"mumbled" poems
You sat on the other end of the table
Glistening, shining, and taunting me
Rosy cheeks with spurts of Yellow and Green
Silently teasing
A juicy, little Apple.
Hopefully no one would see me, no one would pay any attention
As I grabbed the treat and the knife
And began to dangerously peel.
I knew I was doing it wrong
My hands shaking while my cheeks began to flush
Embarrassed by my ignorant inadequacy.
Are you left-handed? she asked from my left.
Humiliation filled the corners of my eyes, wet and distraught.
No, I mumbled. My cheeks reflecting Mose's Red Sea.
I was beginning to drown.
Your thumb needs to move, You make me nervous,
and she sounded nervous indeed.
Put it down here. Help yourself control it. Guide it.
Everyone was staring now, the whole table awed
My ignorance showing, like a medallion at my chest
My shameful Apple as pathetic proof.
You're doing it wrong.
Non così. Basta, faccio io.
Let me do it.
You're about to graduate, and you can't peel an apple.
I began choking, drowning in tears of Humiliation.
No, let her do it the small Voice on my left said.
She is finding her way. Let me watch her.
I finished peeling the Apple
Suffocating my tears as I ate.
You remind me of Daisy, she said soon after
From The Great Gatsby.
I choked and laughed, more ashamed than ever.
I'm not sure that is a compliment.
I could barely muster a mumble.
She couldn't do anything by herself.
She looked at me, gentle and forgiving.
I think it is, she replied
Wistful and Wise.
Daisy was vital to the story, you know.
And I believe that given the chance, she could have done anything that she wanted
On her own.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
I look at myself and all I see is grey
I try so hard to pray it away
I know it's cliche
But I can't stand my own face
It's sad eyes
They see through my lies
My oversized thighs
My failure to revise
I despite this disguise
I look at myself and all I see is disappointment
Try harder I mumbled in exhaustion
What a collision
My own derision
One day, soon, I will look at myself and all I will see is joy
My reflection, I will enjoy not want to destroy
I will not be coy
As the sun dawns
All will be gone I vowed
I look at myself today and all I see is hope
For I am proud
I want to scream it loud in crowd
I am proud of me and you
And with that statement I feel so new.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
“Strange place as if, a university campus. Last week of August, bit chilly though dark afternoon. Some random corridor seats. Surrounded by her loud chirps wrapped with unbidden happiness... and me still in some sort of shock... what am I doing here?
Conversation took toll about random university matters, she felt hungry and suggested to have lunch together. So we came out and took a bus towards town to allow ourselves luxury of 'A La Carte'. As we get off the bus cold wind struck us, “Lady shivered and grabbed my wrist with her right hand and same arm with her left, letting herself rest her right cheek on the edge of my left shoulder. My whole existence felt her magnetic presence”.
I uttered if she’s feeling cold she mumbled, I took it as a yes so wrapped my blue jacket around her. She responded to the gratitude with a smile and I allowed her grip on my arm to become more firm... so both of us kept on walking towards an undefined destination... and then my 7:00 am alarm interrupted the most beautiful dream i ever had since HER...”
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC
Buried my face deep
in your hair and mumbled soft
words that make me shy
-h.w.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
it's another early AM when salt tears splash my face,
they sting, but they are daisies compared to the swords I have endured with you.
it's almost half a year since you took what was not yours to take,
with your mumbled excuses and your dismissive gestures.
i brace myself, the pain looms again, i shout at it to GO AWAY,
the reminder of what you did, but it is a pain that paracetomal will not subside, because the pain is a memory;
the increasing anxiety, the thought of you inside of me when i did not want you to be there.
GO AWAY.
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 6:57 PM UTC
I wake up and eat some eggs, a yogurt, and a few slices of melon
in an attempt to change my life
after all it is that or death
I won't hold my breath
It's a beautiful day to head to the mall
with a friend
I really know where this is going
Hmm
I like that shirt
Oops, this store doesn't offer plus size
On to the next..
I really like these jeans..
Forty five dollars for sizes sixteen and up
What a mess!
