"perplexion" poems
I know why Vincent Van Gogh Cut off his own ear
We are a mad bunch, you see
Poets and painters and playwrights
On the prowl for something to
jump start our perpetual yearnings,
our keen senses and cravings,
on the quest for so much more
than the status quo,
of merely checking off just another day
from our calendars
We are those kinds of people
Who wish to reinvent the world
Often cursing at our failings and insecurites
While obsessively working to shape and sculpt
our view of this planet
To fit our own brand of imagination
To satisfy our starving hopes
and desperate dreams
To foster vivid visions
from the views that are vague
And to wipe away
The nightmares of old
that cry out in us
We believe in make-believe
We who are misfits to "normalcy"
We rarely seem to fit into
The "real world"
Yet we know that this world is
Pure insanity
Stark madness
Sheer perplexion
Yet we are the ones
suffering for the sake
of our art
Often misunderstood
Many times branded as "weirdos"
I can understand the pain
Of not getting my art right
Of not seeing its worth
Because someone sniffed at it
Or scoffed at it
Or blindly passed it by
Many times, we want to break through
And join the world of our works of art
But we can't
We're stuck in the middle of its beauty
And nothingness
Yes
I know why Vincent Van Gogh cut off his own ear
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 8:04 PM UTC
There comes a night,
within which silence
changes perplexion.
No longer soft with hope,
but hard with truth.
No crickets to chirp.
No cars to roam.
Just a frigid breeze,
Signaling the setting of summer.
Tonight,
this moon does not shine.
and the stars..
They mockingly stare back,
without any hint of
destiny promised.
But I remember.
I remember what was
once
promised to me.
Warmer nights.
Where a couple would ingite love through storm.
With foolish words, forgiving hands and any efforts that their youth could muster.
I have learned however,
that even a flame once fierce,
can gutter in its own smoke.
Tonight is such a Night of No Return.
where I release a name into wind
and no longer chase the answer.
Where you walk your road,
and I walk mine,
and the crossroads we were once meant to embrace upon,
dissolve into dust.
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 11:04 PM UTC
There's some sort of magic between the eyes of a resting jaguar. Their languid yawn, opening the gaping maw that lies between their strong teeth, more energetic than their tired paws.
Still and regal, wearing muscles like fine silks, their fur like that final kingly cape and their ears their crown.
A zoo jaguar once met my eyes and in a deadlocked stare, saw the camera in my hands, and turned his head to pose. A prince always knows when to please his peasantry. As a pleased peasant, I snapped pictures and nearly cried at his serene posture behind a wall of glass. There was some sort of uncharted beauty in the way he spoke without words oversaturating his meanings. It was a way I wished to speak. He was a comrade behind glass, silent yet observant and knowing. Though my head might be a good fit for a maw, I nearly wanted to keep him close company.
The dark spots that adorn his body are the only betrayers of the fierce undertones of his monarchy. Well, except for the teeth, of course.
Though I try to unlock my gaze and detach from the gossamer threads that were beginning to tie, the jaguar eyes and jaguar prince incessantly seep into my brain, for when I close my eyes all I can see is theirs staring back at me. All I want is just one hand, a single touch, a gift to feel their crowns and robes, to experience the powerful royalty beneath their quiet eyes, even if being taken by their maw may end up being the price.
My affection becomes jarred by the human hand jostling my wrist, and I blink for the first time since seeing the posing feline prince. My head turns, trance averted, and I'm looked at with perplexion as my body has sidled up to the glass, and the Jaguar, now alert, is swinging its tail and staring in wonderment at me.
My eyes magnetize back to their rightful place, his green eyes on my green eyes, and I wonder what lives we would live like if I could see into his mind and know what's he's like. Perhaps we would be friends, or family, or hunters, or partners, in that other life.
Or, perhaps he'd want to eat me nonetheless.
One more camera shot of my jaguar prince, and a silent nod as he situates himself back to his pose. Restful, regal, serene. Turning away, I feel myself leave a part of me that always stays with him and taking that part of him that stays with me.
Every wild eye does, and our secret we will keep.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 10:53 AM UTC
I'm trying to find inspiration from the sun
but its radiance is absolutely blinding
causing dazed looks and inevitable perplexion.
So I think that maybe if I stand here long enough
it might build a narrow path right in my direction,
leading me towards a walkway I can finally understand.
Instead of the waxy candelabras that tell tales as old as time
I might stumble upon something of shine and glimmer
against the darkest of curtains and the fading shadows
hidden behind giggles and the smell of sweet scented roses.
But with the wind on my back and the fire in my heart
I might just conquer the world and join the sun
in its conquest to fill a void at centre of the universe
and at the core of my soul.
gd
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
See evil
Hear evil
Speak evil
Aggressive regression brings me suspenseful intentions of regrettable perplexion
Tense houses with tin roofs
Fill soundless with an itchy noose
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
It's like this I've been
trying just to hold your name
in my hands
for a minute.
