"jaggedly" poems
morning dew drops on your collar
impressing me with the zealous way the seasons drastically measure the moment it takes me
to reach forwards and brush it off
liquid winter falling onto a ***** cement
the initials 'F T' written jaggedly into the cold stone of asphalt
i wait for it to disappear, for the flicker of everything gone to fade from my vision
but it passes too quickly
i look back up and there's no one around
the street is empty and the capricious wind has ceased
a sucker for patterns i walk into a fabric store and feel my hand linger on the erratic linens
fingers paused on the peach organza sprawled like a pink bubblegum sea
and i am swept into the manic fantasies of wearing the sheer tissue-like textile into
the abdomen of your sweaty palm and sinking like a sticky sweet stripe
until you put your hand in your pocket and i spend a year inside melting
into the every thread and curve of your jean until it is nothing but disgusting sugar
everything i could be when i am hidden from sight in the dark caverns of denim pants
who knew the tongue in cheek joke would be nothing but my tongue in your mouth
touching all the way up your gums
find me sweltering beneath the uvula wondering if i could go back
to the time i found that girl with the mountain logo sweatshirt who whistled between her teeth and hummed all the reasons i should skin my knee and kiss the salty wound because there's no greater pleasure than knowing you don't have to wait for that morning dew drop to fall from their ******* collar
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC
There is something painfully wrong about
a mother’s cry.
In those seizing moments,
while her nose twitches
and her eyes bleed red
and she lets tears smear
jaggedly about her face-
there is something so unsettling,
so
out of place.
You perceived her once invulnerable,
but now you find
that behind her divinity are familiar fears
that overwhelm her omniscient mind.
When your own Goddess
can’t be free from corruption,
that even the holy
have weak heels and poisoned matrimonies;
that is
agonizing acrimony.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 3:55 PM UTC
Your party an animal affair
The elephant and kangaroo
A dog in a ruff, upside down
on a tub
And a friendly cockatoo.
We all sat round the ring
The lights were bright
The music a jaggedly song
Then in came Queen Bee
On her trapeze.
Mr clown took a leap
But missed the band
In Queen Bee’s hand
Gliding safely
To earth by his feet.
Love Grandma ***
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC
Jaggedly pieced together
We're fragmented beautifully
Oddly, this love fits
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 7:05 PM UTC
when did the
mirror break?
a different angle
for every mood
sharper lines
and harsher truths
jaggedly cut through the glass
same stripes up my sides
personal lightening storm
down my shoulders and thighs
when did the
mirror break?
when did fat stop
being a feeling
and more of just
a state of being?
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 8:47 PM UTC
Uncle Sam sometimes whispers a little bit too close.
I’ve felt so many scraps scraping against my cheek-
those numerous numberless things he carries in his
beard by ‘accident’. So many things get stuck there
and I feel them all, whenever he dares, and he dares
often, to whisper alittlebittooclose. One time the grey
beard leaned in and touched me in my sleep and
planted in me strange dreams of faraway gothic towers
passing off as libraries: Harvard dreams, Princeton
dreams, Yale dreams: I haven’t quite slept since. The
shaggy scraps stuck to the forest of strands on his face
would never let me. They scratch away at me often
even in the brightness of day, and claw jaggedly in the
darkness of night. Little heart of mine has lost its own
beat. It beats to the beat of a beat on a beat from a beat
with a beat by a beat which beats those beats and beats
beats that beat not of my beat. Little heart of mine, when
did you lose your own pulse? Why won’t you tell your family
that Uncle Sam’s whispers are more than whispers? Why
won’t you tell your family what Uncle Sam does to you
in the brightness of day when everyone is smiling as Uncle
Sam pats your shoulder? Little heart of mine, why doesn’t
your family know what Uncle Sam does in the darkness
of night as he whispers whispers under your whispers and
what he does beneath your skin? Didn’t you know, little heart?
They have laws that say that greybeards shouldn’t be digging
into little boys’ insides, don’t they.
(Uncle Sam has travelled
far and wide, far and wide to tell me lies.
Recall that this is not the first time…)
But little heart you know why. This is not the first time.
