cut it out.
She tells me:
"Life is worth more than the things you've said, and the way that you've looked.
It's all the sunsets you've watched,
the stars you've gazed at,
the people you've loved,
the people who have loved you.
This life is worth more than the things you say in your sleep.
The things you want are not tangible,
they can't be held.
You want to look in the mirror and smile at your reflection.
You want to wake up to someone who sees the stars in your smile,
especially since you can't see them yourself.
You want to love everything,
beggars can't be choosers and you know this.
You have to love it all,
which is an impossible task I know,
but it's worth a shot.
Maybe if you tried just once,
you could let me sleep without any interruptions."
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
“I love you”. You said and then you slipped away.
Broken dreams, meaningless futile efforts at happiness?
Mingled with useless feelings, promises of safe havens cast aside
Unmatched emptiness, soulless societies tearing apart concrete foundations
Searching with fevered panic, unhealthy unions superseded by drunkenness
Vacant eyes, struggled smiles stare back with futile efforts of understanding
Unreachable depths of ********** broken only by moments of saneness
Interruptions of innocent faces, blankly staring in wonderment at nothingness
Empty sentiment screams from hollowed eyes, foul breath from yellowed rotted smiles
Halo dirtied by unwashed hands, melodies of undying love, waking emotions.
Saneness interrupts
Passions momentarily subside, shameful memories, guilt ridden questions of why.
Seek forgiveness, absolution, resurrection of self worth.
Intimidated inner child crying, wanting wholeness
Inebriated ears cannot hear the mournful cry.
Sightless to the destruction of beautiful dreams
Cynical hearts cannot feel the bottomless abyss, created by selfish needs
Beautiful white light eclipsed by black desires, reality escapes
Averted eyes, wanton lies, excuses spring forth from rancid lips of deception
Healing words cast aside, ***** by visions of drunken ******
A warped sense of empowerment dissuades sanity.
Trapped in the tentacles of forbidden lust.
Saneness interrupts
Written By Edward Gordon Green.
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 11:21 PM UTC
I love falling without expectations,
seeing yes in the garden of your eyes.
Being blinded
as if the earth moved
when we are sharing
the same sweet skies.
I love feeling as if I have been struck
clear to my soul.
When I run headlong into your arms and find
the half of me that is,
only with you, becomes whole.
I love the moments when I can sit very still
and get lost in the light of you.
The brilliancy of your heart
outshines any diamond
in expressions of love’s hue.
I love how you roll into the air
as a whispered voice,
from lips confessing love reigns
inside your heart.
The sound takes me places
where my heart leaps to start.
I love waiting to relive the treasure
of velvet minutes I hold of you
in my memory.
They are the sweetest interruptions
and I will embrace them
forever, lovingly.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 10:57 AM UTC
Sweet the skin,
The taste of hazel,
Her eyes the colour of passion.
The curvature of her bones like the number of August.
The sheen of her body the colour of Spring.
Between her lips the warmth of an ocean
To be liberated from its dam of cotton.
Warm silk,
Thick, warm to the touch
Like the flesh of a peach,
Sweetness of a plum.
A lock to a key,
The sand to the sea.
Freedom --
And creation.
Humidity of the Amazon,
Sweat of the wild.
Intensity of fear
Gravitys pressure
Lost in space between flesh,
Covered in a flickering light
Just the outline in your sight.
Her body akin to mans best friend
Each nerve touched to the brainwaves sent,
Glee only seen by the twitch of the bottom kiss.
As the light protrudes through the window pane,
No interruptions,
No aubade.
Into the light,
To match heat emitted of the Sun.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 6:18 AM UTC
I'd find myself so deep in the void of mania and ardor for you, complete with scorching coals and lava, then I'd become disgusted, pushing you to the edge of my plate like a child does broccoli.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
I fall apart every now and then
Crumble down into shells of mix matched pieces
It's like the rain clouds follow me
Every right I take, I should of gone left
It's hard to face so many mixed emotions
The waves of guilt are always crashing in
Living up to people's expectations
I lose my way
Side track on little interruptions
Too many thoughts to process all at once
Temptation dangles right in front of my face
One mistake sends me back to rehab
But the reasoning is overlooked
I'm a shell, when I could of been a pearl
A dim light drowning in a sea of dust
Negativity echoing in my eardrums
But I find a way to believe
So much pressure dancing on my shoulders
And as I pray I scraped my knees
Put a smile on and breathe in deep
And to think it's just the beginning of a mountian with never ending hills
So I'll use my compass to guide me back
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
403
The Winters are so short—
I’m hardly justified
In sending all the Birds away—
And moving into Pod—
Myself—for scarcely settled—
The Phoebes have begun—
And then—it’s time to strike my Tent—
And open House—again—
It’s mostly, interruptions—
My Summer—is despoiled—
Because there was a Winter—once—
And al the Cattle—starved—
And so there was a Deluge—
And swept the World away—
But Ararat’s a Legend—now—
And no one credits Noah—
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