"percussions" poems
People keep asking me how I’m doing.
If I’m getting better or if I’ve taken the time to process what’s happened.
If I’ve sought professional help for the metal percussions induced by my career-ending injury.
In all honesty though, professional help is futile. It can’t save me now.
I’m walking through hell and sitting in a ring of fire discussing the temperature of the searing flames would be idiotic.
Why would I allow the flames to dance along my already seared skin longer than necessary?
I know they’re hot.
I know I’m in hell.
I know the pain I feel every day is real and crippling.
Talking about this pain wouldn’t end it. It wouldn’t diminish the heat. It wouldn’t help.
I need to keep walking.
I just need to keep walking.
My crippled body can’t run anymore, but I’ve got to keep walking.
Others continue to rush by. Frantic because they’ve never felt the flames.
They aren’t familiar with the burn. The idea of being in hell is novel.
They are novices.
But life hasn’t been kind to me.
These flames are familiar with every curve of my body and they dance around with trained feet.
I’ve been in hell for years.
People continue suggesting I find the light at the end of the tunnel, but that’s near impossible here.
I’m too blinded by the brightness of a vehement flame.
Sizzling with an angry vigor for the lack of gratitude I bestowed on my past life.
It mocks the speed at which I used to be able to run. It laps sardonically at the feet that used to run cheer-inducing speeds without thanks from their owner.
But crowds don’t cheer my name anymore.
I now stand on the sidelines and watch my team play.
I burn alive for the game I used to breath and as I watch each and every game, the deep breaths of oxygen only continue alighting the fire.
There’s no way out it seems, but I will try to keep walking.
Because talking is futile.
Note:
Spinal diseases are crippling mentally and physically. Watching the body you've sculpted for years turn to mush because you can't workout is dilapidating .
The despair and helplessness are unfamiliar feelings, feelings that can't be overcome. Disease is disease and sometimes it can't be stopped. Sometimes, it just becomes a burden to bear.
And sometimes people aren't strong enough.
It's different when careers end after four years of college. An expected end, an anticipated end. But when things you love are taken from you abruptly, before your finished. The pain is exponentially worse.
Exponentially. Worse.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC
Your music is sensual, dark and languid
Mysterious and **** hypnotic and sultry
The slow tempo and rumbling bass drums are a heavenly mix
I close my eyes and let the forlorn echoes immerse me
In a sea of falsetto vocals and stuttering percussions
Your music is enigmatic, puzzling and seductive
Pacifying and troubling, calming and cinematic
Your champagne crooning is a movie in itself
Telling me the tales of a gloomy sex-infused hangover life
And it connects to the depths of my soul
Even though I've never experienced it
Narcotized slow jams filled with samples of punk and rock
Transports me to an actual dream world
Your subtly crafted harmonies and beats are celestial
And your lyrics a painkiller
That numbs the wounds in my soul and takes me higher...
Your voice is R&B; but your lyrics are ***** rap
You take such vile words and turn them into something beautiful
and I adore that.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
when God claps His hands
the sky plays woodwinds
while the clouds play
the percussions and
the ghost of
Athena plays
her golden harp
in the precession of
the blue-eyed storm
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
Im pondering and walking when its dark at night
You can see me in the shadows dippin dodging light
Its like I hit the booth and spew until I maul the mike
Its like I tell the truth and then you simply call it life
That’s right im bonefied
really here to expose em and since they know that im chosen
They stay provoking my motives but ima hold em high
Show em im focused on growing
Get these vultures off my back im just to strong to be folding
So I prepared for it gradually when the time came
Who’s the best my Name
Was the only one to rise like yall scared of the gravity to define change
Never watching the throne
If you wanted to be King you should be watching your own
If you wanted to be me well then that option is gone
you know I stand alone, forever now and then later
I left my mark upon this earth when I stepped out of the crater
Now my powers are greater used for devouring haters
And though I **** em in minutes I still take hours to savor
Every pound of the ****
If we going pound for pound by the end of the rounds I’ll use and ounce of my skill
And no its never luck
I struck a deal with the Devil so I could level the vessels
And then he sent me a message its time to settle up
Now its me and him, and neither one of us scared
Cuz on this path to destruction neither one of us cared
So everyday, it’s a battle inside
Just Forget the horse play and grab the saddle and ride
And every point I make is valid in the balled of mine
Im thinking now is the time
in the palace of my mind drinking a chalice of fire
It’s a slow burn
And yes im hot to death but there is no urn
Its from internal combustion
Causing a surge in my verses to let me ****** percussions
Never preferred to be frontin though now it seems it’s the norm
In a world of mass lies simply needing reform
Where everybody and they mama’s simply dreaming of ****
Everybody with a smartphone feels the need to record
Then they post it to the web cuz they seem to be bored
You need to realize
People use they persona just to conceal lies
So I step out on that limb second guessing again
This is far from the end so let the lesson begin
The first impression is in
_________________________
GONE
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
On piano bench ivory sit I
Carved stone keys beneath my fingers
Fall and die
Savory sounds to my ears rise and fall
With them seep speechless calls
Accompanied by peppered cries
Inside me touched desires sigh
In slow motion fall
My finger-tips connect
With carved stone keys
Yawning out low pitched
High screeched
Sounds
In contrast
My thoughts shallow and lone
I drown deep up
Shallow down
In the
Percussions of piano keys
Each of which tease
The buzzing bees
In these empty seas
Drown deep up
Shallow down
Shallow down
Drown deep up
Wake up
Wake up
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 7:31 PM UTC
The familiar wrenching in my gut when you speak of love
The acidic burns and aches I keep bottled up
Become a flashflood
Rushing through my veins, poisioned lines constricting and forcing my extremities to spasm
You cast your words fruitlessly into the chasm
The indescribable void that lies before us
My hands scraped and bloodied from tearing down the nails that keep your heart boarded up
I can never break through the barrier you have erected
I leave myself vulnerable to your outlashes, you remain overly protected
Sheltered from the reality that is the extension of my love through every action
Every emotion you stockpile and ration
Maintaining a craving in the depths of my essence
For your ill fated presence
You bask in the symphonies that expel from my eyes gazing
Hear the strings and percussions playing
Without every fully repaying
Any emotional debt you may have accumulated over time
Fingers dancing along every line
I have written vast and true as the moon above
Yet I feel the familiar wrenching in my gut when you speak of love...
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 7:20 PM UTC
I worry for
the man who
will one day
want to love me
I worry that he
will not know
that my love
burns like the sun
and rages
like a storm
out at sea
I worry that he
will not know
that my darkness
is only temporary
and that it comes
from living
in an ever consuming
pitch black night
it lasted decades
I worry that he
will not know
my spirit
cannot be broken
like an animal
that cannot be tamed
it lasts an eternity
I worry that he
will not hear
my arrhythmic heart
it may sound like
a whisper
but it bangs
and slams in
these ribs
like the percussions
in an orchestra
*it will play songs
just for him*
I worry that he
will not hear
me when I
cry out to him
for I am not
transparent
do not look through me or
past me I
am right here
before you
with
universes to give
I worry that he
will not feel
the moisture building
in my palms
when he grasps
my hands
out of fear
that he will
never
hold them again
*I will hold his
like others
hold a bible*
I worry that he
will not feel
my head
against his chest
like the
safe haven
I have
finally found
after all this time
I worry that he
will not see
the stars that
shine in my eyes
when I look
at his face
like the world's
most wonderous
landscape
*I've traveled so
long and so
far just to see it*
I worry that he
will not see
the way he
can make
every muscle in my body
fall into a
meditative state or
electrify with excitement
with his presence alone
I worry that the
man who will
one day
want to love me
will not appreciate
that I am
a complete human being
with or without him
that I am
divided between
biology and whimsy
that I am
both the
sadist and *********
that I am
broken but
the architect
and that
I do not fall
like an autum leaf
I fall
like an avalanche
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 12:47 AM UTC
The Lost Letter of Love-
The thunder of the busy street makes love to the vicious voices that plague my mind. Reminisce of a forgotten love still shower my inner most thoughts. Passion that once overwhelmed my life is now my reason for exhaust. The shimmers that once lit my ambition and drive now hang lightless, darker than the deepest secret. Yet the frequency of lost desire still induces the most intoxicating substance. Arms grow weary caressing forgotten times, the tears that once grew a river, are now dry beds of torment. The beautiful dawn plays in coalition with the residuals of a distant song. “Goodbye my lover” plays in harmony with the neglect of reality. Not facing demons yet displaying affection to them. Indulging in virtues once restricted by political propaganda. I am her vicious vendetta, her thoughtlessness, her absence. I lay on a bed of needles enjoying the aguish, suffering in satisfaction. The destructive thought of deserving such a decisive decision allows my mind to become a rag of lost emotion, wiping tears from the concaved steps that once bread a whirlwind of radical love. A canvas stained recklessness paints a picture of a destined solitude. No regret orchestrates a symphony of percussions, streaming beautiful sound through the hills of total regret. Awake becomes second nature, slumber slumbers with the lack of motivation to ignite the calm. Insomnia hums in a melody so righteous that the religion becomes the man. A hollow shell of broken ambition sway in the wind of self desire. The cries of the night become intoned with the cries of truth. Instinct maps the course of self-withered illusion, illuminating the “why us” cause. A foundation of happiness holds the weight of a pessimistic engagement. While optimistic scavengers prey on the depths of endless souls. Disappointment rectifies all signatures of a so-called love. Remembering a once forgotten future claims its stakes as the eternal right. The moon holds desperate for the fortune of the unfortunate son. Unsettled disputes, take a toll on broken bodies. Broken wills dance in the limelight ignoring the forgotten pain, a laugh of retribution becomes one with inexplicit content. While saying “I love you” becomes that of explicit context, searching for the meaning between the lines. The lost letter of love shapes like the clouds in the sky only resembling something it never can be.
RICHARD ITSKOVICH
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 2:05 PM UTC
Who could condemn the clouds
for its dream and rendition of heaven
in vanilla cotton canopies
like steam trails from wishful
twilight's great sleeping
who could refuse the stars
that connects distant years from space
to wonderment's eyes here,
gazing up tonight agape at its mystique
when the machine mach march
of industry and city din spinning
in smog loud air - percussions down
to the edge of the shore
where silver sheen of onyx
black stillness of the water laps
licking the earth in its soft reality
the moon-glow and darkness
with its unseen places keeping slumber
in silent throes or weeping woes
still, I ache to cease the gnashing
of teeth - Barbary and conquering…
those who are unseeing in great haste
With worry and loss of a moment's look
theirs given to everything
outside themselves, mistook.
Who blames heaven, not knowing how
we lead a song yet never loving its vow?
Search for more of offerings
yet not even aware of how
blessed we are
here and now...?
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 8:02 AM UTC
Glitterati
You,
You ***** me.
I,
I survived it.
Percussions you will feel,
Of Hiroshima- Nagasaki attack.
In clumps of what you shall say,
Sandy storm, Tsunami Zatak.
So please, hey please,
let me rip-rape you this time,
with poverty, global warming and famine
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 10:17 AM UTC
My wrist is laid
down
alone
upon a table
large well formed feet
visible beneath the glass sheet
that's chilling to the skin
blood recedes from distant hand
until it gathers in a puddle
between the ulna and radius
a bruise of vague percussions
spreading up my little metacarpal
as it smashes vainly upon resistant stable
trying to steady the dancing toes beneath
a barrier so clear
the dust from last week's walk from work
are seen around a sole
that won't decide
where it wants to go
or if going can be defined
while blurred blue engulfs the cloudy witness
to my pointless movements
ontop
beneath
behind
the glass table
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
Something phenomenal calls!
Its voice is like a gushing waterfall.
Endless continuums of percussions resound
The rhythm infiltrates my consciousness and my veins.
It becomes synchronized with my heart and brain.
I writhed like a woman in childbirth.
Struggling, I sought to cast out this rhythm and the source of this call.
I wanted to sit. I wanted to crawl.
I wanted to smash this thing against the wall.
Enduring until the sound dissipates.
Drenched and exhasuted, I wait.
Eternity is ike an endless mile.
Mortality is a second in a day.
A new dawn beckons.
As the rhytm crescendos,
I surrend to its beat.
I am a newborn on the stage of life.
Is this my scene to make as I wish?
I am a fish out of water drowning from air.
Yet an Oscar awaits the moment I participate.
The choices I make reflect on the past.
Who have I cast, but myself?
Constantly, I am prepared to tangle with each day.
Reaching out for help, I am pulled from the fray.
Like a rose that forgot to bloom,
I am struck with the onset of gloom.
Counting the years, I have left, can I make the deadline?
Fate screams, "Get in line!"
It is my turn to shine.
I have resolved that I just need to be me,
Be courageous, be open, be free.
Allow life's paths to converge.
The blinding light of life has turned green.
I am revved and ready,
To make my grandest scene!
Jul 25, 2010
Jul 25, 2010 at 9:40 AM UTC
I will remember
the song that my heart
played percussions to.
I will sing the words,
with no one else,
to a song made for two.
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 9:28 AM UTC
Pertrusions thrusted upon truths disembark on a journey that ceases to empower the over abnormalities of the norm
The fever created from a sweat of sin cause the truths to lie deep deep within
The boundaries of alignments shattered by glass windows from ignorant reflections of unknowing people
cast among those innocent and naive
But despite these conclusions one may think they know, the oldest of percussions is the instrument of irrelevance that no one ever did know
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
She broke a barrier,
A wall
Funny how tricks look and sound so real
Love, the idea seems so trill
Except when you lose what you wanted and it's better to let go
I swore she was beautiful
But my perception was cloudy when I was swearing
My final perception of her is fake
Fake is just an ugly imitation of beauty
But, on the positive note, at least it's nice to look at from the outside.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
perpetual percussions
signals the onset
of the annihilation of my unconcious state
i awake between death
in this liminal verse
i am only senses now
i can trace inhuman constellations
with my eyes closed
for they exist only in my own isolated darkness
i see mutations of identities
i may have once conversed with
but i know them no longer
for they are dancing unearthly dances
and they inspire my escape from myself
i see the birds, the birds in the sky, that is no longer a sky
in fact they are not even birds, for they are empty and blind
they are wraiths
doomed to encircle the withering skies
in their meaningless sojourn they cry
but i hear them only in my heart
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
Whereas individuals corresponds to light and some only commemorates the sun
Beats and rhythm are heard only when instruments are played neglecting the percussions in each step we take
Whereas credibility is judged by the eye lashes, contours of jaw lines and skin tone, a mask potraying a transparent persona
We evolve as a whole, enabling us to calculate the distance between rock bottom and stardom or the existence of umbra of the sun, still some are left behind taking no umbrage of the insults the society bring forth
Whereas, Dialogue is to articulate ones perspective in accordance to the culture but the unique individuals that are indifferent using slang are often deemed as ostentatious
Whereas a picture speaks a thousand words, the accoutre depicts a thousand lies
We resent what we reap, repent and repeat
We acclaim the mere seconds of glances and likes we obtain
The frivolous joy shifting our molecules as it really is ,till we lie in dirt and turn to dust, nothing.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 10:26 AM UTC
Tired winded soul passing through,
Feeling safe, feeling content, even when head was at brew
Percussions get judged, no matter the sentiment
Feeling different, feeling lost, even when heart feels at tenement
Music bleeding from one voice to another
Being brave for things you cannot control, what you can smother
Seeing the change, seeing the destruction never feels tamed
But every single second of negativity was just you being framed
Walking around like you are full of mystery
Clenching down of the lust for courage that time has made blistery
Fighting the temptation of going fully dark
But waking up everyday just to breathe, just was not a special spark
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 8:35 PM UTC
we're going to speak
the language of love
all through the
night
we're going to speak
the language of love
until the dawning
light
it'll be so fine
talking in a familiar
lingo
we'll voice it
in an intimate
tango
the meeting and meshing
of close
dialogue
an imbibing with
a special
monologue
let's commence our love
discussions
there is much to these lyrical
percussions
it's so powerful
in the message it
communicates
our linguistics
will enjoy the highest of
rates
we're going to speak
the language of love
all through the
night
we're going to speak
the language of love
until the dawning
light
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 7:27 AM UTC
I hear a chorus within you
Percussions and woodwinds
That hold no answers
I read these lyrics within me
And none of these words can help us
I’ve seen the eyes that are empty
And the past that is filled with my envy
I have discovered my darkest enemy
And I regret to find that it is me
I’ve touched the heart that is hollow
In search of a better tomorrow
With hope that sings songs of such sorrow
And your time which I don’t dare to borrow
I’ve crossed the land wide and narrow
In search of what you can’t seem to feel
I’ve touched all the sand and the water
And I still cannot tell what is real
I’ve cried out to ears that don’t listen
No sound would come out of my mouth
I’ve begged for you to forget me
But that’s not what this poem’s about
I’ve rocked the cradle that holds her
The will that flows through my veins
I twisted the strands made of soft gold
I watch as she waxes and wanes
I’ve kissed the lips of true evil
And braved through what I see in my dreams
I’ve built up the courage to love again
But this time I’ll use it on me
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 5:50 PM UTC
Sweet spring gusts decay in my room
They are stale, sluggish, and they
Make the fan very, very heavy
It is loud like a ramble, it betrays me
I lie against the soft spice of sorrow
Small as a sparrow. My calves are childish
The morning looms over night
It stares like a bored God. The night
Is stone. It stoops meek and fidgety
Its little white heart shivers
And pulls closer its fur coat
I am a constant unlocalised impulse
A thousand movements compel me
To try instill a thousand beetle words
A thousand times I sit up to speak
Amidst the endless ruffle of air
Where a crowd of air-people chatters
About a thousand matters of air
No yawning or tossing turn
Percussions play the heart, cautious
It shields itself. Cautious it steps
A little bit back, and cautious
It curls in on itself. Like a flower
I stroke its perfect skin, and pitiful
I let it be. Music in my ears is noise.
The curtains spread their midnight locks
To shield me from the world.
May 20, 2024
May 20, 2024 at 2:37 PM UTC