"involuntarily" poems
my blood boils over the edge as every word
that spills from your lips is volcanic ash piercing my skin
and how is one supposed to stay calm
when my life has been spent bottling up
way more than I can hold,
this routine is getting old.
I can't take the constant trembling of my upper lip
and quivering of my limbs
I'm not too sure how long I can hold this in.
I take two steps back and inhale deep
but it's still not enough to help me
rid of these demons that won't let me sleep.
Every ******* waking moment
is spent fighting a war I didn't sign up for.
I was involuntarily shipped out
to surroundings unknown and places unseen
in my mind is only chaos and blatant disorder.
So **** the fact I can't think clear enough
to jot down the words exploding from my mind,
but I have a right to explode...
I have kept my cool for far too long.
My mental stability will be revolutionized,
I have the right to do so.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
Yes to my muscles, but
how can I help but
Sigh at
the spots and
the thighs
which are still in construction
Adult loading
Where the **** are the instructions?
As I stretch
and bulge
And involuntarily
yield
to Maturity of Body
loading
loading
loading
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Walk onto a stage called life
and take a look around.
There's much to be found in such a small space,
more to give and much to take
as the curtains called and you're pulled into this performance.
Stare into the audience and pray for applause
but what if you're met with silence?
Spotlight on you as your hopes are ejected
and you my friend have just been rejected
and that is a hard thing to take.
So take a seat, a rejection seat.
Front row to your failures as they come In-ter-view.
Call it the Dragons Den the Lions Pit
and yet they ask me what kind of animal i'll be
as i sit and daydream about Spiderman in a suit
listing qualities of make believe
as he's forced to fill in a CV just like me;
not that i'm a superhero,
i'm just saving face you see,
it's just an amusing thought to ease the anxiety.
And the voluntears they come in turn.
Call em that cause they come momentarily
to remind me involuntarily
that sometimes i do need help and not all things are easy,
not all things are meant to be.
So i take a seat, will you take one with me?
As you watch that relationship sail
and wonder how did it fail?
Bon voyAge is irrelevant.
Whether it be school crush folly to divorcee
it's a learning curve right?
Hard when it seems the only thing you taught me
is what it means to feel lonely.
It's cold in that place called the one way street,
so take a seat. Pull up a chair to something that's no longer there
and share in despair as you stare at your feet.
But you will raise your head eventually.
Adopt the thinkers pose, indulge in some feelosophy.
Cause a friend once said to me that rejection is a time for reflection
and i tend to agree.
So tell me, as i stare into the face of rejection
why is it that i see my own reflection?
Am i cursed to take this personally?
It's always the shoulda, woulda, couldas that get to me.
Do they get to you?
If so take a seat.
And are you sitting uncomfortably?
Cause you shouldn't be.
Take comfort as you stare along row upon row of chairs
that stretch along beyond you and me.
Side to side, across from and diagonally.
Filling the Feartre.
There's many to be found in such a small space,
more that give and much that take
and though this may be the closing scene
there's another show tomorrow
and you and I will receive our standing ovation,
just take my hand and stand with me.
Cause this seat was only ever meant to be temporary.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
The hate the kept me in
The self love that drew me out
The day I built the empire
The day I burnt it down
And all with one phrase:
"As an Ally"
involuntarily,
Without hesitation
it slid out of my mouth
the familiar words of similar context
So many people know
And so many people hate
None of them say
That to be like this is okay
Even those who claim to love
me
Even those who claim to care
Will never help me through this
Not ever would they dare
the door is shut again
but this time its translucent
I'm not hidden
behind the sky so laminate
With hate
Side A hates side B
Side B hates side A
What happens if you
Are part of side
C?
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
A yearning she cannot fathom
A whole 'nother level, she was mind blown
Hoping to blind herself with deception
Perpetually drowning in confusion
Said that she would never again be ****** with your sorcery
So everyone told her to be extra wary
But I guess that's a quality she lack entirely
Now she's drowning in confusions, perpetually
She never planned a pursuance
Though the force is strong, 'twas only a nuisance
She saw your face, she was caught in a trance
Perpetually drowning in confusion, an abundance
This animal is in dire need of suppression
And so she did, filling herself with depression
But then the prey showed a different sign of intention
Now she's perpetually drowning in confusion
Your sudden interest seems unfitting
Could it really be? So close to believing
It opened more, showed more, she's heeding
In perpetual confusion, she is drowning
She was taken aback, this impossibility
Yet you opened it wider, the eventuality
Or so she was led to believe, the absurdity
The confusion is drowning her in perpetuity
Doubts, doubts, doubts were running
In her head, seconds from wilding
But you calmed her fears, ever growing
Deeper in perpetual confusion, she's drowning
With every positive response of yours
She was driven crazy, hoping for more
For a moment, it felt certain, she was sure
Perpetually drowning in confusion, no more
Now her true self was put into question
For the longest time, involuntarily shunned
Is she truly worthy of this identification
Perpetually drowning in confusion
She was quite lost in traffic
The signals were all but messed up
Wandering around like some lunatic
She's clueless of what's true enough
Perpetually drowning in confusion...
You were a swimmer...
Yet you never even bothered to save her.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 11:23 PM UTC
I tricked a god.
now Cronus can't escape.
Sealing a god in an hourglass,
I locked time away.
To stave off my lover's date with fate.
Where she will perish, becoming lost to me.
Locked behind heaven's gate.
Cronus promises to **** me-
when i set him free.
Only with his freedom will the world reanimate.
Containing a god with dark magic;
I made a costly mistake.
Trapping him forced the world to become frozen in place.
-But I could spend forever learning
every little feature of her face.
How her frail figure fought for every breath.
The chemo for the cancer ate her weight.
Shedding the hair from her head.
I'll remain here by her side,
until I devise an alternative to what Cronus said.
stretching her final seconds into the infinite,
as she lays here in this hospital bed.
... ♾️ ...
How can i exist in a museum with one exhibit?
I tried forcing time to rewind.
I meant to spite the concept of mortality.
Instead I've been trapped here for eons,
With,her still somehow lost to me...
...I am tempted to set cronus free.
... ♾️ ...
It's been chess with two moves:
You either speak or don't speak.
I can't find another way.
I've become worn out and jaded.
Cellmates with Cronus so long,
In this temporal prison I involuntarily created.
"It's wrong to steal time.
As karma,you've had no one to spend it with.
You tricked a god, but I'll still grant you your wish.
Undo your dark magic, a swift death I promise you,
Once your soul is released from the world,
I'll cure her cancer, like i believe you intended to."
And as Cronus spoke.. i knew what i would do.
Telling him,
"I refuse to let time pass.
I refuse to release you from the hourglass.
I refuse to let her be lost to me."
I pull her in close as i grin,
Cronus accepting defeat.
"I'd rather remain here...
In a staring contest with eternity. "
-
Apr 16, 2023
Apr 16, 2023 at 1:35 AM UTC
The 3 toed sloth
Rhymes with goth
Or is it oath
Moves slowly
Sometimes algae grows on his head
Joni Mitchell didn't mean him when she said
Wild things run fast
3 toed sloth, he'd come last
Once a week he climbs down from his tree
And that's to have a poo and ***
Now sloths get amorous
But *** is tricky up a tree
He moves too quick, he's not used to it
And hits the ground involuntarily
Randy broke his arm
Kind people fixed it with titanium
He resumes his slothful days
But now he's more careful with his loving ways
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 4:18 PM UTC
*This is one of the racier "Memories" poems by the great Barry Hodges, my alter ego.
It might well make you come involuntarily in your ******
How happy was I once with the wind in my hair
Wandering o'er the dales with joyousness unmeasur'd,
In the sweet long passed innocent days of platonic love
When stolen gropes and kiss were to be treasured.
But all good and true things come to a sad close
And my poor first love lies in her grave so sorrowfully
Having been crushed to death by a runaway steamroller
Before I managed to go all the way quite thoroughly.
What a waste of delightful teenage flesh was that
Yet perhaps I had a narrow escape from the derangement
Which might have been mine had our trysting
Led to a semi-permanent matrimonial arrangement.
For I recall one afternoon in the old ABC cinema
In the delighful Yorkshire spa town of Harrogate,
Sitting next to my gorgeous love in the back row,
Exploring her not so very private parts on a hot date.
How I cursed the management's niggardly folly
In not showing a film with hot romantic blood
But saving pathetic pennies by putting on
Daffy ******** Duck and Elmer ******* Fudd.
But yet I perserved with my digital explorations
Unaware that the throbs my fingers felt were no dream
But darling Elsie laughing like a proverbial drain
At Daffy's hilarious anatine adventures on-screen.
'Twas then I began to wonder about the viscous liquid
I had hitherto imagined was Elsie's lovejuice flowing
*(dear, dear reader, cease your perusal of my tale forthwith
if you are of a nervous disposition or prone to food up-throwing)*.
It was only a careful examination of my sopping knuckles
In the dimly lit gents after old Daffy's film was done and dusted
Which revealed that my dearly beloved had leaked
Big time out of both ends, leaving my fingers well encrusted.
O to think that, but for Daffy, I might have been lumbered
With a different kind of bird for whom double incontinence
Was a way of life (thus, the fatal steamroller she encountered
The very next day was a blessing from kindly Providence).
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
The three toed sloth
Rhymes with goth
Or is it oath
Moves slowly
Sometimes algae grows on his head
Joni Mitchell didn't mean him
when she said
Wild things run fast
Randy, three toed sloth,
he'd come last
Once a week he climbs down from his tree
And that's to have a poo
and ***
Now even sloths get amorous
But *** is tricky up a tree
He moves too quick, he's not used to it
And hits the ground involuntarily
Randy broke his arm
Some people fixed it
with titanium
So he can resume his slothful days
But he's more careful now
in his loving ways
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
(For context, I went to...)
British Kindergarten in England,
French Elementary in Switzerland,
International MS in England,
French HS, then Int'l HS in Korea,
(And then completed...)
Undergraduate studies in NJ, USA,
9-month gap year in Hong Kong,
Graduate studies in QC, Canada.
------------------------------------------------------------
I have shattered my identity.
Frequently. Involuntarily.
I have undergone assimilation.
Socially. Psychologically.
I have encountered discrimination.
Directly. Racially.
I have endured isolation.
Grievingly. Impotently.
I have ill-wished on others.
Subconsciously. Unintentionally.
HOWEVER –
I have learned to be human.
Individually. Collectively.
I have discovered empathy.
Emotionally. Compassionately.
I have gained knowledge.
Culturally. Geographically.
I have acquired expertise.
Intellectually. Linguistically.
I have become a citizen.
Locally. Globally.
Perhaps we who are born and meant to move,
Are intended to, and exist to locomote forever,
Walking lands, sailing oceans, mastering the world.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 8:00 AM UTC
Words without
Unspoken truths
Cut in neat pieces
Sharp like knives
Plunged deep into yesterday’s drivers seat
Intoxicated
The sweetness of wine
Time took hold
Tastes grew old
Drank straight with ice
A barrel aged whiskey with bite
Involuntarily, my body shakes
Like it was trying to run away from the feeling
“I didn’t know you would make me so drunk”
Stumbling and fumbling with my keys
Scratched drivers side door
Attempts to unlock what shouldn’t be
It left chips in the paint
“F*ck” murmured beneath my breath
The engines low rumble grumbled and sang
A stereo left on too loud came alive when I turned the key
Busted eardrums, slow trickle, ears that bleed
Silence spoke the loudest after that
The nights drive turned sideways
Cherry red lights matched with blue
I could outrun them if I tried
Pressed petals in between pages
Pushed gingerly to the floor
The speedometer creeped to new heights
That annoying flashing brightness followed me
Threat to freedom and a refusal to give in
Twist and turns
The chase ensues
I finally feel like I’m gaining distance
Little was known, encroaching on a dead end
Blew past a warning sign
Wrapped my car around a tree
Crimson red soaked shirt
“Why is my face wet?”
A steady stream of life giving fluid pumped through a **** in my forehead
Dizzy, it made me dizzy.
I sat and waited, not for help
But for time to be taken away
I understood that sometimes a mistake is made, and I can pay the price with iron clad bracelets and a night spent on a bench for a bed.
You taste like wine and then bit like whiskey, when all I wanted was coffee black on a crisp summer morning with the sun rising up to meet a lovers lust in my eyes.
Mar 27, 2022
Mar 27, 2022 at 1:33 PM UTC
Her serene face, lovely sleepy moon,
framed by long tresses of dark curly clouds
on which he traces pelagic memories
remains focused on his, for a while,
then,
her eyes, lovely restless beetles, sweetly
buzz around his eager lips, swollen with desire.
Closer she comes, he loves that coquettish look
on her face, how cheeky, the moves she make
as if she is game for the tryst, right now
whatever it takes from her part. it's clear.
How love makes a simple maiden, daring!
Dark beetles bring him memories of pollen,
mingled scents that cover her body head to toe,
now her lips are on his, exploring gently its contours
when teeth and swirling tongue too join in,
the cravings of unbridled horses of amour
they both come to be aware, when eyes involuntarily close.
When the red eyed embers of love turn to flames,
love boils in their cauldron, they rediscover passion,
as if they are green horns, once again in the enchanted woods
in this land of cupid, where the love rules are hurriedly rewritten.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 7:30 AM UTC
love written on palms
strapped in tandem
asked if i wanted to dance in the clouds with you
right beside me
cloudberry you're my beloved
involuntarily bloomed for your bee
the cure of your currant
leaves thoughts that are never vacant
love is abundant
golden fields cover my heart
touch my tongue
followed by the melody of a harp
up in the sky
ballads never quiet
always highly sung
completely
immensely
sprung
flung into young love
Sep 19, 2021
Sep 19, 2021 at 12:23 AM UTC
FLASHLIGHT
If you stumbled onto it
It would underwhelm you
In its common stature.
