"perturbation" poems
Here I sit
In this basement of
some other house
In the core of the city-
I'm almost on my own...
This January's night
Flashes frozen-
As I adicite, light
I see all that I've chosen:
perturbation, and frustration,
Entwine in all my fascination
Stinging- they whip my body &
paint on lacerations
What you've chosen I cannot see
And the light I catch redefines me
Shadows ignite
That December's day
Reminds me I'm not alone.
In the outskirts of Toronto-
In my Parents home-
My room, my bed - my life's in
The basement
its there; I cry.
Jan 20, 2024
Jan 20, 2024 at 2:38 AM UTC
I've kept this pain away.
Held it at bay,
since the day
of Your
unwanted
touch.
Now You are old.
I take care,
as this is My loving
duty. Reversal of
roles.
Time has stilled
the tremors
of angst.
Turmoil and
discomfort.
Yet, when bothered,
Your harsh tones
enter My body
and heart,
unwanted.
Perturbation
with words,
accusations that
I was the
troubled one...
Grown Woman
that I am,
I find myself
11 years old
once again
Copyright © 2016. Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC
1723
High from the earth I heard a bird,
He trod upon the trees
As he esteemed them trifles,
And then he spied a breeze,
And situated softly
Upon a pile of wind
Which in a perturbation
Nature had left behind.
A joyous going fellow
I gathered from his talk
Which both of benediction
And badinage partook.
Without apparent burden
I subsequently learned
He was the faithful father
Of a dependent brood.
And this untoward transport
His remedy for care.
A contrast to our respites.
How different we are!
2k
Thy overzealous, sustained presumption
is akin to this, my long-seeded indignation.
Thy seemingly effortless pretension
and blatant disregard for implication
creates quite the hypocritical situation
seemingly devoid of deliberation.
Thy egotistical ostentation
does not evade much observation;
this is thy choice, such alienation:
I anticipate resentful perturbation.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
winter of perturbation
spring of emotion
summer get away
fall from blue sky
we started with love
then swayed by lust
gradually severed by lies
finally we EnD up losing
But that is not how my 90th poem goes
nevertheless if only I ain't got no foes
however for whatever reasons
this one will go slow for all seasons
Because often times
I used to look like this
I say what I think
specially thru my ink
those figures of speech
chase by waves on the beach
that bounces back on the seashore of my poetry
which went to the distance in between of your scissors' story
fall,summer,spring and winter
no matter how my rhymes floats wilder
my heart and soul will never sink in reading your own masterpiece too
as a matter of fact,,no climate change has been exhausted for times two
Yes! Back at one... i will start all over again
until the sun rays that i may regain
would pay the price i owe for dreaming
that one day, i could simply write a melody w/out hesitating!
I might not be a musician
that can compose a magic
just like the performance of a magician
but for sure.. i shall return being poetic
symbolically or literally speaking my rhythm
Hence I've got to pursue my desperate hymn
now that i'm on in my 90th poem, no clues should be frustratED
whereas I Am actually out of the blue and brand new delightED
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 2:10 AM UTC
There is something awry
I can feel it
as I step into
the thick and tense
stifling and sinister,
suffocating ether.
I have a peripheral sense
of an occluded slumber,
a disturbance.
Begotten by me?
I can only hope not.
Haunted by something unknown,
unseen but not unheard.
A sound, a whisper, a chill
Ghastly squall
The rush suspends my breath,
captivates my thoughts,
hurries my pulse;
throbbing and pounding,
in my dizzy and cluttered head.
The door has closed.
Impulse and instinct
drive my body
but it is dark,
never-ending,
surrounding
Me.
Perturbation reaches up
And grips my very being;
strangling my conscious,
operational will.
Numbing all perception short of
foreboding and dread.
My entranced, mortal corpse
stumbling over my own hastened direction
that it already knows.
Scrutinizing and bellowing
an audible, unmistakable
laugh
which freezes me again
with crippling petrification.
There is no escape.
Now face to face
as I turn to confront it,
stare to glare.
Menacing and perilous
it consumes me.
Devours me.
Immortally imprisoned by
It.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 2:58 PM UTC
Your scent lingers,
the shape of your body lingers
upon the linen
where we bed.
Wrinkles in time
will smooth the sheets
but I believe
we have created
a lasting perturbation
within the continuum of time 'n space.
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 3:51 PM UTC
The precipice smells of gasoline;
perturbation proceeds the drop and I
am yet too sticky to fly.
On the verge of awakening,
the dark chrysalis has formed around me
in too-thick ropes of viscous feeling
and if I could but break through
the sun might once again
dry my wings.
Apr 17, 2019
Apr 17, 2019 at 10:48 AM UTC
Beauty on her left
Ambition on her right
Looking from every angle
I can see her flashing might
I wish I had the same splendor
to walk confidently by her side
I fear the public and their opinions
I fear the shadow where I will hide
Jan 31, 2021
Jan 31, 2021 at 5:54 AM UTC
Jubilation rings to the sound of its own drum
while glistening on its vibrant accolades
the fool prances on a pile of bones
with a rhythmic crunch.
The dilapidated ideas crumble off old hegemonies
as he dances slack-jawed whimsy to a world collapsing
behind his eyes.
His gaze is an arid wasteland
where the only sound is the dusty wind
and the only smell is that of gray clay.
His dry ****** lips are as brittle as crackling paint
that decay and abandon have flecked off with a breeze.
And his dullard smile exposes sharp teeth...
the only bit of clean left in him.
when you see him...
this vacant thing...
your wet tears remind you of your own existence
in comparison to this misery
slumping by.
The glorious death he witnesses is his to bear.
What you cannot bear to witness
is but the side effect of his metamorphosis:
A sorry
and temporary state
of depravity
that lingers on your tongue
and holds you down
in your lofty leisure.
I would not trade a crooked nail to experience this man's perturbation.
Alas,
I know life has a funny way of whispering mysteries yet to come.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
Upon (die) re rhea ding previous poem
All In The Name Of "Progress" zen
a glaring, leering,
and twittering left par wren
dared to a right (i.e. bribe)
corrective punctuation measure
slyly slipping Special Ops symbol ")"
for so many yen,
thus see slipped thru my excellent
proof reading, when
lo and behold consternation,
inconsideration, and perturbation
I thought to take a page
from playbook of Sylvia Plath,
and stick my head in the oven
but lo, a sardine recipe
(though a bit fishy),
could be found necessitating cauldron
only available for purchase in Turin
thus donned with a shrouded cape,
aye didst make whoosh,
hence, went there and came back
and frankly tubby earnest,
thence began stir'n
a bubbling concoction brew
though duration for perfect consistency
aye lacked any clue
thus, needed to contact
Hannibal the cannibal
asper what to do
in order (I explained)
to sever livingsocial,
and forever hang my head in shame
cuz, accidentally omitting
one right parenthesis too few
hence, esteemed flawless glory,
(sans error free grammarian
reputation pitched downward
where careless evinced
Kamikaze nosedive, where
matter of fact gross humiliation
instantaneously grew
and the only viable option
forced me to hew
admitting to egregious, fatuous, abhorent
and readily confesses
compunction viz, grievously
blatant Anglo Saxon
Horrifying transgression
involving backward curved "C" sin bent
a most execrable,
incorrigible, and unforgivable
literary faux pas incurring
major cosmic event
stripped of title special
Das Scribe double bubble "A" gent!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Upon complying never to err again
Matthew Scott Harris since
accepted plea bargain
accepting sentence resting his chin
til indelible necklaced "U" lettered grin
forever visible to kith and kin.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 3:45 PM UTC
As I stare into thoughts unknown,
Perchance for Millennia have these thoughts been hidden.
How many lives have been sacrificed for these lines that have been penned,
Wrought forth from the hands of women and men?
I ask myself as I stare deeper,
Will I open my soul & truly experience what is written inside?
