"misplacing" poems
**† † †
A quorum of biblical scholars
turned their doubts into thousands of dollars.
Armed with Document Q
they revealed nothing new
but the dirt neath’ the white of their collars.
A proud “health & wealth” Oklahoman
was renowned as a gospel-tent showman.
While the scriptures he twisted,
their tithing assisted
his rise from poor hick to rich Roman.
A sexually diverse professor
(assured he was not a transgressor)
spoke only of openness
glossing sin’s brokenness;
rainbows and tolerance—yes sir.
A Mormon, who lost his own ephod
Realized he was running quite slipshod
and invoked Joseph Smith.
(Yes, it may be a myth—
but it’s not like misplacing your I-pod…)
A Christian whose faith was prophetic
held to views that were truly pathetic.
This crazed Pentecostal,
not quite an apostle,
had taken an End-Times emetic.
A sober and staid Presbyterian
was distrustful of thoughts millenarian.
After smoking some bud,
he awoke with a thud;
in his sleep he’d become Rastafarian.
A preacher who fleeced his disciples
overdrew his own balance of scruples.
He was finally captured
(defrocked and un-raptured)
and rent by his destitute pupils.
A sister who waxed Pentecostal,
mistook herself for an apostle.
Speaking pure glossolalia
she sure could regale ya’
with prophecy; crazy—but docile.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
I'm tired of tricking myself into thinking
that what I'm doing will result in anything other than
crushing defeat shattering disappointment failure
Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice, three times, every time
Perhaps I should consider a different approach a different hobby
besides misplacing my affections and misreading social cues
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 7:12 AM UTC
Civilized life is rigged, O land-dwellers!
With landmines hidden
in trails of Society's doctrine,
'Too often is it stepped on,
Too often does it explode.'
Blowing constitutions to smithereens,
Where you then rummage within your nucleus
to piece together your scattered jigsaw,
Misplacing your natural elements,
Overcasting your ability to side with beauteous aspects in simplicity—
Of those ethereal-resplendent butterflies.
Disillusioned on land thus is you (the complex you).
Let go—
Rise above your materialistic graves—
Walk on air!
My kindred wisps
Walk on air!
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
The story I've been telling is becoming less close to the chest.
Curious nature is that of a private man openly speaking tragedy.
Delivered with an uncomfortable smirk, because humility is foreign.
At this time, respectively.
It began with short sentences. Small worked because it was never enough to give insight into
the whole picture. Of course there was source material. Coincidences occasionally, but my sources were
always kept hidden. My skeletons, some would say.
Then the sentences became longer, if not, the paragraphs would.
Every now and then a hand cramp would delay the process, but
the mind kept going. What else did it have to do, but think?
But back to misplacing a humble way.
As soon as you state that you are,
you have become a contradiction,
a liar,
a cheat,
a thief,
the **** of the Earth.
But what do I know?
I'm only trying to be humble.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 5:42 PM UTC
And you left me like a baby flower choking
On dust, and loss of future blooming,
And tremors like Eos's tears
On the stillest vernal pool -
It was as if you stole my life and simply
Went - or put me on my little sailboat
That sang of youth and an hourglass, a
Duet composed in the ***** crystal of purgatory,
Between my insatiably wild stronghold and
The rosy maiden, blushing, full, yet
Dumb, willingly deaf to red flags,
Praying for a partner to make a golden
Lady of the wood and water
And light, so warm and shimmering under
The forest's pine-down cover - what a
Big, hasty mistake, to keep yourself
Hollow and blind to the day's good things, to remain a
Man alone, wistfully misplacing a love
Who showed the loyalty of a crimson kindness, and who
Was always singing bliss and beauty and glowing into your ears,
So stuffed with lies, bitterness, ideals, and
Full like drunken leeches - all this, and the coldness, the stubbornness
Of the oldest mule, to stay isolated from my
Loving eyes, to make time with our sorrowful
Echoes, yours and mine.
*vertical quote from Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
Damaged goods
Hopelessly lost
My existence fading
Too tired to fight
Nothing left to cherish
Complete surrender
Hoping to suffocate my hardened heart
I locked it away in a padded box
Intentionally misplacing the key
Then you appeared...
Familiar stranger
Remembered soul
Such a perfect contradiction
Strong and gentle
Warm and cool
A serious man and a playful child
Rescued by your words
Saved by your compassion
You have awakened my emotions
From their deepest sleep
I breathe for you…I wait for you
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
Kissing me
Vicious was my scheme
I made a story of tainted glory
Anticipating his biding sincerity
Craving the touch of my hips
Misplacing perseverance
Delaying conscience
Losing rationality
Watching his admiration
Over compensating captivation
Realizing his conspiracy
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 9:11 PM UTC
i'm not sure what to do with all the distance
it's been months that have felt like years
i can remember when you came into my life in the winter
and I can remember when you left in the summer
arrival and departure
the distinct difference between the two
i'm only at the thin line of division
the way my emotions don't add up
like miscalculated algebra
all to your advantage
i kept your love letter
the letter where you plagiarized a novel
because i wasn't good enough for your own words
that was my only closure
i wanted desperately to burn the stuffed bears from the carnival
i could only part with one
when i hold it close to me
i feel like how a child would
expecting prizes only in fabric and cotton stuffing
not words of affirmation or love
i almost drove by your house
but i knew i would only go mad thinking
of who has been touching your new furniture that i helped pick out
leaving their fingerprints in place of mine
i miss my t-shirts that you still have
i hope when and if you wear them
you can feel me close
my heart beating where yours is
sometimes i feel like i miss you enough for you to show up
as if my pain could teleport
the craving of a complete closure
one where i don't need liquor or a lighter
others bring up your name
as if i'm not in the process of misplacing the letters
or dismissing the syllables
i've been trying to forget your face
your face of sharp bones
flaring nostrils
and nostalgic lips
i've been trying to imagine if that night would have never happened
when that veteran couldn't take himself anymore
he chose you to be his last interaction
it was all in hints
he was screaming for help without making a sound
how were we supposed to know
i still wonder where that blue jay is that he buried behind the building
i just couldn't bare to see it
now i wish i made a map
X marks the spot where our love died
i remember when you had to bury your own blue jay
you never saw it coming
you took the wrong step and it was under your foot
just like he said his bluejay was
fidgeting and fighting for life
i'd like to think it was a sign from him
to let you know it's possible to move on and forward
so you did
you moved on to scabbed skin and worn-out lungs
i moved on to scholarly headaches and false pretenses
back then i could never fathom my days without you
now i find it difficult to recall how we were
it feels like our romance was a dream
because it only felt real when i was asleep
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 1:05 AM UTC
What would you do for adrenaline?
Speed along uneven country roads,
Aim just right for that special ****
Fly upward unexpectedly,
Drop back down with a thump?
Sweat in a long queue,
Strap oneself in tight,
Fly up and spin around,
Drop to earth from a great height?
Hop on an airplane,
Wear a parachute,
Jump bravely,
Create a new route?
The great lengths some will go,
Simply for a rush of adrenaline,
But what would you do for adrenaline from these?
Misplacing a wallet,
Racing to its last known location,
Discovering a stranger took it,
Wondering if it will ever return home?
Driving placidly along,
Stopping abruptly,
Missing by an inch a hit headlong,
Hoping the car behind will stop?
Why pay hundreds to risk life and limb by diving through the sky, yet do anything to keep one’s wallet?
Both produce adrenaline;
one for free with no risk of life and limb, yet it’s the riskier one,
that’s sought even at great cost!
Perhaps it’s because:
adrenaline is best enjoyed when expected?
