"midsentence" poems
For those fortunate hearts
Who ignore the feeling
And for those unfortunate ones
Who impose the feeling
You'll know.
It is like forgetting the lyrics
Of your favourite song.
It is like having a cough
That just won't give up.
It is like every punch in the face
You've ever had and will ever have.
It is like forgetting midsentence
The last line of your essence.
It is like not being able to draw
What seemed perfect in your mind.
It is like the feeling you get
When you are strucked by the wind.
It is like spilling something
In your favourite shirt.
It is like a deep ache
You can't locate.
It is like loosing the last piece
Of a 1000 pieces puzzle.
It feels like falling
Without an end nor beginning
If you love someone who won't love you back.
You'll know.
It feels like everything you can think of.
Except for being loved back.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 1:22 AM UTC
i am grateful for our silences
thankful- that we can just sit together
comfortable with not talking, no pressure-
no need to think
of intelligent things to say
we can just sit back
and watch the sunlight play
hide and seek with the waves
its nice
how you can listen to my mindvoice
and complete my self-talk
and interrupt my thoughts
and ingest them with yours
like a seed
that breeds and grows and merges
symbiotic with mine own
and if ever we talk
i love how we can stop
midsentence
and then when we meet
after years of separation
pick up exactly where we left off
without missing a beat
get right into it
-Vijayalakshmi Harish
21.09.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
We’ll try to answer
The unanswerable paradox
Of tragedy and pain
And attempt to explain suffering.
Why ****** wasn’t born with an incurable disease
And why Anne Frank
Couldn’t have just held off
For three more weeks
Until Liberation.
These questions make
the world become poetry.
And we who ask them
become the world.
Inevitable losses contrived from the actuality
Saying goodbye to the ones that we love
Letting them go
Before we’re destroyed
By the inevitable suffering.
I am a grenade.
I am bound to explode.
Fatalities by the dozens.
Even more wounded.
PTSD for years after
I will leave an emptiness
In the lives of those I love
And those who love me.
Life will end midsentence
Before I have a chance to explain
Or say goodbye
Or say I’m sorry
To those who never got the chance.
Because I knew I was a grenade
And I loved them too much
To even be
One of my fatalities.
[Boom]
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 6:26 PM UTC
A smirk hanged off his lips as if it was a semi-colon.
;
Half-opened lips as if in midsentence, when in fact he has said nothing.
And all this time,
his eyes was on you.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 7:19 AM UTC
As always,
read aloud
and enjoy.
It’s been one month,
30 days since the last time they touched.
I mean sure,
hands’ve been held, lips’ve been locked, heart beats counted,
armpits tickled, eyelashes licked,
backs rubbed, hips hugged
but
It’s been one month,
30 days since the last time they touched.
720 hours of smiles and telephone conversations and ticket stubs and flowers and mixtapes and tree climbing and
waiting for the other to finish showering before the night begins and your recite again
the smiles and telephone conversations and ticket stubs and flowers.
43,200 minutes since that night.
That night that night fell softer than
eyelids overflowing with sleep.
Finding no full moon to mask,
The thin cloud cover sat in the sky
like gasps passing lips slightly parted,
like abandoned similes left suspended midsentence.
That night his house was
cold as a corpse,
empty as an elephant skeleton,
But between the two of them
They managed to salvage some warmth.
That night they whispered three words to each other
through sheets of white linen and teeth.
Three words,
the culmination of all they’d shared thus far,
Three words
worth more than any that’d follow
In the one month
30 days
720 hours
43,200 minutes
2,592,000 seconds since the first time they had ***
Yes it’s been one month,
30 days since the last time they touched.
A full moon since they made love,
******
Poured the night’s libation into her drawing salty emotion from sincerity’s well giving back blood running blind turning brown against white cover down where three words were loosed from lips translating the ***** leaning into one learning from the other like lusters slipping in and out of fun like lovers finding oneself in the other.
But time can’t count all the ways things have changed.
And time can’t stand him standing out in the rain.
And he can’t remember which hit him harder,
her lips curving to form that big L word or
her hips arching to meet his.
And he could hardly discern pain from pleasure and confusion swam in their hands until paralysis overtook their power to put a stop to it and he finished before she could fish up even a single coo but that didn’t matter because he was in love and loved in return and all the sudden the Beatles are making a whole ******* lot of sense because
It’s been one month,
30 days since the last time they touched,
And he doesn’t give a ****
He’s just happy to be in love.
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 9:59 PM UTC
The last time I kissed you
I could taste
The burn I left on your tongue
From the time I kissed you
Before that
It was small and pink and blistered
It was the kind of burn that never goes away.
I gasped and said
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean-“
You stopped me midsentence and said,
“It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt. I rub off of some people
The way a match rubs off of a rough surface.”
We swam around our fishbowl of silence for a while
Until you mentioned the time and how
You had to go back
To work.
We parted ways,
Me in my secret pride,
You in your unpublished pain.
I quit a lot of things that day.
I haven’t seen you since.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 3:47 AM UTC
I softly speak to you as I fill my glass
Full of reasons linked in time
With eyes the whole world knows
Contain a secret joy
Find myself pausing in midsentence
To raise up both my hands
So you can see the golden light
There trembling fair
Many years have flown in the eyes of time
The sweet ones I have caught
Look into my face and you will see
Their stories sing
I softly speak to you of my thoughts
Of how my dreams see bliss
I offer up my filled glass to you
Will you drink from my lips
Jan 25, 2011
Jan 25, 2011 at 11:07 AM UTC
I forfeit you often in tiny moments lingering like age..To a titanic of an opponent I know I will never defeat. You.
You're the mighty unbreakable door, with no handle nor **** to turn, neither knocker or bell to ring. You are the only door that is not a slave to any metal. Not even a cursed object like skeleton keys can force it open and break into your secret thoughts. It opens from one side and one side only. Your side.
I've watched you slip behind your door and get lost inside yourself.. Never taking anyone with you. Slipping through time in a compelling labrynth, hidden somewhere behind those dark intoxicating eyes. Those eyes that make me often forget what I'm saying midsentence.
The spark to the match of my irrelevant jealousy, driving me to the brink of insanity. Making me restlessly patient for your return from the door and back to reality, or the reality we physically share.
I want to get lost with you, take me through your door. I want to see more than you show, and know all the things you never say. I need your raw unyeilding commentary and this unwanted vail you hide behind lifted: exposing you bare.
I've been stealing bits of you over the years while you were unaware-but it's no longer enough.
I want to finally see all of you at once. Not the glimpses and echos that I have collected and pieced together under your nose for all these years. Like some common stalker..
That version, my version of you, is forever unsatisfying and incomplete. It will never be enough, who you are in my head and who you are when we are together, is only a shadow of the you let me see. I want the version you keep locked up, the one you never share.You may be content being lost inside yourself alone, but even so, it doesn't have to be that way.
I beg you, stop keeping to yourself. Keep me instead.
Together, we will be the perfect trade.
-Stone Fox
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 7:56 AM UTC
the harder it rains, the more useless the umbrella
the more you need it,
the more useless the umbrella
gone and blown the other way
dumbest thing you ever did in your life
i've done that all too
one dumb thing leads to another dumb thing
such a looped refrain
some dumb things just go together
one dumb thing
then another dumb thing
walking on the busy sidewalks
of chicago the overheard woman
i was watching
was talking friendly to the man beside her
about something he was not interested in
he walked away from her
midsentence
i went home and never forgot that
7 or 8 years later,
i was walking to work in south lake union
IT guy with the too long hair
caught up to me
and complained about his boss
i didn't know what to say
crossing arms crossed tight
conversation dying at the crosswalk
and he walked on ahead
as my hands looked for pockets
one dumb thing beside another dumb thing
such a looped refrain to keep on playing
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 1:52 AM UTC
Can we take a night off?
Can we forget that I didn't pay the bills on time?
that I burnt dinner last night
that the laundry's not done
that the dishes are *****
that the toilet's stuffed up
that the roof is leaking
that we can't afford hot water
that the mirrors are *****
that I'm always running late
that I always forget what I'm saying midsentence
can we forget the fighting
and can we remember
just for tonight
that we love each other?
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC
*the best stories
are the ones left
unfinished
and the ones
with the most love
end
midsentence*
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
I dreamed that you didn’t hold back
We were standing in a restaurant bathroom
Dim lighting, black walls, tile floors
You were wearing a blue button down shirt
Your hair was tousled and you had bags under your eyes
You were tired of waiting on me
I let my arm around you, stood on the tips of my toes
I remember saying your name, water falling you with compliments
Overwhelming your insecurities, telling them how I love them
Despite what they have learned to believe about themselves
I do not remember all that I said, however, I do remember the ending
I whispered, "Landon," taking a breath, following it with
"You are so sweet and so bitter, you are bitter sweet. You are sweet because…" midsentence I was interrupted by your lips
I did not see this coming, I never would have had it not been a dream
It was so real it was like I could feel my comforter being ripped off of my body
I was pushed against the wall
Wrapped my hands around your neck
Ran my fingers through your hair
You set me on the bathroom counter top
And kissed my neck like you used to
Teasing in a different light, it was not the same feeling
It was rough and I was scared
Because I woke up thinking about
How you might have done something similar to this
With her
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
They said you cant put a period in the middle of a sentence.
Can't start a thought with an and or a but.
But I did.
And I think the best place to put a period is wherever it belongs.
Because life has taught me that not all thoughts have a subject and a predicate.
Sometimes an incomplete sentence ends in a period.
Or an exclamation mark!
And I've known too many people who's voices have been quieted midsentence.
Punctured by others who have punctuated their thoughts with a small and deliberate mark of ink.
Black ink.
Charcoal, the ashes of fire.
And I've known people who have ended their story with a period before having completed their thoughts.
For their energy ran out before their thoughts had run through.
and a period seemed to them like the only way out.
For they imagined they had run out of paper.
But I put a period in the middle of a sentence because sometimes a sentence is complete when it's imperfect.
Like I am.
and sometimes I put a period in the middle of a sentence because sometimes a sentence is complete even if others can't understand it.
Like God is.
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC
I turned around midsentence
often, and practised humility,
very badly.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC