"jumpy" poems
Clownlike, happiest on your hands,
Feet to the stars, and moon-skulled,
Gilled like a fish. A common-sense
Thumbs-down on the dodo's mode.
Wrapped up in yourself like a spool,
Trawling your dark, as owls do.
Mute as a turnip from the Fourth
Of July to All Fools' Day,
O high-riser, my little loaf.
Vague as fog and looked for like mail.
Farther off than Australia.
Bent-backed Atlas, our traveled prawn.
Snug as a bud and at home
Like a sprat in a pickle jug.
A creel of eels, all ripples.
Jumpy as a Mexican bean.
Right, like a well-done sum.
A clean slate, with your own face on.
12.9k
one April dusk the
sallow street-lamps were turning
snowy against a west of robin’s egg blue when
i entered a mad street whose
mouth dripped with slavver of
spring
chased two flights of squirrel-stairs into
a mid-victorian attic which is known as
O ΠΑΡΞΕΝΩΝ
and having ordered
yaoorti from
Nicho’
settled my feet on the
ceiling inhaling six divine inches
of Haremina in
the thick of the snick-
er of cards and smack of back-
gammon boards i was aware of an entirely
***** circle of habitués their
faces like cigarettebutts, chewed
with disdain, led by a Jumpy
***** who played each
card as if it were a thunderbolt red-
hot peeling
off huge slabs of a fuzzy
language with the aid of an exclamatory
tooth-pick
And who may that
be i said exhaling into
eternity as Nicho’ laid
before me bread
more downy than street-lamps
upon an almostclean
plate
“Achilles”
said
Nicho’
“and did you perhaps wish also shishkabob?”
11k
that feeling when (your) finger tips clutch (my) bare skin
veiled in casual apathy
we watch the screen in silence
not knowing what to say
i don't know what went on
behind your flickering eyes
as for me, the moment of contact
sent jumpy tingles up my spine
unexpectedly
my mind reeled forward
to unspent nights in dance clubs or backyard barbecues;
the way your hands felt in mine when we leaned in
lips still intact--
unbroken
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
i breathe
one breath at a time
each inhalation linked to the exhalation before it
yet every breath stands alone
there's something tenuous about it
this soft machine is on thin ice
devoured by time in innocent increments
like a moth nibbles away wool
my heart
little gorilla
wearing itself out
rubber glove with a hole in it
weird luck
my eyes are bright
solar blue ball lanterns
if you saw me
you would say
good bones
river of envy
yet all hinges
on a muscular rhythmic pulsating machine
like a determined jaw chewing
jumpy mouth
yet on the verge of betrayal
a glitch
karmic indecision
in destinies wheel house
a red fist locus banging
ones immense sense of self
a vainglorious elaboration
built over a small pulsating muscle
innocuous
dumb blood flesh knot drumming
scarlet tribe
throne of my very soul
great sovereign
old man in a crib
splitting open of its own accord
a sudden rip from life
to a dead sea eternity
the final frontier
starless night
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 1:54 PM UTC
Mind is a super computer they say.
It can think of millions of stuff in a matter of day.
From the bombings in Iraq,
to the hurt in my best friends heart.
From the moment its up,
It never stops,
To stop. Blink or breathe.
It keeps running at night.
The subconscious consumes power.
Often leaving the mind tired at the break of dawn.
When it meets people,
it reads the signs at many levels.
Subject of talk,
Body language.
Positivity of the vibes,
The way the person jives.
A handshake.
A wink.
A hug.
A swiftly made jug*
It notices everything.
In all this processing.
It accumulates a lot of clutter!
And the mind with all the confusing thoughts,
becomes like hot butter!
Sparks fly like an electronic of fire!
And it needs something to distract it.
What works best is a bit of exercise.
A bit of chattering,
Or writing it all out.
Some find solace in Games or Movies.
Why do they work?
Because they engage all senses,
And make the mind groovy.
Smoking and doping do great too.
But reducing the processors of our mind to grade two!
Hallucinating and dreaming 80% of it.
The mind thinks its being more productive that most of it.
But illusions destroy us further.
Making the mind believe it’s just another wonder.
Wonder though it is.
Using only 10% of it we create,
Science, History, Mystery,
But this wonder has a lot on bate.
If it goes in the wrong direction.
Even thinking too much is an addiction!
Original thoughts are like endorphins to the mind.
Making it jump and do cartwheels inside.
Stimulating discussions are named that way,
Because engaging in one makes us jumpy all day.
It satisfies the mind that,
I have done something constrictive besides,
Whiling my days in sorrow,
and waiting for the morrow.
Mind is like a baby that need attention,
if not given that it runs in all directions.
Mind is a super computer that needs,
the dedication of a programmer.
Be that programmer and feed your mind the right numbers,
And see it become the eighth wonder!
*Jug- short for juggle.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 2:51 PM UTC
my rabbit heart it pounds and pounds
I am tiny and frightened in the grass
they will catch me they will catch me they will catch me
catching means fury and pain
and something worse -
but I don't even know what
I have to
cover my tracks
I have to
run run run
I have to
freeze
hold my breath
pray
as my heart pounds
loud enough to hear
I make my nest
of chosen family
chosen interests
chosen self
and I dig and I cover
and I hide hide hide
throw them off the scent
have I said too much?
is it over?
do they smell the trail?
my rabbit nose can smell things and
my rabbit ears can hear things and
my rabbit eyes can see things
that lead straight to my nest
but my rabbit heart doesn't know
how much the foxes know
I imagine all the ways the foxes will smell and hear and see
and catch me, corner me
and I cannot escape
and it is not a dream this time
I am in their jaws and it is over
that is what my rabbit heart imagines
and why it pounds pounds pounds
one smell left out of place
and they sniff it out and come for me
and I am so small and so helpless
I am fast and jumpy
and that has saved me
time and time again
but what about this time?
when will my luck run out?
I am quick and clever
but they have teeth and hunger
-
what is it like
to not fear like this?
to have a lion heart?
to walk in the world
with something other than freezing and trembling
and a heart that pounds in fear
what is it like
to not even be a lion, no
nothing so grand
but a pet rabbit
who knows only safety
who is anxious in his nature
but has never seen a fox
never kept a nest of secrets
never been so close to death
just from a pounding fearful heart
I wish I knew
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 11:57 PM UTC
It's the skin on skin basics:
You may touch, but please don't look.
I hand him a pinecone,
pale petals,
and some Tulgeywood bark
saying "Feel it out in the dark,"
saying
"Can you tell me what that is?
Can you dab your flesh on those pine needles,
***** your tips in the dark?
Feel it out in the light now.
Can you taste it:
Can you lap it, lick it?
Bite it, mosquito, bite
'til your lips are swollen
and
'til your teeth are blunted
and
'til the thought of one more cigarette
is enough to
make you sick,
make you smile,
make you laugh for a short while or an hour or two...
Spit, ***** spit; you're a jumpy little mare.
If you don't know what a pinecone feels like
I'll break all 13 hands of you.
Can you press petals in your fingers
and call it the skin on the small of my back?
Call the dew in small beads the perspirin' of my lust?
Can you do that for me?
Imagine, for a second?"
I imagine for a second—
I imagine for a second or two.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 1:03 PM UTC
I'm nervous.
Like really nervous.
Like shaking like a blender full of gravel nervous.
Like atheist in a foxhole nervous.
Why am I so nervous?
Because I have a nagging thought that soon I might just be the last-next-best-thing that ever happened to you,
Replaced by another, better next-best-thing that blows me out of the water.
Because you might decide I don't have what you really REALLY want.
Because at the end of the day, I'm still convinced that your attraction to me is the product of an elaborate facade.
So yeah. I'm nervous.
Like sweating fifty caliber bullets nervous.
Like ******** cinderblocks nervous.
Like chattering teeth cold sweats nervous.
Like dying young nervous.
Like being forgotten nervous.
And it makes me nervous that you put me on a pedestal
Because from where I stand, I didn't do anything to deserve this
I got drunk at a party and picked up a guitar and here we are almost a year later.
So I'm anxious
I'm distressed
I'm worried and jumpy
But most of all I'm nervous
Nervous because I think
You might one day figure out what I already know:
I'm not that great.
I'm lanky and goofy and kinda dumb sometimes
And I can be just as petty as everyone else
And I'm still pretty convinced you're colossally out of my league
So I'm nervous
Like shake-you-to-your-fucking-core nervous
Like really nervous.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:19 AM UTC
Planks, splintering in solidity
Together twined in tedium
Curving cords of mated metal
Lost in ludicrous loops
Twines of tetanus protrude
Danger danger
Rising flying roaring floating
Above the stillborn trains
Arching acrid aerial arms
Lazy concrete spiral, neighbor snail
Inverse slide with railings
Rumble rumble try and grumble
Jitter in jumpy juxtaposition
Guts of grotesque giants
Flayed flawed under flaming flight
Blink away oblivion
Orange and omnificent, opaque concern
Useful hangnail, table scraps
Rise above
Shocked stillness soon stumbling
Ornamental oasis for the oracles
Unseen unheard untasted unsmelled
Unfeeling unused to understanding
Carry me across
Fly me over
Lift me beyond
Suspend.
Glimpse the unparalleled phenomenon
Ribs of steel, rain has parted
Seeping to the soul
Buzzing through the boards
Immobile, cradle in the wind
Twist
Take off your sunglasses
Be sure to look around as you pass through
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 10:30 PM UTC
Maybe I should worry about
the hole my dad kicked in the wall
and I drew a smiley face on it to make myself feel better
and still it's there after more than five years.
Or that it doesn't bother me
hearing my eighteen-year-old brother cry
anymore.
Or that I don't know how to explain
why I'm so jumpy
and why it's not exactly funny.
But instead I just focus on myself, my mind
sometimes it's easier
to study the storm inside my head
even though
I'm getting
soaked.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 4:35 PM UTC
The envelope was red, white and blue just like the flag
Betsy Ross spent days with bleeding fingers over so many
years ago. It was addressed to me from an unknown sender.
I was giggly, jumpy. Who would write to me? I wasn’t important.
Just a seventh grade nobody stuck in a sparkly purple wheelchair.
Mom said I could join. She secretly wanted her outcast
of a daughter to have a sense of normalcy during her
last fading moments of childhood. I just wanted to have
fun. I wasn’t ready to accept that I was different. I knew
that I was. The stares told me so but I didn’t want to be.
The letter said that I could represent my fine country
as America’s National Teenager. Me? All I had to do was show
my ability by competing in a scholarship pageant. You know,
a beauty pageant except it wasn’t being called so because adults
are trying to be sensitive to teenager’s feelings because we’re
more likely to be sensitive, emotional and prone to disruptive
and potentially harmful outbursts. The perks of being a wallflower.
Teenagers, we know this. We’re also not stupid. I and every
other girl who would participate knew this pageant
was nothing more than a beauty pageant; a popularity
contest. That didn’t keep us from dreaming of becoming
rich and famous, stop the crying fits, hormones from raging
or acting like drama wasn’t our life’s goal and college major.
Four days in Southern Idaho and an eight-hour drive
to and from gave me plenty of time to practice my talent,
an essay. Even then, I knew I had no real physical attributes.
Instead, I shoved my fears aside and wrote, rewrote and polished
my essay on America until my parents, teachers, and friends
repeatedly had to tell me “that’s enough already. You’ll do great.”
I made friends, told stories, laughed until snot came out my nose
and answered the ever cautious “What happened to make you look
that way?” I had the time of my life. I knew I wasn’t going to win
because let’s face it, I’m not pretty enough. And just as predicted,
I left with “Most Inspirational” and cried ugly tears when I
didn’t come home as America’s National Teenager. Looking back,
I was a real American teenager. I don't need a pageant to tell me so.
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 9:15 PM UTC
Nervous streaks
Pierce me straight through my very existence.
I'm in shatters.
Frightened.
The signs point to a good day.
This process,
No stranger to me,
Causes me and agonizing anticipation.
This process,
A known danger to me,
I can't let this slip.
In my thoughts,
These explosions are minuscule.
Calm down,
You jumpy cells
This might be alright.
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 5:55 AM UTC
this is very jumpy. i have been up for 24 hours. i don't know
There are miles between us on the queen sized bed and all I know right now is words words words and nothing spilling from chapped lips. Passion and lust and I need you's coming out in the form of long kisses and hands-on-my-chest types of expressionism. This isn't the kind of dizzy your momma warned you about. Deep sea swimming inside your head and I'm trying to figure out a way to mean more than just someone you want in your bed. There's a tug at the bottom of my navel pulling me away from the edge, but I've already dived in. Sparks flew where your careful fingers met my hip bones, but lightning struck where your feelings for me lay and with a thunder clap they were gone as fast as rain slides down a window.
The night I found out I was not important to you, regret was just a knot in my throat. But now, it is a hand choking my heart. How beautiful it would be for you to understand just how much I miss you.
I only wanted someone to hold me like I was the source of every bit of his happiness. This wasn't love but it sure as hell felt like it, or more like it than my hand being guided to the zipper of your jeans.
I can't think much else beyond 'I miss you' and it makes me want to crawl out of my skin. Why can't I write about anything or anyone but you? I still can't shake the notion that this is a feeling best tried to outrun.
Our story is a half-packed suitcase. I will tell myself that this is going to be okay, that I am going to be okay. Even though I really think it won't be.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 10:09 AM UTC
Do you know
That you belong to me?
That every molecule
That you consist of
Is property in my name?
Hair on your arms,
The length of your throat,
That fallen eyelash lying
Quietly on your golden cheek.
All mine.
I’m happy to own the way
You walk into a room
On long legs, lean and sinister.
I have rights to that smile
Curving at the corners,
Revealing
Slightly crooked, still perfect, teeth.
All mine.
And in your arms,
You belong to me.
Your hands surrounding
My jumpy skin
And sliding over me,
Turning me into some sort of
Lazy ****** beast.
Your brazen curiosity.
All mine.
You claim, you feel
You hold, you cradle
All of me within a glance.
You touch, you give,
You crave, you taste
All of me within a kiss.
You overpower,
You own,
You possess
My every movement
And I give in so easily.
All mine.
All yours.
Jan 17, 2010
Jan 17, 2010 at 2:04 PM UTC
Euphoria has a habit,
Of making me,
Restless, jumpy,
But not in the same way,
The paranoia does,
This time,
I'm filled with something,
Lighter than air,
I'm to awake,
Too alive,
To sleep,
Gravity cannot hold me,
In my chair,
Or keep my feet,
On the ground,
And my mind,
From the clouds,
The rarest thing of all:
A smile, a laugh,
That for once,
Is utterly genuine,
Not feigned in the least,
Because I'm beyond,
Euphoria
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 11:22 AM UTC
Wash
*Away the memories of how
We tangled together
Like the perfect sailor’s knot
An organized intricacy
Coalescing my jumpy nerves
With your easy laughter*
Rinse
*The weight of your fingers
Imprinted on my scalp
A heartbreaking muscle memory
Fingers that once ran through my hair
Run to another’s touch*
Repeat
*This sadistic cycle of erasure
Hoping one day forgetting
Won’t be a conscious thought
That shower shall set me free.*
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
My demons cannot be found under my bed
They are not hiding in my closet
Or dwelling in my basement
They used to be there when I was young
I was thirteen years old when that changed
They slithered up my neck and gnawed through to my brain
Curling around it and sinking their claws in
Their eyes resting behind my eyelids
Their forked tongues controlling my words
They became a part of me
A disgusting ugly part
I gave them different names
Anxiety
Depression
Borderline
Anxiety is the smallest of the bunch
Crimson like blood
Always jumpy
Always ready to ruin my day
Depression is a real ******
Pitch black from head to toe
Beady eyes always filled with tears
He tells me daily that I’m not good enough
I believe him
Borderline is by far the ugliest
She is scaly and green with long sharp talons that are always covered in blood
Milky white eyes
She makes me blind to all of the love that I receive
Ugly mood swings and whispers of, “They’re going to leave,”
I wish she would just go away
I’m sixteen now and they’re still there
My brain being ripped to shreds by their talons
They are dark and they are evil but I will not let them **** me
I am a fighter
I can slay these demons
Even if it takes years
I know I have what it takes
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 10:18 PM UTC
Oopy Doopy, Super Sloopy.
Loopy snoopy, pants apoopy.
Lippy hippy, slippy dippy.
Nasty-nicey, normally snippy.
Loosey goosey, chocolate moussey.
Usually *** goofy as Gary Busey.
Hinky-stinky presidential *****
Winky-blinky, dangerously stinko.
Hippity hoppy, flippy-floppy
Get a mop, it never stops.
Laughy gaffe-y, riffy-raffy
Face as gross as rotten taffy.
Whammy-bammy, scary scammy
Mammy-jamming Uncle Sammy.
Lumpy-dumpy, far from humpy
******* up future jumpy bumpy.
Glossy boss, a frightful loss
Ungathered moss at twice the cost.
Serious gap while the country naps
****** sap giving us a slap.
Frightening nooses tightening,
Rights denied like summer lightning.
Ignoring Popes and Snopes
Hopeless dopes put us on the ropes.
Immune to our cries, elected guys
Make horrifying decisions most unwise.
Like black magic before all our eyes
We’re leaderless as freedom dies.
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 5:43 AM UTC
Catch a falling star on your tongue
soak in the gaseous matter
millions of years of history and marination
long ago
careers were optional
fictional
we picked apples and drank milk
big n strong farm folk
tire swings and moonshine
tractor disasters
Ford made robots of robots
gym class saw mills
ashes to ashes
well hello there my jumpy friend
not enough sulphur in your supper?
Tatted body guards in grass skirts
hubba hubba
let the shayman give us some insight
fire side and full of hallucinogens
we will see the future and past simultaneously
martians will be proud
shame on you jumpy junior
mince the words like horror-flick killers
jack of all trades
let this be the silk road to tradition.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 4:22 PM UTC
Where I’m From
I am from mosquito lotion
From Burt’s Bees and soft jazz.
I am from dancing with my grandfather on the wooden floor
(My feet, bare, pink with tiny toes
Stepping on his shiny shoes as we twirled.)
I am from the rainy mornings
The hiding places
Where no one thinks to look,
And I sit and wait - alone but not lonely.
I am from the indecisiveness and good humour
From the boy who owned only wooden shoes and the lady with the diamonds
I’m from forget me nots,
And the kiss me goodnights.
I’m from the hurt knees and Starry Starry Nights
With a special dedication to you
And I’ll believe in what I want to, thank you very much.
I am from the middle seat to the left of the dinner table,
Second-is-best and Jollibee.
From the comfortable silence
To the “authentic” family ghost stories.
The childhood my father gave up to be able to grow up
And support his family.
I am from the crumbly track,
Fastening sharp spikes on the bottom of my shoes,
The jumpy nerves as I approach my starting block.
From the thump of my heart, my shoes slapping the ground in a rhythm I know so well.
From the rush, the thrill of crossing that finish line.
Watching the day surrender to night, my team stands beside me.
And still I am running
On my shelf I keep a blank notebook
Waiting to be filled with secret fears, adventures and bigger-than-life dreams.
No one knows it exists.
If they find it, they’ll know I want to escape.
I am from these fitful nights,
The toss and turn but don’t wake me ups.
The wanting to be a dream catcher, not just a dream passerby.
In dreams I find no one molding me for a legacy, for a perfect GPA, for a successful future;
Complete control.
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 11:14 AM UTC
So, my dear
I have some things I'd like to tell you.
I hope you choke on every word of this poem.
Where to begin?
When I was dying on the inside,
You took advantage of me
Decoded my feelings,
Bullied me all the way to second base
And beyond
How can you be so naïve
That you can convince yourself
That this was my fault?
I guess you've got everyone else fooled, too.
Nobody knows the truth.
Mom thinks I'm jumpy because I'm energetic.
Dad thinks I don't sleep well at night
Because I sleep too late in the morning.
They don't know it is because I feel *****
Because of you.
But who would believe me?
I already lied for you,
Saying you took advantage of me,
But telling them I still said yes willingly
The first time you asked.
If I told and you knew,
You would deny it avidly, saying
"It's not like I ***** you or anything."
And
"It's not like I forced you."
You're right.
I've done my homework.
It's called indecent assault
And coercion.
But I still can't bring myself to call it that,
Or to tell anyone.
So honey, you're pretty **** lucky
That it took me four months to understand
That what you did to me is wrong.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
i do not speak like a poet.
my words are clumsy and callous
and i often trip over my own tongue.
there is no beauty to my words
or thought to my form,
and my voice does not fall soft and slow
like honey song, drizzled sweetly into willing ears.
rather it is raspy and quick-tongued,
laced with mispronounced words and oddly said accents.
my sentences race ragged and jumpy,
with capricious contours and half-finished phrases,
and i often lose my train of thought.
impulsive and unrefined,
i do not speak like a poet.
— but on paper i am a different person
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 1:31 AM UTC
Layered. Say you didn't know these were complex.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXXXVII)
Blue skies peer thinly twixt the whiter tale
Of clouds whose stringy webs mask what, from hence?
The warming golden light half bleak, a sense
I maunt put down stalks through all that'd avail.
Ne shadows nor a flirting breath t'exhale
By even halves and I am jumpy, whence
What daffodils might nod can own intents
While folk tell April Fools jokes like we've bail.
Did I complain oer...jonquils' yellow tour
Of frilly heads and purple hy'cinth too?
Yes. I said even ******* laundry's...poor,
Sith Mum is buried. Taen from me now, who
Shall pity? Sparrows e'en too distant fer
Aught smiles, I wonder if a man'd now woo.
01Apr17c
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:46 AM UTC
So anxious I'm jumpy,
Internally deflated and still hoping.
So disappointed I don't want to care.
But if you came calling I'd still answer
in a heart beat.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 3:50 AM UTC