Questions, answers, propositions, mathematical formulae,
Stamped on pages in prose, poetry and the notation of symphony,
When bound together between two covers, they are given life,
As they stand tall & proud upon spines of twine and glue.
So what are these books, where are they from, what do they do?
They are treasure troves of information,
Some may well be useless yet some do indeed cause perturbation,
due to their profundity, symmetry or, dare I say it?
Their deep ringing harmony, nay symphony with the truth of creation.
For deep within the belly of our souls writhes a beast with a limitless craving,
& her name is desire.
Silence her cries and take only that which you require,
Place the crown of creation into a state of physical and spiritual prostration,
Search out the knowledge so that you may acquire,
The epiphany of wisdom and the freedom from desire,
For in the end,
Despite what we might covet and admire,
Knowledge is rootless without sincerity,
And sincerity is fruitless without guidance.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC
A combination of faulty letters
Creating stumbly words of disproportion
In attempt to adequately portray the way I'm feeling
When the reality is
No number of malnourished thoughts
Can manifest into what can only be described as circumstantial emotions
On a blank canvas
Splattered in blood.
Because there comes a time
When my perturbation over this life overcomes the sentiment of warmth in this frigid wasteland we like to pretend is okay
And nobody looks back as they press on
To see me in my weakened state
Until my legs won't continue to proceed
And I'm obliged to stop
But I would have done it voluntarily because I can no longer remember what coerced me here to begin with.
As my eyes begin to close,
I await the familiar dream of tomorrow,
But it never comes.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
Let us bloom under the moonlight
Like withered flowers waiting patiently for their roots to grow back
For the night is the only time of the day
Or the day is the only time of the night
When life stretches itself and memories become vulnerable to the light
The eyes roll and turn
They strike face to face with the brain
In front of a thousand whispers
A thousand cries
Rotten kisses and gullible lies
Stroke a shell on the searing sand
Every little grain shivers against its neighbor
And the whole beach arouses to the perturbation
A stranger yet so inoffensive
But even microscopic acarines
Whirl in the wind of a sneeze
So before starting to snap your tongue on the roof of your mouth
Catch your words in your throath
And taste them
Guzzle
Do not forget their savor
Catch them fast
If you are not as swift as a tender breeze
You will swallow your own thick tongue
You will become your words
And these words will reflect you
A big satisfying outcome
How solemn would it be
To dance to the rhythm
Of your baked coal heart
Drumming on its cage
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 4:57 AM UTC
Prevarication permits pretend perception, presenting
piquantly piqued, pimply pimping ******* plucky
pulchritudinous previously pusillanimous, prevalently
puckish, psychic packman, pokemon playing proletarian
puppeteer pygmy, peevishly ***** plummy, plumy,
pompously pushy, pampered, prefabricated pinchbeck,
pokily plying plowshear, plodding peregrination, pied
piper pitifully peppy pornographic potato pealing,
parsimonious paradoxical protagonist, proposing
preposterous panicky pacification plots, prioritization
pertinent penultimate peroration, perhaps perceiving
perjuring, perplexing, perverting puzzling pronouncements
projecting pulsating pixelated pulpy pinball pinging
packets prompting pacific, poetic, phlegmatic purplish
psoriasis plagued, plumbum pallor pallid, Paleolithic
protuberance pronounced, psychosomatic prohibitionist,
polarizing perfunctory peculiarly progressive, patriotic
postmodern pathologically proud paternal panache,
peripatetic panaceas portraying prescient perfidious
puerile president, predominantly proposing parochial
principles, plenty public parking, purposefully
promoting pharisee phalanxes, pilates practicing
paragons, perennially peaceably proficient protesters,
profitable polygamy, pugnacious pitbull powerball
players, pandering polyandry, propagating professional
palindrome pensive peeping people, peddling,
proselytizing predicating prostitution, proliferating
phenomenally, populist persona promulgated peyote
phased physicians pioneering prescription promoting
paradisiacal pricey photographic pictures, placating
phrenetic physical perturbation partaking place
purchased (paid paltry pennies) por palatial piazza.