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 6:22 AM UTC
I found you, cast away in the shadows,
hiding from the laughter, of those
painted clown faces
I found you, on the rooftop
sat with your arms, clasped
to you, wrapped around
Searching through the crowd
blinded, the lights of this
crazy, maddening fairground
Colours forming, moving
the Northern lights, blazing
blues, green, pinks, yellows
Kids and lovers, screaming
the Matterhorn spinning,
a frisbee gondola swinging
Midsummer Fair, a fresh green common
distracted, I turn, the Midnight Express
decorated, loosely dressed women and men
Axles rattling in and out
Ferris wheels, bumper cars, waltzes
Ray Davies playing, side stalls and games
Rubber ducks hooked, fathers shadowing
***** misplacing baskets, a high strike to the bell
in among mirrors, I now find myself reflecting
A cacophony of sounds, noise
music of Bob Bradley penetrating
these convex mirrors, movers and shakers
I pace past drag queens, circus freaks
footsteps moving in timely accord
the Helter Skelter, confused, disorderly haste
I am the whirlwind, climbing outside
the spiral tower, to the top
stars and constellations above
At its peak, I see you
you've climbed onto the rooftop
again
I always found you here
hide and seek, morphed into
children's games of sardines
I find you, you have hidden
I stay with you,
until we are found
Together.
© Sia Jane
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
Self,
centered,
watching the world burn.
This calm is maintained by
expelling air in between each blink.
Glass is far in sight,
glasses cracked
and not foreseen,
because I'm not a seer.
Blanketed in ignorance,
wrapped: up tight.
Shelf this selfishness, I'm told.
So I consider this advice.
Rearranging the paperbacks.
Misplacing the first editions.
All the math in the world; variables
do not ease understanding
of long division.
So I'm left not right,
have never been alright,
and that is why being centered
is crucial for survival.
That is why becoming adaptable
isn't laughable
while watching the world burn.
It's having a cold disposition
to withstand the heat.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 12:13 PM UTC
Stop Standing There
Pretending you don't care
Holding yours fears
Holding yours tears
Holding yourself so tight, so tight you won't have to fight
Leaving everything behind saying goodbye
Fading away
Taken
Stolen
Your soul
Disappearing
Misplacing
Stay strong
Hold on
Live life
Love life
Be life
Be who you wanna be .
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 4:05 AM UTC
Tactile
tattoo touch
feel my ink (touch me)
dig in deep (hurt me)
chills (make me moan)
luxuriously lifted
Shh stay quiet
don't let anyone
in.
Cat scratches
claw marks and
old souls
you and I
plagued and incessant
goodbyes
just as we said our hellos.
Shall we leave it at that or prolong this passion
because I'm a selfish *****
but a lovely babe
licking up your spine
and misplacing the remnants of time
tugging at the hair on your head
trying to find my way to the depths of your mind.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
so sweet and so dark
so dark, the flesh of hers so sweet
as dark and deep as the roots of the tree
which bear the nectarine
eyes that may possess
Lucifer and her demons
to come out and dance
'round the campfire
to the rhythms
of her fiery Soul's burning caress
yet so ****** her beauty is to those who yearn
as she does not tempt those who love to burn
only stand there, before them
and simply say hello
from the depths below
where her infinite fires bellow
where she wields a boundless yell
in her eternal conquering of Hell
her beauty could never be expressed by me
and anyone who dared would die, surely
within the attempt itself, in a waste of breath
vain they are, misplacing their pride in her beauty-
'til death
shadows of her dancing through the woods
run through my dreams and compell me to die
I can feel her aching within me as I fall in love
with the way she moves as she dances, oh I'd die
oh I'd die-
as she dances as if there is no one around
as if, she aches for anyones presence
as if she'd only seen their faces, act as masks
hiding their souls from this Earths greatest distances
and so-
she is a ghost
and so-
I die, if only to fly
flip a coin
pull a rose pedal
***** my finger
give birth to metal
rise up from the ground
and raise Hell
just to have
a great story to tell
so she may sleep
a little softer
in the breath of Soul
I have to offer
so, you see
she is too beautiful for me
the beat of the drum
will never cease to come
it will drum
it will come
it will drum
it will come
oh I will drum
and she will come
so you see
she is too beautiful for me
for someone needs to beat on that drum
someone needs to beat on that God ****** drum
and this rhythm, may as well be my own heartbeat
for I would die to continue watching her dancing feet
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 2:09 PM UTC
She's always misplacing.
Feeling for new incongrunces
I try to be pragmatic, & feel for her supple fingers.
These are the parameters of an injured human being.
A prosaic heart, A tenuous mind.
