"jumbles" poems
Babels of blocks to the high heavens towering
Flames of futility swirling below;
Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flowering,
Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow.
Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers,
Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun;
Catacomb deeps whose dank chaos delivers
Streams of live foetor that rots in the sun.
Colour and splendour, disease and decaying,
Shrieking and ringing and crawling insane,
Rabbles exotic to stranger-gods praying,
Jumbles of odour that stifle the brain.
Legions of cats from the alleys nocturnal.
Howling and lean in the glare of the moon,
Screaming the future with mouthings infernal,
Yelling the Garden of Pluto's red rune.
Tall towers and pyramids ivy'd and crumbling,
Bats that swoop low in the weed-cumber'd streets;
Bleak Arkham bridges o'er rivers whose rumbling
Joins with no voice as the thick horde retreats.
Belfries that buckle against the moon totter,
Caverns whose mouths are by mosses effac'd,
And living to answer the wind and the water,
Only the lean cats that howl in the wastes.
15.8k
twinkle birds and tessellates, bends my mind to outer space. lands me in infinity of never ending affinity to the universe.
but sweetest ideas were shortly lived at reality slowly sifts away to repeated visions that turn loved faces into panic that glitches me into unbreakable circles of walk away, walk away.
no awareness of a before from this feel the abyss of this helplessness **** me into no ending so I seice to begin.
but as the panic subsides my mind starts to ride the energy that resides in my being from the kingfisher floor to the fish strewn ceiling.
sentient beings **** at the seams, my dream of weightlessness pull the windows to break towards the secrets of simple existence.
invisible water sends the strands of fur swelling and glowing into talk of the polar bear whose hair weaves into the atoms that feed my jumbled dreams.
hands rip through the plaster as the sounds grow louder and faster, helicopters shake the boiler from the pipes but I still feel great.
the tables tremble as I soak up the bass and the treble. sensual overload through my eyes the magic multiplies, angels can hear my sighs as the roof opens to tunnel towards the skies.
geometric patterns that I could never have imagines circle and sweep, creeping my further from sleep.
I have breached something new, an extreme that dares its self to be seen only my the few who ****** it. I grab these new senses and attach it to my masses of emotions, that have been formed my these chemicals. neutrons and protons that explore the breadth oh Pantones schemes, weaving into the atoms that feed my jumbles dreams.
release my mind from the confines of rinse and repeat, out of easy street and onto the sunrise that surrounds me. revelations that never siese to confound me.
destruction was peace pulling my beliefs, daring the world to touch me as the floor tips the cabinets from the walls. I am small. here in this perfect world. my hands make the plants grow as they show me all it takes to break the confines of the human condition is to expand your mind and reposition your nervous system to reach a different supposition.
little lion
please read my other work if you like this one!
http://trivialitesofabusymind.blogspot.co.uk/
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 5:02 PM UTC
the nights you call lonely
are the nights i spend
reading and writing and drawing
and loving my own company
i enjoy dreaming of possibilities
and laying in complete silence
you see, my mind is so loud
louder than the party you're at tonight
and for me that is enough
i balance it out by being quiet,
by producing shambles of poetry
and endless jumbles of words
to try and understand
that it is okay to love the silence
and the mystery of who i am
you find yourself in bright lights
and loud music
i find myself in the dark
we have been afraid of our whole lives
it is the darkness and the silence
that make you so scared of us
but we are simply introverts
trying to fit into a world made for you
while you are dancing your heart out
ours are pounding in pride
as we proofread our writing for the 100th time
your open arms and our open minds
embrace in harmony
you see, i started writing us instead of me
because i know i am not alone
on these nights you call lonely
i call lovely
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 9:05 AM UTC
Wherein without a mouthful of air,
He spoke of materialism with
a judge’s
Merciless verdict.
His eyes so glazed yet passionate,
He threw his thoughts to the ceiling,
Like rocks in a plastic bag,
To see if it could make a bang
And his speeches are so angelic
Amongst the ignorant giggles
And the frayed songs of yawns,
You really had to give him credit. For, you
See, he stares out at a whole different cosmic
Sect in a wanton orchestra
Filled with red wallows of
Flags and pride.
Scared jumbles strewn like flowers across this dying opinion-land,
He’s seen it all despite his accent.
He’s strummed cold and excited to be here.
His life is a rusting metal scrap
Tossed to the side of the masterpiece from whence it came.
He thinks that everybody must have been a spy…
No, wait, two quirks tossed in to
Hear the Man talk. It’s all a
Meandering walk from where
The toads squat.
