"paralytic" poems
It happens. Will it go on? ----
My mind a rock,
No fingers to grip, no tongue,
My god the iron lung
That loves me, pumps
My two
Dust bags in and out,
Will not
Let me relapse
While the day outside glides by like ticker tape.
The night brings violets,
Tapestries of eyes,
Lights,
The soft anonymous
Talkers: 'You all right?'
The starched, inaccessible breast.
Dead egg, I lie
Whole
On a whole world I cannot touch,
At the white, tight
Drum of my sleeping couch
Photographs visit me-
My wife, dead and flat, in 1920 furs,
Mouth full of pearls,
Two girls
As flat as she, who whisper 'We're your daughters.'
The still waters
Wrap my lips,
Eyes, nose and ears,
A clear
Cellophane I cannot crack.
On my bare back
I smile, a buddha, all
Wants, desire
Falling from me like rings
Hugging their lights.
The claw
Of the magnolia,
Drunk on its own scents,
Asks nothing of life.
9.1k
My memories deceive me, and my heart bleeds to thoughts of
you, poisoned from the curse that runs deep within my veins.
Do I halter and use the words that I can, to try with you,
another chance?
My memories deceive me, and my mind is headed to a paradox of
life that doesn't bring happiness but only a subtle feeling
of contentment. For in my memories you are with me in a
final, never ending dance.
My memories deceive me, as the bewildering cries from within
awaken the soul that has been bound by chains created from
the sins of my past life, and are made stronger by the sins
of which are my own.
My memories deceive me, as the rumors of your betrail fade
into the shadows but the calling from our hearts reach into
the light, violently, yet no sound have they shown.
My memories deceive me, trying to hold them back, all that
accomplishes is bringing you into my senses once again, but I
go forth to a different land with what could have and should
have been.
My memories deceive me, chased by an altered state of mind
where nothing has gone wrong, no death, no pain, just the
feeling of contentment once again.
My memories, they deceive me and everyone around me, for I do
not see faces, only souls that fade into surroundings. A
paralytic view is what they show, of what should have, could
have been you and me.
My memories deceive me, but could they instead be the truth
that I have been seeking as I try hard to sink them in
deeply...
My memories. My memories, immortal as they come, they open my
eyes, though they burn like facing the sun, in this time I
have begun, to realize my memories. They do not deceive, but
only conceive the past that I have forgotten and shields me
from...you.
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 11:14 AM UTC
They're a funny lot, some of these poets,
feisty feminists, dreamers, anti-money,
and even some who are very self-defecating
about themselves.
And then there's the literary, learned allusion lot,
and some who've got their eye on eternity, that's what,
and others who rub too much turps on the **** of their imagination.
But it's the long-winded poets who make me squirm,
and for god’s sake, give me a bottle of red wine when the ones
with blue-rinse hair get up to have their turn.
They're terribly nice, but they need an echidna
stuffed right up you know where - at least once, if not twice.
And give me another bottle of the red, even if it's rough,
or better still a whole case of that stuff,
just to protect me from those who bleed too much in poems.
Psychoanalytic stuff makes me paralytic
and I have to stifle groans.
But most of all, I like the poets with their tongues on fire,
the ones who lick lightening before they write
and who throw a sizzling poem down
like a thunderbolt from Zeus.
I like poems marsh mellow soft and bitter-sweet, too,
and those oozing with the juice. And if a poem's loud and flash,
so what? I like a bit of swagger, with shameless **** and ***
And sometimes, I just like words that rhyme with licorice,
Dionysius, Priapus, Bacchus and preposterous!
Also, what the **** a poem can even give offense.
Poets sometimes need to do this to stop indifference.
They call this poet's license, but really,
indifference is the only hell from which
us poets need deliverance.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 6:56 AM UTC
For each word that never made it past my teeth
-harsh critics-
I am sorry
I told you I loved you last night in bed
and all you heard was my breathing
-waves on your shore-
I am sorry
For each step I should have taken that was frozen in my legs
-stone pillars-
I am sorry
I ran to the edge of the earth for you
where I heard the lilies were blooming
-empty vase-
I am sorry
For each song that suffocated in my hollows
-white noise-
I am sorry
I scored you a serenade for clarinet and bassoon
and your shutters heard nothing
-white noise-
I am sorry
For each quiver of my hands that has held me
chained to the anvils of fear
For the confidence I lack and the love I have not given
-myself-
I am sorry
For times I held truth by the throat underwater
and prayed you wouldn't notice the splashing
For those days I went sleep walking
-through prayers-
I am sorry
For the stability I cradle while sitting on dreams
singing songs we all know the words to
the song we've each written verses to
12 bars on each wall of this blue cage that we sing through
For the times we don't fight
For the times that we mean to
For the injustices that steal the peace from our silent nights
For the riotless streets
For thriving inequalities
For microphones and stages still wet with my ego
For the silence I keep
-when the world is listening-
I am sorry
Shake me
from these paralytic dreams
from the cloud of ideas and fantasy
-what is art but a landing?-
Shake me
make me rise up and face the music
climb out of myself and breathe
-what is prayer but respiration?-
Shake me
until my apologies are gone
and your house is full of flowers
and your ears are full of songs
and your heart is filled with this love of mine
your quivering hands shook free
Shake me
until I see beauty in truth
and truth in what we are made to be
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 2:48 AM UTC
I challenged him
burly ******* captain
stubbled beard as coarse as sandpaper
standing there in muggy dusk
arms akimbo,
mama san starched uniform stained with swagger and sweat
two silver captain's bars ******* any of my brilliance or bravado
all he had to do was speaketh the words
“need those maps, head out at 2230 hours”
and that was a death sentence
which was commuted to life
if four decades since has been life
there are not words for the black
of moonless jungle
except nothingness and paralytic fear
and through that lightless, lifeless, abyssness
I crawled, crouched and crept along
sometimes as slowly as the minute hand on my watch
the silence, the silence, the silence
became my splintered cross
to carry to my place of crucifixion
at my Calvary Hill behind barbed wire, blue lead barrels and
fearful eyes
silence, silence, silence, black wordlessness
black soundlessness
punctuated by shallow precious breaths
and imagined slant-eyed demons
waiting behind each berm
to turn the timeless night into timelessness
of more black
should I chamber a round?
and follow its solitary sound
into the silent holy night
and shatter my own fragile fright?
would that end this knowing without knowing?
and answer the question,
“is this fear worse than the answer?”
since questions have answers but answers have nothing
the nothing of which I was sure I would become a part
in the silence, the silence, the silence
of the black canopied jungle
in Tay Ninh Province
in 1967
where I was sentenced to death but allowed to live
in silent, black wordlessness
sentenced to live
to wonder, after all these years of shivering fright and flickering light
did the captain become a human?
And was I really allowed to live?
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 9:58 AM UTC
I lie here paralytic
Inside this soul
Screaming for you 'til my throat is numb
I wanna break out I need a way out
I don't believe that it's gotta be this way
The worst is the waiting
In this womb I'm suffocating
Feel your presence filling up my lungs with oxygen
I take you in
I've died
Rebirthing now
I wanna live for love wanna live for you and me
Breathe for the first time now
I come alive somehow
Rebirthing now
I wanna live my life wanna give you everything
Breathe for the first time now
I come alive somehow
Right now [X2]
I lie here lifeless
In this cocoon
Shedding my skin cause
I'm ready to
I wanna break out
I found a way out
I don't believe that it's gotta be this way
The worst is the waiting
In this womb I'm suffocating
Feel your presence filling up my lungs with oxygen
I take you in
I've died
Rebirthing now
I wanna live for love wanna live for you and me
Breathe for the first time now
I come alive somehow
Rebirthing now
I Wanna live my life wanna give you everything
Breathe for the first time now
I come alive somehow
(I come alive somehow)
Tell me when I'm gonna live again
Tell me when I'm gonna breathe you in
Tell me when I'm gonna feel inside
Tell me when I'm gonna feel alive
Tell me when I'm gonna live again
Tell me when this fear will end
Tell me when I'm gonna feel inside
Tell me when I'll feel alive
Rebirthing now
I wanna live for love wanna live for you and me
Breathe for the first time now
I come alive somehow
Rebirthing now
I wanna live my life wanna give you everything
Breathe for the first time now
I come alive somehow
(I come alive somehow)
Right now
I come alive somehow
Right now
I come alive somehow
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
Walking is the king of exercises
It suits different age groups
And is useful for both genders
Its results are unbelievable wonders
Walk for five kilometers a day
And keeps the doctor away
You need not run like a race
But can walk at your own pace
Walking relieves your hypertension
And keeps your heart in good condition
It is a must for a diabetic
And is possible for a paralytic
It improves your vitality
And enhances your longevity
You can walk preferably in the morning
Or at least in the evening
Walking removes your bad cholesterol
And saves the consumption of petrol
Why do you eat carcinogenic fast foods in a pub?
Why don’t you join a walkers’ club?
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 10:24 PM UTC
Entering a world composed of surreal images
My mind must twist itself into difficult yoga poses
Attempting comprehension of the madness
Black aprons meander in rhythmic gyrations
Under harsh soul stealing luminescence
Lubricated with coffee to perform
Menial machinations miserably
I am but a tourist
On their macabre island full
With nightmarish denizens
Of this local purgatory
The poet dreamt of no circle
As dreadfully inhabited as this sinister strata
Easily a septante of sins sordidly succumbed to by soulless citizens
Apathetic arrogance masquerading as hospitality
While decency and morality are assaulted
According to the overlords abusive schedule
I am struck mute with paralytic paranoia
As I hurriedly set my offering upon the altar
And search for exact change
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 9:45 PM UTC
A year and a half has passed since I crashed my motorcycle.
The broken bones and road rash had since been cast away.
The gassed up tank and fast paced life were smashed together.
A singular bash that cached my memory.
Lights flashed and all of the sudden whiplash has new meaning.
This thrash of two autos blinked my eyelash three days later.
Paralytic forecast.
I lay flabbergast.
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
They come to me,
They come to me
When they speak
I listen
I can't breathe
Am I living?
They're all my eyes would see
When they come to me
I hate the voices that speak to me.
They are nothing but liars.
Bloody,liars.
When I was young, I believed them.
They convinced me that I was an angel from heaven.
They ruined my early childhood.
And persons close to me (that are real) are ruining my teenage years. The earthly ones.
They come to me speaking things preposterous,
No wonder when they're around,
I get real anxious
Getting jittery, hormone levels rising
Wish there was real hope on the horizon
Am I crazy or purely insane
For those like me I can feel your pain
Not till I got wiser, I realized that I should be careful
Dear diary, is it in my genes to have schizophrenia,
Stabbing pains and paralytic dreams
I always hear things
But ignore them when I'm busy
So when I'm bored that is when they come to me
I like my father.
The earthly one.
I miss when he could see.
So many times we would have fun together.
But that was another day.
A day of the before.
Looking back won't change anything.
I don't even know why it is done.
Can't comprehend my inability,
To understand is something wrong with me?
I don't get man, not humanity.
Is that because they come to me?
They come to me in pursuit of my mind
Wish someone fully human was on my side
No wonder I tried to commit suicide
But I miserably failed many times
Why can't I die?!?
I know I have a purpose, but does that mean that I an not allowed to die.
Just because I won't die, I can consume anything and everything without getting sick, so far (does my malfunctioning mind blind me?).
Even bleach!
My body has immunized to them all.
That will just make me live longer.
Is life a never-ending torture?
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC
Take away something real, fiction
Hold it in your arms, metaphysical
Friction, Oh, hyper-monitor diction to
Take hold of nonexistent, nonsensical
Non-fiction; How it slips from fingers
Ever distant, moving yet arthritic; much so,
This life fades, Drowning in indifference
In the future not far; Traces fill the spaces
That hold your heart back as if paralytic.
Become resistant, To feel alive in life here.
If only to replay the best yesterdays;
When tomorrow is clean-slated fate,
Today is an oil smudged rainy sidewalk,
There is a Specter, an owl on a high pole;
In the light of fluorescence a ****** there,
Eyes glow; what does the wise one know?
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
there are some folks living in my bathroom
from the in-between world
like a trailer park
for toilet home bodies
it is where some
of the the dead living habitate
gnomish broods who feed
on the mist of mold
and fecundating aberrations
of **** and excrement
where the difference
between objects and souls
blur
sinks and toilets
flapping opinionated vortexes
of gloom brooding
walls wave and warp
like angry water
and howling wind
they are living creatures
animated bodies electric
crying mouths
without breath
fierce undulations
animated denizens scowling
rattling like bricka bracka
used shaking chairs
always steaming
hysterical
daring you to fight them
sometimes between sleep and wake
i enter their dimension
unable to break free of my sleeping self
held down
paralytic
like a narcoleptic slug
inching its way
through a puddle of warm oatmeal
last night i found myself
in the in-between world
to discover some desperate hollow woman
barricading the bathroom
i pushed hard against the door
and heard her sonorous groan
as she collapsed
into thin air
i think i love her
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 5:16 PM UTC
The feeling of neutral,
Is bleak and bland.
For I cannot fathom
This life of random.
This feeling of doom,
It is present
Yet seldom.
It is static
And paralytic.
I feel erratic.
Yet I am calm,
Content.
But my mind,
Unresponsive,
Perhaps braindead.
My sanity,
Decreased
To the thinnest thread.
As this feeling of neutral,
Has emptied my head.
Nov 18, 2023
Nov 18, 2023 at 3:35 AM UTC
This is my only moment
Of lucidity.
I lie on this bed,
On top of blankets
And pillows
And the ghosts of my lovers.
And I see the room, in which I lie
On this bed.
I am aware.
But this is not reality,
This dream-state.
My body does not move the way
It should.
I am twisted,
And frozen.
But not cold,
The icy streaks
Which paint the cement outside
Silver,
Have not taken me
As home
Yet.
Yes.
But I have forgotten that I have joints.
My hands and feet
Are backwards,
Connected to
Wrists and ankles
Which were removed,
When, I know not,
But replaced upside down.
Are they even mine?
I can see the lamp,
And feel its small light,
Like words,
Calling to me.
But I am paralyzed and cannot answer
It.
I hear, too,
A howl,
Like the howl
Of one hundred
Lost souls
Of a generation,
Not looking to be found.
And certainly not in
Any sullen art.
The howl settles
Like white noise
Into my gray matter.
This drone holds the only truth;
Ploom ploom tra da da da
Watching from within the room, but outside of my body,
I saw you,
The phantom.
For that phantom had
To be you,
Jeremy.
And you,
The phantom, stood over my body,
In its paralytic
Dream-state,
And he,
You,
Ripped through the flesh
And bone
And grabbed at its sin.
And he, you,
Ate my tarpaulin colored
sin.
It was then that I knew
That is what fills our
Porcelain,
No limestone,
Shells.
We are afraid of our own
Nondescript insides.
Get down from that perch
Above my head,
Jeremy.
You sit
Like a lead crown.
I wish to see you,
As you were then,
But also as you are now,
A figment of my subconscious.
I lose myself to my sullen art
And wish to sleep forever
In this dream-state,
In you,
My phantom,
My lead crown.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 9:58 AM UTC
Last night, I saw the largest
and most enchanting smile
I ever recall seeing.
Large, yet cute, dimples with
a soft reassuring look.
Her eyes were the brightest,
most vivid stars in the sky.
I've seen many amazing
sights in my life,
but having our sky actually
smiling at me tops them all.
It was paralytic beauty
and wonder and truly
the most enchanting smile!
Written By:
Andrew D. Robertson
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC
paralytic skies
hold close their embrace
folding in
upon themselves
glaring
burning cobalt eyes
crushing
their despairing captives
whose hollow faces
drag the recalcitrant air
into the cavities
of spiritless lungs
blood and bone
test the bars
of their inherited prison
built with
walls of allegorical stone
they cast
their harrowed gaze
upward
prospecting for pay dirt
through tapped out veins
of hope
and love
in strip mined heavens
Sep 23, 2024
Sep 23, 2024 at 11:50 PM UTC
Look what you've done!
double the serving size of torment
the battle has begun
hunger pangs won't relent
another helping: slashes of lament
I'd rather be empty
necessary rations, I resent
beneficial to you, poisonous to me
drifting through the days, rugged debris
I've become a lunchroom paralytic
ignore me, mediocre bourgeoisie
not a stomach, but a heart granitic
I ask for seconds - of love, not larder
For once, I feel full. Incomparable ardor.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
waxing, planetary
odd moonlight—
the faces are whetted to diamonds.
the paralytic shadow begins
to twitch;
benign light froths to full afternoon,
this sedentary creature in between teeth,
a clear consonant of dull air.
thereby gleaming, tapered to
a nightingale's song;
i take my place amongst the elements
of night: as if to say a new portrait in mausoleum crossed by grass and aureole
the laughter shattering its dull one—
a lurid memory, all to itself amongst
kindred of parks.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
My moods drain me down
To some immoderate sluice-gate,
They run down the grainy windows,
Clog the sand in the top of the hour-glass
Like bat's tears, like misplaced rainstorms
Looking for a cloud to hang out under.
All my temperaments are accidental,
Wrongly placed; too early or too late
Miscarriages of intention,
Predicaments of inattention.
All the inconsequential moments I inhabit,
I'm wearing thin, from changing my mind too often-
Why is there no groove for thinking,
No energy-saving secret gear?
Sometimes I sit absolutely still
In an uncomfortable position,
Hoping the powers that be will notice me;
Will see that I'm going nowhere, so slowly
And they will send some tempest to help move me along.
I'm also afraid they will send change;
The paralytic not only can't move,
He knows he can never move,
And his biggest fear
Is being thought capable of movement.
In that rapid swirling down the drain,
He wants someone to snag him on a branch,
Save and reclaim his manhood;
Not sit in a tree and watch him spiraling,
While repeating over and over,
Why don't you save yourself?
He knows it's too late for words;
The tears only add to the swelling river.
And if once I thought there was a savior on every corner,
I guess I just got tired of waiting-
Because the ones in the mirror only close their eyes now.
Normalcy both appalls and comforts me-
Why does it all appear so average,
As you go sprawling head first over the falls:
You know nobody elses life will change one iota,
And you know you're just paying some bill
You never even saw.
Aug 25, 2010
Aug 25, 2010 at 4:32 PM UTC
I'd like to be able to say
*I don't know what tomorrow
will bring...*
but I'm scared
Because I know exactly
what tomorrow has in store
and it's everything
that has come
in the days before
and nothing will change
nothing
and that's what scares me
the most
the never changing everything
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 5:00 AM UTC
I am my own biggest critic
second thoughts; parasitic
with eyes harshly analytic
leave my hand paralytic
my pen has become sedentary
words won’t come as necessary
what used to be so elementary
no longer comes as secondary
I read and re-read obsessively
I write and re-write aggressively
until a poem forms progressively
until a poem forms successfully
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 3:33 AM UTC
She is one of those dreams,
Where you're half awake,
And you're not sure if you're dreaming;
Or if it's real.
Even if it's just a dream,
I wouldn't even try to wake up,
Because this version of reality is much better;
Than what we've actually been.
Scary as I might get fully awake,
I would prefer falling even further.
I couldn't help myself;
But to chase this paralytic state.
-HIY
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 7:53 PM UTC
THE HAUNTING
The smell of fresh begonias fanned
by rooks and sparrows
from the black ‘n’ white tiled balcony
glowing in a sunset the colourof lovebites
then the candle-glow dims
in the fanfare of light
you switch on from the hall
filling the frosted door like cancer
announcing another re-run
of a once OK drama
played out night after night
wearing me down with your claims
to what you believe is rightfully yours
Excalibur arm pointing your ways
I’m either paralysed or paralytic,
hard to choose as I’m dumbed down
by the never ending story
of your nightly return mocking
the symmetry of your eviction
which gave me a callous, relieved joy …
I’d put your bags back on the threshold
right back where you’d stood
with your Betty Blue smile
expecting me to invite you in
with a pout and a shout
about that ******* kicking you out
Good God, then as now you struck
fear into the very heart of me
Is it still enchanting?
Do you thrive on eternal return?
You linger, shadow filling in the flakes
With your useless key before knocking.
Stop. You. Again. Shape-shifter
Black strychnine swab
Running through me like a swallowed blood clot
making my emptiness fistula full
Listening to your black-bordered rap
of funeral amazement delivering your message
That you’ll return eery night
to reclaim what you say is yours
buried in these walls like a tic.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 6:23 AM UTC
When paranoia takes its course I don't know whether to stay or run but how can you run from your own mind?
I try to escape from its grip but it's dragging me in and consuming me.
I can hardly breathe. I can't move yet everything is racing around me, like a vortex, the darkness beckoning my soul.
I feel my heart beating and the sweat on my skin yet nothing can draw me from this paralytic state of fear. I know it's not real. I know nothing will happen but the trepidation is the contortionist of my mind, I'm no longer in control and here I must face my inner demons.
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 9:37 PM UTC