"perturbing" poems
Moth, dancing moth,
dance to the light. Dance to the death.
Break those wings to free the flight,
the sea is far and here is no hearth, not here.
Fly, moth, fly
away from the lilted breeze so to breathe easy.
Your heart is in shock; Moth, go back to
from where you come.
Moth, falling moth,
no crevice in sight, dear moth—where has your illusion
gone? Moth don’t waste time, hurry yourself and
cease the end, in through the spaces and far from time.
Wingless moth, pained.
The light shines only on you.
What disturbance (perturbing the soul)
held you back?
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 5:10 AM UTC
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Though the faraway look combs through the glances, the heads lowering and longing
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
The icicle street of perturbing yellow parallel lines and molasses traffic that seems to rake the people across pavement into curvatures of avoidance keep me running.
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
I repeat it, a gesturing phrase, recurring, as I watch the transcendent glow, a denouement to a one-sentence story.
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Could have: (What will save the moment in untickable preservation?)
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
I always wanted to be that random style of writer
Writing about things which have no connection
In reality but they are connective only by the ingenuity
Of his genuflection; the circumvention of his
Circuitous routing, his plaintive perturbing petulance
Which insists on stacking things of different orders
Flying birds together of different species
If I could write something of the ticking of clocks
Not as though the ticking were of premeditated duration
Embedded in metal tracks around perimeters
Of prevaricated die-cast hours; but as though the ticking
Were only a random fixture of a theoretical day
In which random clocks ticking played a minor role
During the still life of which a poet happened along
And copied it all down dutifully, not caring if
Ticking clocks were related to pitchers of Forsythia
Or falling off of cliffs into the Aegean;
The only task of the poet to capture it all
And let the reader sort it out later
In the random tracks of his circuitous brain:
Whether the pitcher was full of sea
Or the sea was stealing into the pitcher
One blue, serendipitous drop at a time
And where no clocks were keeping time.
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 5:36 PM UTC
I've fallen down the rabbit hole again,
into a world of my own full of pain.
I am not Alice and this is not wonderland,
so please don't be fooled or misunderstand.
Everything is a blur and my head is spinning;
I fear that this is just the beginning.
This creature's whispers are disturbing,
declaring revelations that are most perturbing.
People say that I am as mad as the hatter,
and their cruel whispers really do matter,
because if I really am as insane as they say,
I feel I should be locked away.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 8:38 AM UTC
Love:
laying bricks in a line
or a least a lie with N
monotony. Standing in line, at the end,
until the begin
NEXT!
...ing.
Pretending, that was doing something.
Like a verb, perturbing, unsettling.
Cold air is causing nerve ending
stand
NEXT!
...up. Back of the neck rub
Trapped like a spider in a covered tub.
Seems wide till the world opens wide and there's a snub
from the passing yacht club as it crashes into the hub.
Now aren't you glad you got grub instead of a ticket
NEXT!
...stub? Chop and bop.
Hop on the bed, called Dr. Suess' pop.
Lets swap places. Straighten the tie, I am a flop
fop. Harvesting their crop of heads. Onomatopoeia plop
NEXT
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 1:19 AM UTC
The rule of the self is exalted above
any adherence to any thing/feeling.
Their notions of doubt ruling over existence and
is in the supreme station of reason and power.
It sheds the former existence of yesterday
inasmuch as we are always recreated.
The philosopher's stone which
can conceive of no other thought
except the originality of the self.
It drinks the seven seas as if a drop and
asks, "Is there yet any more?"
No authority save the intimate friend
can find its way here.
Every stranger is betrayed and
its chariot becomes outworn for the rider.
And when they look at themselves
they behold their powerlessness in
the face of every nation, which
simply makes them embark on
the conquest of their own heart.
Every listener is as a bullet to their
enemy.
Every truth is as a fallen warrior
for their Cause.
No wind is sufficient to curtail their
sense of direction.
Every human acknowledged is as a piece
of sand supporting their path.
There is no end to their perturbing of the skies.
The poem is unfinished as the scribe of
their tale is astounded by the
regeneration of their march.
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 1:45 PM UTC
On a bed in fair mid-May,
Away from school, work, and play,
Lie a young boy devoid of joy,
Trying to break away.
It wrestled, fought, and struggled,
But fatal aims redoubled,
His iron will held them stock-still,
Neither could break away.
Motions were slow and fleeting,
Instinct and Will competing,
To end two pains in different veins,
Crumble and break away.
Strangling a blind reflection,
White-knuckling throats mid-section,
With fratricide, a part had died,
What's left to break away.
Downtown a young man stood tall,
Behind eyes, perturbing pall,
Lie a young boy devoid of joy,
Trying to break away.
Sep 29, 2021
Sep 29, 2021 at 5:42 AM UTC
earlyish
in the mourning
the moon
begins to rise
to the
dirtiest
consorting
in the room
between the thighs
forbidden fruit
from a filthy city
that ruins lives
so the troupe
snipped ribbons
ripped ties
flew the coupe
and found suit
elsewhere
Hell
thought it was provoking
when they
caught em
smoking loosies &
tagging in
elementary school
bathrooms &
peeping ****** movies for free
mercy me, a perturbing
flea ridden circus
ballyhoo at
high noon
just
look between
the alleyways
like pearly gates
adjacent to
& facing toward
the gallow stage
saved for traitors
& may I say
these are unhallowed days
triple x files.
furious grady stiles
walked the
daily eighty miles
to the liquor store for
his quick pick or maybe just
a curious
eye sore for bored out tricks
on the nearest corner &
the queerest gory ***** flicks for
a nickel a dime a quarter
&please;
- mind the camera -
hammer
sickle
sanskrit
star
prison bar
stripe
flock stickered on
the flickering light
mock bicker then its
quiet on the farm tonight
doesn't seem right
the sicker sheep seek
sleepless nights
in the street
took Darwinian flight &
a diving leap
to diamond minds
thicker fleece &
meaner teeth
drinking on cheap forties
sneakin up on sweet
***** mother glory
lordy.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
Sitting high atop ****** Mountain
I’m feeling my phylogeny overwhelm rationality
perturbing stirrings
both primitive and powerful
considered improper at the moment
Surrounded by beauty natural and athletic
of heights, valleys, children, and women
I’m keenly aware that
unnecessary stresses
grow into other messes
Hours melt to days
and I wonder where, how and with whom you are
time slips away
forgotten feelings
dry permanently on the hot summer pavement
Ontogeny . . . phylogeny . . . freedom and fear
who am I within my existence?
to relieve my mind of overthinking
I must
overcome the fear of underthinking
And what say you
amid the quiet chaos of our souls
beyond putting one foot in front of
the other
as we fall apart our separate ways?
26.vii.10
****** Creek, CO)
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 3:12 PM UTC
Irked by the stale life I am in
A bland dish seeking ample spice
The intersection of our roads was exhilarating
A new-born daredevil shall not think twice
Perilous was the color of your eyes
The way your gaze froze me in place
Flames previously nonexistent began to rise
And desires now asked to feel my embrace
Dangerous was the shade of your plump lips
When you speak, the way they curve
Electric bolts pierced through my fingertips
Then infiltrated my every vein, every nerve
Treacherous was the sound of your voice
The way curses became a pleasing melody
A single syllable balked all perturbing noise
Enticing me into your wicked sorcery
Lethal was how you skillfully kiss
The way it sets ablaze the surface it meets
My formation of thoughts have gone amiss
The settling insanity is now who greets
Murderous was your hand's every touch
The way your fingers danced on my skin
Dull-looking blades were deemed to do not much
But yours were sharp enough to slice my soul within
Pestilent was how you wrapped yourself around my body
The way your frame is fitted to mine
Tremendous waves devour me completely
And I drown, though not in brine
Deadly was how you wanted to play
The way you wanted to love me
From my ever-so-monotonous life, I have gone astray
My life is the price; I'll pay it fully
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 7:44 AM UTC
writing a poem about how you really feel
is perplexing, perturbing
when you do not know
whether you feel a thing at all
numbness or coldness
dramatics or monotone
i am one of two extremes
neither allowing them to see
the space in between
that holds the truest emotions i am incapable of expressing
the truest emotions i am incapable of exerting
i am incapable of knowing
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 3:47 AM UTC
have you ever felt
lost
in a deadly abyss of
thought?
it's emotionally
exhaustive
and socially
caustic
to be caught
thinking
thoughts
instead of
singing
songs.
with those
disturbing thoughts
come a lot of
perturbing feelings
and if you've ever
been unable
to explain or
detain
one of those feelings
just know that
you are not
alone.
not all of us can
assign a name
to an emotion
however benign
not all of us are so
well acquainted
with our own minds
that we can picture
the face in our brains
staring us down
but i'm daring you
the next time you
cannot justify
cannot simplify
or expedite
a feeling down
to a name
just don't
even
try.
place your finger
over that emotion
the way you would barre
your guitar strings
heart strings on
the second fret
gently
gently
run your other
hand down over
the sound hole
located somewhere
between your
stomach and
sorely neglected
central nervous system
and then pull
it back up
to play the
melody of your
most knotted
spinal chord
not too fast
not too loud
or if you find
it easier to see
the white notes laid out
unroll the shiny top
over your backbone
and press down
softly
softly
bending your fingers up
and down each
key of vertebrate
in an ascending or
descending scale
the length of which
depends upon
how tall you are.
slowly
slowly
forget
about
names
faces
sleepless nights
or how your insecurity
is still on par with
you at fourteen
when you first tried
to exploit it into music
but now you've found it best
just to tuck it behind your ears.
and learn
the cadence of
that feeling
explore each
note and tone
and play with
how it fits into
a song
surrounded by
other sounds.
you may never
play it again
you may play it
every day
for the rest of
your life
but all that is
irrelevant
in light of this
moment
a few seconds of
stilted peace and quiet.
listen to your
feelings
until your fingers
bleed
out the suppressed
emotions
society expects you
to ignore
play them like
you were in
an orchestra
and this was the
moment
of your solo
but don't
name
anything
unless you're
calling it cadd9
gsus4
em
or a7
and never
find yourself
or your
heart strings
afraid
of f#m
or even the darkest of
spinal chords
for i know that
everyone has cried
alone in the
dead of night
over the sound of
b flat.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 4:34 PM UTC
Straight Talking *** written with love in mind!
Averted a tragic waste of sorrow,
As clash of titans,
Wielding pens in penance,
Wasting gifts,
As spread thin over crumbling cobbles,
Words are wonderful,
Treasure and joy,
So let's not fight,
Let pen kiss paper ,
With super might!
Sometimes disturbing,
Often perturbing,
Created in individual style,
In mind at time,
Just like mine,
All from creation,
Individual minds,
Know what's said,
Great minds think alike while idiot's never differ !
Two great pens must play on!
By ladylivvi1
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
Extractor of those awfully embedded times
That traveling memory, hidden in the back of worn suitcases
Brown leather and ties, like no remorse
Those breaths imparted, w/ lasting glare
The smoky windows in beat up wagons
Split lips from the boys on back loan
Wartimes, dragging utter sadness from the porch swing
Lost a tooth, and that made it smooth
Soothe the pain, w/ pints of tipsy water
We watch the sunset, in the field next door
Kissed & dangled, our bust behind us
Tumbled in the meadow, w/ no one else around
The boy I brought home is the same I fought
Every night, we tossed and paddled
Had I known, he would stay w/ me, forever
The girls from Seventh Ave. tickled me
W/ their stunty eyes and elongated dresses
Wishing, for a moment, we were out: the kids, picnic party w/ the club
Pa saw it in my eyes, the mailman and I
Even at the table with the shipped ashes and ol’ rummy
Playing hard to get with nothing but straight chaser
The mirror became such ferment to my frame
I began perturbing every milking like a daily lashing
And soon protruded my perimeters into giant horned gnats
Ground crackling and separated with ceaseless dust storms
Divided, on the fence back in the meadows watching it rain afar
In the familiar fields I laid, now a barbaric, decoded passing
I walk to the cellars every now and again, with my badges
Discreetly pacing the acreage, for a taste of interim regression
Now with no bandages nor luggage to carry my born chores
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 7:58 AM UTC
Perturbing looks lock
Seconds could be years I wish
But are nanoseconds.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
-- Grinding Gears --
-- Flowing Fountains --
-- Beating Hearts --
-- Deafening Silence --
Ride the wave
As it dips and swells
Each undulation
Sparking spinal charges
Sending signals to
Sensational receptors
and
Flooded with
Information and Energy
they Overflow
Eroding away at
Burms of solidarity
Decimating illusions of
Stagnancy
Perturbing the ache for
Fake consistency
And Walls wilt away
Like petals of a Rose
they expose
the Universal Core
turning in
Changeless self-envelopment
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 2:19 AM UTC
Waves,
they wash
they wash away the tide I'm in
perturbing past abandonment
cleansing out the forgotten winds.
My sins,
cradled deep,
are nestled safe in restless sleep.
Eyelids peeled wide,
white flags torn down,
in hopes
of a sudden
effort to drown out hazy sound.
They've crawled on under
the bridges
bridges you've torn asunder.
Glancing from left to right
might lose the sight,
of offerings gifted within mid-flight
to escape the reign,
of cold misguided precipitants
the forays of hazed and dazed miscreants
with glossy eyes,
ever assuming gazes
of awful, mixed reused phrases
calling my name.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
You ,Go easy on yourself for a while
Take a deep breath and come out of your self imposed exile,
Don't hesitate to uncover the curtain
Meet the sight of butterflies dancing in your garden,
Erase the boundaries that have been drawn on your canvas
Start afresh
Paint with a free flowing brush,
Remember once in a life time 'You' happen
Don't let 'Your Life' get trapped in,
Discover yourself uncover yourself
Even if someone disapproves of your 'Real self',
Choose to bend only till the time you don't break
Hold your head high and turn away before your heart aches,
Please walk away from what is perturbing
Away from the chaos and people who are disturbing,
While you walk away don't hold the grudges so fiercely
Don't let the negativity damage you severely,
Coz you aren't bitter
You are an ocean of nectar,
This is your poetry fit in your own words
Be your own Muse , Rhyme your own prose!!!!
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 7:18 AM UTC
twirling twining
undermining
mixing thoughts of
what could be
wheeling whirling
so perturbing
ticking
timing
when
will
it
be
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 9:52 AM UTC
a hint of cardamom
a touch of saffron
a dash of rose water
beneath those lashes
you gaze up at me
rye tickling your iris
light grazes the hue
like a never setting sun
an iridescent spectacle
hearts throbbed to see
such perturbing beauty
what an arrogant tease
those coffee stained lips
will be the death of me
Feb 2, 2021
Feb 2, 2021 at 2:03 AM UTC
Adali offered Father’s stranger more wine.
We all knew he’d accept.
On our way to the woods though,
Someone stepped upon my dress.
“Oh Yseult,”
Conradine cried.
“Stop imagining things”
They didn’t think I was right.
The trees were beautiful every time
We walked the paths by the midnight moon.
The first was silver,
The second gold,
But we all loved diamonds the most.
Again I could feel someone following:
The trees never made a sound.
“Oh Yseult,”
Ediline hushed.
“You really are too old for these games.”
They didn’t think I was right.
I tugged on Galiana’s left glove-
We’d always been close-
Thinking she’d believe me this once.
But the boys in the boats were too tempting for us.
I told Oskar there was something wrong,
The boat was too heavy for him to row.
“Oh Yseult,”
Irmuska gasped.
“You didn’t even eat today!”
They didn’t think I was right.
Within minutes we arrived
At our sanctuary, our dancing hall.
We laced up our shoes
But I watched the boat groan and rock.
“Oh Yseult,”
Katchen teased.
“That’s just the tide pulling it in.”
They didn’t think I was right.
Hours passed as I danced
With my Oskar.
However, the sinking feeling
We’d been caught lingered.
“Oh Yseult,”
Magnild snorted.
“Your delusioning is quite perturbing.”
They didn’t think I was right.
Oskar took me away
To the side of the room.
He knew my shoes had worn straight through.
I watched out the corner of my eye
A golden chalice float away.
“Oh Yseult,”
Otylia reprimanded.
“Your childish ways are far too much!”
They didn’t think I was right.
The brothers rowed me
And my sisters back home.
Kissing us each goodnight,
They returned to their boats
Thinking we’d see them tomorrow.
I heard a creaking sound behind us.
Once again I tried to warn them.
“Oh Yseult,”
Rille rolled her beautiful eyes.
“Please stop being stupid for once.”
They didn’t think I was right.
We returned to our bedroom
Without further commotion.
When we arrived though
Our secret door would not close.
“Oh Yseult,”
Tieran chided.
“I know you’re youngest, but you can’t be that weak.”
They didn’t think I was right.
Father’s stranger was right in his bed
Snoring loud as inhumanly possible.
I knew it couldn’t be real
So I tried to reason with my sister’s again.
“Oh Yseult,”
Viheke yawned.
“Go to sleep now, you’re far too tired.”
They didn’t think I was right.
When the morning arrived
Father threw open our door.
The anger and happiness
Flowed from him moronically.
In his left hand were branches
Silver, gold, and diamond.
In his right
Was Oskar’s chalice.
Behind him was Father’s stranger
Smug and pleased.
He requested Adali’s hand in marriage,
Just as Father promised.
“Oh Yseult,”
My eleven sisters cried in unison.
“We should have listened!”
They didn’t think I was right.
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 11:59 PM UTC
11 - lonely weird starving loyal obsessive
12 - denial rejected fighting mask all over me
13 - I explode, cannot hold no more. Hell begins.
14 - emo, doubtful, open. Wounds, scars of the soul all over.
15 - a pro, a loser, a loner. About to get lost. Over me, charms and curse.
16 - a wallflower in flowery shirt. Tranxilium pills. Hospital angels, a survivor in the make. Breathing slowly the air of life.
17 - at a fight, Courtney Lovesque. Afraid, angry, in love. Wounds bleeding, destroy my world. I walk, without aim. Sinning deep. Am I aware?
18 - I break down, no one picks up my pieces from the floor, so I have to do it on my own. Fearful, psychotic, fake, unable to breathe. Enigma to myself, cannot touch my flesh.
19 - the nebula grows, my mind drowns, to reach shores. Obsessive, perturbing, odd, dependent, byproduct of what?
20 - I've been polluted for years. This is the consequence: I break, once again. Seas of loneliness and meaninglessness.
21 - the truth spills out, cannot sleep with a corpse for life. I try to reach my core, at once. The word comes: schizotypal (not surprised at all)
22 - Humbert Humbert knocks again, and like a never dead nymphet I greet him. We fall in love again, silently, coyly, mysteriously. Pink haired spinster confused happy healing slowly do not disturb.my mind strangles me, but I am strong!
23 - my head sparkles in pink and so does my heart. My pen shakes. I laugh. Frisky, dubitative, poet, free.
24 - after the travel, I almost heal...
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 2:35 PM UTC