"jarringly" poems
Ten years old again,
In a tree ten feet high again,
In scuffed shorts with tangled hair,
And with the boys I longed to be.
Sanctimonious girls in dresses and frills,
Boredom and constraint personified,
Stare up in incredulity
As I heave myself over mossy branches.
“Girls don’t climb trees.”
I do. I roll in mud, play racing games,
Never brush my hair.
“You’d be pretty if only you tried.”
You’d feel alive if only you tried.
The wind on my bare arms,
Dirt beneath fingernails,
Scrapes on my shins
Red and out of place
Like smudged lipstick
On children’s faces.
I’m not you. I’m me.
Boxes serve to keep us in,
Deliver us neatly packaged
To a society which cannot cope
With fluidity,
Individuality,
Uncertainty.
Boo!
She says those two misguided words:
“Make over”.
Impossible. One cannot start afresh.
This is the result of every waking moment,
Of every word heard and spoken,
Each memory joyous and painful,
A piece of art nineteen years in the making.
Not to be destroyed in one act of disguise.
Yet curiosity is my mistress.
She leads me to boundaries
I never knew existed.
Up goliath trees,
Into foreign beds,
To the brink of reality
In mind-bending worlds
Of parallels.
Like a mannequin, devoid of identity
I give my image to you
And you place yours jarringly
Onto my reticent body.
The obliging cheers
At my transformation
Into an eloquent femininity
Feel hollow and worthless.
I have done nothing of merit.
I totter like a toddler
Uncomfortable in my own skin.
I’m on stage, an act,
A project. Not a person.
How bizarre it feels
To wear a stranger’s façade
Of dresses and frills,
When you know you belong
To a different world
Of dirt, and treetops,
And freedom.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 4:26 PM UTC
i will give you things.
at first, i will give you honey suckles bound in the locks of auburn hair,
a gentle smile, a refreshing breeze. i will give you monuments dedicated to a single glance, and you will take all of these things with pleasure.
i will give you warm rain, and deep woods, and all the clichés we hear every day but we still love to talk about because we love them, i will give you love like them, like stars showing the dawn their shy bodies, like waves proclaiming all of these things i will give you.
i will give you all forms of love.
i will give you the best possible physical love, i will give you the most elegant touches and the most jarringly inappropriate whispers. yes, i will give you ********
i will give you lessons in art, lessons in cooking, lessons in life. i will give you honesty, and truth, and commitment, and i will give you spellbound nights where all we do is talk about how the philosophers got it all wrong, that Plato was an idiot for saying we could only find death in love, look at us; look at this. i will give you the ability to teach me, i will give you the crescendo of my youth.
i will give you the crescendo of our relationship.
and then, one day, i will give you a little less. i will still give. i will still give you speeches about world events, i will give you the coffee i make in the morning, i will give you touches that aren't as passionate but they are touches nonetheless.
i will give you midnight runs to the store, i will give you medicine for when you are sick and i will give you the ability to nurse me as well.
i will give and i will give and i will give every day, each day & it will be a little less, until one day, i will give you nothing.
i will give you a profound silence, i will give you the absolute void. i will give you a pitch black abyss, nothing at all, and just when you reach the pit of despair, just when you think you've hit the bottom, the bottom will fall out and i will give you less than nothing.
i will give you screams instead of silence. i will give you hands peeled to the bone and bleeding because they have given and given and given and there's nothing less but less. i will give you a broken home, a broken heart, i will give you memories that will anchor to the bottom of your sea & know you will never be able to get rid of them because they are the skeleton of a ship wreck & did you know, in the Mediterranean there are still preserved shipwrecks in the murky depths of that ocean from Grecian times? i will give you these little reminders of mortality.
i will give you regret that sits on an empty shelf collecting dust particles. i will give you a taste for whiskey because it allows you to languish. i will give you the worst kind of wounds, the kind that time does not give a **** about, the kind that stars even pray over. i will give you a little less faith, i will diminish your ability to trust your instincts. i will give you complete and utter devastation, i will give you repeated cliches on their backs: hurricanes, tornados, tsunamis. i will crack your collar bone, i will crack your skull. i will leave you as an abandoned house, worn down and empty.
i will give you everything, all of these things, and more; if i give you my hands right now.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
I want to push you against that wall we spoke by and take off your crooked glasses and tell you that I’m the one
and if you say you don’t believe me, I’ll kiss you so deep that you’ll forget what I even said.
I want to touch that beautiful blonde hair and tell you how it looks jarringly familiar messy, but it would look even better on my pillow at night.
I want your mornings and your nights, but I need those crazy moments where the passion hits again and we can remember why we touch each other in the first place.
I don’t want everything, that’s far too much to ask for. I just need everything that you are willing to give.
I’m tragically in love with the idea of you.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
Oh' glamorous god glassy eyed, in me
you have so very much time invested
I burn past tense n’ loosen tight lips. I may
be lost without Love jejunely injected
regularly in to my life made little with
worry and neglect. Love's politics ensue; know
I am not the one for you. I have not been
properly tested. Jarringly elected
for your need with a kind word herds
your starry glossed eyes to my body infested
with your skin and visible wet wild sin.
Oct 19, 2010
Oct 19, 2010 at 9:39 AM UTC
I tried drafting a poem about the dyed daffodils perched against my window and I was even going to make a half-hearted slant rhyme for "daffodils" with "windowsills" but my slanted heart gave way because suddenly the flowers appeared so artificially tacky, so stupidly hopeful with birthday glitter dusted onto their unnaturally painted petals as they tried their best to soak up some sunshine though outside it was an ever so naturally unnatural temperamental March day coating the green grass with snow flurries though the weathermen expect nothing short of seventy tomorrow so the cold coat seems jarringly out of place like a good intention gone horribly wrong and I couldn't help but think, and think, and think
We never fit, did we?
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 4:37 PM UTC
filled with pleasant praises, add to the noise
outsiders merely hear a clanging gong
misguided stooge, highest priority poise
broken, segmented; melodious song
pitchy, discordant, strident, jumbled throng
cackle, not laughter; like nails on chalkboard
screeching halt, hacked lung, dissonant ding-dong
novice strum, harsh ring, disagreeing chord
overpoweringly awful, not dexterously ignored
discrepant dichotomy, add worldly confusion
you learned disciples, jarringly shored
bash uncomfortable jangles, chime the delusion
like the bells in your tower, you inharmonious bunch
wanderers offput by your lazy, Sunday punch
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
Realizations may be the result of thoughts expressed in Idioms.
Realization is the dread that hits when the Realization comes.
Coming to realization as would to Reluctant conclusion.
Acceptance Of bare fragile humaness; sentimental delusion.
Realization is the cognition of the outcome of the act.
Realization comes As you contemplate a deep sobering fact.
Oh! The Realization Numbs somewhat like distant Rolling drums.
Realizing o' so Jarringly That all you've got left are the Crumbs.
Happy Birthday
Sobering Ain't It!
Mar 25, 2025
Mar 25, 2025 at 11:04 AM UTC
Sometimes there's something jarringly disparate About the fresh sea salt fog and the beauty queen moon of the Monterey wharf.
Sometimes you need the painfully cold sludge of a Cleveland street with no sidewalks and the crying skeletons of trees to match your black coffee soul.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 11:21 PM UTC
the cool air of the morning awakens me,
bird's bustle and gossip in the first rays,
of a new turn around,
the sun.
tears pool and nestle,
at the bridge of my nose, thick with emotion
left from a dream.
devoid of details,
but rich in sorrow,
a hungering feral sorrow.
that still lingers,
licking at the corners
of my mind.
i feel a discordance
with myself, sighing to expell this thing prowling, my breathe,
catches on a sob.
the kookaburra's laugh, jarringly close
and then further away.
i wipe at these tears, unbidden, unshed
and turn?
to find my grounding,
my steadfastness,
my hearts ease watching,
he draws me to him,
his lips,smoothing
my furrowed brow,
his hands creating an intensity, that is ours alone.
we make,
sweetness and beauty,
joy and oblivion, before falling asleep once more.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 5:48 PM UTC
easy access and proliferation of firearms,
now begs a serious hard question
presenting daunting task,
quite aware that passionate
stalwart supporters of the NRA,
embrace weaponry likened
to garnering an Aboriginal trophy mask
(particularly in light of violent mass killings)
immediately forces people
of all stripes comprising this nation ask
quite aware of diametrically,
jarringly, and politically
doggedly entrenched fierce position
each polarized stance challenges,
especially when pitted
against die hard proponents
of the Second Amendment,
who would sooner burn to ash,
and/or adopt a siege mentality
glowering akin to red hot metal
regaling opportunity asper Liberal heads to bash,
than relinquish (lock, stock and barrel)
prized, coveted, and cherished cache
amassed collection of firearms
permissible in accordance
with (literal interpretation
of Second Amendment
of the United States Constitution)
to mean no deterrent preclude
(birth right to equip bare arms),
deprivation against amassing a stockpile,
would trigger an immediate saber flash
and instantaneously, another Civil War, would
(with gnash of clenched jaws violently
opposing manumission
to release obedient snap, crackle
pop in je nais sais quois ***** the provocation
rendering revision, sans sacred covenant
would sting whip lash
snuffing out any first and last hope to reconcile
divisive national issue
with cool collected talking heads,
cuz shoot at the hip diplomacy
be loved American style,
that indomitable fighting
esprit de corps tis fire in belly trial
though this skeptical and devout atheist,
would welcome being proved wrong
generating the better angels to render obsolete strong
arm of the law as plucked harps evoke swan song
witnessing unbelievable savoir faire
(forcing me to retract pessimism
and willingly swallow my pride), minus long
time overdue, and negotiation
celebrated with tolling from a gong.
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 4:14 AM UTC
Oh, yes, I was in love with you.
I hadn't noticed,
I didn't know.
Someone else burned in my sky like the sun and blinded me,
But, still, quietly, you were there.
You were different.
I think I loved you because you smirked at me.
Because you cried to me.
I loved your mischief,
Your fragility.
I was mesmerized by your rawness, the tortured look deep in your eyes that made me want to hold you,
And captivated by your wit, and your playfulness, so jarringly out of sync
With your shattered-mirror soul.
You were so beautiful
And when I'd catch myself thinking it
I don't know how I explained my love away.
You could draw me in,
Hypnotize me
With your paradoxes-
You were made of glass, but you had the entrancing audacity
To dance anyway
And yes, I see now
That of course I was in love with you.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
it wasn't writer's block, i decided,
not even my lack of ideas can
steer me away from producing
something, anything
my skill to make sense
of everything through written texts
that even the most discombobulating
thoughts and emotions and anxiety
has almost never failed to be presented
out for me, like my fingers
have their minds of their own
and i'm terrified that if i write
it'll make it jarringly clear
that what i felt
three years ago
are resurfacing again,
just when I finally thought I'm okay
but my god,
my fingers
just can't stop writing
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
When you watch something alive get shot
In the head
Where the third eye would be
The gateway to the spiritual realm, so they say
You see the gate knocked off its hinges
It becomes quickly and jarringly clear
That this was never just wood slats
Sandwiched between fenceposts
Grown over with ivy in someone’s backyard
It is a floodgate, a levee
And once the water starts climbing the banks
There is no putting the horses back into the stable
The blood is insistent, demanding for somewhere to go
And that freshly minted hole cannot handle the volume
It’s opening night and the staff can’t keep up
The kitchen is sinking
**** we’re in the weeds
The patrons are storming back out the front door
In search of immediate accommodation
They get what they want, there are options nearby
Cavernous spaces that acquiesce to their needs
The mouth becomes a waterfall
The nose a babbling brook
At the start of spring when the rains fall hard and heavy
But time passes quickly in seconds and seasons
No sooner have you accepted the flood
Than summer comes, drought begins
The wells and the waterfalls
Begin to run dry
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
You’re like a sad song in the middle of the happiest
playlist,
I could have made,
the tunes they blend into a symphony
Of sweet Nostalgia,
until your song plays jarringly.
A song that has rendered me to the will
Of a poet’s apex, for the words
they bleed
when one’s soul
wilts.
Oct 13, 2020
Oct 13, 2020 at 7:17 PM UTC
jarringly
my head spun in circles
what do i do?
standing there
the tears poured
and i screamed
what is there to do?
all i can see(what is there to see?)
is a hazy vision of your presence
but are you really there?
is it an illusion?
i ask and i ask but i dont
know
will i ever know?
i ask myself
and i pull forward
a shower of blossoms appear
red as the moon shining above thee
the shadow of you breaks through
what…. was i to do?
your body falls
my hope falls
i drop the weapon, clattering on the ground.
hope fled, fear ensued
the shadow of you breaks through
and i fall
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC