"jabbing" poems
While you were away,
My words seem to fall on deaf ears.
Unvoiced mutterings that fall out in droves,
Burning rants swallowed back in singes and sears...
While you were away,
Time was stagnant; a viscous puddle.
Hours only stretched longer,
The second hand jabbing its ferocious needle...
While you were away,
The clock drove me insane.
Ticking my life away in literal seconds.
Losing sand grain by grain...
While you were away,
And when it's all quiet and dark,
I could hear my heartbeat...
Awaiting the new day to make its mark.
While you were away,
My words seem to have lost their meaning...
As if they were stuck in limbo,
Unanswered calls that keep on ringing...
While you were away,
I am but a little lost foal...
Because whenever you're away,
I am never whole...
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
Hormones raging,
heart racing,
I raise my hands,
And she's screaming,crying,
Why, baby, why do i like it,
Please tell, i'm not an addict,
Cuz' if i am who's gonna cure it,
When you are dead, forget it.
So she started stabbing,
Stab, stab, stab and jabbing,
I started shouting,chanting and providing:
"baby keep finding, for someone worth fighting, fighting for the person that's worth loving, loving will only start by believing, i love you baby but now i'm leaving, for your good baby, i'm bleeding, I'm fading, bye baby, love you more than everything, and anything."
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 5:37 AM UTC
The Jaguar sits
A regal pose
Even though
All spots exposed
He remains
Throughout—composed
Royalty suits
These kingly throes
Eyes so hungry
Fueled with woes
Darkness caress
His thoughts of more
All small fingers
Jabbing point
Smiles and scream
Not fear—delight
This is not
A place of fright
No place to hide
In broad daylight
Freedom calls
But is not heard
The thought is
Lurking—absurd
Escape has not occurred
Even to the captive birds
The noble Jaguar
Does not pace
He looks upon the crowd
Disgrace—
All those faces
Glass cannot erase
If only he could break
Out of this prison space
His deep imagination
Swirls and swells with thought
If only his true freedom
Could perhaps be bought
The first thing he would do
Is capture one said face
And use it as only
Claws could change—erase
He looks on
With animalistic intentions
Licks his chops
And opens his jaws
The crowd gasps as one
As the noble beast bares his teeth
—And yawns
The jaguar too kingly to stoop
To animalistic pursuits
He knows that he cannot escape
The beast so long ago was tamed
Long ago he lost his pride
On three square meals a day
—Inside
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 12:46 PM UTC
I've learned that happiness
cannot be found in the form of a little
purple capsule.
I've learned that Pisa will have to wait until next time.
I've learned that the third mushroom
held in my sweaty palm was not as
big a deal compared to the other two opening my mind.
I've learned that a part of me
died that night where we ****** in a
room with no furniture.
I've learned that life is work and that
the molotov cocktail of Dubrah and eay mac
that came spewing from me left an orange tang
upon the floor.
I've learned that pain is better than numbness
and that jabbing a sewing needle repeatedly in my arm
was an educated decision.
Most importantly I've learned that together we are better than alone.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
Here lies a calculator, once unstoppable,
Together we solved the world’s problems.
Your black buttons warmed my hands,
While my head was cooled by the solutions you created.
Stress relieving buttons,
How I often mistreated you,
Slamming my fingers into your soul,
Jabbing your rugged terrain.
My intelligence blossomed with you at my side,
But now you have shrivelled up,
Shedding your petals, one equation at a time,
Until you are planted in the grave you resemble.
I etched my name into you
At the start of our glorious friendship-
A sacred bond that would last forever.
Now, at the end, I engrave again.
This time there is no solution.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 12:10 PM UTC
*One must admit the soul searches
high and wide for others to see
as sorrow weeps, small happiness creeps
remorse is afloat, in our silk coat
emptiness appears, silence leers
fading shadow, is falling far below
Begging forgiveness, with lots of emptiness, it seems............
Cemented dreams, gone to extremes
Song of despair, not knowing who cares
Tears grabbing, hands jabbing
Wisps of cries, light up the sky....
Soul searches but disappearing
cries please help,
Holding lifeless, so breathless
Sobs of redemption, seize upon preemption
Full fledged devastation, marks no exemption
Temptress aching, no remaking......