Before they were close,
(and you were closed),
I soared with dreams of clouds.
I pulled them to me,
they passed me by and brewed into grey.
A hurricane crashed against another shore.
Even the slightest sunshine breeds confusion, in places like this
drizzles of complaints, dazzled me white,
you drug me down. I cried floods about
rivers soaking rainbows through the streets somewhere else.
It doesn't make sense, this other-world where
the sky throws tantrums and people hole in
and life goes on
and people like you don't communicate,
don't ask about the sky and its sorrows and the wandering stars,
don't ask about the gray and brisk and colors,
you of all people I thought appreciated, at least, the contrast.
Well here's a contrast that you're obviously oblivious to:
silence.
The sirens have stopped.
The lights will rise with the sun while a city sleeps,
walls on the ground. Switched perspective.
Broken glass...
remembers sand and the origins of perplexion.
I am a grain of sand, softened to sweet simplicity,
flowing through rivers and settling in a new home.
Alone,
and alive.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
The Mirror Reflected By Rob Sandman
type = Subconscious type = Conscious/Defiant
x2 Late last night,I got such a scare,
looked in the mirror,my reflection wasn't there,
there was someone else starin back at me,
mirror mirror on the wall who can this stranger be
**This stranger starin' from my reflection,
spins my mind in every direction,
mid life crisis hits my mid section,
madness,sadness,fear and perplexion**
*this can't be me man I'm not that old,
everybody used to say that I'd sold my soul
to old nick for my youthful looks,
where'd this old man come from man what the ****
**Yesterday my plans were rock steady,
now they've all collapsed like a levee
schemes and dreams turn out to be heavy,
when you're hand's no longer as steady,
on the wheel of time steady turning,
and the fuel,the fool is you burning,
friends and lovers gone not returning,
for days of yesteryear you're still yearning-cause**
x1 Late last night,I got such a scare,
looked in the mirror,my reflection wasn't there,
there was someone else starin' back at me,
mirror mirror on the wall who can this stranger be ?
*I'm still the same man,with the same drives.
and honestly I've never FELT more alive,
but this strange reflection's a traitor,
trying to tell my dreams "see ya later",
its past time now to settle right down,
stop playing to the gallery,send back the clowns,
crows feet,sore feet unpaid overtime,
you haven't got the time anymore to rhyme,
so drop the pen join the rat race,
I'm looking at a stranger wearing my face!,
old man **** you,I'm still who I am,
I'll never stop spitting to the grave from the pram,
we all grow older,each one of us,
but that doesn't mean to give your dreams up,
not to me man,fuck the grey hairs*
but out of the mirror the stranger stares...(and says)
x2 Late last night,I got such a scare,
looked in the mirror,my reflection wasn't there,
there was someone else starin' back at me,
mirror mirror on the wall who can this stranger be?
Copyright Rob Sandman of Eclectic Collective Eire.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 7:05 PM UTC
fear rose | a big choking risen by red-blue flashes and I pull over, past
the intersection under a row of street lights | thinking about my education, my nightgown waiting back home, wondering why
on earth | where are you going | where are you from | have you been drinking | who are you | who are you?? | clang in my rearview mirror,
a pair of cruisers circle in, intensity creaked in brown-nosed perplexion before black eyes, bloodshot, bothered, real country on the breeze
this balmy night and please don't hurt me,
the sound of slippers across
the kitchen floor is so hazy from here.
Aug 4, 2022
Aug 4, 2022 at 10:28 PM UTC
She spoke up in class
"Just why does this work?"
Peers giggled, such a nerd
wondering about things with her mind and her thoughts
"Good question," frazzled teacher replies
students make ****** jokes about student and frizzy-bearded teacher.
She couldn't get a guy her own age
her coldness gave males de-rections
but not the teacher, oh no
he loved her.
After classes, late at night
the two would walk the campus watching stars watching them
smiling, those stars giving the two permission to hold hands and give shy glances
darkness allowing the two to feel tickly inside and not feel guilt.
"This works like anything else: simply, once practiced enough."
Boys in the back row roll eyes, take notes, try to ignore the big-brained girl and her too-old boyfriend.
"Why don't you show me, then?" - met with surprise, looks from other students
discomfort rippling throughout the classroom
eyes looking at watches, the clock, cell phones
to decide how much longer the suffering of a publicly performed private romance must last
they weren't stupid kids
they just knew when they knew things
and kept questions to themselves.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 9:36 PM UTC
All of us, when young, gaze onto this field
Anxiously. At twenty-four-years old
We stand here feeling unbearably cold,
Unsure of everything, not quite steeled.
No man knows whence this vision descends;
Still, it shepherds us mysteriously
Toward glum perplexion. Now the one tree
That's always here presumably bends;
And with that, it's gone. Then begins our work:
Featherbrained nonsense we wish to shirk;
Then our duties: obligatory crap
Surveilling like a wiretap.
Then it's back, and it's sharp— almost a knife!—
And it's familiar...it's...it's life.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
Sliding a can of spray paint out of his mischeif backpack
finger tips began to sense things without touching
they knew they were about to vandalize
and the thought of beautiful work to be created made the nerves fly into a frenzy.
Rattling of bearing, combining of paint and propellant
pink sneezes out of the nozzle in a wonderful mist smelling of dizzying chemicals
he waves his arm in an arc,
an ark to save a generation from corporate ***********
to eliminate the fraud of the men in suits who shave daily and drink coffee
this kid
wanted to revolt, not knowing repurcussions
or fearing concussions
only the humiliation of being held by the book of laws and treaties,
treating each night of debauchery as a dawn of ingenuity and won victories,
perplexion of the too-calm anarchy of day-to-day America
why wasn't everyone outraged?
Why weren't they naked and screaming and looting?
His thoughts were misconstrued by **** residue
cheap alcohol poisoning
he may as well have huffed the paint
then the cops came
"It's in my rights, I want my rights! I need my rights to write!"
Delirious, disgruntled
he'll tweet about this later,
his first run-in with The Fuzz
while defacing a preschool.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
Sour floor
Salty heat
Indefinitely delayed
Instant satisfaction
Bitter cup
Relish sweet
Pivoted pupils
Precipitated perplexion
Yours tastefully,
Openmouthed me
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 6:51 AM UTC
This is my lesson taught
If you give your all I think you ought
To be careful or be left with naught
Take the ride once tickets bought
You may be given so much affection
But keep a guard up for protection
Elseways you'll be left with perplexion
And a hard realisation of disconnection
Be sure to carefully evaluate
Before you decide to perpetuate
Others show counter to what they insinuate
Because feelings are hard to excavate
When you give so much time it could be left for waste
Even though you try you'll be left faced
With the sense your heart has been maced
So heed my warning and keep some of yourself encased
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC
I reluctantly gave my heart
To an island boy who treats people like toys
With wavy raven hair and deep emerald eyes
Who longs to learn and is good with lies
And no matter how hard I push
He'll push right back
Countering my pessimistic logic
With his own brand of truthful facts
Opposites are we
In time and space
In maturity, in race
In love, in grace
And yet here we are
Inconveniently in love
Me, the old cynic
He, the young optimistic critic
Yes, I know that my disconnect frustrates him so
His mood swings like a pendulum as the wind blows
He strives terribly; eager to please
Which makes me wonder am I difficult to appease?
Daily I question his unyielding affection
And daily he replies despite my perplexion:
"I love you, it's all I can do
Whether you believe me is all up to you"
And to myself quietly I say
"I guess it's ok; come what may"
With that he professes his love for me every single day
As his days grow longer, mine grow shorter
Mine grow colder, and his even warmer
You see, he and I are as paradoxical as they come
I am the night, he is the sun
No matter how much I wish to flee
He's always there pulling at me
I imagine one day we'd live happily
Desires of his love plague me so inconveniently
Dear sweet island boy who brings me much joy
I pray you aren't playing with me like a toy
Because my heart is quick to build walls and slow to heal
After this I doubt I'll be able to feel
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 11:44 AM UTC
What flowers beauty
Holds my attention
Your
Breathing
Grasps
My
perplexion
The shadows
Of lovers
Left aside
For hearts are beating
And need not hide
I need not look
To sky or sea
For beauty sits
In front of me
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
All my friends had given up
They'd taken the easy path
The one where straight A's are attainable
And sanity is sustainable
I moved my mouse in a different direction
From their perplexion, I knew
My complexion would never be the same
I knew that taking these courses
Would be no vacation
The certification was hard to achieve
Yet I got to the point where I wanted no more than to get down on my knees!
Plead guilty
For the crime
Of being in over my head.
I couldn't retain information
My mind was an augmentation
Of my imagination
A collection of mistakes,
Aches,
And earthquakes.
No more could I stand on still ground,
my knees shaking from your sound.
My heart pounding from
the inevitable loss of my innocence
which came derived from your
rejection.
My friends
the ones I held dear, my very own
Turned their face, shielded their eyes.
I was a damnation to everything they stood for!
For everything I tried to become
They became the opposite.
They fought their own, in the worst way possible
And I was left to battle my
impossible alone
Alone with the hours of homework,
And alone to face the very
housework we had built.
To see it crumble down before
my very eyes,
as I fumble to even close the windows to my soul,
as sleep is for the weak,
and I have too many bleak thoughts.
Far too many to ever be able to really dive deep
in this menacing society.
My school which shuts its doors at the very sight of me
And God who rains smog down
and it's not the year 2020, it's the whole future, past, and present.
It's our actions that will never be corrected
For we have had too many opportunities
And pennies for thoughts squandered into oblivion.
For maybe we should stop making
excuses,
and start accepting our fates.
For one day we are all destined to be gone,
yet isn't it odd,
that ignoring this,
that is how we survive?
Sep 29, 2020
Sep 29, 2020 at 2:24 AM UTC
Throughout my life as a hopeless romantic I’ve seen the many ways of affection
And here I realize that when I see those many cliché ways, I end up in perplexion.
Because each time I give my heart to those I care for, I think I do something in an “unique” way
Only for me to realize I’ve been doing and romanticizing the cliché
May 26, 2024
May 26, 2024 at 7:47 PM UTC
Something we should
all figure out
it's the concept and perplexion of
successfulness--
the conquest
for hopefulness
and fulfillment.
Ideally you'll be
a blazing rush of energy
that spontaneously
brings light into
the void-less world.
But truly
you'll be a blithering
formality of linguistics--
a fundamental
inconsequence
of ample indignity;
cemented by
a platitude of
adulterated gusto.
Simple joys
fun ideas
imagination
are all you
ever really needed.
(to find success)
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 8:36 AM UTC
Though I have never felt my own legs quake
Though I stand firmly behind what decisions I make
Though regret is little more than a vital part of life to me
I consider my actions now; I am wracked with uncertainty.
The things I have choosen to do in life sit with me to vigil
I am far too weak as I currentlyam , my defences are fully riddled
With vulnerabilities I have exacted upon myself, I now review
The life I saw fit to live and the parts of it I now wish to undo.
Birth. I waver. That it may have never happened, that I didn't exist
The childhood I didn't savour. Despite the dreams it saw fit to twist
Pre-adulthood. I falter. I thought so much of what I thought I knew
My feeble hold on maturity. My newfound perplexion at what to do.
I am no longer the child with the world at fingertip and magic in my palm
I am little more than an adult with failing health and a shaky facade of calm
I am no longer stable, unchanging, and tough like the rock I was thought to be
I am wavering, quivering, shaking in terror; I am the manifestation of fragility.
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC
Honor the contract
Created from need
Ne'erdoweel or no
Never fail it
Inside the room
Ready for talk
Timid words falling
Feast growing cold
Consort smiling slyly
Serving a drink
Denying all harm
Heeding him on
Only a sip
Sampling the wine
Warily quenching thirst
Theories crumpling fully
Fear takes rest
Realing now swaying
Swearing it’s fine
Fog filling head
Honor the contract
Coy hands searching
Slipping down cloth
Creeping ever near
No resistance given
Grunts of perplexion
Shying away slowly
Slightly fearing her
Hands find purchase
Pulling away fabric
Fraying nerves burn
But no strength
Staring with wonderment
Wanting yet not
Nowhere to run
Relishment of terror
Taking by force
Forged with poison
Poured into drink
Damning him totally
To honor it
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 3:37 PM UTC
Trusting your eyes or ears,
being captivated by a sum of fears,
not the perfect path of perception.
The answer might cause you perplexion.
Enjoy being naive,
only when you feel secure.
Because if only then you do believe,
you adapt to anything unsure.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 6:25 AM UTC
Once in a nightmare,
I admit the fear that entangled me.
Those apocalyptic eyes,
reciting commands in a not so accustomed husky croaks.
The mystifying boundless land,
niched with surreal inhabitants.
Perched nearby a bird of passage,
forlorn, dolefully singing an inexplicable melancholy.
The blustery sky was all there, bountifully bolstering up
An underlying enmity of the tempestuous outlast.
No clue that could dispel the gusty gloom utopianly.
Even the all-curing outpour grew only cypress around,
then what sustaining hope to lay trust on.
And all this has left me to the indifferent solitude ,
blenching for response to my unresolved perplexion.
I long for truth that brings such satisfaction,
to the craving in my bones.
What can i do but shun me!
Until i carve out these words.....
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 5:36 AM UTC
Arisen the figure took her breath
but no longer the figure she could behold
Evil brainwork is at hand
her eyes on a stand
She knows why
but dares not penetrate
It is not hard to understand
as it is to uphold
Perplexion of her thought comes
from her incertitude
away from
Sunrise and morning dew
make it crisp to rubber boot
La estancia no esta lejos
and the figure isn't either
She tries to anchor
but it's too late
the ship has sailed and her horse knows
Something sinister in the horizon tempted
for a walk. Looking downhill she thought.
Walking upright she went.
A gazed voice asked
for her direction that to which she replied
a dirt path
Somehow she was taken in foreign dirt.
Word she was lorn.
Word she was torn.
Word she had left God.
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 6:57 PM UTC