It is the natural progression for a Coconut like you:
darkness of night on outside and brightness of day on inside.
Your skin doesn’t matter; you all taste the same.
Cut you off the homeland-tree and cart you all away.
Then, in this way we can say and say the homeland is “Rising”-
Uncle Sam tells the world of his diversity in selection
of little boys to touch with strange dreams.
And I like the feel of the scraps in his beard. Maybe
I can become one of them. One with them.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
on ruby jacobs walk, a
small girl
asked us for money for ice cream.
she eyed our cones
yours, lemon
mine, strawberry
with a child’s hunger
glinting and opportunistic
as she held out her palm for coins.
i was not yet accustomed to the shapes and sizes,
to a dime being smaller than a nickel,
and in any case wanted to preserve them for souvenirs
so we shook our heads and walked away.
a year later, writing this poem,
i learned that ruby jacobs was a local restauranteur
who, as a boy,
illegally sold ice creams
for a nickel on the boardwalk.
a nickel is the larger coin
the size of a ten pence piece.
i know that now.
the wide atlantic rose from a sloping manicured lawn
star-spangled,
like everything here,
the airborne flag
above a wide pavilion
a fanatic wedding cake topper
against the blood-blue sky.
i slipped
out of my shoes and let
the white sand burn my feet,
and jaggedly fill the spaces between my toes.
the atlantic held open its arms
though we weren’t, as we imagined,
looking east
looking home
but south to new jersey, across the bay.
the gnarled boardwalk was a
song of the twentieth century
a roll-call of mass-market capitalism
here in the city that didn’t invent the concept
but certainly perfected it:
hot dogs
amusements
ice creams (we’ve covered that)
fridge magnets
baseball caps
i bought an espresso cup with a picture of the president
and the caption:
‘huuuuge!’
i stopped to take a photograph
of a space-age building from the fifties
which turned out to be
a public toilet.
later
from the sunbaked d train,
brooklyn spread out beneath us
the houses garnished with flags,
then the city coughed us up on seventh avenue
and night fell five hours early.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 7:51 AM UTC
The hourglass stands empty
and cracked
Sand merging with tears to form
salty mud
A girl made of glass vibrates with
the violent
energy of rejection and sighing,
she implodes
Sends pieces of herself flying
jaggedly
To embed deep in the blinded eyes of a swiftly
moving fish
Like fire clarity sweeps through him and filled
with remorse
He turns to find her already broken
and ruined
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC
One thousand lives lay before me.
Smooth edges jaggedly intermixed
each one has its place.
Some are the corners of a frame,
others fill the void.
The voices unsolved each screech-- annoyed.
When they find their place silence reigns.
Engaged in a kiss only seen on a silver screen.
Lips locked so perfectly, so ingeniously engineered
Their places found through trials and plight
as tired eyes glaze over the chaotic table.
How can this game depict life's fable?
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
You kept me entombed in a coffin of thought
Never free cockroaches of doubt crawled
Around my chained thoughts.
The nails rough on my mind, jaggedly etching
oxidized stagnation of my embalmed understanding.
Why would you keep me in the dark.
I am solitary in this shallow wash of waning moments
Could I just crawl in to this sea of disbelief and
Drown slowly in my entombed darkened thoughts.
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 6:04 AM UTC
Looking out, I hear the croaky calls
Of husky-throated birds and the
Frothy licking of sea tongues.
Purplish azure spreading widely,
Timelessly, when once my Father told me
The beauty was infinite and he smiled at the pair of
Big bright brown eyes
Glowing up at him in belief and awe,
Believing the secrets of the sea
All the wonderful things he told me.
Holding my hand, imprinting the sand
With our shallow foot prints: big and small
My chubby hand in his, the other
Collecting the glossy, opaque nails of sea dragons.
Sometimes we found sharp, dull-colored ones
And these were the faded scales of their leathery tough
Skin. Craggy black wings folded jaggedly-
Mountains, the ignorant people called them
Only we knew underneath those folded wings
Lay a sleeping, ancient dragon with its
Golden eyes watching out for its children,
The White Sea dragons that ran along the edges of the waves.
Speeding on rapidly, diving under
Out swimming the run of short brown legs
Decisively deaf to a child’s sunny yells.
When the sky was littered with stars
Before I began dreaming I could hear
The rush of wind as the dragons unfolded
Their restless wings, the gentle splashing
As their children twisted in and out of the water
And what Daddy said, Sweet Dreams,
Arrived shortly thereafter.
Yet today I search vainly for their younglings
Gone in sunlight, in the midst of red foreigners
Coming out of hiding after dragon-hot sunsets and
Only behind closed eyes.
The spikes on their powerful wings
Have melded into dark shadows of trees
The jar of multi-colored sea glass remains
By my bed, reminding me of how when Daddy’s eyes
Could no longer burn bright with belief
In such magic, he placed the spark in new eyes
That were identical to his:
In both shape and color.
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 11:17 PM UTC
Mie Takuye Oyasin
A Poem by Eclipsing Moon-blood red
we are all related in NA sioux language.transcendental look at relationships...
Words of the creation, softly ,jaggedly, tumbled from my mouth...
Blindingly Lit by the Cosmotic forces, thunderingly struck ...
As a two headed drum of goatskin, beats the primal rhythm...
Twump...pa Thump...resoundingly beckoning all spirit matter to proclaim....
I am worthy ...We are worthy ..We are all related in creation..
.
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 3:53 PM UTC
I am covered with
Excreted expletives
Light bleeds between my fingers
And merges with tears.
Words are weapons
Spat jaggedly, slicing cruelly
Into gentle dreams,
Silence is the final, finishing cut.
Leave me smothered
In dislike and disdain,
Leave me shaking,
Naked and in pain.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
when I stop
and
just let the
silence
be. . .
everything
is ok:
the tattered
tarp partially
buried in
the
hillside is
ok
the broken
bough used
as a toy
by the
poor
children is
ok
the
jaggedly
chopped
tree stump
by the
parked
car is
ok
the
unevenly
placed
stairs
that force
you to
change
your gait
are
ok
the
distant
tower
with the
blinking
light
is
ok
the
solitude
among
other
mortals
is
ok
the
whelming
sense of
being
lost is
ok
the
neat
glass of
scotch
from the
isle of
skye is
ok
the
divorced
lesbian
with two
kids at
the end
of her
rope
is
ok
the
minuscule
fly that
landed
on my
forehead
in the
bathroom
this
morning
is
ok
everything
is
ok
even the
things
that
aren't
they're
ok too
Mar 14, 2021
Mar 14, 2021 at 3:26 PM UTC
There once was an Eskimo!
Named Es-kee-mo-mo!
He was of Somolian Antartician,
Persuasion!
Just about this big,
Jaggedly he roamed about the country,
In search of some gravity.
Little did Es-kee-mo-mo know,
But what he looking for in fact,
Was his long lost sack.
He searched long and hard,
Along the tundriatic terrain,
But he never did quite find,
The bag ya dig?
They must have jumped out,
He hollered quite loud,
Enough to cause an avalanche,
Swept away in the wave,
Ol’ Es-kee-mo-mo couldn't believe,
That right up on top of the cliff,
Was his sack shining in the light.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 11:18 PM UTC
my head hangs low
my eyelids flutter
these shaking knees are collapsing quickly
and there is no ground to catch my escape
my mind lays blank
and no tears are left
but my heart is racing like when we met
yet this time, there’s a valley in the center of you
I quaked your land
re-shaping what you were
and now you’re divided jaggedly
with no hope of reeling your two parts back together.
my vanity has broken you apart
my pride pulled me away
and just like you, I’m left in half
but my good has gone to grey.
needles and pins infest my feet,
my prickling hairs stand tall,
even now, in all this mess
I have your back against the wall.
Sorry can’t be a real word
when I don’t even know what it means
but I’m sorry that you fell in love
and so sorry she was me.
Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 10:34 PM UTC
Sometimes I miss you
I roll over when I wake up
You are never there.
I open my eyes after crying
You are never there.
I sing you songs,
Can you hear me?
You are never here.
I eat so slowly,
Can you tell I am waiting?
My bed is empty,
My stomach is angry,
My heart is jaggedly cut,
I look beautiful on the outside-
My shoulders hunching forward
Hiding the jut of bones that peep from my skin.
You are never here,
But I am waiting.
Sometimes I wonder
Is this
Life's new version of
A Christmas Carol
And this life I am living
Is the ghost of Christmas future?
Can't I wake up
Roll over,
Hold you close.
Tell you I love you,
Apologise for not
Getting you help.
Tell you I listened
And you would never let me go.
One hundred days and I fly away.
I will be so far away
But you
You are never here.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 2:28 AM UTC
Dee-dee tugged
at the hem
of my long white coat,
as I stood
on the children's unit
of the mental hospital,
hands by my side,
looking around me.
He tugged again
with his small hand
clenched tight
on the hem.
What do you want
Dee-dee? I asked.
I looked down at him
his fingers clenched tight.
He pulled me after him,
saying nothing.
I followed him,
walking in small steps
so as not to step on him.
We came to the half door
of the ward kitchen,
where he pointed
with his a finger
of his other hand
to a plastic beaker
on the side.
Dee-dee, he said
in monotone,
pointing jaggedly.
I nodded,
and he released
my coat hem,
and I walked in,
and closed the half-door
after me,
and picked up a beaker,
and held it up.
This colour?
He expressed nothing,
just stared.
I picked up another beaker
of a different colour,
and held it up
for him to see.
He stared,
and said Dee-dee.
I took the yellow beaker
to the bottles of squash
on the side.
Orange? I asked.
He expressed nothing,
just gazed at me.
I picked up
the blackcurrant squash,
and held it up.
Blackcurrant?
he stared at me
as though I
was a numbskull.
Dee-dee,
he said pointing
at the lemon juice
on the side.
I poured lemon juice
into the beaker,
and went to the fridge,
and poured water
from a plastic jug,
and then half filled
the beaker.
I handed it to him
over the half-door.
He took it with both small hands,
and looked inside
the beaker,
then sipped a mouthful,
and walked off slowly
with the concentration
of a tight rope walker
across high wire.
No thanks or gratitude
or show of further interest
if any or I existed or would,
he stood by a window
with his beaker of juice,
and sipped,
his small hands clutching
the beaker with little concern,
no sensation to know
or history to learn.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 3:27 AM UTC
A ****** crossed
a crescent moon
in a twilight sky,
the wind whispering
"Is this a blessing
or is it a curse."
Falling stars pass through
the pastel splashed canvas
of a Northern night
heading toward
once green fields
***** and on fire
with no morning's dew
for rest bit.
To the south
mountain tops
pushing jaggedly
through milk white clouds,
their tips, rock bare and alone,
always looking down on the world,
their stone being smoothed by
one hundred million winds
through one hundred million years.
Only time will tell
if there will be a human shadow
to bask in the rays of a close enough Sun.
Playful gods, mythical legends telling us that
any great wrong will be found out.
A Proverb's Fallout dripping
down our brow like interest owed to creditors.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 7:06 AM UTC
She was the moonlight
Pewter sprite that tiptoed the world
And never made an impression.
Lunar and light,
Dappling, dreamily across the surface
Never sinking, always glittering and glorious.
Though the sea roared
Monstrous and mean, jaggedly reaching
Greedily for her feet,
She was out of reach,
Lovingly lifted to where
she was always meant to be.
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 12:08 PM UTC
I once met a boy with shoulders that could hold up the world and a few stars across his shoulderblades. He stood high, swear he belonged to trees, with a stare that made every nerve correspond to make me a personal lightning storm (to get a better idea, I used to jump off branches to feel wings I didn't have and his eyes were the leaves I'd see before I crashed to reality). What was reality without the birds beating against my chest when the expanse of my hand covered the thrumming of his heart. If there was a God? If there was a Plan? He would've made him ready to hold my hand, and he was (I'd like to include that he fit me like tides on shorelines).
He was entirely made of stardust and sea glass, jaggedly beautiful, someone shattered him along time ago to throw him to my shore, thank god she did, you were too alluring for me not to admire.
I've never been to the ocean, but the way your hands felt on my back felt like the entire world. (To elaborate, he's earthquakes, forests and the way the moon loves the sea).
Somebody asked me to explain the scientific explanation for infinite and I just whispered his name. He was engulfed in my forever, surrounded by words I whispered about futures we were scared of, with plans we'd propose now and promise to mars they'd work.
You see, I'm not artistic, not in the least, I like the elaborate equations of the brain and how your bones never actually fully mend. But I wrote books of words for this man, every color in my paint set couldn't compare to the way his eyes looked under street lamps or when he first wakes up.
That's what scared me, everything in the world can be drawn, written, solved, but someone forgot to finish the riddle for a boy with shaken leaves for eyes, forgive me, for I have been caught in the labyrinth of this boy.
The only way out, is to stay until stars crash around our ankles.
Tu sei un mondo tutto da solo.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
The sorrowful jungle of weeping foes
Lived like a macabre cabaret
Dancing on the fervent green
And singing to their enemies.
Oh woes! they cried with apathy
Not knowing that they could not breathe
In spores and dust, those underlings,
Who sought for death and misery.
Upon the strike of midnight's glare,
They watched the tiger feast,
Eating on the hearts of old,
The ones who battled for his soul,
And left his scars cut jaggedly.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
*my hands and heart are calloused
from writing out our story
from living out our story
god knows
i breathe so much love for you
and it lives within me
and right now it's messier
than before*
*it's angry
it's painful
it's jaggedly soft and a whispered
prayer
are you there?
my love, are you there?*
*you may give up on me
but my knees are scuffed
because i've been praying
on concrete.
that never used to happen before*
*i've this carpet burn
from sleeping on the floor,
because the bed
is a mocking reminder
of the softness of your skin
of you love
of you*
*i'm a sinner, and you know it
but i felt so holy
when your lips touched mine
the way they did*
*i miss you
like an ocean misses the shore
i will always be trying
to reach you*
*my heart's still in your hands
it's in your hands
i always melted in your hands...*
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 2:23 PM UTC
Red Night-
Dead Anger-
settle.
jaggedly,
unsteady:
“look out for
sharp corners”
(the tightest turns)
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 3:38 AM UTC
It gets late
as I digest
what I just ate,
some greasy food
and horrible news.
Slumber sneaks in
and I barely feel
it taking me
against my will.
In my dream
I see a pudgy
pale faced
angry man,
skin glistening
with sweat
and thin streaks
of sick salivation
sliding down
the side of his
plush cheeks.
A rumbling voice
of desperate rage
vibrates congestedly
from his strangely
changing face.
Bulbous bulges
of tumorous flesh
expand
in random places
and irregular
rhythms.
His eyeballs explode
from constricting sockets,
causing small jelly chunks
of red, black, and white
to fly at my wide eyes,
while his mouth expands
pulling back to expose
many new emerging rows
of sharp, small, decaying,
black, brown, and yellowish teeth.
His skin ruptures,
stretching jaggedly
in unpredictable places
as he bellows angrily.
Slick gore covered flesh
falls from his form
seeming to smoke
with the putrid smell
rotting roast beef.
Not fully free from
the last bits
of human flesh
the creature
lunges at me,
slipping slightly
on the newly greased ground,
but recovering just as quickly.
Then just as his mouth
is about to chomps down
on my left arm.
I awake
safe from harm.
My computer still blaring
is now sharing
terrible scenes
of the latest
war atrocity.
There are corpses of women,
men, and children
with shrapnel shredded skin,
even little baby bodies
scattered amongst them
in a crater from
some local bombing.
Crimson streaks
trail the frail
disfigured forms
that family members
struggle to carry away.
Strangers moan in pain
not physical,
but spiritual,
and emotional.
My stomach turns
as I yearn
to return
to sleep,
cause I’d rather face
a fake nightmare beast
then see the horrors
stretched out before me
on my computer screen.
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC