"jitters" poems
butterflies and jitters
stutters and whispers
shaking and sweating
hesitating and forgetting
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
euphoric paranoia
accompanies your touch
as you finger your way
under my skin
shadows on the curve
of your neck
jitters of reality
involuntary fantasy
caverns in my body
unrecognizable reflections
disintegrating away
maybe its your love
maybe its ****
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
Take one a day and mind the gap,
the rich and the poor, the beer on tap,
stand in line, date and sign,
the Red Bull jitters, the box of wine,
give way to the left, give way to the right,
the artificial winter, the bringer of night.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 5:33 PM UTC
Radness
The Philosopher’s Stone is not just a spiritual metaphor but an actual substance that can transmute lead or mercury into gold. The Stone is a product of Alchemy. Unlike chemistry, which only deals with physical matter and energy, Alchemy makes use of etheric and astral energies to reconfigure matter at the quantum level. Alchemy is to chemistry what a cube is to the square; it is a superset of chemistry and is capable of so much more.
How Etheric Energy Overrides Physical Laws
Alchemical achievements require successfully gathering, concentrating, and multiplying etheric energy. When this energy reaches a critical threshold, it overpowers the normal laws of physics and allows seemingly miraculous processes to take place. I believe it does this by biasing probability. By amplifying the probability of minor quantum effects, which are normally limited to the subatomic scale, they manifest on the larger atomic scale. In this way, one element spontaneously transforms into another.
The world around us is made of subatomic particles that regularly undergo unpredictable jumps, teleportation, bilocation, superposition, and other strange quantum behaviors. Why don’t everyday solid objects do likewise? Because the random quantum jittering of their subatomic particles collectively average out to zero. Think of a large crowd of people; seen from the air, the crowd as a whole is stationary, even though individuals within the crowd move in seemingly random directions. It’s because their movements are random and uncoordinated that they average to zero net movement on the whole.
The world we see around us is merely a crowd of subatomic particles whose individual quantum jumps aren’t apparent because they average to collective stillness. Physical laws that govern our everyday world, known as the deterministic laws of classical physics, are merely the laws of the crowd. These laws are what’s left of quantum physics after the unpredictability is removed through statistical averaging. They are not absolute laws; they are just the most probable manner in which matter and energy behave.
Physical laws can be bent. While the probability is incredibly low that enough coordination and coherence develops among the quantum jitters to manifest on a collective scale, that is exactly what etheric energy does. It alters probability and thereby skews the laws of thermodynamics, gravity, electromagnetism, and chemistry.
Alchemy does not violate the laws of physics, nor does it always follow them, rather it bends them as needed. It operates upon the quantum foundation from which these laws arise in the first place, via etheric energy affecting the probability of quantum events.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
I think I have control by now; I know
you want me to instruct you how to love.
I lack the tools for idleness; I go
crazy when you weigh yourself above
me. I know you’re in the rink – I know you are!
It’s just my paranoia’s acting out,
and then I call you twice and go too far,
that’s just a macho, jealous, loving bout.
But still you love my fighting tender thoughts,
and look in our shared corner when you’re scared.
But then the jitters, stomach ties in knots.
No gloves came out each time an old love stared.
I do not care for who you used to love,
keep razor blades tucked in my boxing gloves.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
my hair is falling out more--
i don't quite understand why.
could it be the food I've been eating--
or lack thereof.
am i pulling too hard on my ponytails--
or yanking too tightly while twisting my braids.
can it be the stress of my final days of school--
or all the assignments still marked in red.
possibly the ache in my heart for him--
or the rage simmering in my chest.
maybe it's simply symptoms of ***
or just my mind pressing buttons at random.
would it be because of my anxiety flowing over--
or the jitters from my morning cup of coffee.
funny if I've been tearing at my scalp in my sleep--
or clawing the demons from my dreams.
Aug 17, 2021
Aug 17, 2021 at 10:39 PM UTC
walking down a backstreet
had to quench my thirst
for alcohol or devils dust
which one would be first
it was then i heard the music
i forgot why i was out
my demons were in check now
t'was the music....there's no doubt
a backstreet bar
a dim lit stage
a singer singing
full of rage
demons screaming
hers and mine
i stumbled in
I had time
anger, venom
loud and strong
bass line pounding
pulled along
demons quelled
to say the least
this music tamed
my savage beasts
i sat and listened for a little while
i got a beer, it cost a smile
the waitress knew why i was here
i guess she figured, one free beer
the singer tore the stage apart
songs from her soul, not from her heart
she took a break and that was when
my demons found the night again
shaky, jitters
couldn't sit
couldn't focus
not a bit
cold sweats, cramping
demons caged
and then again
she took the stage
anger, venom
loud and strong
bass line pounding
pulled along
demons quelled
to say the least
this music tamed
my savage beasts
i knew the battle i would lose
my hunger was too strong
brought in line for a short time
by a singer and her songs
tomorrow night another war
between the hell in me
would my demons be calmed down
or would they be set free?
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 6:04 AM UTC
Legs shake
Jitters, excitement, anxiety
"I've moved heaven and earth to get this,"
Festive for Rome
"Group one," she announces
"In the beginning," I think.
Let the story commence.
Flock goes the sheep
What is foreign to some
Is native to others
Airport fun
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
Softness has no measure,
you would suppose,
but your eyes whisper
intimate love secrets, that I gather,
those gentle waves of softness
my eyes would finely record,
and my heart will resonate
tenderly with its every nuance.
Every look conceals alphabets of
softness, for the one intended,
as those eye lashes flutter, like a dove,
its exact measure, my mind captures,
This softness I receive and respond,
and you send moment by moment,
is the essence of passion we deeply share.
Your voice quivers, my heart jitters,
a stylus fashioned from thought,
will etch each word,
in our inner caves, for ever to remain.
Softness spreads in the air
when you are near;
from the lovely thoughts you bring,
it permeates defying all science,
conventions and understanding,
I swing in to high gear with love fever.
*Your touch; isn't it condensed softness?
with that flower soft touch, a new level of awareness
in love, comes in to being, I fly in the air,without wings!
yet my heart craves for your eyes' special interest,
won't you oblige?*
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 12:00 AM UTC
If you'd care to help
I'm saving up cans
With the brilliant idea
To build an aluminum can friend
One that shines bright
That never will rust
In whom I share secrets
One I can trust
He'll have Coca-Cola arms
And Dr. Pepper legs
Non-caffine Sprite
I'll use for his head
Don't want my aluminum can friend
To have jitters all day
Restless at night
Staying up late
I'll give him Pepsi hands
That are willing to please
So when I do chores
He can help me
For my friend on the go
I'll give Mountain Dew feet
A couple Red Bull
If I decide to do wings
And an idea that is good
Would be a Fanta heart
For a colorful beat
With all the flavors there are
So if you'd like to help
I'm saving up cans
With the brilliant idea
To build an aluminum can friend
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 3:46 PM UTC
Can we putter away
a hundred and more days
when all we ever wanted
is to be found at last
in this totally murky space?
Do we regret the hours
we spent together
savoring the words
that don't even matter
to anyone, anyhow
locked up hands
among the naughty crowd?
Shall we toss these letters
out our blood-stained windows
and wished for something
that hadn't caused us jitters
like a genuine touch
from a mother that really cares
but 'twas all lust
we just gave in to our fears?
How do I hate what I didn't mean to love?
Must have been wise enough to know
I could've written a better show
Just that mad to have been carried away
by your love that only crossed my way
unfortunately,
half a day.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 5:53 AM UTC
DEAR MOM I AM HOMOPHOBIC
Dear mother
My guardian angel and protector
Am afraid to tell you
He was staring at me
When i went to the loo
His cold gaze pierced my back
And his unblinking eyes sent jitters down my spine
A creeping feeling enwrapped my whole being
When i turned his charming stare held me prisoner and he smiled at me
Mother i could feel his look perusing me like an art book
From head to toe i was studied
I felt naked as his hungry stare undressed me
To him i was a piece of an apple pie
I could make out gurgling sounds as he swallowed dry saliva and licked his death black lips
Lust was painted all over his mane covered face
Mom i was really scared
I regretted stepping in that club
When i returned to my seat he bought me beer
My liqour thirst was hard to bear
I betrayed my masculinity
And accepted drink from a **** sapien of male fraternity
My mind was having a cold war with my soul
Wierd thoughts tormented my intoxicated body
Where did i stand???
He welcomed himself in my table
With a gecko like grin etched on his face
"You are handsome"those were the ugliest words i had ever heard from a man
My owl like eyes bore onto him with blazing anger dancing on my eyelids
I was shaking not because i was cold but murdering instincts were elecrocuting my adrenaline
He mistook my silence and commited a cardinal sin by placing his manicured hand on my thighs
He winked as his blinking broke the speed record
I cleared my throat and i knew it was time to recorn
He thought his tactics had worked
I withdrew my hand from my pocket raised beer bottle as if to toast
He hastefully followed suit
"Chee....he never finished as i bathed him with my beer
"Hey ****** am straight"i yelped as i crushed the beer bottle on his thick skull
I heard a deafening yell
The rest i remember is being frog matched into a police car
So dear mom its not my fault am in jail
Am here because i fought
Mom am not a law breaker
Am here because i am homophobic
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 4:24 AM UTC
A Finn-Dorset clone,
Now not the alone.