Soul Searching Indeed!*
Debbie Brooks 2014
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
a bottle of scotch had bad dreams.
bullets twitch, junk sick
in 3 inch thick
mustard ****
toe nails clipped from yeti
lay strewn about the **** stained corpse
of a motel six dixie cup -
root canal trophy,
next to
a black fez
with scab tassel
upended.
down in it. belching apnea
propaganda
and belladonna
waiting for curious george
to find a shotgun
and a yellow
hat
and a brick banana.
blowflies inhale the rank damp
of a fresh ****
the odd dog whines
like a clown in -
a blender.
[ the ]
house wins
with a marked card; jabbing fat fingers
into acned rosacea
bloated with sleep lack
and mortgage
back stab
chasing twenty ******
with a hollow point
pull from an acid
flask
while hailing a black cab.
tinsel sutures
stitch eyelids as a mercy
shattered bone knit
hand-grenade
cozies
old glory, at half mast
half wasted
fifty stars, no light
dragging on
the grounds of immunity
to do a line
of coke stock
with a basset hounds'
finesse.
your taxes at work
in columbia,
hiding from a lost farm
in Idaho
your american dream
turning tricks in shanghai
for a counterfeit
egga roll
your meme, devoid
like an ice cube
tombstone
your freedom, parking cars
for italian escorts
smoking skin flutes
for ferraris
and white teeth.
your integrity, sold to a hedge fund
for astroglide and a pez dispenser
packed with prozac
pressed by ' Jose the butcher' s abuela
in a narco slum
that ain't seen radio
since cinder blocks
had wings.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 2:40 PM UTC
Staring at yourself
forgetting the clock went round.
standing, staring
dead faced with those lost eyes.
cringed soul.
mascara dripping down your lower lashes like streams of black ink.
leaning up against the sink.
when a girl cries its calligraphy.
her tears spell out the sadness bleeding out of her soul.
nobody cries with emptiness.
you're a rotting corpse
maggot infesting.
its emotional ******
an empty skeletal.
dismembered.
discarded.
when nothing pains anymore.
nothing gives meaning anymore.
the mind wanders.
walking along a tight rope of death with the thoughts of losing balance.
sleeping but never waking sounds like joy to you.
life is still yet present.
you're still here.
stuck.
alone.
motivation ceases existence.
you want to *****
sun rays piercing through the window feel like needles jabbing your eyes.
signs of optimism eat the insides of the soul like a disease.
that same routine.
tired of how pathetic it feels
that shattered slab of glass gets exhausted of that repetitive view.
the view of you.
you just want to be them.
the people outside your window.
the ones with the smiles.
the ones that have everything.
but when you can't even be happy with yourself.
how do you expect to be happy with
anything at all.
You can't.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
The world is too uncertain for us to be sure of anything. Personally I don't think there is an absolute truth. There I said it. Take me away Nietzsche, I'm with you on this one. We are all so different, all so set apart in our unique, frail and wicked mortality. To have one single frame of existence is debilitating. If this difference is so telling of our humanity then why the hell do we have truth? To what purpose? To contain and unite us despite our individuality? Suppose the truth is given this way: A newborn and a goat are expected to survive with just a small patch of grass. Which of the two gets more chance of survival and existential fulfillment? How can that be when those two are apples and oranges? Their circumstances are so opposite. How is life supposed to be fair to the newborn? I am not saying that life is fair because hell it is far from it. But do we accept that unfair principle or make our lives a little better? Will his happiness be on that grass as well? Of course not. So he looks for new ways to be happy. He has his own truth.
To this end, I have questioned everything from my faith, to myself, to people, to science even. Life grows along with time and so are our realities. This is why these past few months I've been contradicting myself to the point of thinking I've gone mad. But the fact is I've grown from these experiences of letting my two polar opposites meet. It is honestly scary when these inner voices start jabbing at you like pointed needles.I am a walking contradiction and my mind is a maze of paradoxes and questions with no answers. Eventually, I got used to this mentally exhausting activity. When something entirely different from what I believe be it an opinion, an idea, or a controversy) speaks up in my face I've learned to accept them not as the truth but as possibilities that could very well be right or wrong. I will never be always right.
People are so used to the concept of certainty that we have altogether ignored the existence of possibility. Or the gray area to which simply no one end exists. I realized that we are all predisposed to find answers, to hang on to some sort of explanation to a world so phenomenally ungraspable. It is to the detriment of our open mindedness enough for us to fabricate truths which may very well be coverups for the all too universal fear of the unknown. We are afraid of floating in the ambiguous nature of our lives that we'd rather correct this with assumptions.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC
rehearsing...
in the mind
he rehearses
a sequence of blows
lefts and rights
uppercuts
the jabbing low
whilst dancing and skipping
on spry feet
insides...
butterflies start to flutter
around in his insides
yet knowing the opponent
must not see any nerves
he's got to be
cool
and
assertive
the glove's punch
deliveries
being
a
bout
winner
dreaming...
it's fight night
at the Las Vegas
Grand Garden Arena
he'll slog it out
for the welter weight title
muscles
poised
his package
ready
to wear the crowning
belt buckle
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
Sugar and spice
And everything nice
A delicate blush, a secret crush
Rings, white wings and other fine things
Ribbons and laces, tender embraces
Elegant grace and a sweet pretty face
Cheeks of pink, colorful drinks
Holding hands and fluttering fans
Smiles sweet, small and petite
Soft, luscious hair and a whispered prayer
Ballroom dancing, timid glancing
Liqueur and ****
Jealousy, greed
In dark rooms, kneeling and wasted
Under the sheets, squealing, getting tasted
Smeared lipstick, hair mussed, no longer slick
Bleary red lips, curvy hips
Tattoos and lingerie see-through
Heavy petting, getting drunk and forgetting
Ripped tights, endless nights
Coke and hazy smoke
Expensive drugs and sweaty hugs
Twisted lies, glazed eyes,
Strong musky perfumes, dark rooms
Sketchy guys, spread thighs
Broken trust, humid lust
Mindless fornication, empty stimulation,
With bated respiration, nothing but degradation
Vodka-cherry shots and hazy thoughts
Dancing, grinding, lights all blinding
Backstabbing, hands jabbing
Dark magic, endings tragic
Secrets revealed, wounds opened or healed
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC
**** that **** This is poetry now. Can you say it isn’t real? Can you say my lowbrow barbaric mind doesn’t express itself? Can you tell me these words aren’t art? **** that. This outcry is whats comin next.
Them burnt cars and bullet scars,
***** boots and tittie bars,
forget to bathe, **** the shave,
my pillow case is made of pave-ment,
twenty years late on that first pay-ment.
I asked the question but got delay-ment,
on what the **** has this all meant?
My colours just distract, them smiles just an act-
you think I’m tokin and ******* and happy go-lucking,
***** im drowning in the bills I haven’t even seen yet,
throwin off the debts as the horse that rolls the best bet,
and don’t forget,
every second you lay down to lie them eyes and theorize,
youre just getten burglarized,
want a burger and fries?
Twenty years off your life- oh and the change too.
Twenty seven ninety-five,
thirteen plus the years I’ll spend,
locked up with nothing to tend,
no garden, no fruit, no love to loot,
no wide eyes to fill and no breeze to shoot,
just a chain gain filling my ***** with soot,
stabbing by the next poor guy,
jabbing by that suit and tie,
the key is not to fit it right- so that every turn reminds who you belong to.
And this is what I wanna do?
Hold up- I pay for that ****
Now I understand suicide you nihilistic gits,
taking hits while the rest picks up the bits and the red runs the slits but no one sees the slip.
Topsy turvy sliding down the grassy knoll,
the heads tumble but the dough will never roll.
No.
Its busy ******* me in, me and my ilk,
like me too much an *** to be thankful for robes of silk,
mommy’s milk, eleventh hours and the stockpiles of the dowry.
Soft as a baby,
never ****** on the sour but the sweet,
pink feet,
earned on thin green sheet and the red as the man is beat, beaten and burned,
turned spurned despite his age and whats learned.
What is learned?
If only I could tell you.
We’s on the same track , don’t ask me whats gon spell true.