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 7:48 PM UTC
Dispassionately cast with no compass to live,
I dwindle like the stars that die, transmissive.
This depth is cold without you or the love I invented.
I embraced it, despite on me you've been imperfectly imprinted and indented.
Take me or leave me, anything to fill that void.
Every intimacy and secret which you've ever enjoyed.
You've spent time designing black holes of savage ruination,
Dying light that spirals into native perturbation,
Inside the one who'd always, and still, followed.
Idly droning black ink... How will we fair tomorrow?
Chasing you, a fading eclipse,
Orbiting that star no one can see.
In a vast, open nothingness, with an only invisible me.
The hot tails of asteroids burn it away.
You had warned me of them, but I never turned to stray.
From a promise, for myself, to inspire the brightest brilliance.
To think I'd been so audacious to assume my own resilience.
The transformation and expansion of what's more massive than us,
I can't possibly predict what may become of scattered dust.
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC
I took a gander to the sky
The indigo and pallid lilac lights
Indulged in my resting place
Concluding my days, I was imbued
Lush and vivid strands of white
Pierced valiantly through my view
The solemn celestial light
The forgotten lights renew
Frigid hands reached out to me
They left me there, in perturbation
Of many mysteries I ceased to see
The enigma of animation
Reminiscence of a jagged pass
That split and converged
The contorted trails amass
At its beacons they emerged
In a symphony of light
It descended
In.
Pure.
White.
Fervent ascension
Beacon of the night,
Praise be with thee, demon.
An angel descended from heaven today
It carried the key to my heart
The blessed remnants of love to sway
The notion that hailed their depart
Of many caresses that stroked my soul
The mirror that reflects my own parole
I rest there in trance
Embracing their dance
Alas, I perished to their words
An abrupt realisation unfolded
As I found myself dropping to the surface, embedded in crimson hue
The darkness flooded the gates I forgot they existed
The numbness never recollected my will
Alas, I dropped into their world
An angel clad in crimson rags
Obsidian tattered wings grasp
A gaze so sharp pierced my skull
Deceitful
Mourning on my plagued remains,
Lying
On a scaffold of birch
For I wished to see the light
For I descended once more
Praise be with thee, demon.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
Fixated on the idea of stillness,
While my existence ceases to stand still.
Four past a dozen years of sanity,
but insanity becomes my will.
Is it faith that lyes within?
Or is it time to turn out the light?
Impervious to fulfillment,
Emulating a personality I could only dream of.
The mask became too tight,
and the match eventually burnt out.
Uncontrollable perturbation seemed,
Like a pit that had no bottom.
With emotional ************
letting it escape was difficult.
Fear of judgement,
that comes from the outsider's force.
Smiling at the frowns inside,
denial took its course.
With a heart of gold,
and pride the size of the earth.
This name of mine should live on,
but had already been a memory at birth.
The final sleep could be near,
but the awakening could be so.
It could very well interfere.
Yet it is very well doubtful,
Through my eyes though.
Ashamed of what might come,
if my emotions pilot my soul.
This aircraft is running out of fuel,
and my fear to move on has dilated.
These roots are growing rapidly,
like a **** in the season of the sun.
My emotions are exploding,
Like a bullet escaping a gun.
God forgive this sinner,
Who sins for the worthy of life,
These words are cutting deep,
Deep through me like a knife.
A child at heart,
With a wise tale to tell.
My world is spinning rapidly,
My head is clanging like a bell.
A moral man in a corrupt world,
I portray a shakespearian player.
Soliloquies in character,
But this character is myself,
Myself is he,
The player.
In the final fall of the curtain,
I soon am ready to bow,
The crowed is loudly silent,
it is time to say goodbye now.
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 3:03 PM UTC
Another theme
another dimension
another dream
another direction-
another that you deem
another cogitation
another scheme
another question-
another quest
another interpretation
another guest
another perturbation
another romance
another passion
another distance
another apprehension
the another of the another
another and another attention
the another of the another of the another
another frustration!
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 4:45 AM UTC
Never am I safe
A tainted disgrace
Trying to find my place, in this empty space
Conceal my fear, don’t let it get near
Victim of oppression
Hella deep depression
Secrete my soul, let my story be told
Here I am, I am here, I AM HERE
Hear my cries
Save me from my disguise
Black butterflies float across the skies
Oh how I wish it was me
Happy and care free
Words I cannot speak
This is not for the weak
But something tells me
speak babe speak
Hold on I can’t breath
Perturbation I’m on my knees
Never at ease
Still I persevere
Drink me a beer
No tears shed here
Black butterflies float across the skies
Liberated
No need for disguise
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 9:22 AM UTC
Adam’s urination was obnoxious in duration
Misidentification of the peeing location
Caused initial complication, then a long deliberation
Yet upon his infiltration of the urinary station
We waited in frustration, with a growing perturbation
But soon anticipation, fell to demoralisation
Why this elongation of his bladder evacuation?
Is his stream without cessation in this lengthy expellation!?
We waited in vexation through lavatorial vacation…
Was it *** misapplication, needing re-sanitisation?
Or perhaps an altercation with the flush mechanisation?
Or maybe ************ for some cheap gratification?
Excuse the scandalisation of his prolonged defecation
This versification of constipation has a solid allegation
Tis not a fabrication, that a massive **** was taken!
Jul 7, 2025
Jul 7, 2025 at 10:54 AM UTC
Scalp burning with erratic perturbation-
Wisps of hair detached from pale flesh-
Shaking fingers gripping into carved moons on dented skin-
The drug is in the stream, causing perpetual commotion.
And it flutters, flying like a bird
around the space of my flimsy stomach,
then a ferocious lion, jumping and *******
with not shame whatsoever,
not paying attention to the simple fact that I
have been left in awe -an understatement for such epiphany-
by words written by a stranger, strangely intimate,
resonating firmly against my rib cage.
My heart in a hurry to reach its eventual demise,
but the lack of care evident, for your words have
spoken to me in such a distinctive way, that
I don’t need anything anymore to keep breathing, other than
the poet softly whispering words in my ear,
uncovering them, when they were previously stuffed
with relentless loathing, spitted venom from ignorants.
They showed me that it was not mine,
that it never belonged in my system.
They taught me how it feels
to love something again.
And for that, I’m forever grateful.
Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 7:16 PM UTC
He hunted his devastation,
to mar it and make it worse
Like a perfect perturbation,
He cooked his body combination
With his real obligation.
And he rehearsed
to let his body stalk
with its curses
And fell in love with
the death verses
Jan 9, 2020
Jan 9, 2020 at 6:15 AM UTC
My submission to the cosmos today is this
that the minor perturbation atop my vast desire
should not admonish but allow this verse
to see the light in this form of lexical representation
as it issues from my head through my fingers
and under my breath.
That limpness and idleness be banished hereof
from these words that attempt and do not fully fail
to seize the illusive grail of
frank effability.
As such,
Take heed and fear not frail heart of mine that once was lost
for now not only are you found but you are bound
to witness on behalf of
the triumph of longing
in the dark places.
The fumbling, groping, feeling around
when hope eluded you.
Now hope has won and wins again and again.
Faith, Hope and Love.
The greatest of these is now in the fight.
The greatest of these has thrown their gloves into the ring, fit and ready to bring it.
The greatest of these has got your back.
The greatest of these lift you up.
The greatest of these is what you were made for.
The greatest of these is many and splendoured.
The greatest of these is that somebody.
The greatest of these reigns supreme.
The greatest of these is the eternal, number one champion.
The greatest of these is all you need.
*
Belonging to a fold of yearners
As wide, as deep
as language itself.
Let my ambling
meta-critique
be as one more pebble
thrown
adding ripples
to the vistatic loch of contributions
on this theme
echoing, echoing
from the chaos afore time
to adjunct futures
within the Caves, Temples, Palaces
and 'Scrapers of Rhyme.
Jan 3, 2020
Jan 3, 2020 at 7:54 AM UTC