Born on 5 July in 1996,
She died on Valentine's Day in 2003.
The celebrity sheep she died at the age of six,
Produced not from the common ovine ***
Somatic Cell Nuclear Transfer created her, read on.
Named after Dolly Parton,
'Coz of her admired *****
Somatic cells were taken from a sheep's udders,
Extracted not without the sheep's jitters.
This sheep was the donor.
However, these cells were enucleated,
And the enucleated nucleus was handled.
Injected it was into a Finn-Dorset's embryo,
Oh yes, the embryo was without a nucleus.
This sheep was the recipient.
Without a folly, born was Dolly,
Resemble she did the donor.
Not only in its visible phenotype
But also in its invisible genotype.
Differ she did but only in her mitochondrial DNA.
Her birth did open a new portal,
Now pet lovers get their pets cloned.
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 11:16 AM UTC
All day
it’s been like this since Friday night
Like little pinpricks
short stabs of adrenaline
giving me an increasing amount of jitters and pain
with no beautiful passion or art to show for all the hormone fireworks
I’m not depressed
I’m not anxious
but I’m suffering directionless excitement
My journey of healing has brought me to this mountain and commanded that I climb
So I climb
I have no choice but to rise
Reaching up with bruised and blistered fingers
it’s the only way to leave my ruined body behind
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 9:02 PM UTC
Wakey Wakey, rise and shine
greet the morning with a smile
wide awake and feeling fine
dancing with this boy of mine.
Twisting on the kitchen floor
the monkey, the jive and many more,
the mashed potato, the hustle too
he follows my lead with a giggle or two.
There's a hound dog, a jailhouse, some blue suede shoes
as we Rave On with Buddy and Peggy Sue
Reet Petite makes an entrance and whips up the crowd
"Turn it up Daddy, I want this real loud!"
Then on to the Land of a Thousand Dances
even the dog's grinning wide as she prances
we take Three Steps to Heaven and meet Cathy's clown
then on to the next one, no time to sit down.
So I'll fry up the bacon as my little bug jitters
and poach us some eggs with some sweet 'tato fritters
as I sing of Lucille, Maggie may and Delilah,
then Shake Rattle and Roll to those Great ***** Of Fire.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
Seriously, the guy looks like a Greek god.
The spitting image of Zeus, himself.
I trip over words and feelings every time he’s around.
A fumbling mess of, “Hey, how are you?” and “I read your horoscope last night.”
A vibrant pulse of jitters and excitement, because every time I see him I think, “This is it, this is the day he notices me.”
But it isn’t.
I feel like a bubblegum fairy in a world with an abundance of light and dandelions…
Is that stupid?
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 8:47 AM UTC
When the clouds below turn to into carpet
Up there in the cold morning light,
The VFR pilot jitters and frets:
Time to check fuel, to come up with a plan
To search for a hole in the billow below,
And bring the craft in to land.
So it was when a pilot coming back from a lark,
Flew in a circle somewhere over Williston,
Above clouds turning thicker and dark.
In his office sat Phil, across the state line,
When the radio crackled, pleading a break:
"VFR practice," he thought, "He's probably fine."
Phil headed to lunch, had an errand to do...
Drove downtown for a couple of hours,
Returning somewhere around 2:00.
The radio tone carried tired despair
When Phil walked back in from his break
And heard the pilot, still stuck in the air.
Phil knew that the fuel must be drained
In the old Piper Cub overhead,
So he logged a flight plan and ran for his plane.
He flew to the east and banked to the north,
Rising above the gray carpet below,
And spotted the wanderer holding its course.
Coming in fast, cutting his distance by half,
"Super Cub over Williston, this is Bonanza
On your left. How much fuel do you have?"
"About 30 minutes," came a despondent reply,
Standard answer, but gauging the hours,
Phil calculated the response was a lie.
"I am going to fly by your side.
Follow me and dive when I dive;
Keep contact and enjoy the ride."
The planes in tandem turned around;
Phil flew by IFR to find the runway end,
Backed off the throttle, and led them down.
The tail dragger followed, did not complain,
Dropped into the soup gliding blind
Except for the strobe on the faster plane.
The old Cub flared when Phil said, "Land!"
Settled onto the runway end as the propeller stalled,
And Phil had saved a desperate man.
On the hangar wall now hangs a plaque,
Though Phil himself is gone,
The Governor's gift for bringing a flyer back.
--------------
My brother once watched Phil Petrik of Sidney Aviation fly off the Sidney runway, disappearing into a pea soup fog, carrying our father and mother on an emergency flight to Billings, to save my father's life.
I lay this poetic rose upon Phil's grave as a slim tribute to a man who earned my admiration and life long gratitude. Rest In Peace, Phil Petrik.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
"It's not for anxiety," they said, tightlipped but concerned,
they don't understand that I can't pay attention if my heart beats louder than my words,
The sound of my thoughts coming at me like trains and bike and buses,
honking at me to say something articulate,
is much louder than their confused voices explaining that the blue pill is to stop the jitters,
but I've got other issues.
They don't see that there is a tea kettle bubbling in my stomach that shoots hunger through its long nose,
in shrill whistles that pierce my insides.
It's all I can hear when the TV is on and I haven't eaten.
But that little chemical spreads inside me like a blanket of silence, quells the screaming children
and the little girl constantly tugging at my heartstrings,
making indiscernible chords that only
echo as the sound of jealousy, fear and self loathing.
She tucks her self in and keeps her hands to herself for a few hours.
As the blue devils shovel more coal in the bed warmers,
the sound of metal clanging is muted by their powers.
Chipping away at the noise makers, the inhabitants of my tortured soul-
I love the empty I feel on adderall.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
Energy drinks and no release
Heart beat flies: rise and sink
Jitters and anxiety won't let me sleep
The rush of power devours the sheep
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
It is
a single blood-red rose,
Lounging in a field
of Sunday morning daisies.
It is
a venerable novel,
ripe with life and adventure.
Love splattered across the pages.
The binding,
begging and writhing to free the secrets
coddled between the lines.
It is
how your mother takes her coffee.
A little cream,
no sugar,
and the promise of
9 AM jitters.
It is
Expecting a hurricane,
only, having to recover
from a day in the sunlight.
It is
a tiny footprint in the sand,
a greasy fingerprint on a doorknob,
the intricacies of a fragile snowflake.
But above all,
It is
You.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
You may be so far-far,
But it hardly matters,
Our friendship will take its stands.
Stand these time's sands,
No matter how it jitters,
I will be me, you'll be who you are.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 12:13 PM UTC
The video stutters and she jitters to a halt in an intersection;
Traffic lights turn green, and the display revs up,
The Broken Egg food truck clips her heel and spark-like static fogs the screen.
His fingers, once lightly brushing over a braille textbook, freeze out.
The book lifts itself and scraps left to right under his palm.
Her professor speaks, and her lecture on Maxwell's equations propagate towards the classroom wall,
only the walls have fled with their chalkboards, and the standing waves have been left stranded
in the sudden infinite space. She has lost reflections; only direct, brute force remains.
The Truth: I wear petty images like a cloak.
The Truth: My gears tremor under the strain of life, stuck on
The Truth: I think
You'd think me stupid, a bust, and the truth is
I'd rather stand in traffic, frozen, mute and dumb,
than ask questions, intern, or learn the difficult stuff.
Secondary screens:
I'd rather write poems and post them online for strangers
than talk about chemical potentials or spherical wavefunctions.
I'd rather talk about chemical potentials and wavefunctions
than figure out what happened to my remote.
There's too much movement to feel good standing still.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 3:29 PM UTC
(for Piedad)
Us being sisters,
Oftentimes gave me the jitters.
I was down here, while you were high up there,
I feared, I would find myself nowhere.
We made our own selfish choices,
Our actions louder than our voices.
I watched you from a distance,
It hurt to just give you a glance.
I felt a wall standing tall between us
In silence, I decided not to fuss...
Then I saw you break free from your balloon,
Reaching for the stars...maybe the moon…….
I prayed, then whispered, "Go, wherever your stars may lead you
No matter how far, your dreams are long overdue."
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 7:53 PM UTC
Some can find it without a map,
Others not even smoke signals can help,
Some have lost their way and never came back,
Others have stayed in that place,
Wishing to live in that wishful thinking.
It brings an old familiar smell,
Although it never gets old,
It's like white noise,
A different face everyday.
They get lost in the translation,
Between silence and sound.
Some won't notice the personal hall of fame's they enter,
Others are moved to do the same,
Some don't notice the crowds they create,
Others want to replicate that consensus.
It makes you feel jitters,
Things you've never felt before,
It fills you with euphoria,
A different one each time,
That's why I like it,
It's the consequence of sound.
May 20, 2011
May 20, 2011 at 8:47 PM UTC