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 4:10 PM UTC
the candy cane sign
is gray with frost
its spiraled dance
stopped years before
the old man died
he, the emperor of hair,
meant to get it repaired
like all good intentions
and the clipped hair
that got swept away
day by day,
hour by hour,
minute by
m o m e n t o u s
m o n o t o n o u s
minute
the cutting,
the sweeping
punctuated by
the clang of the register
the hardy laugh at a racial joke
the passing of a borrowed smoke
and the buzzing silences
in between
when I would watch and wonder
what spell he was under
in his royal white regalia
chopping and chatting away
(at eyeless and earless heads I thought)
until I would sit in his chair
and escape the gulag of my life
with his ponderous questions
about
feather light skies
heavyweight jabbing
the “old lady gabbing”
the engine
in my “shrimp nip” car
and how very far
I would go
when I rose from his
leather and chrome throne
and once again be on my own
with hair a bit shorter
and life a bit neater
for a minuscule dot in time
I would not even remember
when I thought of his implacable place
in the cold past
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 7:50 PM UTC
I lay beside you at night and hear you breathe
measure the slow way your inhale fuels your exhale
I lay awake and wonder
what it might be like to lay in a bed without you there
Your hushed and heavy breathing
has become a rhythmic and haunting reminder of our union
Once bliss to my ears
the knowledge of never having to be alone
this night music haunts me now
I run all day
run from the reality of my anxiety
run from the feelings about us I don’t want to feel
I run all day
but when I lay next to you
I cannot escape the tearing longing to be elsewhere
I have seen what my eyes were not meant to know
I have tasted a fruit that leaves all other food bitter in my mouth
I must eat and drink of our love
the sustenance to which I ascribed myself in matrimony
But now I lay beside you and hunger and thirst for another life
the rough bonds of our union chaffing against my flesh
cutting into my heart with tough circles
and tight knots
When the silence comes
I hear your breathing
and I fear these bonds will strangle me
shudder at the pressing doubt
that these coils will ever again feel like security
With the sun I dream of futures for myself
I busy myself with tasks and assignments
goals and lists
appointments and responsibilities
so much that on good days
I can almost forget that I am bound
Yet every night the rising moon signals me
I must return “home”
the place we now share and call ours
jabbing at me that I am not my own
I will never again be my own
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC
Do you remember that night out by my car.
Daddys Caddy,
bright in the moonlight.
A home for our words, carefully choosen,
sometimes not.
A mutual ground.
A safehaven for thoughts too bold for sunlight.
The darkness helped us, I think.
Protected us from seeing too much,
when too much was being said.
Maybe I was a little drunk.
Thats all it took, some liquid courage,
for you to know that I was sorry.
You touched me then.
Not a "I just want to **** you" touch.
You felt me, deep inside.
You knew the claws of a beast were tearing me down.
Not one that could be tamed,
and could only be suppressed for so long.
He was there and you saw him,
clear in my eyes.
Usually gaurded, fighting him back.
But there he was,
pompous as any.
Jabbing me in the ribs,
"I told you I would get out"
There he was teeth beared and all,
ready to rip me down
right in front of you.
Right in front of my Daddys Caddy.
Claws, teeth and lies.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 11:45 PM UTC
Untitled
Pureness bare
Unadulterated and no
Quagmire of complexities
Suspenseful infertility of ideas
What better title if I ran out of titles
Words eagles circling in my head
Swoop to my jabbing fingers
A hummingbird in rhythm
Posted a poem online
Simply entitled
Untitled
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
the cries of this soul entering the valley of death
where others before him sat and wept.
the life you changed is a life that had gone wrong
it was on the road of self destruction , and for
the devil it was an abduction.
your powerful wings brouht you to my side, when you heard
my far distant cry it was a cry for help so loud and clear
that all others shook with fear.
it was an echo that rang like the bells on a steeple
giving a warning to all its people.
knowing that your battle had begun , they looked down
to the earth to see which one had won.
the wings of the angel knocked the devil to his knees
as his pitchfork struck him and he began to bleed.
the devil jabbing at him with all his might , not wanting
to lose another fight.
the angels wings moved quickly like in a dance
and the devil knew he had no chance.
his arms were tired as he continued to poke
as the angels wings weakened him with every stroke.
with a screech he fell to the ground , screaming to the angel
" you won this round "
no longer did he have control over a child of GOD
because it had become much to hard.
the angel carried the soul to the heavens above
where all he could see was happiness and love.
(C) L . RAMS 062915
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC
Bobbing and weaving,
Slipping and jabbing.
The fighting stance against a thousand opponents,
All of whom, look like me,
Is a stance I can only articulate,
In a mirror,
Shadow boxing that guy,
Strangely looking like me.
Pop-Pop BANG,
I throw punches at the air in front of me,
This bull can rage like Cinderella in a cage,
A square, roped cage,
Where life’s uppercuts put me in a daze.
The fighter in me,
One stubborn little *******
Iron-jawed and iron-clawed,
Always taking one to the gut,
I fall down and so ruthlessly get back up.
24 and 0,
I’m the undefeated world champion,
My opponent remains consistent,
But I’m not afraid,
I got this far,
You think I can’t go a few more rounds?
Oct 26, 2023
Oct 26, 2023 at 10:53 PM UTC
Most of my creativity emerges
from crestfallen summer nights,
where I tear the seams of the scars
that have reopened
after a thoughtless word
after a tasteless comment
after an inconsiderate finger,
jabbing into the insecurities
I imagined myself to bury,
but in reality,
I have not.
Humid,
crestfallen summer nights
encapsulate me,
until the pain numbs
me.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 2:52 PM UTC
Let me introduce him.
half smile and half manipulation
He will take you out to fancy dinners
and then pinch your inner thigh under the table
He will sweep you off your feet
but forget to grab you shoes
Because you see
he doesn't want you to stand on your own
Like an air traffic controller
He is dictating your landings and departures
But all you want is a departure
Warmer skies
And a healthier landing
But he keeps you
Firmly planted on the ground
And then He bribes you with affection
and later handles you with his tongue
But as his hands cover your mouth
And you feel muffled by his presence
you lose yourself
You used to be a rainbow
You used to be seen only in technicolor
Now you're wearing black
submitting to his obsession
your simple lies turn him into a monster
and you're quivering like a child
Scared to put a toe down
Because his anger lurks beneath the bed
holding the blanket close around your neck
You beg for his forgiveness
He calls you his princess
and builds you a tower
But girl it doesn't matter how long you grow your hair
He will find a way to criticize it anyway
And you're bound to pay
I can't satisfy his anger
He hides behind it
Jabbing your sides with little suggestions
That dress is to short
That's a lot of skin
Excuse me ************
Who's body am I in?
And I don't need a fairy tale
What's it to ya anyway
I'm just a bird with a broken wing
You see I used to have two
One for luck
And the other for navigation
So why is leaving him resound with hesitation
And somedays I dream of a different life
One that's filled with witty repartee
And symphonies
Cellos play sweet melodies
And I take my two wings and fly between the notes
And I float
Catching air
I'm up there
But he takes his water hose and shoots me down
Because he only likes me wet and vulnerable
I think he is catching on
So I turn into sand
And taking a fistful he squeezes
Jesus
I'm falling through the cracks of his insecurities
And I find myself there
And I dust myself off
And fly
That's goodbye.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
jesus i hate
christmas readings --
low intonings,
bursts of song,
prayers -- so many
******* prayers ...
all in name of th'
"wonder & mystery"
of christmas,
the birth of
quote-on-quote
holy babe.
nativity story spoken
as
true granite fact
,
heads all nodding..
Caesar Augustus, yes,
the census -- oh good!
... some lady doing a
Mary monologue ...
my own father playing Joseph!
father!
(lumbering Boris Karloff father of Christ)
-- grandmother!!
quit jabbing my shoulder
as i
put pen
to page!
these hands
are not
the hands
of a devotion blinded
christian!
(blasphemous thoughts do i write!) (poems on *******
here is
a woman in white!
(angel?)
very performance art
with that lighting
but
i'm not convinced ...
.
/
advent candles on
the altar ......
when the last is lit will a
heavn'ly chorus
ring out?,
blue flame batonning round
the sanctuary? orderly little halos.
-- grandmother get your
uplifted hands out of my face!
am i doing my part by
holding this candle
& singing hymns? ...
(my arm is being twisted) (i call this penance/comes once a year)
where is my eggnog & ***
a friend / hiding behind some poinsettias ****** good idea)
supplies a fitting finish. garnish for my thoughts:
*"man ...
i want
some
christmas h
anky-
panky. "*
(then:)
**** that
doesn'
t
fit under a
tree..."*
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 8:59 PM UTC
Fumbling down into a rough forgiveness,
I trust you again.
We dance in a circle of pink hugs and hope.
This time it will last.
I've finally won you back;
After years of chipping away at your scull and jabbing your heart,
I've learned to caress your fears and soak your joy.
Yet this only lasts for a breath or two.
I am once again blue and hollow.
It's time to break my own heart.
Not the first time, won't be the last.
I am addicted to the bruises I give myself.
It's not a matter of choosing sadness, but rather choosing anything.
Anything is better than this rusty cage I call my home.
Hot anger, sharp dejection, grey terror.
I let it all fill me.
I let it fill me to the brim,
because destroying myself is the best way to know that I'm still alive.
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 10:31 AM UTC
Poetry’s carved into her flesh,
intertwined with her ribs
and parasitic on her brain, the softest ***** now that her thrashing chest hardened.
It’s the thorn of a plastic rose, jabbing her distinct print, and
analogies crawling down to her jaw line,
sprawling at individual forks of two points; it was always only two.
Melodic qualities burgled her mind to
exist in ubiquity throughout her pores
and soiled strands of hair pinched with a tie ten centimeters from the root.
Poetry, disobedient and sovereign,
lived to spell a testimony
individual to her since no one breathed her air.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC