"onetime" poems
Mind, like a deciduous forest
has lost all its foliage,
all leaves torn away
by the autumnal blasts
The brain where great schemes were concocted
is now an abyss where spiders sway
It is bare – dismally barren
of all memories – sweet and sour
Like a kite afloat in the boundless sky
moving nowhere, but as the wind directs,
cut out from the past, turned from the present
with the future yet to surge from the abyss
or like serpents intertwining,
hissing in turmoil within the brain,
unable to sense the gusty blast,
or hear the whispering air,
dead to sounds that disturb,
deaf to songs that soothe,
like a phantom he moves weird,
drifting far away
to a space and time impenetrable
with nothing to make the mind agog
or depress it to let out a sigh.
Loitering on roads without hurrying feet
with no bliss coming on the way
to run or hasten to embrace
or fear to be missed sore
passing through dark labyrinthine tunnels
forever barred with no exit
churned in oblivion, oblivious of all,
he remains a spectral facsimile
of his onetime self
plummeting into a black hole
The pulse of a heart beat
is all that keeps him alive,
all else is dead…… !
with dreary nights ahead
that shall not know another morrow
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 8:13 AM UTC
Onetime I let a boy inside my ribcage
I warned him upon entry that the path to the space between my lungs was a oneway ticket
that I had never smoked a cigarette,
but the walls inside me were tar-filled
and sick
that sometimes my heart failed to beat with my brain and instead fell into
perfect
uneven
synchrony with the faucet
where I threw-up cherry red the other night.
Onetime I let a boy with a knife inside my ribcage
and I had seen the knife
and I didn't care
he climbed inside me so gently
like he belonged there and was just taking his place
like a missing *****
he made me his home
reassembled my insides
vital pieces of me now resting on his body,
depending on his body
one hand on my heart
the other on my throat.
Onetime I let a boy with a knife and a bottle of bourbon live inside my ribcage
he cleaned the tar off the walls
but didn't cure the sickness
I think he liked the smell of it.
One night he carved his name everywhere
spine
clavicle
esophagus
and I pretended to sleep
cut
nick
slash
he tried to claim me
he tried to clean me
but lost souls can't be claimed
and I'll never be clean enough
my heart follows faucets
not boys
and that scared the boy
so one night he poured the bourbon down the throat he held
and I didn't stop him
and I almost drowned
gulp, gulp, gulp
slash, slash, slash
cursive illegible sorry's
over every spot he had once cut his name into
and he kissed the wounds
and I woke up heavy.
Organs are worthless without their host but
Onetime I watched a boy tear his way out of my ribcage.
Knife and empty bottle in his place,
nothing's been working right in there since.
I haven't let anyone in there since.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 3:57 AM UTC
Sights disable me by birth
Father as witness to.
Mother to teach A to Z every time
And trying well correcting my sight.
To leave school, after full fill lessons
To change my disable sight, why?
For my sight, present friends and other people,
Of book tonic, medicine plants,
Traditional treatments
And more other onetime roots,
But nothing change my sight,
At last the order coming,
Wear specs.
To run at 1st street
Saw, wore whole shop in saffron coluor,
In glass chamber, stick saffron bindi in all doll's forehead
And saffron specs covered their eyes.
Add verse displayed - buy specs
Get rusted lance free absolutely.
To reached eyes on 2nd street
The shop 'n' carpets are green,
All dolls had beard and turban
In theplank advertising - buy specs
Get sword 'n' a bottle perfume free.
In the 3rd street endered my face
Whole room yellow, front dolls, specs,
Everywhere yellow, display text be yellow,
If buy specs, wonderful wine free.
To the 4th street, move my foot
Whole floor blue like the sea,
At shop, dolls, specs, all are blue
Gospel on display board
Seat on heaven be reserve free, buy specs.
Much crouded in 5th street
From enterence and street , to shop are red
Dolls are spectrum of victims, specs are red
slogan of display plank,
Sharpen wooden spear free,
Under puchased all specs.
And stret boys call worst,
Throw ***** of guilty verse,
And much caper plays
At back, a crying noises
That 2nd street, ask a boy brokenly
Passed away whole street,
In which specs for my sight?
And which colour for specs?
I too distruct and move my leg to 6th street,
From door to everywhere crystal,
And the floor pellucid, on the street no crowd
At the shop no doll and display plank.
When wear crystal specs,to see my own me?
To know my friend, colour of appetite,
Depth of love, greatness of hope in eyes.
I pray, with pulsated heart,
And wait for specs on the 6th street.
==============================C N Kumar.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
I know you won't take me back
Perhaps you can't forgive
But this is what I wish for you
For as long as you may live
I wish you every sunny day
And starry starry nights
I wish you laughter once again
I wish you love and light.
I wish you every color
In rainbow waterfalls
I wish you greatest beauty
On your mountain tall.
I wish you every syllable
Of every love song penned
I hope you find another girl
That you love again.
I mean this completely
My lost and onetime man
I'd give you everything i own
I'd give you all I AM.
I really hope you read this
You do not turn your eyes
I really did the best for you
At least I didn't lie.
Please read my poems to you
Be well my dearest heart
I will bow out gracefully
On this note I will part
You will, in time forgive me
If only for your sweet mind
For you have a heart of
Purest gold
You are just that kind.
Just remember that I love you
This I would instill
I love you with all my heart
And I always will.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 12:07 PM UTC
Take a road trip in my heart my dear, the highways are all marked.
Head down any route you choose, where every onetime romance sparked.
Just in case you won't remember, take a picture of my heart.
Get close - catch all the little cracks from where it broke apart
But I stumbled through the red tape, built the infrastructure new.
Now with tearful eyes and outstretched arms,
I give the key to you.
Ride through my heart with all the lumps in it, they fell down from my throat.
See the well from which I've drawn out every word I ever wrote.
Take a souvenir from my heart, it's something you must do.
It's risky but I have to trust a piece is safe with you.
If you held it close to your heart that would probably be best,
it might be warm and safe there if it's pressed against your chest.
Please leave my heart quite carefully or never leave at all.
If i keep giving pieces out it may end up too small.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
This life is just a onetime passage,
For the soul, inside of you,
It’s not about, how much you have,
Or something you did, or think you can do,
Always, look ahead, when a decision, in in front of you,
What could the outcome be, think, when you pick, or choose.
It is not easy, to discover yourself, today, to many, man - made distractions, in our way,
Many become addictions, they keep you, and your soul, confused, each day,
We are each a part of nature, go out by yourself, pack a lunch, leave cell phone, at home away,
Forget the this, and that’s, and other excuses, you can make up, not to be alone, are you afraid?
Nature is the only thing, around in this life, that is not man made, take time, relax, listen,
Nature does give us messages, of where we are, and guides us, at the perfect time in special ways.
The original Tom Maxwell© 09/01/2025 AD
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 12:46 AM UTC
The old sod house,
The west wind
chit, chit, chatters the hinges,
The door creaks to 'n fro,
Vermin music to the denizen within.
The old sod house on the hill,
The windows were broken long ago
Like old folks who've lost their 20/20.
And the memories too have leaked
Through that busted fenestration.
Where most the year the wind is weir
And long ago caught the laughter
That onetime surely resided here.
Hard to know who did lived there.
There's only one that surely knows,
I'll ask the wind.
*This poem is a collaboration with joann alabsy who inspired its creation an contributed generously. Any and all short comings reside at my door.
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 9:08 AM UTC
Onetime, I hit rock bottom
but it wasn't really rocky at all
it was actually pretty soft
it felt like my bed
in the middle of a messy room
that went unnoticed
because there was nothing
to provoke me to care
there was no feeling
soft was just a sensation, no emotion involved
I could've been laying on a rock
but it would've just given my nerves
a different pattern of stimulation
it would've just been another irrelevant reality
separate from me.
The phrase was coined "rock bottom" to scare people away
because feeling nothing is worse than feeling a rock
bludgeon your body
because when you feel nothing there is no reason
to ever come back to the surface
and live.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
If we could PVR our lives,
We'd pause at moments
Of delight;
Rewind when memory's
Not quite right;
Fast forward during
Times of strife;
Hit mute if we get too loud,
Reboot when we act too proud.
I've moments like
A satelite stream
Of unseen waves
Directing themes
In 3D pixels,
And onetime dreams.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
you don't
know me anymore
just as sure as I am someone
I'm a stranger
you don't know me
and the fact feels
almost certain
like a stone wall
iron curtain
pretty sure that
I don't know you anymore.
the last time
that I saw you
least it seemed I thought I knew you
thought that I could see right through you
and I thought that you could see right through me too
but the truth is you can't see me
you replace me with your memories
golden moments overshadowed
by embarrassment and shame
and the fun we thought we had
crushed by an elephant whose name
we'd rather not be speaking of
call it madness, never love
it truly seems like you don't know me anymore.
you don't owe me anything
you don't owe me
morning sunshine
I remember
burning embers
not a good time
or a late night
but a bad a fight
you don't owe me morning coffee
or a homemade egg mcmuffin
you don't owe me...
owe me anything at all.
and since we're left with little
but a memory fading fast
it's like a cold and distant
dark and dreary
rainy lonely evening
somewhat comfortable in knowing
we don't owe each other anything
not a word, no not a thing I think,
at all.
you don't own me anymore
and maybe onetime
I was someone
just a person
who meant something
maybe one thing or another
just to fill your empty nothing
never less my little something
more than what you had had before
but now I'm just another someone
someone lurking at your door
you don't owe me anything
like you never did before
since you certainly don't know me
not so sure you ever did
you don't own and you don't owe me
anymore.
the end.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
The wrapes of Grath adorn the path that slammer klingks had tread
when turning spades in everglades to flosticate the dead.
Along the way the snorbels bay at freebled sprutelned
that boogeymen had once again uphove above the shed.
The buildings tall that housed the krawl are pictured carved in stone
and all that’s left is now bereft of wrapes that might atone
for scabs that feed our wrinkled breed, distraught and lying prone.
Yes, flonk replaces merpeled traces deep inside, alone.
There’s no retreat from incomplete, so durbies never dared,
but streaped instead beneath their bed with franjent fangs unbeared;
they knew the past could never last although the trumpets blared,
for doogies, stripped, were ill equipped, no longer bald or haired.
Like cavaliers with gougejent spears, well triggered for a tiff,
slank vankulures with silver spurs embussed for grimp and griff
(no question why, for “we can’t die”, the oft regleated riff);
with little fuss the blunder bus krunged glimpfly off the cliff
and fetid breet of grim defeat gave Grath its final whiff;
the catapult had one result, all life lay lazelled stiff.
The plastic waves that washed the graves, now homeland for the rutch,
though faring worse when quenching thirst with warples in the hutch
were nonetheless, as frunks confess, so pleasant to the touch
exturbing sinks that watered wynx and onetime life as such.
Like burning blotters slurping waters, skindles sipped their fill
from koozing cracks between the tracks inhumed beneath the hill,
then spawned the spores of Grathic wars that profit from the ****
their victory tales, like crimson crails, reside in dung and dill.
Those scrilly clouds that cowed the crowds neath radiation snapes
left little less than watercress beneath their coffin’s drapes;
yes, those unborn cannot adorn the pallor of the prapes
so scrundlemun tinge bibberun, we ones who reap the wrapes.
Yes, now-abandoned hetzelspan were once in time embroiled
with merikained that firps extained until the weather roiled.
What more, perchance, can happenstance inflict upon the koiled
when pendlesnips are in eclipse and wrapes of Grath are soiled?
Jul 1, 2021
Jul 1, 2021 at 5:07 PM UTC
Well,well,well, I wonder
How quickly one gets
attracted to these shells
lie strewn around, colorfully
without any scheme or theme
but in no way less attractive
yet making naked soft soles
of itinerant feet bleed
if gets closer than needed.
On a desolate beach
like this one here, we stand
there isn't much else
other than laden sand
one can expect to set eyes on
for a long, long time
unless one is counting
the waves,incessantly rolling out,
waves that won't let you do that job,
the way perfect,you want to accomplish.
What would a wave bring you other than
what you have expected always!
Then comes the time to let
eyes wander on to the naked shells,
spread as if each conceals a cryptic message!
You'd never want to know what
strange happenings they predict.
Oh! Yes! so many waiting in disorder
with that onetime impatience,
inevitable death's thirst display,
now quenched forever and aye!
Now licked clean by sun and waves,
and time's invisible scaly tongue.
that adamantly kept mum,
when one was all ears to listen.
Shell white in an angry profusion
dominates the sea shore
making sand whiteness mean less,
Staring eyeless crabs,just as shells
comes in to dreams as pirates
Shrimps, kills and prawns transform
in to ghostly shells cackling in salty winds.
Shells whispering the stories of pain from the past,
Did i hear someone in a frenzy yell
from a mid sea night darkness.
**** that shell,with the evil memories
of a death,that drained all semblance
of life,that drained all spirit of life.
"Shells go back to your sleep!
From the dream of return,
Prepare for a life allover again".
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC
Sometime
onetime
anytime
does it ever feel
like sanity is dripping
slowly slipping
like an eel
gushing from the tap
of the world
and you can't get a grip
on the handle of the bucket
to pour it back in
Oct 29, 2022
Oct 29, 2022 at 2:45 PM UTC
We hear about
The warming of our planet,
The rising water in the seas,
Pollution, in the air,
It must be A mystery,
That we can breathe, or see,
Everything, for survival
Earth reproduces, for free,
Oxygen, water, and food,
Our three basic needs,
Fear, is A way to control, people,
The gift, of this onetime life,
We should all be thankful for,
And happy, as we can be.
The Original: Tom Maxwell © 9/20/2021 AD 5:00 am
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 5:24 PM UTC
Between the haze of being in a particular place
knowing that distances could be distorted
we still rush to dead-end destinies
unable to change gear or get off the accelerator
of unknowns. Our journeys have been mapped
long before we even knew how to wander between
our emotional mish-mash of dreams.
Once in a while a comet rushes across
our sensational universe of unions
and we scuttle and scare at the cross-roads
if a slight aberration disturbs the tranquility
of our plans.
When we finally part, taking with us
all those things that collected memories
we soon discover that real and unreal moments
turn to distasteful mangled dislikes
of each others onetime blistering
companionship.
Such is the shadow of love
known and unknown. That which once gleamed
and glistened in our first meeting
now lurks in old dusty corners
waiting for new resurrections. Nothing
will bring back the life it once held.
Heartbreaks can be healed
moulded and mended
in different furnaces.
Set fire afresh each time this happens.
Author Notes
The changing attributes of relationships.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
It was a onetime try
Yet it became a full time job
Pretending it was helping
While I knew it was actually destroying
Every time I do
I cut away a piece of my soul
It was an illusion of an escape
An illusion of a happy place
When running away from reality’s pain
My addiction seemed to be the perfect shelter to hide away
For moments it gave me a lovely peace of mind
It made me feel relaxed, and forget all sorrow in my life
Yet minutes after, I quickly felt worse
Felt miserable and hated myself for being weak and that much of powerless
It was devastating me from the inside
Consuming my breaths
And threatening me with death if I ever tried putting an end for it
True … death was scary, but living with such addiction was even more frightening
So eventually I took a decision
To never fall for my demons again
And to fight back whenever the urge for my addiction settled back on the surface of my mind
I won’t lie and say it was a piece of cake
For it was a dark period to pass by in my life
I was at the real rock bottom
But that rock bottom gave me a new start
A beginning for a new chapter in life
A life where I am actually alive, and not just breathing and passing by
Addiction takes all that is good and precious in one’s life; I didn’t realize that until I moved on and came clean from it.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 12:02 PM UTC
He told me to count the stars onetime
And he said if I lose track of time
He'll love me for a lifetime
Feb 2, 2021
Feb 2, 2021 at 1:55 PM UTC
I don’t understand.
I have never wanted to do this before.
I was always afraid of those who did.
Always afraid I would lose them,
Forever.
All I did was try it once
Never realizing what I was getting myself into.
All the stress piles up,
School, Sports, Society.
Never knowing where it’s coming from.
Never stopping.
“It will only happen during school” I say,
“It is only a onetime thing” I say.
Only it isn’t
It isn’t going to stop until life stops.
Forever.
June 20, 2016
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
It was no surprise
What happened last night
When I first saw you and gazed into your eyes
The passion’s been there
I was just full of fear
To let myself go
So I want you to know
It’s ok, I understand
We both wanted it badly
Why hold back, and go away sadly
If this is a onetime thing
I can live with that
I’ve lived through worse
I’ll always have my cats
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 3:22 AM UTC
as of tonight I am one with the stars
a glass splinter of many
meticulously distributed by the hand
that shattered the shining jar
nourished by the garlic half moon
peeled it off and
cut it into shape
for my marginal nocturnal treat
im here to disappear
a repeating onetime chance
what’s between shall remain as
a clasping ray to heaven‘s gate
Jul 30, 2020
Jul 30, 2020 at 2:52 AM UTC
Sleeping soundly on your memory now
I dream of uncollected worlds
Where young girls dance at summer weddings
And foolish men take their cars for spins and whirls
I've seen you less and less, in the headlights of happiness
My onetime escape
From you I'm free
Within the dance of newfound reflectiveness, I'm free indeed
Jan 12, 2020
Jan 12, 2020 at 10:14 PM UTC
my grandfather
a liverpudlian
bus driver sat of an
ev´en in the kitchen and
vehemently demanded
right of way
before god and man..
(or so it is recorded..)
i recall him being smaller-
a darkness before a mirror
putting lard on his hair-
a prerequisite to exhausted sleep
in his favorite armchair..
we,his family would gather..
(round..)
grandfather duly revisited his day
he bucked and contorted..
a scissored hand a pedestrian..
his slippered feet sort break and clutch
but performed a little known dance instead..
with an all change he´d swung into position:
babe in arms
halfpastthree
sidewinder..
onetime he slept with his knees on the floor
and his head under the cover..
auntie mable was nearly ill with suppressed laughter..
children,can of course be fearful moralists...
tired of the humiliation i released a guffaw..
that was the kind of little boy i was..
priggish but thought an idiot..
the adults groaned..
grandfather opened a beautiful pale blue eye..
later,in the garden
in the day light
he said he and i could
be great friends...
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 6:15 AM UTC