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howard brace Jan 2013
Despite repeatedly shaking her pincer... much as a sprightly pensioner might brandish a furled umbrella at a grappling contestant, currently being boo'd at in the red corner... the baby crab stamped her foot in annoyance as she glowered at every passing wave that rolled along the shoreline.  In absolving herself of any guilt she may have felt over her prolonged excursion, she had become, even further marooned by a failure to catch a succession of tides back home, an oversight she later confessed, to observe local tide-tables in 'Old More's Almanac...' on sale in all discerning book shops and selected High Street newsagents, priced 10/6d... for unless fluent in the Russian vernacular, it was just about as articulate to the little crab as a map of the Moscow Metro during a blackout, only to have the Rouble finally drop with a throat gagging 'Gaaargh...' clunk, that you were currently standing on the down-line platform, when you should've been stood on the up... as the last train lurched unsteadily out of the station whistling a jubilant entente cordiale... 'wish me luck as you wave me dasvidaniya'.

     Still stamping her foot, only now in strict rotation with the other seven, the baby crustacean peered out from beneath the shade of the large pebble, rearing its bulk out of the rockpool like a lollypop-lady's 'STOP'!!! sign, her beady eyes twitching independently, first this way, then the other, cut withering swathes through every cardinal point of the compass that didn't duck quite fast enough, was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the rock-pool in which she found herself tapping her foot in today, would be no less aquatic as any other rockpool that she may find herself still tapping a foot in tomorrow and that the best course of action was simply to stay-put and take the matter up with the local town council, then petition for additional fare-stages to be implemented... and with the cost of shoe leather at current prices... well, with eight legs to consider it would make savings that weren't to be sneezed at.  

     It wasn't everyday of the week that a young and upwardly mobile baby crustacean had occasion to move both up-market and down the beach, all in the same mouthful... and into what could only be regarded as a desirable, detached beachfront property, a rock-pool of distinction with all available mod-cons.  She felt relieved that apart from the occasional day-tripper, who invariably dropped litter wherever they went, that a baby crab of distinction such as herself, was certain to be accepted socially and hob-*** with a new and discerning circle of acquaintances... you only had to take that nice lady earlier in the week, they both seemed to have so much in common... then she would roll up her sleeves and really show the neighbourhood what knitting was all about...  

     With as much enthusiasm as that of a three year old screaming for an ice-cream in the middle of an heat-wave, Red marched up the beach and as far from his wife's waspish tongue as a lame excuse would carry him, heading back towards the growing crush of holidaymaking fathers who were only there presumably, for the sake of their own children, laying siege to the mobile vendor... only this time, having already stood in the same queue ten minutes earlier, now had a sufficiency of funds to purchase that which he'd unsuccessfully queued for the first time.

      After an unspecified time which by his wife's reckoning was grounds for divorce... Red, now laden down with the iced confectionary picked his way through the same throng of fathers who moments earlier had been happily chatting in the queue together, were now enjoying the same berating as the one Red was looking forward to as he made his way back towards the rock pool, juggling more ice-cream than two manly hands could intelligently control... while in a bid for freedom, the rapidly thawing confectionary were hatching plans of their own, ones quite independent from those intended as they embarked upon their meandering exodus, known only to iced creamy desserts on hot sunny days... and into the unknown, roaming across Red's hands and trusting their fate to a far higher authority.

     "Did I mention that I was on a diet" snapped his significant other, as she sat licking pistachios from the melting cornet... "don't you ever listen," secretly smiling to herself... "and you did remember to bring Sockeye's water this morning.. didn't you..!" she continued "someone with half as much sense would've stood it in the rockpool to keep cool, I'm sure the little crab wouldn't have objected..!"   At the mention of his name, Sockeye with ears far too free-lance to ever consider gainful employment of their own, needed no further persuasion and charged straight through the rock-pool to his mistress's side, walloping the thermos flask for a tail whopping six... bringing his personal batting average so far this holiday to a self congratulatory forty not out... and found the baby crab spluttering flat on her back and having second thoughts on any immediate savings in shoe leather were she to stay. 

     Generous to a fault, Sockeye now thought to shower everyone's ice cream with liberal helpings of the seashore as several parasitic irritations had Sockeye hard at work serving eviction notices on some of the more exotic zoology that only a patent Bob Martin's would dare to muscle up to... the local wildlife, by the look on his face were having the time of their lives bivouacked behind his left ear, throwing wild parties and disturbing the peace.  Cross-eyed, it was only while launching a double pronged assault on the latest settlement of interlopers that Sockeye finally succumbed to his injuries and surrendered to a neighbouring sandcastle... it really didn't do to mention a certain name too loudly at times like these, especially when you just happened to be on the receiving end.

     For some strange reason he was undoubtedly in the dog house... they'd shouted at him, which made him sad, all except his little master who had pushed him away... which left him bereft.  Sockeye sat down on dads beach-towel and had a long, thoughtful scratch... where had all the fuss gone? he searched for appreciation their faces... his tail gave one disheartened thump before it stopped... and all those little pieces of ice-cream dipped wafer, which up until now had always appeared as if by magic.  

     Catching sight of one such treat, undoubtedly forgotten by the rock pool, a marauding seagull pulled out of a rolling dive and swooped, at the same instant as two gaping jaws launched themselves skywards... canine jowls quivering bravely in the light sea airs... and not too dissimilar to a heat seeking missile, rose gracefully from the ground to meet it... 'well intercepted..!' as both ears applauded in mid-air... no aerial freeloader was about to skip town with Sockeye's ice cream wafer without paying... leaving one solitary wing flapping its willingness to pay up.

     At least it kept her husband in useful employment Tina decided... and mercifully out from under her feet, as she brushed a fragment of affectionate pistachio from her bikini top... she'd have to  make sure he went for the ices in future... and without the means to pay for them... a mischievous smile turned the corners of her mouth as she leant towards the beach-bag and invested herself with several more juicy grapes... that everyone who fell within her sphere of influence had been warned well away from... under threat of dire consequence... and it would take a brave man indeed, or a very foolish one... she gave her husband who was sitting well within arms reach a caustic glance... and Tina's particular variety of justice had a very long arm indeed.