Four and a half inches.
No more than
A fistful of
Black aluminum.
I found it on his shelf
As I was cleaning out
The apartment.
I'm still taken by the things
That were of value to him
And the care he gave
In the preservation.
It was his grateful heart
Taking nothing for granted
Protecting tools with consideration
Not unlike the way
He would care for his friends.
It immediately meant something to me.
Like the orange pocket knife.
(Orange
His favorite color,
Knives
His collection.)
This small utility
Reminded me of him.
Understated, yet powerful
Easy to handle but efficient
Erasing darkness
Wherever he went.
I rolled it in my fingers
And the tiny beacon
Called to me...
I possessed it
as he possessed me.
The diminuitive tool
Lays among the other
Integral neccesities
Of my blue collar
Bread winning
World.
Intentional or not
I find myself
In more dark places than
Before
Just so
I have excuses to use it
And say his name
Every occasion that I pick it up.
Inside the dark recesses of a water heater -
Devon.
Underneath the leaking tub -
Devon.
In the closet of burned out motors
Impossible to reach bolts
And rusted designs -
Devon.
Then sometimes
Standing at the door of my van
A daydream breaks
While a light blinks in my eyes,
My fingers sending Morse code
Involuntarily
From my soul -
Devon, Devon, Devon, Devon.
Regardless the darkness
It has no power
Over the light
So I reach for him
And roll him around
In my memories
And the blackness
Is beaten back
By his goodness.
Every closet of the spirit
Brightened in that indelible smile
Where sadness slumps away
Ashamed that it even tried.
Selah.
(You are the brightest one, my son.)
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 5:17 PM UTC
Sorry it ended up like this.
Me out here, still wrapped up warm in my vestigial garment of flesh.
You in there, naked amongst your primitive ancestors like the youngest adult at a wedding, mingling awkwardly, embarrassed.
I wonder how you died. Your ribs look like they have been fixed back together after some kind of trauma.
A car crash maybe?
Maybe you struggled with long term illness, rotting before you ripened like a sickly bud in a wet spring.
However it happened your bronze plaque states it was untimely and therefore probably tragic. '(A young woman)' I read, not so much discovering but confirming what I already knew to be true when I first laid eyes first met yours across the crowded room.
You stand about as tall as me, your shining off white cheeks delicate as fine china. Staring out of you glass cabinet, you seem to beg not to be judged alongside your distant relatives, your slumping neighbors.
Fragile and sweet, you radiate a quiet dignity. It isn't hard to imagine the thin layer of blood, skin and fibrous tissue that it would take to make you beautiful again.
I plunge my hand through that glass portal, soft folds of meat transposed to brittle bone and back again, unifying you world with the mortal
It was obvious that you were beautiful, and involuntarily I envy the one who held you and kissed you last.
I wonder if anyone ever wrote a poem for you when you were alive.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 5:08 AM UTC
this
sweet-eyed
breathtaking
catastrophe
of mine
hoarding
clutter to the
ceiling fan,
filling void
somewhat
while
trying to
understand
how involuntarily
she crumples
like paper
littered
on the sidewalk
of my brain,
riddled with
scribbles
and nonsense
words,
her ink
blotted
voice like
feathers
under pressure
being
pressed against
whatever
white knuckles
her neck
and
hot talk
from
cold chests.
ingenious
security
boarded up doors
and
one-way glass
windows
to
watch
from inside.
for a moment
she calls
out to me from the
woodwork.
she almost
reaches
for the lock,
she almost becomes more than just paper
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 12:17 AM UTC
He was always a quiet man,
never seemed to look up...
as if his eyes were afraid of
what it might mean to
see the sky
His gaze seemed neither
fierce, nor soft.
Neither attentive or lost
He would never look at you,
it was as if he was looking everywhere
except where you happened to be.
I never saw a smile cross his lips
I never heard a laugh escape his lungs
I never heard him curse
I never heard him yell
When he spoke, I could hear the dust
falling off his breath
It wasn't a monotone sound, but I imagine
he sounded like what trees or mountains
would sound like, had they voices.
He existed in the loosest sense of the word
He was an oddity and an enigma
His quietness and unobtrusiveness
could be somewhat offputting
Yet...he was often able to blend into
the background like a rain drop
in a storm.
You can imagine our surprise
when he stumbled into town one
hot afternoon, clothes looking like
he'd fallen into a vat of red paint.
Splattered. Head to toe.
In between his head and his toes,
cradled in his arms, was the
body of a young girl
He had found her in the woods,
he had said, voice devoid of emotion.
She had been lying off the path,
in a pool of crimson.
An investigation turned up nothing
The people, in need of a murderer,
settled on the only man they could.
The man who hadn't shed even one tear
over the death of a young child
The trial was a farce
The kangaroo court adjourned
Death by hanging
The man remained silent throughout
the proceedings. Quietly answering
the frothing prosecutor's questions
with the same demeanor as someone
would use when discussing the weather
He wasn't defensive
He wasn't derisive
He didn't plead, nor pray
when the verdict was announced
On the day of the execution
nearly everyone in town was in attendance
Most of them couldn't tell you why
The noose around his neck, he stared
back at the crowd. Stared through them,
as if they didn't exist.
When the rope snapped taut,
The man flailed as his body
involuntarily spasm'd.
When he finally passed,
his body swinging lazily
under the gallows,
I caught the hint
of a smile
Only for a moment.
I found it odd
That he would only show
a sign of life
as it was ending
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 12:18 AM UTC
Her eyes transmit, his nerve ends become receptors.
Blood pumped in to his veins demands"Bring her closer"
His nostrils flare, lips get swollen,a tingle spreads all over.
A hotblooded woman, instinctively sense such moments.
Her eyes are now lit up by desire, laced with refined lust.
And lips acquire a luscious pout,colored a shade deeper.
Her eyes wink involuntarily,can't hold it there, they droop.
In a sudden weakness of eyes,both touch the waterline,close.
He could hear his heart beat faster,mercury rise is palpable.
From his inner sanctum,the beating of the drum is now louder.
Her eyes flare in the tremors that rock her to her very roots.
Those eyes are wet,the erupting spring of lubricious intent.
It's out in the open, neither him nor her could now pretend
Furtive glances do not ignite anything other than coy smiles
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 8:36 AM UTC
Not a day goes by anymore where I don't
curse this volatile world for bringing me into it.
I'm angry.
I'm Sad.
I hate everything.
I'm a coward.
And I hate God and all religion.
I'm just an infantile complain-ee who can't seem to feel anything except hate and anger.
I'm over the death and the sadness and the violence of this iniquitous, depraved place we humans call Home.
Everyday, I wake up to the anger in my burning, nauseous stomach and wonder why I have to be such a coward.
Sometimes life is great but then I'm reminded that life involuntarily defecates on everything that matters even a little bit.
I used to pray to your so called God for help
Because it was what one of my friends would have done.
But now I see that even in her time of need, He was gone.
The devout little Christian girl that Christ didn't want to save simply because it would require work.
There is no hope for this manic, putrid planet.
I'm done being nice and pretending that I'm a good person.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 7:14 PM UTC
Love has some wonderful properties.
It makes you something you're not. It makes you sane and insane. It makes you humane and inhumane. It makes you sighted and blind. It makes you overly rational or illogical. It makes you somewhat childish when nothing matters. It makes you extra jealous when there's nothing.
It makes you do things you don't do. It makes you prosecute and judge your defendant, or it makes you defend your lover. Perhaps the other way around. It makes you commit ****** It makes you commit suicide. It offers you identity crisis to a certain extent, but also enough motivation, will, and power to **** just a little, somehow.
Who am I? Who am I, now? Who was I? And, who are you? Whose side are you on?
On that note, all it would take is but a feeble breeze to knock me off the edge so that I fall into endless tar. I shall sink, effortlessly, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, as the thick, obscure liquid engulfs and swallows my entire being, slowly and gently, until I'm out of breath, and perfectly erased from this world without a trace of ever having lived.
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 3:56 AM UTC
Within the nook of a dell,
a good distance
from obloquy
and inhibition,
floating on water,
listening to birdsong
descend down
the stream
of a musical scale.
Don’t need to believe
or even consent to
any critique,
any look-see,
you are free and light
on the surface,
buoyant and supple
beneath.
Languid movements,
reminiscent
of a weir,
cascade
and trickle,
springing forth
to orchestrate an overture.
This feeling is
beatific,
euphoric,
the moment one of
nonpareil,
bijou,
objet d’art,
and these transports
are yours only
to involuntarily
succumb to and relive:
Rhythmic waves
quivering
upon your shore,
as your limbs and spine camber.
It’s no wonder
you often lift
your voice in song.
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 8:01 PM UTC