I have fallen into the pit of her idiosyncrasies.
A man on a mission seeking to breathe & expand my spirit into her lungs.
Her nature corrupts my own,
And like a troglodyte, I disperse my emotions into a prism.
A prism that is now full of turmoil & suspicion.
Oh wonderful, wonderful you..
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 9:54 PM UTC
Behind veiled minds, shapes vex open and shut in delicate sway;
moving to meticulous harmony, often misplacing understanding,
narrowly, missing margins of discontent.
Moments lost in struggles of stretch and pull weakens fragile equilibrium
compounding into reasons of no logic or consequence, bewildered
by the total sum of US.
Your ache acknowledged, by a body that longs to burn fires, to touch,
again and again, over and over until skin bursts forth into melodramatic flames,
coveting thoughts of our bodies getting it on to its entirety.
Wearisome desires of want, exhaust beyond measures of frustration,
running from gentle sways of to and fro' oft over-whelms 'dizzy and fraying release me'
My love - lend your heart to sacred whispers lest we are swallowed by reason of no logic,
leaving us dismayed, apt to vulnerability, resulting in suffocated flames.
Upon our human form, allow our burn in aches and longing - souls know of no boundaries
except the eternal, totality completion of we.
I ache for you!
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 7:37 PM UTC
i feel trapped
kind of like rapunzel
but this is my choice
i choose to not leave my room
not because i like staying in my room all day
without any food
or human interaction
but thats exactly it
i would rather starve and cry in my room all day
than go downstairs
to see her face
in my moms house
in my moms kitchen
id rather cry
in my room
alone
staring at my grey and burgundy walls
than see her
ever
id rather starve
in my room
than go see my dad treat her better
than he ever treated my mom
id rather be alone in my room
than see him erase my mom from the house
by painting the walls a different colour
by misplacing things in the cupboards permanently
by taking down all of her photos
by putting in new furniture to us that is familiar with that one
id rather go unheard
in my room
in my house
while my head implodes
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 1:12 PM UTC
my path is satiation
rage is my recreation
no more delineation
i crave your liberation
im caught in my own mire
bound up by my desires
cage of my own creation
im stuck between relations
sacraments and medication
breathed into my being
divisions my denomination
emptiness is what i'm feeling
all my hopes ive been misplacing
i lose my head in circle tracing
lines throughout my thoughts
fight to twist, untwist, each place they cross
i guess maybe i'm lost
and so i look for signs
create them where they're not
they say that desperate times
call for desperate measures
im so desperate for pleasure
i mistake it for pain
so hungry for help,
i could drown in a drop of rain
so take me deeper
i'm already under
what more is there to loose
ill breathe in fear
im underwater
this is the death i choose
sacraments not meant for tasting
ive spent my whole life chasing
but my life and self are recreating
and my guilt God is erasing
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
OK, I can no longer say
I’ve got a receding hairline
and sure everyone can see
the plain fact, the bald fact -
but there are pleasures, you know
I’ve saved heaps on hair gel
and shampoos and conditioners
(enough I think
to fund my retirement)
and I can actually feel the cool air
(no one can call me hot-headed)
and the great thing now
is everyone says with all honesty
I’m **** as Sean Connery
(what they actually think
or say behind my back
is none of my business)
but the best blessing of all
is I never need to look for my comb
(I confess I was always misplacing it)
and so I don’t need to reach for my wife’s comb
and so she lies as still as a cat
and she doesn’t need to roar
like a lioness
first thing in the morning:
Don’t you dare touch my comb!
