"obstructions" poems
Where goes the time when it flies?
Simplified by expression, and stained by clarity.
Smudge by lucidity
smeared by simplicity
tainted by intelligibility.
Tempus fugit as in time flies.
Sharply distressing with painful feelings
to the point of mental instability
morning or night
we become possessed with its mystic dealings.
Where goes the time when it runs?
Not a solitary explanation is found.
It happens and it won’t stop
until life terminates as well
without cause.
Derived of rationalisation
lacking understanding
short of justification
bursting with vindication
persistently and with conviction.
Where goes the time when it sails?
From the second that we’re born.
Where were we existing?
We cannot be so sure
Cannot recollect the past
Not for the first five of our years
Memory so blur, so shadowy
Hazy with distortions
obscure and confusing
Unit our mind starts slowly to recollect.
Where goes the time when it escapes?
The chronology of life so mysterious.
Nothing can solve its ambiguity
for time is a complex case
with an infinity of secrets.
What’s the obsession when we have so many setbacks
drawbacks and obstacles
obstructions and conundrums
to take care of before time perishes away
and leaves us stranded in oblivion.
Oh time, you magnificent of all mysteries,
the high and mighty of ambiguities.
Show us mercy and explain
we are not detectives of secrecies
your spell with us reflects on the whodunits.
Oh time of things past and yet to come
give us a clue as to what is to derive!
“Remember”
it softly replies “Make most of your lives”
“Once I fly away no one can have a replay”.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 6:11 AM UTC
I feel mean and nasty.
I cuss out everyone I talk to behind their backs, saying
'That asshole!'
Or,
'What a pussy!'
For no reason but that the caffeine wears me thin.
My only child-friend is Bubba the dog, who gives me those eyes,
'I've never tried watermelon before, please Jilly can I try it!?'
And, of course I say yes.
Dogs love you even when their food comes late.
He's a pit bull. I feel someone of importance when I walk down the street with him, you know,
'Move it, coming through with my friend the tan pitbull with the sad eyes! We don't have all day! We have to eat watermelon!'
He lays in the sun and I think of things.
'Why is he afraid of water?
Why does he step so daintily over obstructions in his path?
What does he really think of those
cats he chases...does he want them to sit down and eat watermelon with us?'
I want someone to eat watermelon with us.
Danny is at work, and the sun is high in the powder blue backdrop it calls home.
We want a watermelon friend.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
Luna Tickle eats only pickles and ***** up all the brine
When her brother tells their mother she begins to whine:
“Yes I did it! And left no tidbit
Is that such a crime? My brother smells and raises hell
And leaves the loo full of slime.”
Now their mother dear began to fear her children were obstructions
Never listening, since their christening, and wished for their abduction
So she planned a slaughter and called her daughter
Outside to the woodshed, then chopped her neck in two
She put Luna’s head in her brother’s bed and said,
“Now, they’ll be no more Boo-Hoos”
Now you know of Luna and her tragic ending
But there’s more to this rhyme that’s pending
For the Tickle name is quite insane
And was never worth defending
But that’s just what her brother did
When Mrs. Tickle met Judge Knuckle
And almost flipped her lid
Screaming:
“I never liked that kid from the day she began to suckle!
Why she couldn’t be more like me, or her lovely sister Tess”
Twas all Mrs. Tickle could confess that day to Judge and jury
Until brother **** chimed-in and confessed his sin
And did so in such a fury, it was heard throughout and within
The entire state of Missouri:
“I am Richard Tickle and do confess I am not fickle
In fact I am quite pugnacious
If you do not see the circumstances like me
I’ll be forced to be disputatious”
Interjects Judge Knuckle:
“Boy, I’ll have you buckled this instance to electric chair
If you’re not scared I’ll be splitting hairs
In a place where the sun does not shine
So if you care, you’d best beware
Or your Gherkin will be in a brine”
Now Tess screamed out and her mother did shout
In perfect unison:
**** is my love and none the likes of any other hooligan”
At this there was a scuffle
Each dame was muffed and ruffled
They could not contain
All their angst and their pain
And it led to the ugliest tussle
For each thought ****
Was devoted to she
And apparently, this could not be
As we know of the trouble with Luna
So the jury was not out
Or even in doubt
Of these sinister makings and troubles
It was the sickest of affairs
Mass-producing glaring stares
From everyone within the court
Missouri Gazette’s headlines that day
Told of how they did slay
And burn the Tickle chalet
Leaving it in incestuous rubble
The lesson today to this horrific ballet
Is don’t live your life in a bubble
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
God’s Glorious Telephone We Really Need To Use
By D.K. Milgrim-Heath©2010
Wonder about God’s communication with everyone?
We need to be open for his will to be done.
God's glorious telephone we really need to use-
He’s always connected to us please don’t refuse.
Learning about God’s completely glorious telephone –
It works forever we know we’re not alone.
Calling Heaven’s at anytime’s a good time to call-
It’s been free always to me, one and all.
Feeling those holy currents always on His line-
Keeps me knowing God’s so pure and divine.
Sometimes evil stops our holy calls in midway-
Realize God’s importance to us - get evil to leave us alone and go away.
This holy line's built lovingly only by God alone-
For His beloved children that He makes quite His own.
We talk to God heavily through His heavenly device-
Taking our time with Him accessible that’s really nice.
No service operators obstructions of any kind to direct-
God answers our calls somehow this we can expect.
Holy lines cross or grounded- so what should we do?
Praying faithfully more with promise is needed by you.
Notice bad weather or trials won't disconnect His line-
God has His words get through to us mighty fine!
Knowing as we got through our internal spirits rise-
His communication helps us become pious and wise.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
Up went the roar of the crowd,
Ascending, volumes above, beyond
The everyday murmur of pestering silence.
A futile struggle to withstand its force,
Like a vast wave, rogue and raging,
Slamming nature, a slap in the face of feebleness,
This crowd roars…
Not anger, not anguish, or grief,
But a prideful scream of declaration;
The masses make it known, and known again,
Fists raised, pulverizing the air to a beat
Of human design, of togetherness, of solidarity
In the fight for those like us, a howl,
This crowd roars…
Stampeding feet berate the beaten earth,
Invigorated legs supporting pounding hearts,
To a beat, rolling with the flow,
Energy infusing the soul, encased in flesh, bone, and blood;
Marching onward, forward, processional strides
Declaring and making it known with battle cries,
This crowd roars…
Shouts of proclamation echo the strident resistance
With thunder, earth-quaking, walls crumbling, chains shattering
With thunder, dancing against the discordant system;
Proud warriors raising flags of protest
Amidst the roar, roister, and riots, rising reactionaries
Refusing submission, declining resignation,
This crowd roars…
Bounded together, by blood, by common cause,
Mingling masses of forgotten arise with a vocal
Outcry, intense, pulsing from the core (of us)
Like an infestation, infuriated, a torrent swarm (of us)
Flowing upwards, eroding all obstructions.
Declare, proclaim, announce, request, demand,
This crowd roars…
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
When not governed
By the natural forces
Your soul is unrestricted
Stretches along the
Vastness of this universe
Nothing weighs on you
Neither does forces
Anchor you to a place
Living without boundaries
Comes limitless possibilities
Sailing through tranquility
Without the obstructions
Formlessness is defined
Silhouette takes shape
You become free flowing
Wading through space
Like an expert swimmer
In the realm of
No beginning and end
When you realize
You are part of this cosmos
Accept the reality
Beyond the limiting forces
Soul become more intense
It’s the will of indestructibility
Existence in eternal sphere
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 9:10 AM UTC
the sol and solitude
scalpel~dissect layers of tissue,
marrows of nuclei separate,
the warming is discomforting
dismayed and dissuaded,
cannot be in two places,
either/or/or simultaneous,
my centerpiece is a-kilter
wavering and waving,
my balance is mis-weighted,
teetering and tottering, in a land
lightly and thickly discriminating
between bodies and disembodiment
I am neither
I am both,
therefore,
I am invisible
to eyes that are shut by
obstructions of
willful
blindness
Nov 26, 2023
Nov 26, 2023 at 8:39 AM UTC
self-sacrificed suffering
this life burns into nothing.
abstract obstructions
my hands are full,
cleaning, moving,
legs sore
and voice changing tones,
laughing is more persistent.
don't be nervous:
retract all motions blocked by the feeling of it.
lack of control, the situation needs to build itself
and all you have to do is live it.
communication codes:
call me esoteric emily,
leave me up in trees
I'll throw apples down for you to eat.
you feel like stones,
cement, hard-laced fruit loops,
and the morning after, and the year
after year after year
that
will
follow.
something smooth to rhyme to,
you're building fences for me to jump,
I'll leave you to mind them.
your eyes were my eyes, and it felt natural.
something you showed me that took advantage
of the bounds that tie and rebound and break,
something similar to a run on sentence.
sarcastic similes
arcane knowledge seeping through my eyelids.
now I'm forced by my own self-will to tell you everything.
there are more forces than that,
I'll learn to respect them in silence
rather than saying that I don't believe in them.
doesn't mean I'll get on my knees and pray,
just means I might want something.
seemingly mean
from the things that seem
to tunnel
underneath
your garbage,
your sinking
thoughts
combined
with
circumstantial
evidence
led me to believe in the beauty I swore was gone.
thankfully all suffering passes no sooner than happiness does.
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 1:53 AM UTC
Ascent
The narrow passage arched over the gaping river
like a gymnast vaulting backwards,
gracing the ground with open palms.
I began to climb--
beleaguered on both sides
by insecure concrete obstructions;
I diverted my attention to the ascending road ahead.
I continued to climb,
like a slowly chugging roller coaster,
meekly scaling up the track
with subdued anticipation.
I sunk into the road;
the sky merged with my pseudo-perpetual path, forming the offing--
where it seemed the road ran eternally into the heavens.
I saw blue reach into black in the late afternoon's
fading visage.
Summit
Gliding over the mountainous ****
I stared over the horizon
where the sun was neatly tucked
under the trees--
silhouetted against the dusky sky,
looking like fingers reaching up into the void,
accumulating like earthly pillows to a heavenly face glowing brightly.
I watched a murky blue dip into a wet grass'd green,
then a traffic cone orange,
followed by the passionate (infra)red of two lovers' entwined,
climaxing in a jaundiced yellow--
tucked neatly like a layer of film
atop the silhouetted landscape.
Descent
I wished I had
descended the adret
of my ascension's perceived perpetual offing,
rather than this gritty one--
to dip into the horizon,
where I would metamorphose
into a dazzling array of colors;
feeling myself slowly fade away
into the impending night sky.
Tucked away for another day,
sleeping under the stars,
in the fingertipped forests
now obliquely reaching into their absent luminescence
but relishing the cool night air--
silently waiting for light
to soon again
breach their gloomy shells.
[Enlightenment lingered within the visions of my ascension--
I danced with its transient spirit at the summit--
to be decimated as the car lurched downward into mortality.
I saw what could be as I moaned into the
fading afternoon's dipping colors.
Who knew the descent was the hardest part of humanity?]
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
Life is but the beginning
Of a story called death
A saga that keeps beating
Until my final breath
This weary soul is sickened
Entangled in my head
Sometimes I can't stop wishing
To be pronounced dead
A noose, a bullet
**** it, even a pill
To get me away from
This morbid windowsill
Life is a lesson to be learned
But doesn't come with instructions
Every time I solve one issue
I'm stalked by more obstructions
Sanity is but an illusion
A deceitful trick of the mind
Raining memories upon me
That I'd rather leave behind
A noose, a bullet
**** it, even a pill
To get me away from
This morbid windowsill
I wish I'd been given a warning
About how my life would be
But this heart reflects the mistake
That was the birth of me
My death will come with relief
From me and the world all the same
So let me go, let me burn
In my own ever-raging flame
A noose, a bullet
**** it, even a pill
To get me away from
This morbid windowsill
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 8:29 AM UTC
See,
None of cottony optics,
Skimming soft tissues,
For pollutants on swimming eyes.
Dissuade,
To leaving sleeping innocence,
As a silhouette,
Lavished by the curtains down.
Outside,
A whirring static,
Underwater sounds.
Who will gather the pieces,
For a sweetheart.
Filtered through amber bottles,
Of honey-speckled moonbeams.
Curled fetus style,
In puddles of obsidian.
It can't be me,
I was left curbside of a floating castle.
Hunted with gabbling bullets,
With their own tongues.
And biting at lobes,
As they barked past.
If you see,
With no obstructions,
By flowery oriental screens,
My staggering paper doll,
Pass on:
The feverish spoon,
Was stirring,
An impossible raspberry leaf.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 4:05 AM UTC
Through the messy, dis-shaped contours
of pained reflections
the light — disarrayed, distorted —
make day of the endless night.
Colors and shapes manifest
in the once dark structure
through lighted emanations
projected forth by shadowed obstructions
Tricksters by nature
the archetypal projections dance
to the beat of an unheard drum.
Animated by the refracted light,
they
dance and dance
round and round
to the incessant rhythm.
Personified vessels
of noumenal glory
slowly guiding themselves
back home.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC
The times are so normal and peaceful.
A yellow leaf can fall freely to the earth
without any obstructions and die peacefully.
Rivers flow at their will: sometimes calm
sometimes furious.
Everything is perfect, following a masterful design
They invented a machine to keep peace and order
The machine wiped out chaos and dissent form the world
The machine pushes the misfits into under ground
Look around you: there is no one with a scarred face
A world so perfect
The machine emits a sound while it works:
An army of iron boots stomping the ground
And the machine's sound mutes all other voices
All other music
And a perfect world is born.
Now, the machine is turned on
I hear the sound of iron boots
They march ahead....
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 3:02 AM UTC
A yellow brick road glistens before me
A sign dubbed “Straight is the best way to go”
Even though an ominous aura flows
My inner voice screams
“Chaos will erupt if you walk further”
But my body moves independently
Down the sunny-patched pavement
The bright yellow shade grays
The unbowed path jerks far left
Away from the right destination
The map displays a straight yellow line
Heading directly to the city of great prospects
The mapped road looks as secure as the Great Wall
Running at ease without obstructions
Yet in reality
I ventured into the Desert of Disasters
The powdered sand deadening my progress
The volatile sandstorms
Stalls my venture
And conceals the route
Of the yellow brick road
Little water left
The path nowhere in sight
Only minuscule hope and perpetual effort
Can reveal the true path to salvation
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
Pencil, chalk, charcoal and erasers
Walking hand in hand on a canvas
Stretched and condensed observations
Obstructions as concentration pins
A walk and talk in a dark museum
Stored birds, killed preys, stuffed game
Tall giraffe, the lion, lionized Victorian art
Quirky strokes of eccentric dashes mashes
Staring in glasses to capture emotions
Art resident mumble whilst erupting muscles
The ***** strikes to meet my ****** gaze
Slandered, pasted and matted with prejudice
Mouth flowing with filth like a sewage drain
Don’t we all come from holes, sticks and bones?
Don’t we all come in holes, sticks and bones?
A lost sight of an insight, a skin stratified
Misted and tainted with toned stinky ****
A pigmentation structured in perceptions
A plea to ****** stereotypical resolution
A streamline of vagaries, unsettle the gallery
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 5:38 PM UTC
I reject pride, for I favor disruption
I have become one with momentary obstructions,
Those that dissolve all our mental constructions
For the righteous most often fall prey to corruption.
A flame dies faster when it burns most bright,
Preconceived honor is the ugliest vice,
Empires fall, no matter the height
I saw disciples of Jesus rip the heart out of Christ.
I have not found knowledge in my excavations,
A ********** of ethics has given rise to mutations
If only we could perform the art of levitation,
Darkness might not reach us from the earth's vibrations.
Judge how you will, I seek no exemptions
I have travelled too far from the hands of redemption
Those that reach out, and offer ascension
I prefer to savor my eternal damnation.
Truth is just a simple matter of persuasion
Beliefs stay valid through clever evasions
We cannot endure Godless deprivation
Though the mind of God is a mere quantum equation
Jul 17, 2010
Jul 17, 2010 at 7:30 AM UTC
Winters here are unpredictable.
There are days when the fire stays in, when I watch the log pile shrink by the hour.
Other days, a weak sun raises the temperature by degrees, as well as the spirits.
Today, there's a chill in the air, so I call my friend to meet at the local bar -
that means I won't have to burn any logs.
She works here in the village, turning pots, then decorates them with the traditional blue designs
for tourists to buy – if she's lucky.
At the bar, she tells me about her new project. She knows exactly what she wants.
Ideas spin in her head like the pots on her wheel.
This time, she says, she's determined.
Her enthusiasm doesn't last for long.
She drifts away, staring into the middle distance, lost in private thoughts.
I study her hands- always tense, never still. Her slim fingers engrained with the red earth that she shapes.
Her wedding ring hangs from a chain around her neck, leaving her hands free from obstructions while she kneads the clay.
In the background, beer glasses crash about and a dog is barking somewhere outside.
Her eyes flick towards the T.V. High on the wall.
Sometimes, when an important match is on, there's football, but more often than not, like today,
there's a violent American film with subtitles in her own language.
She shivers, then comes back to me, pulling her scarf closer around her shoulders.
She tells me she's seen the film before and knows the plot well.
It's the one where the husband gets drunk and tries to **** his wife, but no one will believe her.
She looks tired.
She says she's been up all night trying to fix a faulty thermostat - that the heat of the kiln was too high and broke all her pots. Then the main fuse burned out and that she'd have to get an engineer in to fix it.
After a while, we embrace and part.
Walking home, I think of my friend and how she could never bear the space between her hands and her precious creations.
The air feels chillier now and an icy wind has started to blow.
I expect by the end of the day there'll be snow on the ground.
But there again, it might just rain.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2013
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 12:51 PM UTC
Let thine mind not hinder the heart,
nor the heart stutter to pollute the mind,
Admit obstructions though they be never vast,
for true love hinders nether the first nor the latter of last,
may we never falter when it alteration finds,
nor sway as the reeds wildly upon the wind in time,
never! No! shall we betray the truest of friends,
gaze now upon the world in all its vanity oh how it bends,
be never shaken or weaved upon its web of instabilities,
be it as it may the light for one wandering in the dark searching out tranquility,
follow me away now for the hell hounds hear them bark,
for only the foolish of heart wanders out to prowl lost in the dark,
let us not be lured into such things as such running afoul,
lead my heart as my compass with your love as it's light,
guide me always clearly through even the darkest of night,
Love fails not standing firm trapped in a timeless moment in a lifetime of endless moments,
bleeding always for that required component,
though not desire, wanton or lust,
but weaved together one as true love must.
~J.P.K. 04-04-2013
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
The aqua back drop peels away at a marshmallow scene
While the aerial obstructions deepen and darken
Earth begins to cry in a desperate attempt to be clean
An age old story of a planet's reclamation
Serves as a reminder that life is cyclical
We rise and we fall
With the end we forestall
Much like the recycled tears that paint across my bare skin
I can feel the interconnectedness within
Tranquility embodies this life essence
Self-sustainable, she puts up a fight
Taken for granted, yet ever constant
Everything is going to be alright
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
There's no rest for the wicked. The plot thickens. The blood thins, then bleeds out onto the thorny thickets biting at bare shins, which sickens you to death times ten. Now you're feeling like a tiger in human skin. You begin setting off on the prowl for substance and the meaning of your life akin to the World's splendor. It's sustenance revealed to your awoken third eye of insight. The mind's eye of you and me, sees bountiful trees breathing and leaning towards your sweeping winds of change. Swaying towards every gaze, starstruck and amazed, chasing the dreams of completing this crazy maze of madness. Tears of joy, tears of sadness, tears that lubricate the gears that moves giant machines for years to come. May they be for peace, safety, and fun. Genes of the spirals behind our tattered, denim jeans holds molecular machines within us. Tiny gears set into motion, creating particular love potions, pouring out into vast oceans of debris floating in currents aligned. Strive for hopes and meanings sublime. Finely layered lines of poetry shine out from the beating hearts of timely martyrs chiming, rhyming, and climbing up the never-ending step ladder of the divinely. Ascension from the tension of the rotting vine of hatred, did I mention the sign of sacred love, which swoops down from above? The dove from it's perch of light, stares directly into your sight. Bright, dazzling displays amaze you more by the day.
Chasing and facing the challenges of anxiety, stress, and worry, obstructions of a 10 story building crumbling down all around you. Dust-bellowing clouds to choke and blindly block your steps around the destruction. Using torn limbs as ****** crutches, stumbling amongst dozens of slain wretches. Bets are placed for survival of the quickest and fittest. The wittiest guy you know is fastidious as the insidious destroyers of tomorrow.
This poem I borrowed from my soul and mind. The lines have spilled out onto shining paper reflecting the light from the mind's eye. All these meaningless rhymes will move tides that waves to you goodbye.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 9:15 AM UTC
Staked to the ground we find ourselves at
the crossroads.
Though no deal is to be struck,
no bargain arranged
and no promises kept.
This is a place for looking
and, if we are all very lucky,
a place for seeing as well.
Stand here with me, in these chains,
and sing me the song that is
the night.
Breath this starlight and look out
on the expanse of our ever
expanding universe.
Do you see it yet?
*Pinned though we are,
wondering though we might,
we have to find the single spark,
we have to see the light.*
It is here, in the darkness that we revisit.
That we revise.
That we dig it all up and decide.
Because tomorrow, thankfully not today,
we grow toward the sunlight
more efficiently,
as the people we have to be.
We are staked here, at the crossroads,
but when these pins are drawn,
our chains lifted,
we will soar the skies above the crossroads.
We'll wonder, one has to hope,
as we look down on the trail that
had become our prison,
The path here is crooked,
so many obstructions
too many hazards.
The paths lead nowhere...
How did we ever get around?
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
"modern art is precious"
...it's abstract.
I heard you say
and laughed at that
sit back and sat with the grieving.
it's easier to read it, I can't speak it.
been a gloomy pirate
singing, border-line screaming.
changing habits?
still repeating.
hatch-back stare
these feelings are fleeting.
still don't care
I've lost myself eating:
finding secrets but refuse to share.
I'm a hound dog daddy, still speaking with rhymes
I thought I gave up order,
but found lost in the deep between.
I'm half flamed bread,
I'm charcoal.
I'm burnt
and I'm fried.
I've given up my obstructions
and gone straight for falling behind.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 5:29 PM UTC
standing breaths away
from an atom bomb
too far gone
it is the tiptoe of our
echoes
or the fade in of a song
i rebuild the evening
to tear apart the day
so what exactly is it
that you have to say
because i’m fifteen seconds
from a post-war impact
while bombs whistle down
trying to make contact
but self destruction’s repercussions
are silent obstructions of all the things
i’ve been loving
so make believe for the sake of cosmic buoyancy
that when density met gravity
that it was not destiny
rather just the dying dream
of a passerby[passing by deity
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 11:03 PM UTC
I can’t see the sky falling down on me.
I can hear the angels crying.
Tears crashing like colossal rain drops on reminiscent individuals and broken buildings.
Spilling through open airways and clogged avenues.
Oceans now over obstructions.
I can feel the sun bursting.
Radiation detonating like a thousand bombs through blue television screens and ragdolls.
Emanating above sensible cells and raw forests.
Deserts now in a splendor of abundance.
But no,
The sky is not falling down on me.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC