"pattered" poems
The pitter-patter
(pitter-patter)
of the rain against my window
attempted to lull me to sleep,
but sleep
(pitter-patter)
pitter-pattered away.
Nature's mournful tears
waltzed down my window
and collected in pools of sorrow,
and every thought
in the back of my mind
was pulled forth for
reflection,
knocking me off the edge
of unconsciousness and into
the restless abyss that is
insomnia.
I tried counting sheep,
but they were all
nestled together -
in a bundle of
wool and dreams -
taunting me in their
slumber,
teasing me in
dormancy.
So I laid there
and thought,
and spoke to myself,
and dreamed
of a restful night.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
They gave me a name that didn’t suit me.
What’s funny is
the universe recognized that
before I did.
She paid me this compliment:
*“There’s too much person to you.
You can’t be tripped up with so many
syllables in something so trivial as a name.
Less speaking, more breathing,”* she said.
Four reduced to two.
Now I can exist in half the time.
I became “Bitsy.”
Which means I’m associated
with certain things.
Mainly tiny spiders
and brightly pattered swimwear.
It’s easy to be irked by that, you know.
Yet, I smile and take it,
because they raised me
with the patience of an idiot.
I get automatic cute points
just for introducing myself with a name like this.
Newcomers get giddy,
like hearing my name is equivalent
to receiving a box of kittens.
I always try to drop an expletive or two—
I just don’t want them
to get the wrong f#@%ing impression.
“Less speaking, more breathing.”
I instructed the universe
not to do me any more favors.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 1:55 PM UTC
with a shrill cry we entered here,
we pitter-pattered on broken concrete,
we channel surfed the static,
charged with disdain and an
affinity for quickly dismissing
hopes for change,
with a shrill cry we entered here,
diploma in hand,
vocabulary expansive--
we tabbed the browsers,
waited for the buffer,
thought silent prayers,
with a shrill cry we entered here,
a jungle of shouts, busted fenders,
AA meetings, and white male kings,
waiting to mean anything more than seem,
and while we wait they talk polite-
ask us to line up against a newly white-washed wall,
the sunlight gleams over barrel, over trigger,
with a shrill cry we exit here.
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 12:06 PM UTC
She's all my fancy painted him
(I make no idle boast);
If he or you had lost a limb,
Which would have suffered most?
He said that you had been to her,
And seen me here before;
But, in another character,
She was the same of yore.
There was not one that spoke to us,
Of all that thronged the street:
So he sadly got into a 'bus,
And pattered with his feet.
They sent him word I had not gone
(We know it to be true);
If she should push the matter on,
What would become of you?
They gave her one, the gave me two,
They gave us three or more;
They all returned from him to you,
Though they were mine before.
If I or she should chance to be
Involved in this affair,
He trusts to you to set them free,
Exactly as we were.
It seemed to me that you had been
(Before she had this fit)
An obstacle, that came between
Him, and ourselves, and it.
Don't let him know she liked them best,
For this must ever be
A secret, kept from all the rest,
Between yourself and me.
1.6k
the race of the sun
pattered through
on angled feet,
the gypsy-psychic
moment stood
honeyed and crisp
ready to be bitten,
the breath told
a breeze away
from the weapon of
dusk soon approaching
come with me
said your eyes
as they picked blades
of grass and placed them
in a crown
and I took you by the teeth
and kissed you
the skyline watching
all the while
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 11:29 AM UTC
It had been too long since I paid close attention to myself.
As I sat by the water, small nymphs of some bug pattered down from the leaves above like a soft rain
Kinder to my skin than any water.
A fowl plucks himself, and the littlest spider begins a journey to cross me like my denim is so many stretching lands.
I am interrupting nature as humbly as I can manage, two cigarettes pass and I'm tired of self-ness already
But for a moment? I breathed.
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 9:29 PM UTC
Peter sought his merriment
While standing in the sediment
And fishing in his element
For something good to eat
He wasn't unintelligent
But suffered an impediment
Conversing wasn't eloquent
A stutter had him beat
One day, on the r-riverside
With hunger to be satisfied
And p-p-planning homicide
He cast his l-l-line
But bang he was immobilised
Attacked from the w-waterside
A giant p-p-pike astride
The struggling s-swine
The scene w-wasn't glamorous
The p-p-pike was amorous
The gossip would be scandalous
Someone might s-s-see
The struggle was c-clamorous
P-Pete was v-victorious
P-popped up like L-Lazarus
To f-f-f-f-flee
He promptly pattered homewardly
And cursing pikes internally
His hunger sat infernally
His hook remained unlured
The pesky pike had planned to be
Inside of Peter, rectally
To poke and **** him naughtily
But hang on..... he was cured!
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 11:36 AM UTC
*Rain pattered on all roofs
And Cattle clattered their hoofs
The locals gathered in groups
Cocking guns ready to shoot
Thinking that probably the brutes
Had once again returned to loot*
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
We're free
To do, to say, to be
Whatever makes you proud of me
I can oblige, I don’t agree
I can't see eye to eye, you see
I'd lie to try evade that sigh
Assumed reply consumed by why
I had no say conceived the sky
Each passing day perceived too high
Trespassing lay bereaved to die
Til watered ground believed too dry
The forest falls; no use to cry
You never asked to be born to any life
Your say, it mattered none
If ever tasked to bring morning with a knife
Poor day, pit-pattered sun
Wore spray, spit-spattered gun
Swore stay, sit-shattered spun
Floor display wit tattered won
Door away fitted undone
***** will say bitter begun
A score to play hit her home run
Too poor to pay **** owing one
A roar made sore ripcords I tore
Demanding, MORE!
Standing, what for?
No landing, or
Backhanding, or
Still stand ignore
Can't stand no more
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
so long we spoke
seething with breath
a troubled flutter
of a waxed
hour
pattered my nerves
your pins strike true
precisely placed
in my most
blank regions
why my envy
broke my callous
i cant say
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
I never saw you when you were alive
Not really alive anyways
With flushed cheeks and smiling eyes
But I think how you must've done well
As I watch your daughter stroke your hair
Like its the finest silk she'll ever know..
It seems I never got to hear your voice
Not your real voice anyways
I spoke to you like thunder
Hovered over the hospital bed
And you pattered back like an on and off rain
Uncertain of where it might land
Libby,
That's what everyone calls you
Well Libby,
I so wish we could've met under different conditions
I imagine you're wishing for much more
But this is it
Here you are
Sitting at the stoplight
And green isn't coming
I never did see fear in your eyes
But it could've been buried
As you looked to your family
And saw how fear had furrowed into them
Like watching your parents walk away
On the first pre-school drop off
(We all wanted to cling)
But it's your turn to be dropped off now
And the territory is unfamiliar
Once, you bathed and diapered children
Who now do the same for you
Just know, Libby, you are still dignified
And though we don't think this future will come until it's breathing down our neck
We wouldn't talk about this future without sarcasm
It is a future a majority of us will endure
It's funny how
We tread lightly on the word death as though it is hot coals beneath our feet
As though death could be separate from life
Or you and I could escape it
Libby, I'm sorry to tell you
There is no yin without the yang
The tables don't stop turning
Till the world does
But you live on
In the ritual pre-schooler drop off's
Of the generations you created
And even the ones who never got to see you alive
Will carry a part of your heart inside
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 7:09 PM UTC
‘What will you buy when Christmas comes
To show me your love, dear heart?
Will you fill my bower with fruit and flowers
To enjoy while we’re apart?
Will you buy the things that you promised me,
Like a bangle for my wrist,
Or a diamond, topaz, sapphire ring,
Or a giant amethyst?’
He stood, head down and he held her hand
As she lay so pale in the bed,
He didn’t tell her his job was lost
Or what his employer said.
There were charges he would have to face
That would fill her heart with gloom,
That by Christmas Day he would be away
And not be returning soon.
‘I’d rather give you the crescent Moon
As a coronet, dear Tess,
And pluck the stars from the Milky Way
As sequins for your dress,
Then call on the Charioteer, my dear
For your transport to the heights,
Where the gods will fall on their knees to bless
This glimpse of paradise.’
She smiled, then faded away to sleep
And dream of a ghostly tower,
Where her prince stood long at the battlements
At the height of a fateful hour,
An army lay in the fields about
In a siege for her, no less,
‘We’ve come for the Queen of Golders Green,
And we won’t leave without Tess!’
While he sat bowed in a lonely cell
And wept at his sense of loss,
He’d only needed another month
And the price would be worth the cost,
He’d not be there when she needed him
As she glided out through the door,
The Judge fixed him with a puzzled eye,
‘Just who was the coffin for?’
On Christmas Eve she awoke before
Her heart pit-pattered and stopped,
Her fading eyes had looked to the door
Along with her hopes, they dropped.
But in her hair was a crescent Moon
And stars were all over her dress,
While a Charioteer came into the room,
‘I’ve a chariot here, for Tess!’
David Lewis Paget
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 11:07 AM UTC
Do not die tonight
The heart that has become hollow
Is a sacred tomb you once built
Out of broken trinkets and feathers
Inside
A wild little girl sleeps
Holding a dream catcher close to her *****
For eternity
Rain that once pattered against your window
On nights to keep chaos at bay
Now watches over you
Silently
The neighbor’s dog howls at the
Psychic Catastrophe
As the moon dissolves into the ocean waves
Be gentle with your pain Child
She says
Know that yanking out a dozen hair strands
Will not erase ‘self-hate’
Do not stare into a mirror tonight
What you see is not You anymore
Vacant eyes and creaking bones
Your body is now home to another host
A piercing wail echoes through the night sky
And splits the city air
The broken glass on the bathroom floor
Glints like a Sailor’s forgotten treasure
Swimming over the vast red sea, kindling with its own symphony
–Afia Qamar
Dec 12, 2019
Dec 12, 2019 at 1:49 AM UTC
It's all slipping through me again
Remind me why I exist
We trawl the seas like fingers
Remind me
God pushed his hands through the earth
And shaped us out of blood
I saw it
I saw it all
We turned the sea
And it pattered for half a century
Crackling like pig flesh
Did we burn it?
Peel it back
Come on, peel it back!
What are you, scared?
What are you?
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 3:28 AM UTC
something fit. something aligned under the breastbone
ribs pattered out and gave space for breath
that didn't taste of anything.
something clicked. tortured poet keeping a journal
walks the south route instead
and sees the spiritual spin on life through the stained glass windows
of a shack church in need of extensive renovation.
she is inspired and her need bottoms out for the day--
praise is good.
good.
great.
don't bother me when i'm sharpening my pencils.
i'm preparing for divine intervention
and the clarity i know i'm owed
something hit. my words, hey, i'm black and blue
and they? they're cut through and through
with flecks of tracts lent from life and beyond.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 5:44 PM UTC
I know a girl that let a broken butterfly fly from her hand
It gave her thanks
As it flew through the rain that pattered down and rested upon her hair
Oh the fair things she'd do for a creature in pain
And she kindly shared a half jar of honey to the sweet honey bees
Then they invited her back to their place for supper and tea
She even let a restless blackbird rest upon your knee
Even with that beak of his I could see a look of glee
Baby all these things you do are so lovely indeed
So is there any chance
Even just once
That you could be this nice to me?
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
I held an arm over my belly
trying to feel her tiny heart
beat
and sense that life that has become
my own;
wanting to cradle my baby girl
and sing her sweet lilting lullabies
The crib sat silently, waiting
already lined with blankets, sheets
and a colorful fish mobile.
We talked to each other, sometimes
since we shared the same wanting
He spread his fingers on my
belly
in the morning before the sun
rose
When the rain still pattered on the
rooftop at dawn
he held us,
me and our little girl;
kept us warm until day broke
The lights were too bright
and the room too cold
and I was screaming-
and,
and then crying.
Crying for her closed eyes
and blue face.