Ah, the blessings that linger
like so many halos
in eminent baldness
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 3:55 PM UTC
I wanted to play the lead
But things got mean
So I hopped on a bus
And without too much fuss
I made my way
Back to the bakery
The next time
I want to play the lead
I'll remember the rhythm
Of the whole Human racing
The misplacing of a whole
In exchange for a bunch of lousy pieces
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 3:28 PM UTC
so i started this new hobby,
where i try to erase "bitter" out of every dictionary i
find, but sometimes it doesn't always disappear and it
sits there with eraser shavings in different shades of gray
like the collection of Polaroids i keep safe in my desk drawer.
in this occasion i will just take my handy - dandy sharpie
to color it in to leave it up to the imagination
or trial and error, like new cleaning products for the women
who are dissatisfied with being homebodies, but
i'm telling them not to be bitter, not to be this six letter word
because
28,835 days is an awful long time to carry
such an empty suitcase,
and if some of you don't understand that number,
an average woman's life expectancy is 79 years of age,
so i hope i calculated that correctly because i'm not so good at
math,
but i'm not saying all of us are average,
since sometimes we break too soon and the bitter takes
over the sweet like the winter takes over the fall, and
sometimes we are so free it gives us a few more days to really
feel alive.
i just don't want to be bitter, because the dictionary is filled with
so many other words like laugh and lust and flesh and
warmth.
so i think this book can do without just one word.
i guess i'm just a dreamer,
i've always wanted to fly to the moon
and swim with jellyfish,
just to say i never was stung by the globes
of the water but someone always told me
to tread lightly,
like there was broken glasses that
could get me anytime, but
that didn't stop the birds from flights or
landings as electricity pushed through their legs and
the weather never stopped the wars we
all soon forgot about.
we are forgetful people, misplacing our keys
and hearts in the rooms where we felt the most in.
so when i go about my business (and the times
could go slow), i will reenter each
book to find each word
that could
someday
somehow
direct me to "i'm sorry."
Mar 9, 2011
Mar 9, 2011 at 9:28 AM UTC
losing things...
misplacing life
stuffed animals
a ring
articles of clothing
books
a memory
a name
all small deaths
reminders of
the impermanence
we exist within
the losing
grows
first crushes
early loves
dear animals
friendships
years pass
loss hastens
deaths come
quickly
unexpectedly
slowly
agonizingly
ever surreal
when they do come
using the small losses
as practice for the larger ones
over and over
letting go
breathing in
breathing out
all remains perfect
as it is
as it unfolds
in eternal harmony
with
the Tao
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 9:50 AM UTC
There's so much I want to say
Though finding the right words can be so troublesome
A "but" at the wrong time could tear you apart.
An "um" can make me seem unintelligent.
And too many "I"'s may cause us to lose a connection.
The point could be lost at the misplacing of a comma.
And a crummy adjective can throw off our mood.
Though, if you manage to look past my unpunctuated lines
Or my sloppy placing of a rhyme
Or the misspelled words
Or repeating of a theme
You might happen upon something real
A heart conveniently on display
There may be no rhythm
Or Shakespearean resemblance
But each letter is history
And phrase is a lesson
Even if you don't understand
Maybe someone else will
And my version of therapy could be theirs
But God-willing I touch your heart
And be the change I'd like to see
And my words could hug your soul
And hush your inner crying child
Because we aren't alone
I just want my words to sit with you for awhile
I just want the page to be your shoulder
The situation you can put yourself into
And not feel selfish for seeing it as you
The friend you don't have to pretend to hear
Just to get to talk about your day
Let this one time be for you
Let your feelings show
Its the words and you now
Let it take you where you'd like to go
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 1:31 AM UTC
Heavy-lidded
Sleep deprived,
Misplacing words
Tunnel vision
Lucid images
Demons and dead relatives
Swimming, swimming
Through lost class periods
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 12:26 PM UTC
Days I'm hungover I
Can't eat, although
That hardly matters
In a world of gunpowder
Saturated with wonder and
Coughing through the
Taciturn caricatures I
Encounter.
I'm up at all hours:
Cracking my neck.
Swollen eyes.
Soar throat.
My tongue explores the crevices
Between my teeth
In my mouth
I sit for forever it seems...
Mocking the changes I need to
Make in my life-
And other people's lives.
Wishing for swift heeled
Destiny
To begin everywhere, all
At once.
Misplacing time.
Running out of time.
In a rush that grabs this city
In the early hours of
Restless ramblings and
Empty crossroads that sit
Traffic-less;
Where do we all hide at night?
The quiet.
A moonless shade of pale black
Across the eyes of the sky
That makes me feel like an ant.
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 7:52 AM UTC