Since I refuse to let Lane Bryant **** my wallet in the ***
I decide to head to Barnes and Noble instead
I accidentally bumped into a lady and her baby stroller as I walked past and she mumbled
"Fat ***** under her breath
Yes that's what she said
I didn't even turn my head
Because that's what the lady said
and that's what society says
and instead of trying to explain it's just
easier to walk away
it's the self hatred after I dread
So I buy a whole pizza and eat the entire ******* thing
and it is beyond delicious
though the guilt I feel afterwards wasn't worth it
and vomitting that **** up was viscous
Even when I was a little girl I dreamed of being thin
I dreamed of being a model
I dreamed of having a flat tummy
Just to fit in
I didn't like the belly I had
or the fat in my cheeks
I was the only kid in gym that could never climb the rope
and that began a string of anxiety attacks
that would last for weeks
The doctor calls it insulin resistance
which leaves me with the inability to lose weight
but I shouldn't have to explain to anyone my condition
I just shouldn't have to explain
not to mention the ovarian disease that cripples me to my knees
which so happens to be genetic
and mimics the blood of a diabetic
leaving me incurable
a medical mystery
not to mention infertility
so for me
children are just a dream
Although I tell myself
that I am beautiful
and that I am intelligent
and that I am funny
and that I am a hard worker
and that I am successful
and that I am caring
and that I am loving
and that I am daring
and that I am the best **** friend a person could ever have
To a stranger I'm just a "fat *****
and you know what?
That makes me really ******* sad
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
Lilium,
Ah, you fascinating flower, an old gardener who still looks after his duty, mumbled to himself in awe of the stargazer and spider lilies,
They seem so majestic, yet innocent to the extent of a wounderous aura sent by their gentle yet stinging smell, spreading across the room
He said to himself that maybe, if they are as beautiful and heavenly as he thought,their taste should be beyond reasoning goodness, sweet
Just one bite later, the taste engaging in his old mouth has caused him to become numb, confused and with an irrigular heart rate, paralised.
Oh such an intent, to punish all those who dare to bring ruin to their glory by eating them, trying their taste with death ? Truly murderous.
Seeping through his body before slowly draining his poor life force, the fate of an unknowing man who had become the vessel of great unfolding fury of a flower which seemed to be so kind before hand.
A treasure is alike a flower, the gift of life resembling its beauty and hournour, growing proud until the sweet poison of death overtakes it
When I knew the meaning of eternity you were no longer there, Darling
~ Umi
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 12:20 AM UTC
i wonder, at what age
you became out of my reach;
i wonder, if i even
tried reaching for you
i know that history leaves its mark on everyone
(but not many have been hurt by the tracks
left behind in the dirt
like you have)
you can sit there for days, weeks, months
while we contemplate your fate,
tossing the choices in our hands
like dice
you hear the word expendable
mumbled in countless conversations
and wonder, at what age
you became in our reach
you think of the family you left behind
and hope they will find their way to tennessee
to a better life that is
quiet. peaceful.
will they miss your selflessness;
your keen, incisive way with words;
the bumps and hills of your rough skin;
the smell of your perfume?
i miss your evergreen smile;
your poetry;
your skin against mine;
the wonder in your eyes
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 2:43 PM UTC
ill never forget that night.
we were laying in bed,
eyes closed and half asleep,
teetering on the fence between
the world of wake
and the world of dream.
we’d been quiet for awhile now,
understandable in this hour of the night.
the room was lowly lit
by the dim glow of light
cast off computer screens,
and the air was filled
with white static sound
and your soft rhythmic breathing.
eyes closed,
i could swear you were beside me,
half convinced by the hum
of the speakers softly snoring
that i’d roll over to your body,
even though i knew
you were far away from me,
sleeping alone across the sea.
but it was something i could believe,
nearly there,
slipped into sleep.
and suddenly
you split the silence,
waking yourself up,
you called out my name with urgent pace
and i mumbled a reply
as you pulled me awake.
you spoke again,
and the words spilled from your tongue like nectar
and dripped from your lips like honey,
said with such haste
like you couldn’t get the words into the world fast enough,
as though holding it in any longer
would bring down the world burning.
it was then in that night,
one of many moments yet i’d find,
that i knew i was going to love you forever,
and
no matter of land or sea,
of sun, stars, or skies between,
could ever change that,
or keep you away from me.
― “i love you more than anyone or anything i have ever loved or ever will,” 12:37 am, 10.08.17, what you said to me.
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 1:13 PM UTC
I don’t think you understand,
because I don’t, this wasn’t what I planned.
So I’m wondering how you can understand, when I don’t.
I won’t lose myself loving you, I won’t.
You’ve got me feeling too many different things,
got me contemplating cutting our tethered strings.
Falling in love has me tripping
over my own two feet? Maybe. All I know is I’m slipping
face first into this tangled mess
and now guilt eats at me as I slip from your arms half dressed
in the mornings when all I want is to escape,
wishing I was Wonder Woman with that red cape.
I slip away, but it hurts-
but I’ve seen it; my family, we’re cursed.
Concerning love, we’ve had no luck
I can’t lose you, so I’m labeling us a causal ****
I hear you yelling now that you know my reasons,
promising our love could survive even the coldest season.
But how can he be so sure?
Doubts plague me as I slip toward his front door,
because love didn’t come with a brochure.
I hear you figuring aloud that I don’t love you enough.
You come to the conclusion,
“if this is how you feel, then I’ll set you free”
I got in my car, driving around till the clouds were dark and the clock said three.
Your words had been like knives,
but then I started thinking about my dad’s four wives.
My brain’s all jumbled,
it’s like there was one second left, I was on the one yard line, and I fumbled.
Is the risk worth it?
Could my heart even take the hit?
When I got home, in the dark I saw you standing
my heart was demanding
that I make my way over to you
but my brain said these feelings needed to be subdued.
I heard you say “I love you too much to set you free”
It was then when I looked in your eyes, love was all I could truly see.
My scalp tingled in realization,
as I floated toward you with some type of natural gravitation.
My heart had already taken the risk, without permission
and that’s when I mumbled my belated admission;
“I love you too and I’ll take my chances,”
My brain finally conceded to your romantic advances.
But really, truth was, I’d been under an illusion
because our love had always been a foregone conclusion.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
A rugged sidewalk cried hard by the way-side;
Its fissures could not hold their tears anymore.
A puny man pushed a red cart in the tide
Down a darkling, narrow street in Salammbô.*
He mumbled to the waves on his way to the market
As he gasped behind his laden chariot.
His merkabah bore many a lost things
Which he had found buried in the quicksand.
Among them a fountain pen and a helmet,
A pair of eyeglasses, and a trumpet.
I wondered, gazing at the old man’s washed face:
"Will this worn-out scene ever reach the marketplace?"
© LazharBouazzi
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
The day after I got rejected, my dad called me out of my room and I knew what was coming. I wrote him a note. When I finally saw him sitting on the sofa, he told me to sit down. He began with, "Son, what's your plan?" I mumbled bluntly, "I don't know." He scratched the back of his bald head and continued, "You know, you need to find your passion in life. You might have thought that mechanics was your thing, but maybe--" he yammered on and on, about how to live life and what to live for. I handed out the note to him. He paused. "What's this?" "Please read." On the paper, I'd written, "I know, I know. This whole thing might just be a hobby after all. Yes, I have to find something that I'd be happy to work on. But right now, please let myself be delved in the sadness, so once I get out of it, I won't ever look back."
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
With her cowpoke
She went riding out with him
One dark and windy day.
The desert had forsaken their love and left their hearts astray.
As sharp as a cactus' spine, her lips did pine for days.
They sat around their victim's pyres tasting burnt bone, curdled blood.
She saw the mess of her cowpoke, blonde and brown beauties layed in the mud.
She asked why must these girls die
If their looks were truly good
He mumbled that his heart had been broken by the stormy flood.
So they swept across Arizona with it's bright windy haze
And withdrew their revolvers with eyes that met in gaze
They downed a couple of beers in the dusky saloon
Until right in front of them was the old rusty moon
Tonight she will riding out in the ****** lands
Where with her man she'll be soaking her rigid hands
In wine that oozes from the corpses in the sands
And in the sheets ridin' she'll take command.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
The bottom line is I'm always the one stuck apologizing. There's this thing inside of me that thinks you can do no wrong to the point that when you're standing over me with blood on your hands staring at the knife in my chest I will look up at you and apologize for ruining your favorite white shirt and staining your skin. When you're holding me deep in the icy cold water and I'm gasping for breath only to fill my lungs with ice chips I will shake my head and wonder why the hell I didn't think to wear warmer clothes. And of course, when you tell me you don't love me anymore I won't believe for a second it's because of the demons inside your own head or that you're intentionally saying it to rip my heart into irreparable pieces I will convince myself with every fiber of my being that it's because I'm just not what you need. I didn't hug tight enough or wipe your tears away in the right way or buy the right kind of flowers on your birthday and I especially didn't let you in to my mind and body and soul enough. I constantly did my best to push you away and I guess ultimately I did but it doesn't seem I did it soon enough because now you're laughing at me as I'm on my knees in front of you begging you to take me back and in between mumbled "I love you's" I'm apologizing yet again only this time I can't seem to find a way to put into words why it's my fault and not yours because maybe, for once, you're wrong. Maybe you ****** up this time. But I think we both know that I could never admit that or make myself believe it but while I try I'll stay here on my knees begging for forgiveness for all of your mistakes. C.a.l
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
I dreamed I was at work
And everyone was naked but me.
A bunch of naked co-workers
As far as my eyes could see.
They were pointing at me laughing
The moment I walked through the door.
They behaved as they didn’t
Know was clothing was for.
Pointed at my chest area
Right were my ******* would be
And at my crotch as well
And asked me “How do you ***
All of that material there.
It really must get in your way.
So, what’s the big idea
Why did you come to work that way?”
I mumbled and I stumbled
And bumbled my way to reply.
I told them I really didn’t quite
Understand all of why
They were all naked here, and
I was wearing a lot of clothes.
I finally told them all that
Sometimes this is how it goes.
They started laughing again
And one girl tried to make amends.
She said the pants I had on
Gave me a very cute rear end.
My face turned red, I said thanks.
And some said I was blushing.
I headed back to my desk, trying
Not to look like I was rushing.
I woke up still kind of giggling
And yet had a feeling of unease.
I remembered the embarrassment
Feeling being dressed was a disease.
Usually it’s the reverse, of course.
I am the one walking around bare.
But something in this dream that night
Helped me see some of the meaning there.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 5:45 AM UTC
"hello."
He mumbled shyly
He was cute
Bright green eyes and
Messy black fringy hair.
Texting
Calling
Chatting
Was our pastime together
Months later..
"Happy Valentine's day!"
"Happy Monthsary, babe!"
"Happy Anniversary!"
It was all too fast
But fun
"Who's that?"
I asked, looking over his shoulder
As we were sprawled on the sofa, cuddling.
His text read,
"hello."
To a girl
Another
And I felt sad
Because those were the words he first said to me
He said,
"Nothing."
And I believed it.
But then he stopped texting me
Calling
Nor chatting
He stopped remembering
Valentine's Day
Our Monthsary
Our Anniversary
and stopped saying
I love you
Boys.
Boys could say he likes you,
Boys could pinch you playfully,
Boys could love you endlessly,
And say you didn't mean a thing.
Boys
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 4:46 AM UTC
i was wrenched from a bed
that was not my own to begin with.
into the sunlight, they dragged me,
hands yanking at my long hair.
i clutched my body.
jaw set, i silently vowed not to cry, to take it
like a woman should – to look them in the eye,
to stand unashamedly in front of my neighbors,
my mother, and my sisters. to stand in front of the town,
and face the inevitable.
the Pharisees threw me to the ground, gave a swift kick
to my side – gentle, compared with what would come.
the women, eyes glossed with icy detest, spat in my face.
*so the ***** has been caught*, they hissed.
But i refused to give them the satisfaction.
i wouldn’t close my eyes during it.
couldn’t.
Jesus, they barked, *we caught her sleeping
with a man she doesn’t belong to*.
you know what to do.
the little children and the rabbi and the mothers
and the sons, they felt the ground
for smooth, heavy rocks.
i bowed my head slightly, as fingers trembled over
new, prune-colored bruises
on my ribs, my stomach.
i unlocked my knees and lifted my chin,
met his eyes.
he paused for a moment, nodded his head slowly.
If you are without sin, please, cast the first stone.
i bit my lip, waited and watched,
squinting in the sunrise.
the Pharisees grumbled, the townspeople eyed me, but said
nothing, until they left, one
by one.
that Jesus, they mumbled,
He’s always finding loopholes.
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 4:56 PM UTC
"welcome to Hell, darling."
he mumbled
and I nodded
taking the poison
from his lips
and sticking it between mine
I was a chimney
the smoke billowed up
clogging the room
"isn't it a lovely view?"
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
She mentioned in passing,
That if anything was to happen,
They asked if I could be yours.
To shout at to tidy my room,
Clean the dishes,
Or tell me to **** off when my heart was broken.
You think your greatest gestures were the presents, tickets, trips, autographs,
The army of "Please look after this bear" Paddingtons,
But you're wrong.
It was the two sentence emails,
Telling me cocktails could take the edge off chemo.
It was teaching me how to swear.
It was the cough and mumbled 'Luvyuutu" over the phone, reluctant but not regretful.
That call she made probably ended,
With a pause, a gulp, a tremor in your voice.
It would be you who'd shorten such an important answer.
A "Yep".
A clack of the phone on the desk.
And a "Luvyuutu, Ferg." after you hung up.
Jun 24, 2011
Jun 24, 2011 at 1:22 PM UTC
Water lapped up the side of the lifeboat
as it bobbed up and down on the sea
only seven ****** had survived
the rest had gone under and drowned
The first officer and the stoker
lent over a fellow ******
he was coughing up oil
and in unbearable pain, was screaming
The stoker mumbled, He's not got long
then he started to sob in his hands bitterly
they had been torpedoed by a U Boat
a day and three quarters out of Italy
The coughing then stopped
the ****** was dead
so they said a little prayer
then tipped him over the edge
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:11 PM UTC
Holding long to longing,
longing, holed to holding,
I ode my tale for bold forboding.
Swiftly shores sung,
ripping, reaping, revealing
I stopped just short of saint-like stealing.
Madly minutes mumbled,
syllables stuck, syrup
My thoughts no longer mine to stir up.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
Throughout our childhood, our grandmother would turn to us,
in her yellow-lit kitchen, brandishing a rubber spatula or meat
tenderizer to warn us against falling to temptation. She’d witnessed
too many good people disappear into what she called
a consumption of the soul,
and as my cousins licked sugary batter off their spoons,
no one could have known that one day the candy-coating
would melt from their eyes to see their mother
for what she had done the last six years that now showed in her trembling hands, glossed vision, and a temperament that splashed into anger, flowed into melancholy as easily as she had found herself downing bleary bubbles at the brim of a precipiced fountain.
She was promised her very own message in a bottle, and this keep-sake
manifested in cousin Libby’s dreams, floating down a wine river
that gushed from the slashes in her mother’s wrists. Somehow I knew
these nightmares were born from warm and heady “sleep well”s
mumbled from across the darkest of rooms which held so many glass
ghouls with names and strengths so real, they even scared
my grandmother into silence as she stirred the pecan pie for Easter dinner. She offered to let me lick the spoon clean, but I simply
asked for straight sugar instead.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 8:40 PM UTC
A few months I haven't called him
At the beck and call at any hour
And the shortest notice
A dial to him has saved many an emergency
Last night a broken female voice
On the other side of the wire
Mumbled he died on May 13
Left her with three daughters
At forty at short notice
The plumber is dead
Now who would clear
My choked wash basin
The plumber is dead
And I've no other number to call
I couldn't see her face
Gauge the faceless sorrow
At the other side of the wire
The plumber is dead
I must find another
And then rejoice
Forgetting the widow's choked voice
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 6:05 AM UTC
Gin. That’s where it starts.
The squinted eyes and mumbled speech
I go too far I know
I can barely see where I am going
and you cannot understand a word I say
But these are just a side effect of my confidence
which happens to come in a bottle
Do you think I’d be talking to you,
kissing you,
loving you, without the gin?
Of course not
Falling in love with strangers is the love I feel
So yes I need the gin.
I need the gin to be able to converse
and kiss
and go home with strangers
So I can feel something
You go ahead and find a nice boy who will romance you
But me, I’ll be leaning on a bar,
flirting with boys who buy me drinks
You go ahead and make love
i’m content with my one night stands.
I’m sure he could love me if he knew me
You go ahead and fall in love and get married.
I’m lucky, because you fell in love once
I fall in love every Friday night,
Saturday night… sometimes Wednesday nights
You see, for me, gin is love
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
She brought me to the devil—
swept the leaves off my brain
& we jumped in the pile.
After rolling a few
& burning
we bathed in wine
washing our minds
with chicken soup for the soul.
He appeared in the stars
& we smiled—
absorbing his card
through a lovely osmosis
supposing the black roses
hiding behind his back
were cut by a queen of swords.
We skipped roped
w/ a noose
cuttin’ loose our useless
baggage by tossing them over
a stony cliff.
As the devil lit a cigarette s/he mumbled
something about a conscious shift.
The devil gave us a gift—
It was a skull
inside a prince’s disk
shaped discus change purse.
“I bring you death as a parting
gift to show where to put the change.”
We laughed & giggled
as we played with plasma—
that’s liked fire cubed.
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 8:07 AM UTC