                                                        ­           ...   ...   ...**

a work in progress.                                                        ­                                                                 ­  1297
Kate Lion Jan 2013
Nobody clams up over the right things
Flecks of dirt won't make beautiful ever
But those enormous irritations you take with a grain of sand
I tuck those things away
For a long while
It is against my nature to do so
It is awkward to keep salty things on the tip of one's tongue
Without spitting them out
Oh, I long to swallow
How much longer must I be closed up, love?
Infamous one Jan 2014
Reinventing myself again
Im not meant to be a step dad
Over dating girls who have a child
Cutting ppl out I seen them as awesome
Too bad they **** and sti k on stuff they can't change
Ive begged and pleaded no one listens
Mad at me over some girl who dont want you
Girls who dont take me serious but get mad once im over them
Ive never been one to kiss *** I did what I can to make it right
You cant let go that's on you
I apologized you can't forgive thats on you
By rejecting my apology I took it as go **** yourself
I thought how maybe its my fault but I dont deserve to be treated like ****
Dating ***** getting to know all the wrong ppl
Id rather be alone then stressing over being with someone who dont love themselves
Never emotionally available when I find them attractive
It ***** when I make my way no one care or believes in me
Ive been angry and jealous I go out if my way and nothing
I know ppl who dont try and blessed for days
Im working for mine
Putting in time to better myself
I never think anyone is better than me just different
I can have any girl just have to be confident
Im use to reject the think that mind rapes me is when a person completely changes on you.
Thinking one way but acting another way
Ron Sparks Jun 2015
when I’m this drunk
and you’re a thousand
miles away
I miss the plenary version of you
everything that you are
and all that I perceive you to be
why aren’t you here with me

I want to stop giving up
I want to just do it
I want to love you completely
with all that I am
and with no reservations

because when you’re
a thousand miles away
I know that the daily
irritations and influences
that detract from our
utter (what an ugly word) and complete
devotion to one another are
just that
distraction and irritations

the insecurities and the self-defeating
effects of life are nothing
when I have this much whiskey in me
I know that my love for you
is real

more real than Paris for Helen
more significant than
Romeo for Juliet
I love you as I love the
heart and lungs
in my own breast

without you I am bereft of a
vital *****
necessary for life
for existence

when I am this drunk
I don’t make sense
but I know
more truly than I know my name
that you are
essential
and that I love you
always
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2017
<•>
  For A:

The Pleasure of Infection

10:53 pm

our all about
is to be the whittler of our personage,
to both hold the knife with care,
but with risky, reckless artistry,
as we shape of what raw materials we are possessed,
into our own reshaped, reformed
most prized bejeweled possession

never mind the shavings and cutaways fallen,
they are fast away, castaway choices made and cannot be retrieved,
for when we whittle, whether our shape desired
which may be prior envisioned or a vision
from the discovery of performing,
they matter no more,
let them go, in their absence too,
they are part and a whit of you,
but not of you, no longer

our commonality in this: everything,
in everything else, so little

but your honesty and crafted, almost dishonesty both ring true,
and infect us with pleasure of recalling
when we
being cut designed and preparing our statue for
an unveiling, but with no date yet set,
and the loveliness of our mistakes,
were precious do-over opportunities

seek out the infection, the infection of discovery,
the risk of pleasure exposed and
your poetry may be either  
the antibiotics
when the result is red and unpleasant,
or a celebration,
an invitation to us to be a
semi-silent beholder of your artistry

infections heal after pain and discoloration
but new skin always forms,
but at a different pace for each of us

I see the faces in my carpet nodding agreement,
"always new skin"

oh boy. time to go to bed

go seek out the pleasure of infection,
sadly, happily, it is the only way

good night
from an old man who dreams and schemes of
new skin nightly
but never mind me,
my piece long ago writ
and in need of just a tweak here and there,
call it one too many close shavings,
his poem's treasure trove,
a list
of life's minor irritations
and major lifts

<•>

11:16pm
sanuel barber and aaron copeland
are calling ne to bed
Andrew M Bell Feb 2015
It was the type of day Wellington is infamous for:

rain slanting into the pursed and puckered faces

of harried pedestrians


and I, out and about with my secret

that in the tall towers where the wheels

grind slowly


a thing not made of commerce

a growing not spurred by market forces

an investment not subject to whims and crises,


but a spark ignited by two people

laying themselves open to love

and hope and dreams and


schemes sometimes lost sight of,

was fanning the flame,

the head, heart, flesh, bone and wairua


of a life

taking root in my beloved's belly,

a life long longed for


a life

whose existence sweeps before it all petty irritations

and affixes itself on my face


as a big stupid grin
Copyright Andrew M. Bell. The poet wishes to acknowledge Valley Micropress in whose pages this poem first appeared.

For international readers, "wairua" is Maori for "spirit".
Quentin Briscoe Mar 2013
To much attraction..not enough reaction...but don't reactions cause attractions...or just irritations...scratching the surface until one bleeds...and not healing the wounds that one needs...in all essences the soul should stay strong...if the skin, muscles, and bones stay where they belong...but sometime the shift just a tad..altering the soul you once had.

Looking for my number 2.....cuz my number 1 died a long time ago... surprised....im not she was gettin old...but you...can do what you gotta do to stay brand new...bend over a lil touch your toes... stretch a lil and build strong bones...she forgot to change it up.. after the first time i tore it up.. so eventually the wounds wouldn't stop bleeding...so she had to resort to cheating...

So As i tip toe through the valley of death I shall feel no evil...But im jumping off buildings back flipping blinded like evil Knievel... i shall look death in the face and laugh....as all who oppose my GOD shall fear his wrath...so a dead man i'm for I oppose him daily...And his cries to save me i only hear faintly....but nevertheless he calls me...as i fail to answer but scurry along blindly in to eternity...

i lost my touch, no longer Im i in reach... some body save me.... My body is queasy...and my mind is wheezing... for air....and if I dare....ask why... i only get questions as a reply... is there any help out there?????

why cant i have what i want when shes soo far away...I see her every day in my own special way...My dreams can suffice but only for so long...It wont be to long till i just cant go on...Warm embraces are needed to reassure my freedom..Cuz with out them im a slave to this lust demon...but once she surrounds me..my heart can love freely...and live to survive another day

Still looking for that smile I cant find...and grabbing for that hand i cant touch....feeling incomplete even tho love stares me in the face...its not filling the void.... I'm reaching back for what I let go, letting go so i can reach back...but then there was a reason it lost grip and slipped....

I'm back on the scene like a river flowing stream...I got the sprinkles to make the donut cream...but I don't eat em only learn to treat em....But if they taste good I guess I gotta feed em....Food for your thought wax on wax off...The Kabasa is guaranteed to knock your socks off..

lonely!!!!!!!! but only sleepy.... sad but happy.... Open today closed tomorrow....never look back but im stuck lookin backwards....Hummm this is what happens when you go into withdraw... I depressed...

lonely in the bed with songs in my head....visions of maken love with a body so soft...but when I open my eyes its just a pillow at myside...Time to let it go and free up some room...So may be when I open my eyes I can be holding on to you....(thought)....

Shortly and swiftly I'll drift in to eternity...to be forgotten by those drove into insanity..but remembered by those who still live with humanity...So this death ain't hard to see..Only easy to envision.. destine since the beginnin...ever since we... started sinnin..I can see the future comen and still Im not running....

