"interspersed" poems
Hazy half-light mornings interspersed with giddy sleep
Silent showers and quick grooming
Breakfast maybe, chores and work and walking in my slippers.
Afternoons tense with labor and stress
Broken up by slow-falling meditative mind rain
And usually Fall Out Boy in my ears.
Quickdark evenings.
No light.
Demons aren't occupied with being scared of being burned.
Staying up until god only knows and then some
Laying in the dark and feeling panic
Ice bones, fire veins, a noose around my throat
And not even in a **** way.
Shaking, teeth chatter, eyes roll, spin, turn, off the bed.
Sit on the floor. Lay down. Room's spinning.
Stumble to the dresser.
Grab the cure.
Illegal cure, no one knows anymore.
Dulled by use, old when taken, press harder.
Crimson bubbles, drips, rolls and stains.
Demons lap it up, whisper thanks, leave.
Sun comes up, lay in the half light.
Fall asleep giddy with pain.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 5:29 AM UTC
I tore the fabric of space
Interrupting my affectionate stalking
Spurts of longing, interspersed
with spasms of premature *****
In vain, hankering to attain that next level rush
*Oh you're a ***** girl aren't you*
That's when I was discovered...
Her shrieks royally flushing my cheeks with shock
-Superseded by pallid chagrin
I fumble to bail,
Pants entrenched around my ankles
Premeditative,
Of absent-mind, in haste
Prime directive a method of escape
Evasion failing
Detection:
Imminent
Reflecting a grim lack of circumspection,
accursed **********
Trying to conceal my turgid ********
Her father particularly beyond reason
And not fond of my indecency for his daughter
Proceeds pummeling me to death with my beloved binoculars
Devoid of clairvoyance;
I am coincidentally sent
outward toward oblivion
Bon voyage through the portal
Falling facefirst into an abysmal wormhole
Its then I voyaged backward through time
To the moment of Creation
And witnessed the universe
**** itself from naught to existence
Spewing forth such cataclysmic splendor
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
IT'S a jazz affair, drum crashes and cornet razzes
The trombone pony neighs and the tuba ******* snorts.
The banjo tickles and titters too awful.
The chippies talk about the funnies in the papers.
The cartoonists weep in their beer.
Ship riveters talk with their feet
To the feet of floozies under the tables.
A quartet of white hopes mourn with interspersed snickers:
"I got the blues.
I got the blues.
I got the blues."
And ... as we said earlier:
The cartoonists weep in their beer.
6.3k
148
All overgrown by cunning moss,
All interspersed with ****
The little cage of “Currer Bell”
In quiet “Haworth” laid.
Gathered from many wanderings—
Gethsemane can tell
Thro’ what transporting anguish
She reached the Asphodel!
Soft falls the sounds of Eden
Upon her puzzled ear—
Oh what an afternoon for Heaven,
When “Bronte” entered there!
6.3k
Devised by Cosmic Boss
Sourced by parents
Aided by obstetrician
Nursed by pediatrician
Nurtured by nutritionist
Counseled by sexologist
Treated by orthopedist
Stressed by physiotherapist
Directed by dietician
Nudged by nephrologist
Nerved by neurologist
Contained by cardiologist
Consoled by psychologist
Interspersed by dentist,
Sighted by ophthalmist
Conditioned by physiology
Terminated by mortuary
The inexorable Lifeline Express
Of hospitalized hospitality
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 6:42 AM UTC
Your taste runs like kerosene in my veins,
Our kisses, heated, sending my insides aflame;
I spontaneously combust, lover.
Skin to skin, your mouth is concentrated sin
You make lose my morals, the lust is building;
Blinding, my pupils burn;
Yours darken with something primal, tensions thickening;
The anticipation's sinking
right into my gut, I feel your touch
calloused fingertips dancing up my thighs, teasing.
Your body glistening
with sweat, trailing down south
I follow the track hungrily with my mouth
but it doesn't seem enough.
Our hearts beat fast like the ticking
of a timebomb nearing detonation;
We're going to detonate, my love.
We're going to burst in fancy colors like fireworks gone haywire,
the bed is our sky.
We're going to get lost among the sheets,
like sailing across familiar seas.
The moonlight, dangerously bright
they seem to shine from your eyes
but they darken with something like clouds on a stormy night.