He describes it as a war for the value of academic standards,
Which are now expiring before his eyes, and how we’re all
A bunch of rotting worms dying as we speak. The hope is
That the people from your life will be defeated by you,
Right? That’s how it goes in the war of everybody
Against everybody. He desires to make all of life
Into a dream… but that would result in economic
Impediments.
Give him the $1 million, also known as “the cool mill.”
Everybody must have been a spy.
You couldn’t look for this logic
Beneath a rock
Or stuck in your lover’s hair.
He’s depressed because he is not asleep – he’s acutely aware.
He speaks like rapturous nuns,
throwing themselves on to the cross
And begging me to ready the nails.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 11:42 PM UTC
Everyone wants to hear a poem that rhymes from the girl who rhymes
But I’ve got no rhythm tip toe around the precision of other writers
I get lost easily in the waves of patterns and structure
Rupture my skin in the process
Destroying words and phrases in the mess of my skin and blood
Dragging myself through the mud I am a jumble of words that don’t even fit together in sentences
My types of fetish’s aren’t feet or latex, but poetry
Supposedly everyone can rhyme but
My fingers can find the time from the space between pen and paper
Maybe if i cover my room in wallpaper made from failed poems
I’ll finally get there
Rip out all my hair
I’ve never successfully written rhyme worth sharing
I’ve been in this despairing state for a while
Ran miles on my tongue
Wrung myself dry from all my creativity
Found I have a bigotry towards everything I write
Everyone wants to hear a poem that rhymes from the girls who rhymes
I ask for an example
Sample sounds on paper
Ending up with ample amounts of couplets
But its never enough, its always going to fall short
Someone needs to take me to court I’m copying the sound of other writers
Profound thoughts never said eloquently enough
It’s rough to be a writer that doesn’t know how to write
But I’ve never been the type to give up
Cover up all my failed attempts at rhyming with free-verse
Curse me, Or even worse
Coerce me into thinking I know what I’m doing
Because whats worse than blissful ignorance
Hand my a fistful of advice and set me free
But I’ll never be the girl who rhymes rhymes
My fingers will never find the time lost between pen and paper
Everyone wants to hear a poem that rhymes from the girl who rhymes
Sometimes they nearly get their wish
But all dreams parish in jumbles of words in phrases
Blaze through whole journals trying to write two poems
Crumbling my own thoughts in my too fast thought process
Everyone wants to hear a poem that rhymes from the girls who rhymes
I still with pencil and paper
Set out on this caper
With a website that gives me words that rhyme
I’ve decided to let people get their fix
Try my hand at rhymes
Take my time
And slow down my too fast thought process
Soak up all my creativity
A rid my mind of every bigotry I ever had
Because the girl who rhymes
Will always be the girl who rhymes
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC
I frequently read my old poems and
feel my glass heart splinter with impatience
and demand why my muse escapes
my passions, and my talent must
sleep cold and lonely within the shadowy crescent
where an oil-fire’s tongues dare not lick.
Then, when face with banal, bittersweet
mimicry week after week, therein
braces a bothered stirring of flavorful
jumbles as aimless as houseflies bouncing
against the window blinds.
And, once again, my poems,
with their phoenix lifestyles, breathe brave
gulps with scarlet-robin-breasts puffed
with gung-ho vigor.
Where the poet’s rhythm takes on equestrian
expression along the staggered verses,
bequeathing shine to syllabic shine
and stealing pop from pursed, pronouncing lips.
Each doting word may kiss and nuzzle the
splinters that recognize a cut so rare
that this world’s physical balance would overturn
with no presence of such wondrous oddity.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 5:10 AM UTC
mumbles, jumbles, into the night
my baby phoenix stumbles into its plight
a better life was merely imagined
but my dove, my dear, bitterly determined
huddled witnesses
there! in the square
a drove of fireflies, watching
her rebirth in fire, laid bare.
her tuckered tail, dead-centered --
shaking off crimson pearls of lunar lunacy,
henceforth, bleeding on her own time, her own tenancy.
her talons look at us.
we look at fiery lips that lash and scorch her.
never more before his penetrating gaze,
as her wings form a column of blaze.
she soars, she screams:
but to nothing but scorn --
the square-goers think she is just forlorn.
my dove, my dear, for your ****** death --
I pray it greets not a dragon's breath.
Jun 4, 2023
Jun 4, 2023 at 10:34 AM UTC
Vile photos and sounds play on 'palace' walls;
mud in her fingernails form shapes of the night's sticky, grubby events-
a twisted, ****** Rorscharch-esque blot.
Knee-deep in grit and grime, soot on her feet,
she sludges on, puking night after night on assorted side-walks
with soaked, soily calves.
'Just pretty pictures' painted on a wall
show her a true reflection of her mind;
she seeks familiarity, hides/searches in them for herself.
In distorted jumbles, she looks for her kind.
The splayed stuff stutter and splutter
and stop and grind.
Insomnia and intoxication,
a victim of lack of inspiration-
life falls into a slow degradation.
Nothingness swallows all once more.
She thrusts against the shoddy shut doors
while the slimy sticky dross glues her shoes to gory floors.
-she trails off with a wince
at the hat man's scoff.
Foul filth fills the squalid air; and
sullied and smoky, sighing, she (s)tumbles
halfway to sleep.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
I was in a car accident in September.
I suffered a severe concussion.
Though my body is rattled and
bruised, I believe will heal fine.
I am getting extensive therapy
and treatment.
My brain on the other hand is having
a bit more difficulty pulling it together.
Words don't line up, thoughts are
confused jumbles of messy patterns
that don't make sense sometimes.
This is very scary to me.
As I write everything on my tablet
or my android phone, looking at the
screen hurts my eyes and my brain.
I am very sad as of late. Have been
crying (more than usual). Head
hurts all the time. Getting lost a lot,
like when I drive etc etc etc. Writing
backwards. Everything written,
looks like it is at a slant (yuck).
And I have developed a Very significant,
interesting stutter. Fascinating really...
All I want to do is sleep...
(which I have become very good at)
and to be held...
(just isn't in the mix right now).
I may try reposting some of my
old work at this time, until I'm better.
I will do my best to check in on the Dailies.
I need to stay away from reading and
commenting. : (( : (( : (( At least for now.
I am Sure, I Will Get Better!!!
☆●♡♢♡●☆
I need you all to know how much
I've come to Love and Appreciate my HP Family.
One of the best gifts I have given
Myself. Also, I am trying to join
Kalypso and Gang with Our collection
of Poems on Sound Cloud.
If I can ever figure it out
♡ Peace and Love ♡
▪○●☆♡♢♡☆●○▪
Christi~ MoonFlower~ Fluer de Luna
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
Why is there lies?
Trips my eyes and throat with his tongue,
Dislodges his word jumbles into my ears.
To amuse?
Not even a stutter breaks it.
I see no end for us.
Just false hope.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 10:26 PM UTC
i dont really know what im interested in,
but right now my interest's in you.
right now the only ambition i have
is to hold boomboxes outside your window.
and that sentiment was cute when i was 15,
skipping gym class to spend
some more time as a friend,
but as of right now, i should have a drive
towards something more responsible,
than the feel of your cheek
against mine.
i have no clue what im capable of,
but how can any feat compare,
to the brilliant warmth that is
found in those eyes
when one of these jumbles of words
makes you smile?
or better yet, laugh?
these curls, these crunches, these chinos, these white strips,
these copies of The Economist and the New York Times,
are all in attempt to make sure that the glow
that emits from those pores remains visible.
health is a clever cover-up, without the motivation,
i'd listen to The Smiths for just the melodies,
and help myself to another portion (of bacon).
right now, the only reason i'm writing this down,
is i hear that chicks dig poetry,
they're constructed in this way to feign substance,
so that you might associate substance with me,
and when i go on stage to perform these words,
it's in hopes that you'd hear them,
or at least hear that i'm a "slam poet".
these moments of knowing and not-knowing,
make this life worthwhile
and honestly i feel like that's f*cked up,
but i'd rather the question be,
one where you're the answer,
than one where you're not a factor.
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 2:28 AM UTC
I'm watching your features fade
From our children's faces.
The pieces of you
Are flitting out
Of their personalities.
I can see our daughter's face,
My mother's curly hair
Framing it,
And your eyes blinking at me
From underneath it.
Her fingers are fast
On frets and strings
Like her father.
And she jumbles up the digits
On her math pages
Like her mother.
I can feel us hold her for the first time,
I can see you kissing her forehead.
The hardest part will be letting this go.
I can see our firstborn son,
Running up to me
For a kiss after he scraped his knee,
With Starwars temporary tattoos
Climbing up his arms.
I can picture the freckles
Sprayed across a nose like mine,
And a brave smile
From thin lips like yours.
I can see you running his dumptrucks
All over the house together.
I'm not just losing you.
I can picture our second daughter,
With fine hair from you,
Colored ginger from me.
I can see her muddy footprints
Tracked through our kitchen,
From staying out in the rain,
Just like her parents loved to.
I can see her toddling
Through our home,
My eyes staring up at me
Filled to the brim with tears
When she falls,
Your nose all red,
And my mouth
In a pout.
I'm losing them too.
I can imagine our youngest son,
Snuggled up on your lap,
With his daddy's scowl
From drowsiness.
Then my smile, and your laugh
As you blow on his belly.
I can hear him crying
In the wee early hours of the morning,
I can picture you holding me,
As I hold him,
Rocking him back to sleep.
I can see our children
Gathered around the dinner table,
And I know,
The hardest part will be giving up
This dream
I built with you,
This future we'll never have.
I'm watching them
Fade away.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 9:41 PM UTC
I.
i'm clingy.
you can't manage to love someone that always happens to stick onto you like fresh fallen snow on the bottom of your snowboots or pounding water that adheres to your skin in a shower. no one wants someone who they can't shake off and get away from a little. but with me, i will try my hardest not to let that happen. because i can't even fathom the thought of you walking out that door and never coming back.
II.
my brain is like spaghetti.
my thoughts are always messy and all over the place. it's extremely challenging to sort everything out so i don't even try anymore. everything just jumbles and mixes together and you can't really differentiate one strand from another. and my grandmother always told me that guys don't like messy girls.
III.
sometimes i'm just a really sad poem with feet.
i get into moods. moods where i think everything is wrong and that i'm useless. no one likes girls like that. boys like confidence, right?
IV.
i'll try to make a home out of you.
and you can't make homes out of people. but i don't think that'll ever get through my thick skull.
V.
you don't know how to love me.
no one does. no one has quite been able to figure it out.
and i think you're okay with that.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
Trapped in your thoughts
And your brain jumbles when she near
After some time its just you and her
the sunset clashing with the stars
with the spark in the skies you both will lock eyes
and the dangerous game has begun
after a few months the bonds broke
you over think every situation
the trust is gone and your mind will cave in
now she’s gone with your mind re-wired
you try to drink away the pain but it adds to the fire
in-between your hands you feel the spaces
and you can’t get her back you will be replaced then
sitting in the bath tub with a bottle of ***
the stage of loneliness hits whille you stare and the celling
numb from the pain and losing all feelings
so just stare the sky and let your mind clear
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 3:07 PM UTC
A picture is worth a thousand words,
but not all of them are happy.
To see unhappy is to think unhappy
leading to a day of stress.
A stressful day
jumbles your mind
twists your stomach
and clenches your hands.
A stressful day
is how to create
a thousand problems.
There is no better way that i can think of
to dump of all the stress
than to rid of the problem
with a cigarette.
As it pulls from your lips
and slips from your fingers
and falls to the ground,
take a deep breath,
in and out,
to release the stress
and your problems.
Look at the stub
small, white, and burnt,
laying at your toes.
Now smile and
relax your hands.
A thousand words
and a thousand problems
have now been left
as a conflict to deal with
for the cigarette.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC
Monster,
making me your monster,
I know your games
I may be trapped
but I will
I will
find my way out,
**** you
life is beautiful,
I am ID
and ED
and GOD
and everything else that has mixed meanings
******* dichotomies
and word jumbles
and brains splattered,
right here. Turn away, go back to your pattern,
go back to your story and be ******* comfortable.
Not today, I said to the monster,
standing up,
you manifest as a bug
a cockroach, I hate those things,
and I squish you.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 3:51 AM UTC
I'm a puzzle waiting to be solved. Complicated. That jumbles their minds. A puzzle with my broken pieces scattered all along the lanes and roads on the map of my dark dark life. They try to find my fragments and they fail. I'm built of shattered words of hope tripping on trails of self doubt.
And with strangled emotions ricocheting against the walls of my soul. The hollow echoes of those sweet lullabies that reverberates through my mind, making no definitions, leaving me empty.
And it's only numb pain rebounding within my veins. As they crack open my walls of security. All there eyes scruntinize me under their cruel disgusted gazes as I slump to ground and shiver, bleeding my wounds again and again.
I can't be who I am.
And after a million lost battles I surrender.
And accept its only darkness that defines me.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
This is Me.
The final part.
From one broken home,
to one broken heart.
Hidden behind the mask
of the old porcelain doll,
cracked and tortured.
I have seen it all.
Uncombed hair
and clothes that are rag,
Behold my feelings,
I am but sad.
No one would listen,
during my youth,
when I was a young man
or drinking my *****
The alleys were dark
with walls caving in.
Hearing voices inside me,
that's where it begins.
Sitting alone,
by one candle light,
I saw pen and paper,
blown by surprise.
I started to talk,
with the pen in my hand,
writing muse on the pulp,
trying my hand.
I was confused,
my words were a mess.
To me, there just jumbles,
I must confess.
I read them back,
and started to sigh,
Because this is my sad story,
It made me cry.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
I hate the night and it's untimely creations.
The avalanche of loose words
doused on closed eyes,
begging to be assembled
into flowing images or
melodic alliterated sentences.
Adjectives lurk under sealed eyelids.
Verbs implore the body to respond.
Mocking my stillness they urge
limbs to act out in their name.
Verses arrange and rearrange
of their own accord.
They ebb and flow.
I'm too tired to grab them all.
Why now, when I crave nothing but sleep?
Why can't I conjure this brainstorm
in waking hours.
I grab a pen to write; semi-conscious.
It all jumbles into nonsense.
The dream state draws me back
to act out unconscious intentions.
I hate the night and all its promises;
Its lyrical musings
behind twitching eyelids.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
Letters get jumbled and mumbled words spill forth
a fifth of gin would help me begin
to sort these thoughts into a sensible order
but I can't afford a fifth and my sixth sense warns me
that alcohol will destroy me
so I set out blind
unable to find the sentiments in sentences or paragraphs
and,
someone laughs out loud.
Me,
I'm not so proud now
can't tell you whether or how I feel and though I want to be real with you
deal with you on an equal basis
my face is
lost in the jumbles
mouth that still mumbles
stomach that rumbles as the the acid builds
filled with some fear that if you try to come near
I won't and don't know what to say or do
and do you never stop and think
how much easier it is to write out words of love in ink?
I think a pen is a godsend to those who could not lend their mouths to their words
and in words I can write,
I can write us of night in the bed
pen it in red
pen it in blue
that's what I'll do,
Send to you my love, written in lines and written of times when the mighty pen holds all the aces
even then my heart beats fast as I pace the floor real slow and the ink don't want to flow and I think there's something wrong with me
calamity.
I need some help to wander
then I need some more, to pen the words to make you soar
and will you marry me?
oh
the pen wants a wedding
shedding its ink into what I only think but have never said
penned in red.
If I used a marker
wore a parka
had a part time job as a fairground barker
would it be the same as any time I hear your name.
I freeze
and could you please unjumble me
unmumble the words I cannot say and let me be
a different pen and in the fountains where I spout
let me shout out everywhere
that you're my girl
but when?
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC
*At the club
Dancing away
Smoke
In my lungs
Losing my mind
So many thoughts jumbles up in my head.
Why am I like this??
Oh yeah...
Cause your ****** up mind,
messed with mine*
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 11:13 AM UTC
What do you do when finally you realize what death is? You have so much planned for the future, but never know what your fate is.
You finally realize how people would feel if you actually did it. But you're so sad and buried ssooo deep into your problems you don't give a **** You don't care what they would say, how they would feel. It's all just a mess waiting to unpeel. You can't dig yourself out, you feel it's the only way. Cloud of judgement, jumbles of depression planted in your brain, you can't get out. Its deeper than being able to just shout. You think maybe its a disease? Maybe it's a dream? But it's real life and it all hurts more than a feen.
You start to wonder who matters and who doesn't. Put them in a list. But no one's on the list.. It doesn't make sense, you can't comprehend, so oh, go along, it's your mind after all. You follow along because you think it's normal. You suppose everyone goes through this, it's just a phase. It could be more horrible.
Cloud of judgement, memories erase, jumbles controlling your mind. You lost your chance to get out, there's no more time. You worry, stress, fight, deny. But that does nothing but fills up more jumbles in your mind.
You start to think too much, you cry inside. The thought of it all is too intertwined. You stand up and try to chop the walls down, but here comes ANOTHER thing, and turns it all around. You search for ideas, look deep in the mug. But all you can think of, are new types of drugs. You resist as long as you can, but eventually flip open that illegal ban.
You mess it up more, JUMBLES GALORE..
Suddenly...you become empty. You get so confused, all of the jumbles have finally fused. You start to feel nothing, it all becomes numb. You want nothing, than to just be done.
So you plan, plot, think, think, and think. That's all you ever do, it's what it's come down to. You're so sad, you don't have a clue. And that's all it ever is, you're just depressed, so lost in the mess.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC
King kong!
You've heard of his rumble in the Jungle,
his mumbles and his jumbles,
his jabs and yabs
And the thriller in manila.
He was lord of the rings,
marabout of his bouts,
griot of his fights.
The master of the shuffle and the rope-a-dope
Was dope and made the dough.
I heard of his wits and his fist,
Of the ease of his wrist
And the gist of his float,
He fluttered with his feet
Then stung like a bee
His belt was his crown
In his robes he was king
None can contest
He was lord of the ring.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 8:06 AM UTC