"misspoken" poems
What's it take
These days
To write a poem
That makes the world go mad
That brings the crowds to their feet
That spreads like wildfire
Through a dry winter forest
Is it those excessively long words?
The ostentatiously loquacious
Platitudinous ramblings
Of an insecure mind aspiring
To authentic intellect?
Is it perhaps...
the "creativity"
of varied spacing
or... could it be..... the lack
of capitalization
the loathsome little letters
screaming out
hey, look at us!
... or maybe it's
the punctuation marks,
littered, haphazardly
through the text
(whether used correctly)
or, theyre not?!
despite worrds mispeled
and a grammar might is broken
can these gimmicks increase interest
though miswritten or misspoken?
Is the trick alliteration
Whose bite brightly bids us
To center on the snappy sounds?
Although all along
unvoiced underneath
Ideas idle in the isles
(or perhaps the aisles)
Of the mind
To meld and craft and bind
Our thorough thoughts
And worthy words
Into lines
Which
Heard by herds
Raise the
Praise for which we
Privately, desperately
Pray
Maybe it's a magical mix
Of splendid in-your-head rhythm
Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks
Flowing smoothly without schism
Well-spaced stanzas
Well-used time
Well-crafted phrases
Well-thought-out rhymes
Well, maybe not...
those gems are often ignored
cast-aside, unread, even abhorred
Why?
Because the modern world
doesn't need your rules
your restrictions
your regulations
your misguided boundaries
your oppression
your antiquated ideas
of "the right way"
to write
to speak
to act
to live
to (fill in the blank)
No, what the modern world needs
is
Negation!
Contradiction!
Resistance!
Revolt!
And poetry whose words
Say the same thing
Repeat the same meaning
Echo the same lyrics
Rephrase the same thoughts
But in an ever-so-slightly
Different
Varied
Altered
Adjusted
Changed up way
Line
After line
Of synonyms
over
and
over
and
over
again
-----
What's it take
These days
To not give in
To narcissism's spiral?
But more importantly:
What's it take
To make my poem go viral?
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
I have never stuttered in pen
misspoken in ink
or choked in my writing
the way I do
whenever I speak
my fingertips always know
the right words to say
my tongue is still learning
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 8:02 PM UTC
Here be dragons all old maps say
Here be dragons: beware, go'way
Noble knights and brave crusaders:
All steer clear and take detour
But whose to say these fearsome beasts
These terrible monsters of lore,
Who declared that these gentle giants
Live only to create gore
They may be misspoken for
And probably misunderstood
They could be timid gentile folk
Who dine on aether and fish
But nevermind the possibilities
Here be dragons: go'way, beware
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 5:22 PM UTC
Antarctic stares from Arizona eyes; white knuckles, heavy blue pores.
No, nothing changed you anymore.
Rapid touches to the abdomen, the sound of violins breathed in your mind
and he's not usually like this, you said, "He's actually really kind."
What didn't **** you, left you broken.
And you had misspoken, as your words slurred into tears that never fell,
after a fifth of alcohol and half a night of hell,
as you revealed that you thought without him you were nothing at all.
You whispered this
while I cried to you for the last time through a cellular call,
through an invisible, static, insurmountable wall.
And I disagreed because I had seen it all:
heavy blues and brave bloodshot brown eyes,
"Please don't, I think there's more to you than you realize."
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 8:58 AM UTC
Heart's been broken
The story ended
On how a misspoken
Word cannot be translated.
I couldn't say that I loved you first
Nor could I say that I loved you last
And now I'm planning things I shouldn't do
Like saying, that I hated you too?
So, just ignore the bad words here
My mind is already ****** up
The cusses were once holy too
But the people kept messing things up.
So I never had the time to say:
"I'm ******* in love with your demon soul"
I was craving for pleasure
Begging for blood, more specifically.
I said I was in pain! No, no. I am the pain
So just die in a hole
Let the worms eat you
Let me touch you
I wanna be alone
I want you to be here with me
I want you to die
I want you to kiss me
I want you to fall, hardly.
I want you to stay.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 2:59 AM UTC
In the darkness,
Reverberation
… empties silence.
… tap; … tap; … tap.
The tapping?
The pendulum‘s grandeur;
A passive state… to time.
Low, slow,
… distant echoes
A bid
… to serenity’s seduction.
Sweeping circuits,
Lap …long,
Against a pebble filled beach.
The tide calls;
Whoosh;
…whoosh;
…whoosh;
…whoosh;
Such foreboding waves
Call.
Surrender;
Approach,..;
Remember…;
Return…,
Taste …
The salty- sweet
… water’s sway.
Ache for desire;
To expose
… forbidden love’s impoverished tears;
An enchanting lure,
… hearkens
Come; … far
Beneath the rocky cliff.
My heart;
Wanting … ;
But no… !
Sanity holds…
It’s… not time.
A snare’s line rings;
Time moves…;
… tap;
… tap;
… tap.
Time, waives protest
… to this recital’s longing embrace.
Home,
Simply composed;
A love’s submerging refrain.
A door,
… stills, open.
A room;
The keep;
Through a corridor’s long shadow,
The silence speaks,
Pride’s measure
… ticks.
… tap;
… tap;
… tap.
Old tatters
Curtains dance.
Soothing drifts
…cool salty air.
… tap;
… tap;
… tap.
A calm state;
Moonlight.
Relics of a heart;
Composing drama plays to shadows;
Cracks on old plaster walls.
Glimpses return
… where waning movements hide;
The essence of sound and silence
Intertwine.
An old window-seat
… gives audience to the stars.
In eyes of youth;
A young girl‘s heart… lives
Once more.
Time falls
Moments recede.
Ah, my love;
I hear the Harp’s comb play
As gentle as a sigh,..
Rolling Home…; Rolling Home…;
Rolling Home across the Sea
A vow, misspoken;
To wait…;
Still…
… tap;
… tap;
… tap.
Golden hair;
Your fancy to heather’s yielding flow.
A hundred long strokes;
As… soft tenders weep.
An altering hue;
… fades of time.
Gold;
Silver;
Now, twists shimmer of soft white pearl.
Time combs these long old satin strands.
… tap;
… tap;
… tap.
Youth now spent; To wear once more
Soft lavender, love-knots.
Ribbons flow…
Aging wrinkles where once
Plump lips reach desire;
Now, the gentlest breeze
… plays prey of a beating heart
Memories.
Take to flight.
… tap;
… tap,
Yesterday is almost here …;
Years abandon
… to the dew scent heather;
Eyes close
To such need
… to touch.
To…
To…
… tap;
… tap;
… tap.
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
I can’t wait
for stressful planning
and credit charges
for emptied drawers
and stacked luggage by the door
I can’t wait
for communication hardships
and endless researching
for early exhausted mornings
and lethargic confusion
I can’t wait
for belonging searches
and metal detectors
double checking my facts
and momentary panic that i messed up
.....
...
I can’t wait
for airplane seats
and window views
long tiring flights
and transfers in unknown territory
I can’t wait
for screeching plane tires
and strange new air
feet planted on foreign ground
doe-eyed awed
and misspoken anxiety
I can’t wait
for looks directed at me
cautious wonder of the one who’s not native
meeting new people
stumbling over rehearsed words
i don’t know if i’m saying it right
I can’t wait
for new apartment doors
and an unknown bed
thriving in the heart of
the place i wished to see
for several years now
where my dreams took root
and blossomed erratically
I can’t wait
for late night calls to family
i miss you from little sisters
backwards sleeping schedules
but finding my way just fine
I can’t wait for all of this
it couldn’t come any sooner
But most of all
I can’t wait to say
I finally made it
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
If you ask me if I am fluent in Spanish
I will tell you my Spanish is a mix of english
and spanish rubbing against each other
in my mouth like spitting fire
My spanish is my whole life from my youth
to my death
My Spanish is on my resume as a skill
And not something that can sit still
You see There is no telling my spanish
to be quiet
My spanish don’t know “quiet”
My spanish is spicy sounds that some people
Have a hard time to understand
My spanish sits in the corner of a classroom
Chews on a pencils, does not raise its hand
My spanish is chaotic, broken, and slightly misspoken
something that I have to choose
to remember correctly
My spanish is true story
My spanish is my grandparents
Giving me presents
that they brought back from Mexico
At least I hope they would have
My spanish is a broken clock radio that never
gets fixed but still works
And yes there are perks
My spanish is people asking me if my parents
are american if I am white
My spanish is having to prove that
I am mexican, because saying it was never enough
My spanish is my abuelita leaving a country
that she loves to give her family an entry to opportunities
And english sat in her mouth
remixed so strawberry became “ e streberry ”
And Kitchen, keychain and chicken all sound the same.
My spanish is my accent that
reminds me where i come from
And That we are still
bomba, plena, salsa, and guepa
Something that is too
stubborn for your whitewash
Not something that you can erase
Rather something that I embrace
My spanish is my dad working his whole life
so i can live in security
And not have to worry about disparity
My spanish is the first question that my
grandmother asked about me
“what color is she”
My spanish is my sister,
A blond blue eyed beauty
That always took priority
My spanish is people thinking that
My dad was my gardener
My spanish is people being petrified
when I spoke to my father
My spanish knowns that there are letters
that will always be silent
There are words that will always escape me
My spanish is my whole body
A sound that rumbles in my
chest and rolls off my tongue
My spanish is something that is shut off
when I am surrounded by white walls
But my spanish does not believe in
boundaries or borders
My spanish believes in building bridges
and not taking orders
From an orange man with tiny hands
that is an assaulter
My spanish, my spanish is a sword
that allows my words
To fly like the birds and be freed
My Spanish is my drive to succeed
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 2:12 PM UTC
I want you to call me when you're drunk
When vision is blurred and words are slurred
When your mind is running and tripping over its own feet
Throwing misspoken sentences right out of your mouth
I want you to call me
I want you to tell me that you miss me, tell me that you haven't forgotten about me yet, tell me that this drunken conversation is one you have been rehearsing for months
I would never want you to tell me these things sober
I want you to call me when you're drunk
I only want you to call me because you are lonely and are craving any sort of attention, I do not want you to mean anything that you say
I want you to call me when you're drunk
Cascade this façade all over your barstool
Run your fingers through your hair in distress and lack of affection
Call me and tell me everything on your sweet mind that I once knew
Call me and remind me of it all
And I want you to do this when you are drunk because I do not have to worry about this fight dragging on, we will settle this tonight and you will not recall it
I will able to nod my head and smile and not miss you anymore
This is the brink of intoxicated exhaustion
Call me when you are drunk
And reveal the secrets you've hid away in your heart
But I want you to wake up the next morning wondering
What spilled off your tongue, and why my name appeared lit up on your phone
I want you to call me when you're drunk
And not remember any of it
Do not call me in the morning
Do not call me ever again
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
**Each day passing by in a wild-eyed dash
In truth my soul fell aside, but bluer birds still doth call
Missed that cardinal harken when I set down my last two cents
Kickers of tricks, scroll-ers of myth, bottlers of ships
Knew it all along, just couldn’t stiff the rest
Refuse to capitol, refuge atop the pious politic that steeps these hills
Is it not hard to tell? The meanings of what buys in bulk
The people is we, of what sells slicker than plot itself
A minority rule, hid reasons from majority fooled
That is working trade class, taught to chain drive
The gleaming sheen glowing green, crowning jewel¬¬¬ is as mist and steam, fleeting as the wash of this worlds seething seas
We, the misanthrope of being, bloom in the warmth of idea
Only to recede at the water mark high of each our lives
Authenticity bless the distant time, costless venture to each about die, salute through another caesars’ dilated eye a definition
Eons in annunciation; immortality flashing by
Reverence cannot lie, not long at least neathe a chipping patina
Gold leafed by the hand of man, coerced creations’ fondling finger tips strips thin, leaving us then to watch the weathering
Not a one may ever remember for too quickly or too timely
Arrives dismemberment, a cyclic certainty, often relegated falsely
As loss or gain, truly misspoken frames for reference
At any given attempt to render the language of tongues, oh speaker the son of the morning shamelessly ****** by predecessors increasingly lavish
Phonemic savage; life running rabid, splicing love over the atom
The simple one whom tends a patch of what he calls “cabbage”
Knowing always the wordless truth that is his field fallowing
Unconvinced by everyone, save himself if nothing else
Penitent candor dangle, frameless wonder can you hear the thunder?**
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
In the sea of dawn where all do well, the calm of his people has broken. Once-coddled infants, wrapped in shades, compose the cobble trail beneath their frantic gait. Ruination of palatial temples. Debauchery of the sage who is misshapen, misspoken. The serpentine begets dear tempest in steeplechase of sate. The incalculable herd of vermin across the earth cascade. Eyeless they stream, dripping roses, wont to asylum. Demented, as each ivory beam shatters.
They fall like infants beneath this mad promenade.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
Like a statue I stand,
I cannot be broken.
Sharp as a blade,
I have not misspoken.
I'm already there,
All desire awoken.
Quick as lightning,
Furry bright and smok'n.
One step ahead,
I'm the whole **** ocean.
I'll get in your head babe,
So let that **** soak in.
Sweats like a boss,
That's why I get chosen.
I am the machine,
Don't need your **** token.
Confident words,
Each one that I've spoken,
Fierce as a lioness,
I can't be heartbroken.
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 7:51 AM UTC
Have you seen her?
That raincloud girl?
Who’s father beat like thunder
With words that cut like lightning
Who’s sunshine mother warmed all
But never stopped the storm from coming.
Have you seen her?
That handmedown girl?
Passed from one family to another
With constant conflicting opinions
And a borrowed sense of conviction
That never quite fit her right.
Have you seen her?
That sad little girl?
Who grew up believing in faerie-tales
With faith in every misspoken sentence
Who waits on every text message
Despite the repeating heartbreaking goodbyes.
Have you seen her?
That copycat girl?
Who somehow never changes
With her fragile coat of innocence
Who looks like me in mirrors
But she will never be again.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 10:43 PM UTC
you kinda cute
just kinda?
she objects,
oops,
clearly, a misspoken misadventure,
a middling-compliment
only, kinda?
she kinda further harrumphs
and goes back to a game of solitaire
“oh yes, everyone has their own cute,
yours, is kinda yours,
in a kinda cutie way,
don’t ask me to kinda define it,
that!
would be kinda impossible”
she drops the sujet and I
pat nat on the back
for his slick escape,
not realizing that he been played,
when she, informed a poem been writ,
said, oh is the kinda poem done then?
kinda
****
1/17/19 900am
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 10:53 AM UTC
Fountains past a milky one
blinded spots of spoilt stones
darkened pebbles of loath
turned to a necrotic lesion
tensions of unmentioned
tractions of the substitute
for the light I saw dimmed
Such a rapid trim discarded
as if it never breathed or existed
Such a polish of luminance
evaporated over the unseen clouds
and all the edges are now scratched
summed in all the misspoken words
Why did you even want to play?
with a mass as big as whale
a sail of the disproportionate
abstracted dissonance as accorded
too quick to run away from the red flags
footsteps of the unmarked foot steps
in filtered tracks of a chauvinist prokaryote
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
#
You are 6 ft tall barely,
Already feeling broken,
haven't even had your first "real date."
Forgive me, I've misspoken.
You took her to a movie once,
You made her want to run,
Because she finally realised
I was the smoking gun.
I was one real reason,
bet you'd hate me if you knew.
Our newly ignited friendship?
Don't be kind, we'd be through.
Your words have too much impact,
You think things far too deep.
Your feelings have not subsided,
They haven't. Not in the least.
You say your mantra again
All thats happened, I'm above
If that is actually true,
Why do you still refer to her love?
Your heart is too invested,
I guess you're not for me.
For I was never going to accept
her seconds willingly.
Perhaps one far-off day,
When I'm comfortable with myself,
I'll remember these days,
And take my feelings off the shelf.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 7:49 AM UTC
The world laughs, when I said "I hate guys",
Like a bold lettered joke,
A misspoken abbreviation of life,
I'm serious,
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
Rain is stampeding your car, a misty haze indulging the sky
eating the buildings, and the neon lights
break with every misspoken word
that fumbles off my lips
But your silence is solicitous
because you know how it feels to love
and to be unrelenting with this dedication
but it is futile because just like the neon lights
it crumbles and burns out and you are here with nothing
but the consonants and vowels left unscathed
and delirious, jumbled in a pattern only the universe comprehends
but it is night and the rain will continuously fall
despite willing it not to
and you will persist to stay bound in your provincial
mindset, despite willing you not to
i will always be analyzing my brain sequences
because i am that science project that slipped your mind
that 5 dollar bill you misplaced
i am all of those desolate nights spent
staring at your stucco ceiling waiting for it
to blink or move or say something audible
it never does and it never will
and the audacity she believes she possesses
churns my head into an excuse to whisper
all those passive things
subtle seasonings that sprinkle on your eyelids
like lavender dust
the pit of my stomach is darkening, waves shatter the tranquility
because i know the storm is imminent and i can not
fathom how to protect everyone
from the sick grasp of the abhorrent events
that are about to choke your eardrums
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 12:29 AM UTC
constant contradictions
harsh words with a gentle kiss
cold eyes with a playful touch
a short fuse with tender love
always in defense mode
ready to attack, to attach
to a tone or a word misspoken
and my skin is thin
and my heart easily broken
yet I build makeshift armor
and pretend to be a hero
while you build and destroy walls
and you swear that you
love, love, love me
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 10:43 AM UTC
. ***Tear in the eye
wound in the heart***
Teardrops ... that drip
from these eyes
shall never be hidden
No mask of humiliation
shall cloak
an empathetic soul
Tears fall without shame ...
Cleansing tears wept
of undisguised
merciful surrender,
purging the essence
of mending heart;
shamelessly
pouring forth,
unsifted
grain and chaff
together as one
to willingly exhale
compassionate breathe ―
into a sympathy
impoverished world
Being mindful ―
never wanting
misspoken words
to further
another’s pain
when there is
an unwillingness
to unveil the very core,
the wisdom of silence
reveals
Lean into imperfection's blossoms …
Embrace the light
from disregarded
tears shed,
releasing the traces
of the spirit of love
within the soul
Blessed be
the empathetic
almsgiver
consoling with love
without pity
Giving love
is to share
unconditionally
with eternal purpose;
flooding forth
a flow of empathy
onto a love
deprived world …
Love more ~
Harlon Rivers
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 7:34 PM UTC
I have but one desire:
to see your soul bare.
'till I find the keys to your heart,
in your eyes I stare.
Other shadows of what is I see:
Your smile, your words, how you look at me.
But wait! I have misspoken,
I do want one more thing:
I want you to see me bare
that is my offering.
My light and yours can join,
new colours we make,
Like the northern lights:
magic, art, a new being we wake.
Jan 15, 2010
Jan 15, 2010 at 9:12 AM UTC
the hours tick on
the battle fades
the dust settles
is it really true
is all that's left
just broken glass
shards of once was
pieces of our hearts
torn in a moment of misspoken words
and heated emotions
is that all we can ever be
past tense
were all those months
of pouring out our hearts
our souls
was it all to end like this
I miss the old us
before it broke
I miss my friend
I miss what we were
is there a way back
a rewind
a delete
or am I forever left with broken glass
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
When the rising sun
Catches your eye,
on far too many occasions
And sleep becomes a distant memory
Lost to your dream ridden head
You'll find comfort in the fact
that we're one in the same
We all have lovers insomnia
and we all believe ourselves sane
Yet we're dreary and broken
swept and misspoken
So kiss me, and let your pillow speak poetry.
Kiss me, and never wake from this dream,
we've dripped into.
Just kiss me.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC
Trailing rigid yellow satin robe,
you have hugged my curves the longest
and felt the way I leave the grounds running.
Traveling up and down my long lean legs,
and the lower United States too.
I am a mess they do not dare quantify.
Towering my misspoken 2AM un-sents,
the half licked envelopes of Sunday's unrest.
Over detailed lines of over stated emotions layed.
Taking a moment to mention the mourning
of my lost ability to create more than myself.
Maybe it is not what i've created, but when.
Tasking away to write more than i should know,
they tell me that I have never really known.
But what do they know?
Tenaciously giving life to words with low meaning,
streaming about the lines I weave whilst sneering.
I am not livid, but I have been alive.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 7:35 PM UTC
Sweet little child
Your laying on a cloud
It rains endlessly
You can't come off it
Sinking through it
You pray
Their darkness thunders
Turns your heart to blunders
Am I the bad one?
You fall asleep
Falling as you weep
You're in a puddle
Cold and broken
Always misspoken
Is this better ?
Never been perfect
But you always work it
Until they throw dirt
And you lie in your puddle
Seeing your struggle
You feel disgraceful
Always so sorry
Wishing my puddle
To be an endless ocean
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 4:31 AM UTC