And I'm not sure if there really is a God
but tonight I kept calling his name
yours interspersed in between
heavy breathing, our pants sounding
like broken notes of some orchestrated masterpiece
and the crescendo's nearing.
Our pulse following the rising melody
I am mesmerized, out of control
I am lost amidst the euphoria
right now
with you
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 12:05 AM UTC
Her kind of rain was the kind that drizzled
Her drizzles were like soft rain,
On grey days, they made perfect sense to align with interspersed clouds hanging heavy on blue-less skies
But on days when a storm beckoned it's calling
I lost her,
She drowned
Somewhere
Where it never drizzled
Always rained.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
I am the first born millennial grown in the digital garden from transplantation.
The data stream flows along with my bloodlines,
Divided, interspersed, like a lava lamp of my own identification.
A bloodline that once worked the fields, and now works the fields of existence,
A bloodline that made its pilgrimage to new land in order to satiate the body,
has now grown to satiate inquiries within the self.
I reflect upon those occasions where I have been told:
“why do you care about the state of affairs for them, you are not of them, you do not act like them
so
you can’t be one of them”
and I clench my tongue, forgive them father, they know not of what they speak”
“Perdonalos padre, no saben nada de que dicen”
The climate of academia is both inviting and yet marking, I feel connected to both intertwined
bloodlines, and markedly separate in a way neither will ever know
“mijo, él esta ****** no dice nada que él no entiende”
But I understand, my name, my appearance, my lineage, they all mark a separation of that cultural
heritage, a combination, a divider,
that lava lamp burns hot from the up down theatrics of where identity will lie
I am the new millennial
Expect us.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 3:01 AM UTC
The western sky sweeps
Darkness to back yards
The dawning east keeps
Designing with hues
Mornings greeting cards.
Nice to see the crews
Active in writing
Fresh magic haikus
Deep in creating
Textures and sinews
With unique mixing
Of color and lures
Interspersed musings
On honeycomb verse
Soft snowflake rhymings
Draught on fragrant wings
Beams of rainbow waves
Fuse sweetness and light
Deeds of Devine Inc
Wrought in suntan ink
Duty with delight
In morning twilight
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 10:16 PM UTC
A cool and close mist
Hangs over the highland shrubs and trees
Wild and tall grasses bend heavy
Laden with the chill dew
of a perpetually hidden dawn
10 lifetimes of experiences
Have I gathered since I entered here
I feel it was but a few hours ago
Though I have not seen the sun
Nor has the darkness of night
Yet begun to creep into these woods
Maybe from a dream or perhaps
I passed it earlier this strange house
A ***** place with slanted roof and chimney
Sticking out of the earth in such a way
That it appeared to be a natural growth
I feel as though it is so very familiar
Though I cannot say why
Or why no matter the direction I turn
Or for how long I walk
I come unto its doorstep again and again
In my mind it has replaced my own home
If ever I did have another
And whoever might have been waiting there
I have long since forgotten
Yet when I reach this house
Time and time again
I cannot muster the courage to reach out
To take hold of the handle and turn it
To enter in to that abode
And here I come again
I see it emerge out of the gentle fog
Comfortably nestled on a hillside
I stand for a moment at the gate
The walk through it and up the long path
Interspersed with a step or two here and there
As it turned inwards and outwards
Ascending the hill into the home’s entrance
In a moment I stood at the door yet again
Hand half outstretched towards the ****
I placed my hand upon it
Feeling the cool of brass
Yet the warmth of something else
Something half remembered from youth
From years long since entwined with dreams
I turned the **** gently
Not yet feeling the click of the lock
I felt a fresh wind at my back
And I rather spontaneously
Wrenched my hand and wrist
All the way to the right
I could feel the weight of the door
Unhindered by any lock or stop
And I pushed it open
That mighty wooden thing
And was greeted by a deepening night
Full of countless radiant stars.
Oct 18, 2023
Oct 18, 2023 at 4:09 PM UTC
some years back, not too difficile to recall,
revive and animate those memories of love and disasters,
but the distance is comparable to half-a-dozen
eighty day trips around the world, many frequent
flyer miles accumulated with trips to love disasters,
interspersed with the days of shock and awe believing
(sigh) that stumbled, fumbled my way in what we silly
call true love, which is really the high of believing
that you deserved the easy way, but now know, there
is no easy way, and romance is a hard earned privilege,
and sensory deprivation can fool you, absence makes
you vulnerable, don’t be vulnerable, stand up right,
**** out, and eyes smiling but phasers on full, nonetheless…
this not a downer, but a dis-claimer, even I claim the
never be sure of the 100% foolproof methodologies for
discerning the genius of genuine,
when the risk is the reward
maybe when your 22, even 23,
you’ll be better at true discernment,
but until then be wise,
there is no saving the day,
till your knees are scraped,
and crackling and cracking
heart seem like the same thing
but they’re not
do not confuse
causality with correlation
love is not your cause, be-all,
or even the end-all, do the work
on your self to betterment
24/7, knowledge to be wiser
comes with vive les expériences!
and
someday you’ll senses will be tickled,
and the aroma of possibilities will
arose that dormant hunger, and may
be a correlation to another human in the
immediate vicinity, a man, swimming
in your moat without permission, then,
check him out and maybe, jump in,
once you’ve passed the red cross lifesavers
test, cause the murk is murky, and is never
fraught with just rose water, but jump a
few toes in and if you’re still sinking,
hell he’ll
find away and give him the rope to help
you climb a board, yeah, a broad tough as
clear varnished nails with a heart radiating
the nuclear fission of Strontium 90.
Jul 13, 2023
Jul 13, 2023 at 1:31 AM UTC
Those of you who sleep at nite,
Maybe unaware of the riff raff
Of poets who, two if by night,
Riff each other All Night Long,
Trade barbarous compliments,
Hipping and dipping, jiving & shucking
(Yes I am outdatedly old, yes I know)
Slipping in scepters of sly verse,
Interspersed with an occasional curse,
Riposte and repost each other,
Always seeking a word edgewise,
Or the last word
(Even better)
Whipping, sticking and licking
Each other's poems
With jabs of kind words,
&
That seldom are heard,
In fact a never-land rule,
A contemptuous thread,
And it's off with your head,
And you gotta be there,
To believe,
But its ok, sleep well,
And leave the S(word) play
To those who live and die
By the coda
Only the young-at-heart-poets
never get olda,
So there!
Jul 19, 2025
Jul 19, 2025 at 3:35 AM UTC
Ground zero again. Ghost ties to old moods
now that you have found happiness,
or at least the line of best fit.
Lips interlocked incessantly on the astral beach,
over the September permafrost
where I held up the chains of my cell
just long enough to kiss you.
Chambers of blue blood, of blue feathers
interspersed in the lining of our pockets:
I felt I could fly when I finally met you.
Heard the callousness, the human history of suffering,
when the chains overwhelmed,
when I fell back to the ground.
You were my fortune in the wishing well,
but now our tongues are rearranged,
all passions now platitudes,
another name or witness to wish me well.
Ground zero again. The foundations exposed
on what might have been love.
Monoliths of steel and scorched earth.
Broken vessels sail by in the night, influence of wine;
words are tempered but the intent remains.
You remain. Extinguished shadow in the skyline,
phantom limb of loving arms. I cannot find the stars.
I cannot reach out to anyone in the space you left behind.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 2:32 PM UTC
The shrill wake-up call of a rooster
Even before the crack of dawn.
The faint cawing of crows
to let the world know
it’s time to leave Slumber land.
The flapping of wings in unison
before flying away early to catch a worm.
The desperate call of a baby squirrel
lost somewhere and seeking its mother.
The cooing of pigeons on the roof
reminding you to pause and
listen to the Sounds of Nature.
The rumbling sound of thunder in the distance
heralding a heavy downpour or two
soon to be followed by the fierce rain
giving respite to the parched earth.
The rhythmic pitter-patter of raindrops
falling on the corrugated tin roof.
The whistling of the wild wind
on a cold, stormy day.
The first cry of a new-born
announcing its sojourn
from the womb to the world outside.
The gurgling of the waterfall
rushing to mingle with the river.
The rustling of colorful autumn leaves in the park
trampled upon by children running around.
Then the sounds of silence at night
interspersed with the sounds of crickets and frogs
and the sound of barking dogs at a distance
coaxing you to retire and
wake up to yet another beautiful dawn
to listen to the Sounds of Nature.
Gita Ashok
9/10/2010, 11 am
________________________________________
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 9:41 PM UTC
Standing on the balcony, that seems like it was made for you and me
A litte bit drunk, a litte tipsy
None of us knew how magical it would be
Underneath the umbrella that's too small for the both of us
Getting soaked in the rain
A little bit of a fun, a little bit of pain
This girl is driving me insane
Without talking to her, the day seems incomplete
A little bit of **** a little bit of sweet
This girl makes my heart skip a beat
She is immensely special, if only she could see
A little bit of distance, A little intimacy
These are the moments between me and she
Nov 10, 2021
Nov 10, 2021 at 6:21 PM UTC
*My acute dementia
Seems to precipitate the need for immediate euthanasia
A hurried departure
Through the aperture
Deep set in the hollowness of time
Because essentially life’s been a lackluster mime
Imbibing flawlessly flawed ideas
That inform my capricious
Nature to various stimuli
It’s a life story based on a true lie
Frivolities interspersed with grave concerns
The myriad adjourns
Futile attempts at mitigating
A self-imposed galling.*
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 5:06 AM UTC
i
today we dress as cowboys
and the ladies look charming
but still is there justice
you are asking..
well,arn´t you the party poopers
up there is the moon
blow it a kiss
and down babylon..!
ii
do i sneak around and steal
from you
no..
do i sneak around and spy
on you
no
so what do i want..
you ask of me
i don´t know..
iii
well lily i think
that is just you
being paranoid
hell is this that
kind of world..
you scary cat
steal from you
spy on you
a kafka void
we must look
to what we
know as true..
iv
well i am not
here to hold
your
******* hand
i thought you
were..
no, this is war-
long periods
of boredom
interspersed
with inexplicable
fear and
emotion turned
on a sixpence..
we can´ t be
together and
we can´ t be alone..
that´ s true
so,we drink
smoke marijuana
and have ***
isn´t war hell..?
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 8:49 AM UTC
Crunching sound beneath my feet,
The feeling of oneness with the dust,
From which I was made,
Every step brings me deeper into my past.
I see it now, the gift of life,
Sprouting from the depths of the earth,
From what we deem lifeless,
Life emerges, in all its fullness.
My toes run through the soft soil,
Each grain screams out a testimony of a million years,
Each stone would cry if they could,
Watching our world nearing its doom.
The fault in our world is not out there,
It is in here,
In the hearts of reckless, egoistic men,
The men who could not care less.
Soil, sand and peat,
Rocks, stones and clay,
All interspersed together,
Designed without fault.
The Creator is all-loving,
Designed us the way we are,
With complete freedom,
And maybe that’s where our flaw lies…
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
Sitting in that cafe
was like sitting atop the tower of Babel
a cacophony of language
like a hurricane was going on all around him
the homeless black men
who spoke with their own jive and jib
he knew some of the language
but was far from fluent
there were the Arabian men
talking into blue tooths on their ears
or into cellphones
or arguing with each other
outside over cigarette after endless cigarette
nothing but harsh blunt sounds,
it was beautiful in a way
and there is the Russian couple
bombshell athletic blondes
it was hard to determine whether the relationship was
Mother and Daughter
or coach and athlete
they were seemingly
all business
broken with interspersed bouts of laughter
and their were the Asian boys and girls
coming from Korea or Japan or China, or some other place
talking fast and easy
gesticulating wildly with their hands
and of course their was English
thick and arrogant in its tone
it was a language for movers and shakers
money makers and deal breakers
it sounded nowhere near as special
as the other languages
And there was him
sitting silently in the corner of the cafe
his language
the chitter chatter of the keyboard
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 10:39 AM UTC
They say hell is not a place
But they liken it to fires
That constantly purge and burn
Kind of like our minds
And if I had a dime
For every human's ***** thought
I'd have a copper-nickel planet
With a thousand moons or more
And if this heart is my tabernacle
Could I withstand the day eternal
Or would I just become another
Abscess, maniacal
Cause like the space they claim is there
Around me all I see
Is a whole lot of nothing
Interspersed with dying breeds
And what they don't tell you
Either Or don't exist
We're all right as a button
And all wrong as an implanted chip
And just the other day
My lack of energy
Got a dead clock to start
And a bruise on my knee
So ship me where there is no one
South of the Antarctic cause
I want to see some sundog halos
And play with diamond dust
They say hell is not a place
But they liken it to fires
That constantly purge and burn
Kind of like these times
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 6:01 PM UTC
Waking among the concrete structures
Starting the day running around in earnest
For chores are plenty and time is handful
To begin a new one-hundred-meter-dash
Trying to outdo each other, in an imaginary race
Every stride we take, the concrete takes away our zeal
There is no cushion for the hectic lifestyle
Taking a toll on our mind and body
We seem to have reached somewhere
But end up at the same station, to catch the train
Inadvertently, packing every coach
Few faces we know from our daily commute
Lots of new faces add up to the crowd
We are an individual, but interspersed in the crowd
Waiting to get-off at the daily destination
The concrete pavements and the concrete buildings
Greets us gloomily, although modern architecture
Facades of glass reflecting off the chaos of life outside
Immediately, we are in a grind of the job
Lost in numerous presentations and graphical projections
The pie charts take the sweetness out of our life
Savoring only percentages, with sprinkling of peppery talks
Targets are set and client’s meet are arranged
To strike out a deal and sign-off the nuptials
It’s a marriage of client and service providers
Where brands are hogging the limelight
For us it’s the race to maintain our saneness
As it’s a daily commute through the concrete jungle
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
Lulls
and intervals
interspersed
with Your
divine
touches -
illuminating
the night's
marathon.
Aug 15, 2010
Aug 15, 2010 at 1:16 AM UTC
Twenty one thousand, nine hundred and fifteen days,
the sum of all my experience, all memory and dream.
Days of smiles and of laughter, scattered as they came,
interspersed with pain so deep my soul still hears the scream.
Accumulated time filled with things of the important everyday,
Through shifting hands of time all things came then hurried on.
By heart or minds good reasons were the choices that I made,
until now where no good remains and all sense of hope is gone.
My mind will sometimes force a replay of some echo of the past,
when hope and love gave purpose to a young man's dreams.
Twenty one thousand nine hundred and sixteen days,
more recent but so much later,
with a soul deafened to all but screams.
Oct 6, 2021
Oct 6, 2021 at 10:28 AM UTC
a new vocabulary is driven
as the authentication of genius
one that convinces a migration
toward imagined conjugations
of constellated false inflections
mirrored words on camera
dematerializing radical mutations
interspersed with graffiti and poster sounds
words, sentences in cadence
framed vowels, recordings of consonants
a punctuated acceleration of the visualized
the scanned and the incalculable hallucinatory
holographics of a language in which
communication is not spoken directly
but becomes the audible interpretation
of a microwave
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 4:07 PM UTC
7 hours of torrential rain
driving slowly while insane
420 minutes of Country Music
which you know I hate
interspersed with idiosyncratic ads
that make a mockery of others fate
84 cigarettes flow out of the ashtray
one lit by the other as the miles
faded away. The glaring orange tip
as it burnt down to ash and died
is the only reason I lit another
thinking of you and my hope
to keep you alive
for just one more mile.
Please be ok...
Less than 1/3 of a day ago
I picked up my phone only to hear
several tears, and a small hiccup
and heard a heart trying to be brave
and I literally dropped my life
to get into my car, which is now
my home because I breathe the same breath
as the life that is now mine to save
All I said was
I'm coming, now behave
So after 7 hours of listening to
how His and/or Her heart did someone wrong
because I can't change the station
because the radio is broken and, well
I actually do like a heartbreaking song
I'm almost there but thinking of you
my heart lurched and my whole body ******
and the Cops where there, and I'm caught
I would have been there sooner but apparently
it takes longer to write a simple ticket
when they want to be long winded
about the horrors of speeding.
I want to scream at them
***Look at my bleeding eyes
Have you seen my ashtray?
Can't you hear the garbage spewing
from my radio? Don't you think
all that adds up to I need to be on my way?***
So after 7 hours of torrential rain
overflowing ashtrays and a $540 fine
I'm next to you, in your bed
as we lay under linen sheets and whisper
to each other, about how heartbreaking
Love can be and I'm relived to be here
even as you repeat you are fine
Sleep deprivation and a small stipend
to the Law and Order that protects us
is a small dividend to pay.
And the Country Music still ringing in my ears?
is pure torture but everything
is a small price to pay
when summoned by a friend
in need
All the horrors above
are suffered gladly
You call me, I heed
You cry, I bleed
Your champion in rusty armor?
Indeed!
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 4:36 AM UTC