Why cant you just chill and relax im not here for all this bs.... but you buggin trippen...Im crazy from the words that u shitin... **** now Im all lost for tonight straight up Im lookin for some *** for tonight..since you wanna go there Im trying to... take it there...im a be ******* cuz now i really don't care~!!!

I wish i could be so tender now... but i dont think I know how now... I'm just tryin chill to save us from future ill...It not like i want this cup to spill...Why cant strings be missin why must i be attached...Honestly i can love you but im just not ready for that...Actions of haste leave me with sour taste..as we just became ill.. because you forgotten how to chill..maybe i wont cry, but i will if we die.....

Goodafternoon cruel world how you doin, how you livin...been kinda crazy since i walked in the beginnin...but to you dear world leave my skin and my sin...Cuz where im trying go that stuff cant get in...Well in any way Im still lookin for that somethin, but if it dont come im i can go back to loven runnin!!!

Almost time to become a legal man...a lil wiser and smarter at playin my hand...no more foolish girls...nor foolish boys and there lil worlds...well maybe a lil fun...but making sure i get it done..almost time brand new to the game like Sir'Siah.......but hopefully by the end of the night ill be hearing Jeremiah.....
A piece I wrote a while back. A bunch of small poems in one, from a set of 10 that I want to make my first book called The to be continues....... I don't really think anybody is going to sit here read this but I hope you enjoy something from it. If I get enough views I might post another teaser. (Sir'Siah -my baby cousin)
Brianna May 2016
I like the curves of your shoulders and the strength in your spine.
I like the softness in your lips but the roughness in your hands.
I like the sparkle in your eyes and the sarcasm in your smile.

I like the pieces of you that you hide away under layers of thick skin.
The sadness you try to hide when you bite your lip and look left.
The laughter you feel when you shake your head and glance down.
The irritations you know when you roll your eyes up and to the right.

I like those things more than you'll ever know. But the things I love about you could never be explained in poetry.
shayla ennis Oct 2016
(Scene:)
The Victorian house painted brown with red shutters, a porch that’s large, a white porch swing and a purple rocking chair on this porch. Where grandmother Daisy may sit when the day is sunny or rainy. The house is on a side street covered up and down with trees so green that even in the coldest weather the leaves look as if they are still blooming. This place is called Applewood Road. To see the dark black paved road late in the fog covered night, there is a bright Victorian street lamp. A woman named Daisy the granddaughter of Nelly, who has spent most of her life going to college and having to struggle with learning and finding a place to belong.

Lawyer: writing to Nelly telling her of her grandmother’s death. Giving her news that all her grandmothers’ assets and property are hers.

Nelly: realizing she does not need to stay at college.

(Narrator):
  Due to this unexpected news Nelly has decided to quit college and move to her grandmother’s place. When she gets there she sees that on this property there is the house and a smaller building that could be turned into something else, so she decides that she will as the new owner opened an herb shop called Crystal Fairy.

Nelly: [places fliers around the town.]  I will be open for ten hours every day at Crystal Fairy selling my plants and herbs.

(Narrator):
This being Nelly’s first day opening her business, she sees that she only has three customers.
Enter Lorelei: she brings her purchase up to the counter

Nellie: oh, lavender! Do you know the properties?
Lorelei: I just saw it and the smell reminded me of a perfume my mother wears. Why is it useful for something else?

Nellie: yes!  It helps with cuts, bruises, and also functions as an antiseptic.

(Narrator): Ollie enters the store. Looking around at the plants.
Ollie: looking at the lemon balm plant. I think I’ll buy this one, going to counter.

Nelly: you wish to buy this?

Ollie: yes!

Nelly: Very well. Do you have any questions about the plant?

Ollie: yes I do.  What are its healing properties?

Nelly:  it helps with anxiety, insomnia, wounds, insect bites, and an upset stomach. It also speeds the healing of cold sores,

(Narrator):
In the back on the far left side of the shop there is an older man wearing plain black pants with a red shirt; he is looking at the plants on the shelf to his right. His name is Samael. He turns around and looks in Nelly’s direction.

Samael: this plant called chamomile what are its properties for healing?

Nelly: Samael this plant can be used for infusions and salves to relieve indigestion, colic, skin inflammations or irritations to the skin.

(Narrator):
Samael turns away because he sees the other patrons waiting to pay their bills and wanting to leave. Knowing soon that he will be all alone in the store with Nelly you can feel the tension building from him and the excitement rapping its way around his mind because of what he is thinking about. Just at this moment Samael plans out his plot to ****** Nelly. Samael looks around to see what he can use as his ****** weapon, he finds a heavy ceramic-clay bowl that he intends to use. To hit Nelly over the head. He makes sure the store is empty and that Nelly has her back turned so he can lock the door. Once the door is locked he pulls down the window shades. Once this is done he turns in her direction while her back is still turned.

Samael: [hitting nelly over the head]

Nelly: ouch!

(Narrator):
She falls to the floor!  Samael starts talking loudly.

Samael: I’m going to rip her blouse and jeans apart.

Samael: [Tatter… rip………]

(Narrator):
He wants to show her how much he loves her and to show her that ignoring him and his presents will only ensure their relationship.
Nelly: [staring at him with utter fear].

Samael: [he pulls a blade out from the back counter and puts it to her face].

Samael: I’ll cut your pretty face then no one will want you or look at you. You will have to come to me for comfort I’m the only one who will understand.  

(Narrator:)
Nelly looks up at him crying and pleading for him not to hurt her, that she does not even know him so what could he be talking about? Suddenly Samael reaches for her and strikes out at Nelly’s face, leaving a bruise that causes her to scream out in pain.

Nelly: [ouch!] Please don’t no more.

(Narrator):
There is a sudden silence as Nelly realizes that Samael is crazy and nothing she says or does will make a difference. As Nelly remains on the gray tile floor of her shop with Samael hurting her, she gets a sudden burst of energy, and she starts to fight him to break his hold over her.
Nelly: looking around where she lays for something to use as a defensive weapon.  That will allow her to free herself, to get to the green wooden door of her shop.

(Narrator):
Seeing a statuette of a flower in a *** Nelly grabs for it. She slams it into Samael’s face. Gaining her feet, she runs to the door trying to open it in order to scream for help.

Nelly: [screaming at top of her lungs].

Nelly: [ha………]

Nelly: help! Help! Somebody help me please!

(Narrator):
Samael stopping her, throwing her hard against a red wooden shelf. Then taking this same statuette he hits her even harder than before, only to realize that he has just killed her. The sound of Nelly’s fall so close to the door causes the neighbors near her property to turn the lights on in their homes.

(Narrator):
Samael: [seeing the lights turning on in the neighborhood becomes scared. Running for the metal door in the back of the store, he takes off down a dark alley way. Just as this happens, Lorelie, a neighbor and friend, opens the store’s front door. Coming inside, she steps forward to turn the store lights on. Suddenly seeing Nelly’s body lying on the cold tile floor with her head smashed in, her body at an odd angle because of the way she is laying and blood pooling around her, she also sees strange foot prints that don’t belong, and then she screams.]

Lorelei: oh! Oh my god! Oh what has happened?

(Narrator):
Lorelie’s screams cause Ollie, who lives across the street, to come running over to the store. When he gets to Lorelie’s side he sees what’s wrong and starts looking around trying not to disturb anything. As he is looking around trying to find out what has happened to Nelly he turns to Lorelei.

Ollie: Lorelei call detective Walter he will help find Nelly’s murderer

Lorelei:  pick up the phone calls detective Walter

(Narrator):
Ollie continues looking around the store. He finds the ceramic-clay bowl broken, and the statuette believing that in some way they are the answers to Nelly’s death or at least a start. Turning back towards Lorelie, he sees that Walter is coming up the street with Beatrice, his partner. Ollie goes outside to meet them. The detectives come into the store called Crystal Fairy, seeing the dead body of Nelly. Like Ollie, Walter starts looking at the scene around him noticing specific things. The turned over book case, the broken bowl, and the busted statuette, but most of all the back door gets his full attention because that’s where the ****** footprints lead. Leaving Beatrice behind to ask questions

(Narrator): enters Walter

Walter: [following these footprints outside and down the back alley. These prints lead him to a house’s back porch. There he sees more ****** prints and comes to the idea that the person who is responsible for Nelly’s death is inside.]

Walter: going into house [squeak- silent slam]

(Narrator):
Inside the house looking around, listening for any sounds and sudden movements. A sudden sound catching his attention, he looks up to see a cat jumping from a window.

The cat: [thump, bang thump again]

Walter: [making his way down the hallway and up the stairs, sees a door to his left with lights on.  It opens with a slam.]
Sound of door: [crash…]

(Narrator):
Samael rushing out at Walter with an iron bar.

Samael: [swinging the bar. [Swish……..] missing]

Walter: [stepping back, moving out of the way].

(Narrator):
This causes Samael to stumble and fall down the stairs, crashing to the bottom.

[Enters Beatrice]
Beatrice comes through the front door she sees Samael and goes to check him out. Walter and Beatrice pick him up off the floor, waking him up; this causes him to start confessing to what he has done.

Samael: [tells them that he was only trying to show his love to Nelly, but that she wouldn’t listen and thus he had to **** her so he could have her to himself. He didn’t want anyone else to love her or for her to love anyone else either].

(Narrator):
The detectives hearing this confession look at Samael completely surprised that he would confess so easily and without having to be drilled about the truth. But what gets their attention is how he confesses.

Samael: I love her; she would not see me or love me back. I just want her to see me.

Beatrice: So you frighten her and torture her, then **** her.

Walter: Beatrice, he’s crazy can’t you see that. We’re wasting time.

Beatrice: I know he’s crazy. I just feel sad that he could be so stupid and think that killing someone shows feeling for them. Poor woman, she was so young.

Walter: From what I could get from the neighbors, Nelly had just moved here after her grandmother’s death due to inheriting everything. Her life was just getting stated.

Samael: I love her; I’m the only one who can.

Walter/Beatrice: Will you shut up already! We get it. You love her so you killed her.


                                                                The End
this is a drama playwrite
Anais Vionet Jan 2023
Everyone was lazing around, it being the holidays. The intercom buzzed and Lisa got there first to press answer. “Package, on the way up,” the concierge announced. This time of year, a package could be a late arriving gift, there was interest.

It takes a hot minute for elevator three to get to the 50th floor and in those moments, we waited. The foyer of Lisa’s suite looks like a half circle with three doors. To the left is the library (Michael’s office), to the right is a hall leading to bedrooms and straight ahead is the living room.

Lisa was already at the front door. Karen (Lisa’s mom) came into the foyer from the hall and Michael was heads-up at his desk, when the front door finally buzzed. An iPad sized monitor showed a messenger with a bouquet of flowers. “OOO!” Lisa said, opening the door and signing for it.

“Whad we get?” Leeza asked, flying into the foyer, like a vulture, from the living room and saying, “OOO!” When she saw the flowers, following up with “Who’re they for?!”
“Anais,” Karen said with a grin, reading the envelope as Lisa turned the vase for a 360 view.

I was in the living room playing “Disney Dreamlight Valley” on my Nintendo switch when Lisa, followed closely by Leeza, came in with the flowers. “Oh, WOW,” I said, sitting up when I saw them.
“They’re for YOU,” Lisa said, trying to make it sound all casual, but her grin gave the truth away. Leeza gave a hoot of suppressed excitement when I grinned.

Leeza had her phone in hand and took a picture as I accepted the vase from Lisa, setting it on the coffee table as I opened the card. A moment later Leeza pronounced, “It’s a “Warm Embrace Arrangement.” Gen-alphas can research anything, in moments, from their phones. “It cost,” She started to say, and Lisa elbowed her, “OWW!” She exclaimed, then “175 dollars,” as she completed her thought, rubbing her ribs, and took a seat next to me.

“They’re from Peter,” I revealed, (who really can’t afford to spend $175 on flowers).

A week ago (Tuesday), I woke up in a rage, on a vendetta. My eyes opened, and the world seemed dark, like a newly opened box of slights and irritations. Shadows seemed to reach out and the very air seemed gritty and annoying. I wanted to yell at people and maybe ****** someone.
“Remember last week,” I asked the room, “when I was in a funk?”
“I was a witness,” Leeza said chuckling, “I can confirm.” Lisa just nodded.
“Yeah, I needed to rant and you were there,” I patted Leeza’s knee, “Thanks, sorry.”
“All you listened to for days was Rihanna,” Leeza reported, shaking her head.
“It lasted for two days,” I said, wincing at the memory,” that’s when I sent Peter that message.”
“Ahhh,” Lisa nodded, “I get it.”
“Yep,” I nodded back at Lisa, “got my period the next day, it doesn’t usually hit like that.” I said defensively.”
“That explains a lot.” Leeza grinned.
“But look!” Lisa said, putting her arms out like Vanna White, “You got flowers!”
“Poor Peter,” I said, sighing, “I better call him.”
I uncurl from the ball

get out of bed and

totter off

down the hall into

the kitchen

in which in

I look for something

but I forgot

to jot that something down




Now

I look and feel just like

a clown.

no laughter




after all

I could have stayed in bed

curled in a ball.
Cecelia Francis May 2015
Winged migration
to flee from migraine
irritations:

I was the shadow
of the waxwing slain,
flung and flew through
wire flues on the roofs

To be some happier
glove, not on hand
Natasha Ivory May 2016
Perplexed.
As I looked into his eyes, replaying the conversation in my mind...over and over again.
Studying his mouth curvature and ****** expressions, change from confidence to bewilderment. As I confronted his most recent "story".
Stumbling over words, not even remembering his own storyline, it all came to a head.
It's all a fog. The last 11 months of my life.
A tangled web of fulfillment..loss..love..pain..a seeming friendship..laughter..hurts..euphoria..
..Lies..love making..confiding..trust..deceit..
half truths..embellished stories..frustrations..
Anxiety..joys..thrills..adventures..irrit­ations..charm..
Dream making..intense loneliness.
He built walls...constructed of flowers, love notes, thoughtful gifts, candle lit baths with rose petals and love songs...all in hopes to keep me within the realm of his safety lines.
He lied to make me love him..I lied to myself into believing it was all real.
When lies become your reality..nothing stands against it..not even..the Truth.
Now I sit. Alone. In the center of the shambles of what we fabricated, fallen at my feet.
Eyes opened. Accepting the reality. Weaving through the confusion.
Hope in the unknown..the sun still continues to rise..hearts heal and Love still exists.
Always listen to your intuition.
Copyright © Natasha Ivory Evans 2016
Holding my breath so I can take control.
Feelings unrest, I can’t seem to grow.
Problems unsolved, it’s an overload.
Losing my mind right before I explode.

I said I’m foretold to be the truth.
Swear an oath, but it didn’t bare any roots.
At any given moment one could lose his youth. Don’t know who he is cause he wears another mans boots.  
Walking irritations, bearing all the earnings of their fruits.
Limits are escalating and I’m tarring down the roof.
A Course to deviation, unable to see any other routes .
  Blind to temptations.
The struggle fits me like a  suit.

Holding my breath so I can take control.
Feelings unrest, I can’t seem to grow.
Problems unsolved, it’s an overload.
Losing my mind right before I explode.

Time is deteriorating, everyday life of a destitute.  
 Waters are evaporating and I’m thirsty for whatever’s absolute.
Problems eternally materializing, full of sorrow and solitude.
Emptiness continuously multiplying, like a disease it pollutes.
Visions are tremendously horrifying, wishing to **** the sound and become a mute.
The story’s are ultimately glorifying, ghoulish torment and Chaos to distribute.
Nothing but hesitation.
Loneliness overtaking, going through all these hoops.
Screams are instantly mesmerizing, the ending is what They Pursue.

Holding my breath so I can take control.
Feelings unrest, I can’t seem to grow.
Problems unsolved, it’s an overload.
Losing my mind right before I explode.
James M Boyer Nov 2010
Blindly I write these words
trying to find a rhythm
that can cure my head
of this verse infected syndrome.
No luck, only irritations
the syllables won't take shape
only rearrange themselves
and fall back into place.
The thought blurs a little
before the eye inside my mind
the contact lens of perception
creases & tears with time.

Can't seem to find the footing
that lets my pen walk on the white
teeter on the blue lines
and space the words just right.
Simple A B C B scheme
four lines before it's complete
stood up to the best of me
but still I can't compete .
Conception of a masterpiece
that will never have an end
only the idea of a finished product
that I've created with my pen.
- From Through Our Hands We Speak From The Heart
Anais Vionet Sep 2021
The recent lockdown certainly made family the center of everything - from fun to daily irritations. But after a month of being at college - which I know, objectively, isn’t long - those memories seem like echoes from another life.

I love the sudden privacy college has provided - like I’ve personally rediscovered something seemingly new.

I get calls from high school friends who were close as skin a few short weeks ago and there seems to be a disconnect which certainly isn’t because they’ve been “replaced” with new friends.

I’ve always been slow to mesh with new people so I’m trying hard to look engaged in social situations. “Get OUT there and meet people!”, everyone tells us. So I’m working on it - practicing my best fake, friendly smile in mirrors for when deep down inside I want to run.

At least I’ve hit it off with one of my suite-mates, Leong (thank god). She‘s from Macao, China (the “Las Vegas” of Asia) which is about 41 miles from where my family used to live in Shenzhen. When I started talking to her in Cantonese she shrieked with joy - now we can evaluate everyone and everything with delightful discretion.

My classmates are SO smart that classes move really, REALLY FAST.
“Everyone got that?” the professor says, no frantic hands waived “Moving ON!”

If I daydream for 30 seconds - I come back and - “WAIT, huh? - what are we talking about?” It’s not like high school at ALL - it’s actually scary.

So I’m moving on.
My familiar world has been replaced by a fast new and scary norm
electrifyingly and smilingly,
I walk through the red mornings
that bring the rainy afternoons

with the smell of onions, lime
and fresh cilantro on my
malodorous breath
that will tell you so:

there are three things
we do exceptionally well:

a) the ****** expressions
we make have become an
almost artificiality, a dour,
featureless, sun-drenched
look that has pockmarked
and disfigured upon our faces.

b) living has become such a dynasty
for boredom that we find television
and fake reality to be satiated
and thrillful.

c) death before burial has become
so fashionable that we wear it like
he latest trend in the upcoming
fall catalog.

but there is nothing there,
decades are annihilated by dreams
and sleep is the cheapest form of
entertainment we have.

knowledge and wisdom
perforated through a
trepanned skull
needn’t be obtained by
an educational system

but through self-taught
and self-introspection

success is merely luck…
being at the right place,
at the right time,
knowing the right people

and we strive to be there

but devastatingly,
the small space gets
besieged
invaded
capsized
by subtleties
of distractions
and irritations

that what we have
either,
inside of us
or
in front of us
becomes insatiable

and the flimsiness of anxiety
begins to lionize and ascend
into higher sopranos

what’s good won’t last
what’s bad always felt so good
and what was said to be good
that was actually bad
was never forgivable

questions are unanswerable
books are unreadable
resources are unusable
happiness is unobtainable
love is irretrievable
and animosity comes so often
like a teenage boy’s *******

as the raindrops pelt the rooftops
like pachinko machines
as the grey hair sprouts like begonias
of spiraling hypnotism
as the pagodas burn in
sacred libations.

if this poem has reached you
it is because you are seeking
better writing than your own.
Louisa Coller Nov 2014
Mum has 15 drags on her cigarette.
The first drag, trying out for the first time,
the second drag, presenting friends into your relaxation.
The third drag, everything is calm,
the fourth drag, you realize it has to stop.
The fifth drag, small remarks become big irritations,
the sixth drag, you are disgusted because the remarks are true.
The seventh drag, just another one wouldn’t hurt,
the eighth drag, what’s the point of quitting now?
The ninth drag, your breath doesn’t smell quite the same,
the tenth drag, you hide underneath your coat.
The eleventh drag, you feel slowed down without,
the twelfth drag, yet your doctors say it’s better off without.
The thirteenth drag, you begin to wheeze,
the fourteenth drag, you collapse to the floor.
The fifteenth drag isn't really the final drag at all,
you’ll smoke a million cigarettes, more and more,
but it only seems to you as 15 more?
The fifteenth drag is finally taken,
Mum has lung disease, I am a failure.
I wrote this poem when I found out my mother had lung disease and a whole lot more horrific problems just because she couldn't drop the cigarettes, we tried help her quit but she just got hooked back on again. I just couldn't bare to see her smoke, it made me feel like I failed her,
more than her failing herself.
Debanjana Saha Jul 2017
A support you were
Always to me
Took all the pressure
Out of rocky edges
And never told anyone
How it was to be!
Not understanding you
Was a blunder of all
I wish I could undo it
Once & for all!
Keep no hard feelings
As I'm already being punished
from being away from you!
So much away
that it makes me feel
going to an empty nest
Every other day.

I wish I could
make you understand
that how you meant to me
With all the irritations
and leg-pulling
You made me cry
You made me laugh
To the brim!
I wish I could do
something for you
To return back
all the treasures
you gave to me!

Be in touch people say
But in this era
Touch is only at screens!
Time passes by
And every wound heals,
But to an extent
An empty space in the heart
Is never reciprocated!

-13 July, 2017
I cannot convey in a better way
other than a poetry! I wrote this poetry for my Team lead who is my former manager too. He recently resigned from the company & it made me sad out of the blue!
Its not easy to let you go
But for your growth(in aspect of career) I have no other choice except to wish the for him the best in the near future!
Everyone hopes their dreams to become real,
But this girl’s aspiration to reach her goals is surreal.

With eyes full of ambition and will to do anything with zeal,
She started the journey with all support and unreal.

Mankind said her desired was a waste of time,
And longing for an ordinary life was not a crime.

She stayed true to her intentions,
Although the time-line was yearning for irritations.

The girl has finally reached her destination,
With a lot of claps and appreciation.

Wishes and struggles are part of being alive,
But a beautiful life is what your actions drive.
Sam Temple Jun 2016
a long slow exhale sends my med of choice swirling around the candlelit room
everything comes down half a step and a smooth calm surfaces
irritations fade and the Wu bumps me free
thin smile passes across my eyes as shoes tumble
little tan Pit rolls over and sniffs the cloud
leans partly against me and partly against the soft brown couch
both of us stare off into space
eyes glazed
fully medicated –
Sharon Talbot Dec 2018
The secret of love,
Of remaining together...
Is not what everyone supposes.
It is not always the bringing of gifts,
The candlelight dinners
Or bouquets of roses.
After the bloom is off
these loving flowers,
Irritations and troubles arise.
There are clashes
Over little things.
And lovers forget
The vows they made so easily,
Violating them with anger.
Old resentments from the past
Rise up to poison with enmity,
The nearness that will not last.
Those with wisdom shun these fights,
The sad agony of lonely nights,
Lying awake and wondering
If love still exists, or if one matters,
To the other, if one cares at all.
Over time, self-protection grows,
And the lover builds a rancorous wall
Where weeds choke sunlight from the rose
And the other cannot hurt you.
But the play still goes on,
Like a song that still repeats,
Over and over unnoticed.
And a pantomime of caring
Begins to form, with hollow smiles
And half-hearted promises.
The Rose now lists against the wall,
Pale and tamed, like a common plant,
A vegetable in a kitchen garden.
And lovers expect passion
From a dreary fruit like this?
But once in a thousand times,
Deep roots that began long ago,
Giving rise to the first flower of love,
Last beyond boredom, thirst and drought.
Thorns pierce their hearts through the wall,
Bringing tears of surprise and recall.
The lovers find after the rain:
They have what they have sought.
And that which they sought is all.

Summer 2018
Anais Vionet Jan 2021
What do theologians call a life without events?

The lights of my prison-like room dawn before sun's first blush.
I open sand-papery eyes as my AI announces the morning.

I begin the puppetry of morning routines:
I study my pale inmate face as I polish the porcelain.

I look less of a drowsy-angel than a zombie as I splash cold water
on the face with an almost determined lack of expression.

I’m absorbed in an ocean of predawn cold
as I 5-mile-walk away my sleepiness - this small freedom
- keeps me fit and acceptably sane.

Later, bathed in hot indifference,
and clothed in exhausting obligations,
I dine, at my reserved table, with my gang of irritations.

Soon I’m ready for another taxing day
of waiting for the disease to run its course.
Isolation express! Leaving on track... wait - we're going nowhere 🙃
Armand-DeamoJC Sep 2020
Mum said be a doctor, but no
I didn't like school, glad to go
I became a mechanic instead
It caught my heart in 10th grade
I could do better in life, compared
To my grades, my life is made

I prefer a simple life
Where my biggest problems are finding the bolt that just fell down into a void
Where my daily irritations are losing a spanner or socket
My worst encounters would be a client that insists on knowing the problem
My best moments would be spending time with friends and family
My best days would be vacations

I don't want to be a doctor
And worry about a cancer patient
Or huge accident coming in
I don't want to be irritated by nurses or patients that don't listen
I don't want my worst encounter to be losing someone's life
I don't want my best moments to be having expensive things to show off
I definitely don't want my best days to be going home and sleeping early
I started working on engines when I was 15 and fell in love. I've been doing it as a part time job these days, because I'm busy with exams, but when I'm done I want to study further. I want to be rich, most people desire riches, but I want to like my job. So starting small for experience while studying hard for qualifications, I might get a good position at a company
Kathleen Apr 2018
Scratching off my skin and digging my eyes out.
The cracks branch off at the corners, swollen and puffy.
A busted lip, some pills, and a drink to help me relax.
Didn't work.
Little levies break now and then to spill small kernels of my locked up consciousness, then retract back in on itself.
Functional.
Motions, actions, procedures.
Pushing through the grime towards the bathtub.
Through the haze typing delicately to oneself.
Giggle.
Glorify yourself.
Lose your voice in explanation of everything except the important parts, the parts they already secretly know.
The stomach churns, sudden twinges pierce all the muscles.
Conversations swim about other things.
The oncoming memories, the irritations of daily life.
Just being here.
I originally wrote this in 2010, I've updated it slightly after finding it again.
Santiago May 2015
My bodies weak, my mind tormented
Demons crept in destroyers infested
My soul grew cold, I was told before
To stay away, I didn't listen & lost vision
Now I'm here all alone, in a war zone
Harassing on the avenue, irritations grew
Evil minded people, holding me down
Psychological forms of deception
It's a windy road today, coping day by day
Hoping I leave this ugly world one day
My eyes light brown, lighting thunder
Were made for you, to shine your time
To bring up your spirit, to bring you to life
To bring you closer to his light,
I guess that was the toughest fight,
But I fought the devil with all my might
To bring you a clear sight, in truths delight
The world has taken me under,
Broken through my vest, and armor
Snatched the love I cherishly harbored
Now I'm tore up, beat up, can't pick up
My only wish for you, keep shining light
Keep living, give testimony, bright ceremonies
In his name, never be ashamed,
He put this immense love I have for you
Deep in my heart, don't know why?
But he did, and it hurts me,
Yet it worked in me, grew in me,
Made me stronger, my heart said
I belong to her, you're my sound track
My goofy, silly kick back, my smiles
My nervous breakdown, you know
You felt the same get down,
I wanna feel you in my veins
Like rain soothing all this pain
I'm doing my best to disarm
All the wicked world incriminating
Discriminating against to harm
Stay safe and sound, I only desire
One person to be the mother of my child
A divine being my creator blessed me with
There's no one else in this world
I want, desire, need but you
I wish you the best, a life from you
Would bring a never ending bliss
Believe me, please don't deceive me
I've come this far, kept locked in my heart
If it's not a bonding love from above
Tell me please, here, now, today, tomorrow
Asap so I won't lead myself blind
And keep searching but never truly find
What I once thought was mine...

I'll always be your thunder protecting you,
Loving you, guarding you, saving you, helping you, assisting you, mending you, repairing you, recovering you, enlightening you, through god and sincerity, honesty, love and respect,

Yours truly,
Forever
tri16 Feb 2016
Sticky

I crossed your darkend path
And felt how …
sticky you were.
Roped with irritations
Everything… just clinging.

I watched you
Unknowingly chase
The tail that is your own
Amused..
Like a juvenile.

Unable to shed
your malignancy
…of choice
Everything is your trigger
Clock waits… loudly.

******* blame
You remain..
Wide eyed
Looking for reason
To explain affect.

The presence of you
Films me..
I step away..
And brighten.

Tf 2/2016
Israel Baker Mar 2016
I.
"Rip it off."
A mother tells a child
"If it itches, scratch it."
"If its ugly, replace it."
The end of skin.

II.
Love at first sight is reserved for the Bones.

III.
The irritations of the skin have become unbearable. My arms are bare. I want my skin to be the skin of another. Our hidden hides prevent contact.

IV.
"Good ridens"
I see a band-aid on the sidewalk.
I see a burned man sans skin-graph.
I saw beauty, but she was plastic.

V.
There is an epidemic of the epidermis.
We need honesty, but all we get is skin; the ugly forefront of the truth.
Eshwara Prasad Jul 2021
The clamor about minor irritations in life is far louder than the uproar over major issues.
Hank Helman Oct 2023
First find someone you enjoy *** with.
Spoiler alert it might be yourself.

Second, absence is a bit of a relief.
Minor irritations are glue like.

Third is roughness. It's a spectrum.
Don't be afraid of it and don't be cruel.

Forth and most important is humour.
What does Charles Dickens keep in his spice rack?
The best of thymes, the worst of thymes.

So there you have it.
Life is easy.
Eat pickles as often as you can.
Are we all dead and we don't know it?
Cullen Geahigan Dec 2019
Every pink pustule pounds my skin like an artillery bar-
rage. Your horde swells with my stress, bubbles up from my
rage. Volcano head, a v of violent irritations between my brow.
Doctors prescribe petroleum products to ease the water pressure
from your oily fracking.
Every splotch a rig rising up over the water, and YOU
place every dot target practice for pointed looks. No mythical halcyon
calms the red waves and YOU,
the construction company placing rows of pylon.
Risking lifelong scars pounding railroad spikes across the Great Plains,
With no grand plan or project to mask my pains


With what form you take, it must be the most
Awful, vile, loathing, malignance of being,
Where you cannot be complacent in your own immutable form,
that you must plague others with your
adolescent pestilence.

But a pestilence of lilies’ dot
the starry pond
The lovely constellations,
have no need for an Andromeda,
And have no worries, for my residents are no Cancer,
And that hope of divine light shining through such inconsequential motes,
also shines through, bathing my face
before I sleep, night after night,
And I see the stars through my rosy windows, as I lay back in my cot.
And where Greek Gods so methodically placed every gentle blót,
a cherished love had never not known the halls of my temples.
Denis Barter May 2018
I am the one you’ll deem contrary;
I strive to be a worthy adversary.
I refuse to accept the status quo:
I speak up to let my listeners know
I listen, but seldom change my mind!
I hope you will realise and find
I am the one you’ll deem contrary.

I am aware of my own poetic limitations,
I love to nettle listeners’ irritations.
I watch their countenance closely, then
I learn from their expression. When
I daydream of what might have been,
I laugh at hilarious scenes often seen.
I cry when suffering rhyming frustrations:
I am aware of my own poetic limitations.

I am a sceptic of self proclaimed experts;
I admire all girls, coquettes and flirts.
I respect the modest educated man,
I expect to assist me when he can.
I accept all men as equal on sight,
I reject those who think that might is right!
I deserve to reap my just desserts
I am a sceptic of self proclaimed experts!

I am the one you’ll deem contrary:
I have found serenity, when solitary:
I dance when my day is free of pain,
I sing when the skies are blue again.
I want for nothing of which I know,
I need only for the sunshine to show.
I pray for the poetic extraordinary.

I am aware of my poetic limitations,
I am a sceptic of self proclaimed experts.
I am the one you’ll deem contrary.

Rhymer. May 23rd, 2018.
Keo Feb 2015
I                                     irritations                                 other
Joshua David Nov 2017
These minor aggravations,
These irritations,
Are driving me insane,
Day by day, just getting worse,
Taking things too far,
Fear is something that is delt everyday,
Evidently you forgot to pick up your cards,
Anger, while for most it burns hot and red,
For me it burns cold and white,
The rage courses through my veins, watch out they say for those who's rage burns cold,
For they are truly the ones to be afraid,
Always in control, never yelling always whispering,
Bringing out fear with their rage,
To this I beseech thee think and ye may survive,
The rage inside.
Ken Pepiton Jan 2019
in ex tricked ably linked lines of letters letting

until they be taken
out of the way
word by word
line upon line
line upon line
preception upon preception
it's a
'just a cold

extrickedably connected to dust
line upon line
word after word
word after word

"'don't mean nuthin'"

christmas threes,

"just a code"
as when a man letteth out water.

misery means miser ish
ignoring is an action, an act-if-ity
massive dam building, flow damming
let us be
letters of patience when
she practices her perfect work,

workers in fields of cheap strawberries to be,
letting water flow from dam to to dam,
down line, furrow after furrow

a mud-**** maker, me,
I control the flow of this water
with my shovel and my muddy feet
after line, after the water was let past the dam,

a dam I built, with my shovel
and muddy feet.

irrigating irritations in my scenter of being
in line for the blue out-house on wheels
lost precepts excepting me
I awoke
in mud to my knees
I let this set, I works on some level, mud level, i think.
LaserHalo Sep 2016
When does it end?
This confusion,
This suffering,
This illusion,
This complication.

Is it our fault?
Your helplessness,
Your irritations,
Your hopelessness,
Your destruction.

What do you need?
An eternal high,
A life full of misery,
An instant death,
Or a kingdom to run?
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2021
my god, what am i going to do about Monday morning,
that coffee date?
sure as ****, Sherlock... you'll go to the Turk
for a beard trim, either either tomorrow or
over the weekend...
you'll make this weekend epic...
you'll cycle to either central London
or to Epping... either trip...
you'll do more push-ups... you'll lift some extra
weights... beef up... puff up...
you'll do that...
you'll also think about how you'll spend
your first earned money.... in a long long time...
sure... i'll spend it in a brothel...
i don't gamble: lucky... it's not like i have
*** regularly... it's worth spending money
on art galleries, brothels... alcohol...
after coffee, oh she wanted to meet up:
i know why... 10 or so scrambled messages later:
you have a physical copy of your book?
i have a physical copy of my book?!
it's not merely a pdf file?
it's not merely a pdf file?!
oh, right, right... yeah...
no wonder she wanted to meet up for coffee...
it will seriously take a miracle
for me to become loved up like the teenager
i once was available / able to...
who knows...
   my heart is hardened... yet it's not forever lost...
it will take a miracle...
it would probably require dating a woman
with a child... whereby i could turn my affection
onto the child, rather than stress it for a woman...
that would be so much easier...
a bit like petting a cat... i think loving a child
unconditionally would be so much more easier
than loving a woman within the confines of her...
ahem... expectations... conditions...
yet somehow still "unconditionally":
what a load of *******! seriously...
i was feeling slightly existed, slightly stressed...
hell... one stone, four birds...
took a **** while taking a **** while jerking off
while subsequently taking a shower...
on the throne of thrones... later to the sea of Galilee for
my "baptism"...
me... at the brothel...
what do i see? the worst kind of *******...
honest to god, is it really this easy these days?
this simp: cough up dough?
for what?! a picture?!
no touchy-feely... no *******?!
no feel of the *******... no sniffing of the hair?
no conversation face to face?!
are we talking about men... or ******* pseudo-eunuchs?!
at least eunuchs were put in charge
of the Ottoman harems...

i pay for what i can get... i'm not paying for some
****** video of a girl ******* of showing
off her ****, her vaginal region...
i'm paying for the entire body,
i rub my finger-tips prior to entry to the brothel
against concrete, to rough them up...
to subsequently touch something... soft...

and with the current climate, socio-political and
what not...
oh... oooh... some of us diagnoses as having
a psychotic disorder, complex...
diagnoses as schizophrenic...
how we wait for the S.J.W's...
i'm gagging for some blood sports...
the whole victimhood mentality:
i'm waiting...

over 10 ******* years in a de profundis hell-hole...
no help... helped myself...
i feel... resurrected...
no friends... friends ****** off... **** 'em...
better for them that they did...
better for me...
i could become myself...
will i leave traces of being an arrogant ****?
of course i will... did i break any law?
last time i was hand-cuffed was for *******
in an alleyway...
the police-officer cuffed me, shouted at me...
arrogant little *****...
a female officer was noting it all down...
i was un-cuffed and waked home
scot-free...

oh **** me: i'm charged... my heart is raging...
if the coffee is not enough,
where to? no, not a gallery...
i'll tell her: Havering County Park...
SEQUOIAS... over 100 example of these
gentle giants... just off Havering-atte-Bower...
a village that remembers days prior
to the Hastings invasion...
i guess i'd think about ******* her in the woods
all the ****** time...

perhaps she's like me...
she like the smell of horseshit in the morning...
perhaps she likes the scent of... frost...
an entourage of trees... mud...
sickly sweet mush of...
the gravity of winter... the exiled insects...

ooh... in this little dynamic of victimhood...
where do i lie, on the spectrum?
will they come after a schizoid?
these femnist-fashists?
these trans-gender critical-race-theory
inclusivity coaches?
after a schizoid?
oh... little ol' me thinking that we're off-limits...
i have reached a pinnacle,
now i just hallucinate my name...
when i do... it feels like the wind is speaking...
it's actually very pleasant...
i become doubly aware...

it really wasn't a mistake having to take 2 years off of
my 20s to read Heidegger's Sein und Zeit...
working as a steward at public events...
believe me... dasein?! being: there...
i know where i'm supposedly to be...
i have an added focus...
                my role is only minor...
but it's the optics...
i look the part... and... oddly enough... people
respect me for me looking the part...
i'm not a manager...
i'm just a pawn... but... like Louis XIV said...
appearances guide all fathom-ability
of undercurrents... non-verbatim...

that word should not exist as a hyphen compounding...
fathom-ability ought to be one...
are these English ******* going to keep up with
their forefathers, the Swabians, the Pomeranians...
or are we going to get more of this...
*******... shrapnel?!
conjunctions, definite / indefinite articles...
personal, huh?! pronouns?!
you sick or something, or just ******* *******?!

it truly takes a supposed madman to tell all
the supposed sane people to:
get the **** back in line... to return to a collective
sensibility, to stop appealing to
the irritations of minorities...
no... i'm done...
i'm not here to entertain one minority status
above another minority status...
i guess the S.J.W.s "forgot" to fight for the rights
of... people like us... diagnosed as schizophrenics...
sorry... did you forget?!

i'm not even role-playing... i'm prescribed not working
more than 16 hours a week...
although... i could kick-*** for about 15 hours more...

from under the yoke of ******,
from under the yoke of Communism:
and those ******* Russians...
to... ahem... this?
letf-oids?

*******: hälftenmenschen...
no... not half-people: no, not halbmenschen...
halves-people...
i already employed a verb within the confines
of the noun...
love received: is the love given...
if i'm to be deemed schizoid:
above bilingual... love received:
is the love given... simple, no?

godsmack: awake...
i just want to trap this one little... fly of a lefty
in my architecture of a web...
then again... being a spider is no fun...
this one little rabbit... a dark forest:
and i am a fox... ewignacht!
dehnbarschatten!

       erweitert pupille: ich sehen!
blut mischen mit adrenalin!
   ja! freude! energie! zweck und arbeit!
ja!

bring them my way... i want to eat something...
ich wollen zu schmausen!
(itchy teeth) juckendzähne!

my archetype? Diogenes of Sinope,
i love people...
love them to bits...
esp. when... they don't engage in
giving me their.... ******* opinions!
come one minute, gone
the next!

- guess what, though...
they want to ask me about diacritical
marks in Latin,
Haguel (south korean)....
katakana "vs." hiragana?
sure, i'll reply...
but not here, not now....
himangshu Sep 2022
the ruins of the city are too much for my poetry to sink in,
i've dwelled in rational emotions and irritations of love,  in

all my verses,
all my pauses,
all my annotations;

the ruins of the city are too little for my emotions,
the regular of love and unhappiness doesn't bubble my words anymore
the humble repeating people stopped pleasing, for
the rubble of first glimpse that i've caught

— The End —