I held an arm over my
belly
trying to feel her heart
beat
wanted to cradle my baby
girl
to sleep
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 8:30 PM UTC
When I’m dead like here and now.
Like before and present, as I’ll always be portrayed
wound within the fabric of my birth.
I'll stammer through the phantom beastly of society,
as I always have I will phase
beneath the day's skin,
flower and splatter
amongst the phantom passerbys
and click my blooming tongue
behind your blind ears.
And chant one lasting whisper
against the back bristles of your shivering neck,
my breath pluming against
and within your porous skin.
One lasting, one altering statement or phrase or acknowledgement
I give shackled in the chains of a gift wrapped present
within the corridors of your perking ears
and there to be unpacked.
You as every other soul will misplace my memory,
will forget as a ghost dissipates against the breeze.
I was never anchored here,
indistinguishly as the phantom I am composed of
I may sputter the words farewell,
farewell only to be met with farewell and forget.
Farewell as my pattered steps flutter within the distance,
dead as here and now,
dead as my unlasting memory.
I exist as but a farewell.
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 12:06 AM UTC
i'd give you my heart,
but i'm afraid you'd break it.
heart breakers break hearts, they say,
and you play your cards right.
see you took my heart off
that silver platter,
cut it in slivers and
as the rain pattered
against the windowsill
you handed it back,
with a note that simply read, **** you."
Mar 11, 2011
Mar 11, 2011 at 10:59 PM UTC
First off,
unshaved legs, rumbling stomach.
worn underwear, shot elastic.
nervous hands, sweaty palms.
calming touch from him.
uneven ******* slight embarrassment.
chapped lips, overcompensating Carmex.
stuffed nose, whistle breathing.
soft kiss from him.
nervous hands become slowly confident
unsure hips begin to sway
passionate kiss from him.
whispered words, anxious thoughts.
calming touch from her.
arms holding, bodies contouring.
"let's just lie together".
pattered raindrops, perfect bed.
promises made, kisses given.
lazy caresses, staring gazes.
almost first time.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC
6:00 PM
The songbird sang
As it always had,
Mellifluous and free
Up in the apple tree
9:00 PM
The cicadas shrieked
& the wind howled
As the setting sun
Drew blood from the twilight
12:00 AM
Shadows absorbed into the night
Lingered in a foggy patch,
Mingled with the gelid air
& muffled a shriek.
3:00 AM
There she lay,
Pristine as a summer’s day
Her soul swallowed by dark
& pattered by the rain
6:00 AM
The songbird sang
As it always had
Mellifluous and free
Up in the apple tree
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 2:00 PM UTC
The nursing home smelled like ****
considerately covered with disinfectant.
“Thank god for small mercies”, I thought,
as I walked towards the one I love
who can no longer speak my name.
She had grown whiskers, when did that happen?
And the corner of her eyes were filled with decay.
Some things were the same, though,
Like the way she cried when I hugged her.
Like the way her hair smells-
like protection,
like childhood.
It is very difficult to converse with some one who can barely speak.
I pattered on about my boyfriend, and she asked,
“Jewish?”
I reply, “No Bubbe, he’s not.”
Her eyes fell, and how can I reveal myself to her?
That I lost nothing when I found that I didn’t believe?
Instead I smile and say, “maybe someday Bubbe.”
But she is not fooled, and my smile becomes plaster.
I stop filling the silence.
There is a woman screaming in the hall.
Not screaming exactly, but yelping
like a fox caught in a trap.
Thin, helpless cries so full of fear and pain
that I could reach up and feel her loss ripping the air.
“She sounds like I feel”, I thought.
But then again, how must she feel?
I’m here for half an hour,
she’s here until death.
And I text my boyfriend, I tell him,
if you’re still around when we're old,
before you let them put me in a place like this,
put a bag over my head,
and slit my wrists.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
i hear the thunders roar
i hear the rain as it pattered my window panes
i hear my heart beating as my eyes shut tight
i tried to run but i hear You call
"I'm here" was all i heard
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 6:19 AM UTC