"pummeled" poems
i am the wiggling worm
writhing on the slippery sidewalk
on a cold, and dreary,
rainy day.
i weave the baleful boots
yield the pernicious puddles
on a cold, and dreary,
rainy day.
i am pelted by relentless rain
pummeled by its wanton weight
on a cold, and dreary,
rainy day.
you may ask, "why wiggling worm?
why take this cursed course
on a cold, and dreary,
rainy day?
have you no humbled home
have you no able abode
on a cold, and dreary,
rainy day?"
"i am the vivacious vagabond," i reply
"i am admittedly ambulant,
on this cold, and dreary,
rainy day.
because i must agnize affliction
i must debase duress
on this cold, and dreary,
rainy day.
if i am to appreciate the bountiful bloom
i must know the duteous doom
such as this cold, and dreary,
rainy day.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
You can hold a pebble
in the palm of your hand.
But when it's been pummeled
and turned to sand,
no matter how tight
you clench your fingers together
it'll slip through your hands.
Oh how the damaged ones slip through time.
Forgotten n spread across shore lines. Where different waves reach their lips only be pulled away before they reach,
Untouched n unfaze they become apart of the maze.
Left,
Right,
Up or
Down,
It's such a confusing haze. Her walls are high n you'll never find the center place.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
The salted air elates a feeling of real real.
And by real real, I mean the realist real there is.
Child like intuition and loss in present ecstasy
Underlying a layered and angsted mind.
I loved a psychopath as a best friend
But finally
His confusion clawed at my chakras with convoluted and displaced passion
But on Protection Island
I feel
Protected.
Whether the next sunrise meets me through the dingy drapes of a budget hostel, awash in a strange and urban melancholy wrapped warmly on all sides
Or on a windy beach with the blue flow of sparkled wash and distant cloud capped peaks and Dover-beacon ferries which remind me of novelty globes and my father
The buzz of early morning travel as a child
I will be fine.
To lighten my load I hid The Dhamapada and St. Francis of Assisi in the hopes and faith that they would be left in peace blanketed in underbrush
Being peacefully caressed by ocean wind and the beautifully dilapidated wood-house
The protectors warm grin of welcome.
I want to feel okay again
And I feel like okay is finally waking up from her peaceful slumber
Returning from vacation to remind and comfort my unassured and pummeled mind
Like a lover returning from a followed dream
A long, warm embrace which says it all
No words for I love you
Just a feeling and oneness as old as the world itself.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
Look at all the parrots--
Parroting the words
Of all the other parrots--
Of all the other birds--
Parroting profusely
All the same refrains--
Parroting the constant patter
In their parrot brains--
Parroting the preaching
From the pulpit to the pews--
Parroting their parents'
And their parents' parents' views--
Parroting their leaders
And their pompous platitudes--
Parroting their peers'
Pretentious attitudes--
Parroting the patriarchs'
Proselytizing that'll
Put your teeth on edge
With their pathetic prattle--
Parroting the poppycock
Of trite pontifications--
Parroting pernicious
And sly manipulations--
Parroting the pretty birds
Whose pageantry and glory
Appeal to their prurient tastes
In each pathetic story--
Parroting the songsters
With parasitic pleasure
And counting out the rhythm
Of every pitiful measure--
Parroting the powerful
Whose ploys are so profuse,
Leaving the powerless
Pummeled with abuse--
Parroting with passion
Presumptuous prophesies
With putative contrition,
"Humbly" on their knees--
Parroting themselves--
Together all in sync--
How they love to parrot
So they don't have to think!
- by Bob B
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 8:10 AM UTC
There was a time when you praised me.
Always looking up to me, now that has passed.
The way you look at me today is nothing but disappointment.
Shaking your head while faking a smile.
Secretly saying the words what the hell happen to her.
I see the snarkness in your eyes breaking me.
I feel the words stinging as you mock and make fun of my goals,
my life,
who I am.
It use to shake me as I pummeled to the ground.
Time has shaped me.
You no longer burn me instead you ignite my fire.
Torching every obstacle in my way.
Leaving you to clean up my ashes in my passing.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC
Eyes in hues of green and gold
Mesmerizing flecks to which
My gaze was stubbornly fixated
Crimson lover and ebony spirit,
Why did you me so
Hungry and bereft?
We met one cold December hour
And your voice indelibly painted
An awe-inspiring tapestry
Upon the hollow corridors
Of my heart
You said Yes
I remember the very gasp
Even the nuances of your
Angelic voice
I have committed to memory
But nothing cripples your will
Like the magnetic pull
Of a golden-tressed *****
Oh, how you covet,
How you steal and you gorge
You pummeled me down
Into an abyss of no return
But when my ashes are strewn
Across the vast fields
Of God's Heaven
They will not remember me
Or my mangled remains
For I am just another victim
Of your sagacious convictions
A singular pearl
On a long string of beads
So pure but marred
A beauty but scarred
They will admire
And exalt to the skies
They will bellow their song
To the thousands listening
But they will also weep
A funeral march so poignant
Dew drops from their eyes
Awaken the fallen
And with them I rise
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
I walked the ridge
solo,
downward
into the squall,
battling hail
with ice-brick hands,
the rain pummeled
me below the alpine line
all the way to my nylon abode.
I wish I were still there,
it was joy.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 3:52 PM UTC
In summers past, hot and hazy,
we wandered northern shorelines,
sand whipping salt brine and
vinegar enveloped, marveling that
even the Amish possess swimwear.
I lingered at the taffy shop,
toe-raised peering through smudged
glass and candy bins, spying
both worker and robo-worker
pulling long tough ropes of
salty confection and memory.
Our time on the path is pulled taffy,
event-pummeled, tugged asunder,
reunited bittersweet.
baked boardwalk beneath feet,
cobbled personality planks
stretching taffy of time
In summers past I was there.
In summers present i am there.
In summers beyond we are back
there once again
folded and kneaded
smiling, reunited.
This is the back-end of forever,
yet do not fear;
the dying of the light
is the dawning of the dusk:
a wheel that we spin,
a point that we traverse,
a keeping of a promise,
a memory of a scent,
a vision of disorder,
and the chaos in the calm.
Cower.
Rejoice.
Repeat.
Amen.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
*dandelion seeds
too tight to fly--
frozen Spring lovers
stream breeze--
pollen ripples into sun,
brace of current bed
inflorescent burst--
hikers' boots beside a pool
on sun-baked rocks
green buds ***** the air--
in corymb echoes,
fuzz of leaves
water-sounds cascade--
moss-drops, trickles; dog-splash, falls;
gurgles under foot
the tones of waves
tiny on the smooth shore
lipping on
stem-length stars,
streaming rays of sun
and water's deep shade
gentle eddies over stone--
one world,
one world
froth twirl and tendril
under Spring brook shade--
so clear beneath
burl-sprouts misted bright,
cups of water,
forest thirst
waterfall gasp--
the cold! the winter! now swim!
the first breaths
Spring Misogi--
pummeled muscles--
grin of mossy heart
your wet shirt against my chest
--hot love--
thunderous winter-melt
we sink laughing,
numb in Spring's fluids--
our voices drown
papaya lunch--
a tropic fruit
and i am home
sweaty backpack--
two beloved women hike,
my heart weightless
cliff-jumpers--
green from nostalgia,
i hit bottomless
cameras first,
avert canopy surprise--
Spring screen
black-backed iridesce--
warm beetle slips
in and out of scree
barefoot in the stream,
our hands and voices smooth--
ankle sprain
Spring paths--
a parent's visit
breathes new life
my womb-maker
from another life--
ageless comfort
her haiku eyes--
water shining sun green
bloom here again
*
\|/
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
the gray grasses sang sweet songs,
without even a breeze to move them
the coyote howls were marrow yellow,
crimson, as their sour colors sifted
into the night
lightning streaked my charcoal
sky, and I could taste it, a salted butter
that tickled the throat on the way down,
the sonic booms it hatched smelled of baked bread,
and I hungered for more
then a white owl spoke to me,
but I did not hear it call my name
no, not mine--though its hoots formed ice,
chunks which pummeled me, froze me
to the bone
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 9:07 PM UTC
Conversations with myself
Remnants of
Fleeting words
Leaving me pummeled
In their tracks.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
If there’s one thing that unifies you and me, it’s heartbreak
If you’ve never experienced it to the fullest, you’ve seen it somewhere.
On your favorite tv shows, that song on the radio, on the girl’s face at the bar
On your lover’s face when you walk out the door the last time
And when you do feel it for the first time, you’ll want to be alone but please don’t be alone
You’ll want to bottle it up but
that’s a breakdown at work waiting to happen
That’s crying to his friends
That’s calling him after 1am, knowing he isn’t asleep yet
That’s driving by his apartment and holding your breath
That’s feeling like your hometown isn’t yours anymore, it’s a place you used to be with him
It’s feeling like the seasons are taunting you of when you were in love
The first fall of snow is the feeling of his hug
The lighting of the tree reminds you of warm cups of coffee on the couch
You dread New Year’s Eve because only 365 days ago, you danced with him in the street as the clock struck midnight
It’s knowing you will dance alone this year
You don’t look at your body the same way. You know how he saw it and you don’t see the beauty he did anymore
Your face doesn’t look like yours, it’s the one he used to hold in his hands
like a sparking jewel
He could marvel forever
I know he’s the first thing you think of when you wake up alone
And he wakes up next to her
Something that used to feel so concrete has been pummeled to dust
and now you’re left to scatter the ashes
So you drive by, the commons, the bbq joint, the movie theater, the lighthouse, the coffee shops, the all night diners, the book shops, the arcades, the antique stores, all the places you’ve made memories together
But please toss your heartache out the driver’s side window as you pass his apartment
because now it’s the only thing you two have in common
Dec 26, 2017
Dec 26, 2017 at 4:49 PM UTC
I have long sought quiet.
And please, let me be clear: quiet.
Not the quietus Hamlet desired,
No “consummation devoutly to be wished” for me.
No, with or without a bare bayonet,
UNBEINGNESS is hardly what I seek.
It is not the predicament of death,
But the quiet spectacle of the grave I envy.
Originally a city mouse,
I am familiar with the urban soundscape.
I know city noise, amped up in decibels.
Noise-induced stress, shrill and enervating,
Add to the mix a working-class neighborhood,
Where someone is always hammering,
Using a power tool of some kind,
Repairing, improving an older, somewhat decrepit home;
But a steal as the realtors say.
Or vehicles, like Old Havana relics,
Held together by secular prayer,
And thriving underground Cuban capitalism.
Then just for fun: *"Let’s send the son of a ***** to war."*
Tympanic membranes be wary and be ******
Stretched and perforated,
Compressed and torn,
Shredded like wheat.
Pummeled by shock wave.
I was Lear wandering the heath,
Your ass-cheeks cracked:
*“Cataracts and hurricanes . . .
Oak-cleaving thunderbolts . . .
Sulphurour and thought-executing fires . . .
Singe my white head!”*
Cue Cabaret music (Cabaret (1972) - IMDb www.imdb.com/title/tt0068327): “Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome . . . to Indochine,”
First a Weimar-Saigon suckee-fuckee,
Then out to *The ****
Mind-numbing concussion,
Reek of jellied gasoline,
Charred meat,
Assorted red entrails,
Obliteration of thought complete.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
In your eyes I found myself home.
You stoked the fire, relit my strength.
Soul reborn by the warmth, brandished on my arm a new gauntlet of courage.
Mere seconds later I was pummeled into the throes of war, fighting self fray.
You stood behind me, giving me armour forged from pain and love.
Without you, I'd be lain weak in loss.
Yet I rise from the darkness...
Heart replenished and wearing hope.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 5:37 PM UTC
i spit metaphors
and stumble to my knees,
i wipe similes from my lips
like blood and teeth.
i am pummeled with irony fists
as i stagger and crash
across barstools in anapest reels,
with splinters of broken
clauses enjambed in my flesh
and choppy flashbacks
blinding me, pounding my head.
i slip in spilled spirits,
scrabbling and scrambling
to steady my psyche.
i flail, i falter, i fall,
again and again in alliterative agony.
this is not a beating.
this is catharsis.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC
Help!
I'm being pummeled
By thousands of ghosts
That sciencey-guy over there
Said they were called neutrinos
I don't trust it though
It's mumbo-jumbo
But don't worry about me
I learned how to fight ghosts
Where's my garlic?
Wait, that might be for use against vampires.
Oh no.
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 10:52 AM UTC
dark clouds fill the sweet summer sky while i continue
to wonder why the grounds have been pummeled
with water for days now
my mind yearns to sit out on the warm grassy ground; i
want to feel the earth below me spin deep deep down
where the rocks are born
i decide to bore something of my own
out of boredom out of desire
because ive been awake for less than an hour
the weather is discouraging and i want sleep
alas! a day would go wasted and around these parts
within my heart
i cannot let that happen!
excited as i am also impatient my liquid like child
takes a minute
in the minute, maybe two realization sets in
where is everybody?
alone as i am also cold my loneliness surely soon
will also grow old. as did my minute
it passed and my excitement grows into
satisfaction
the ground up and watered down soul
of the coffee bean
oh what a wonderful thing! it fills me up greatly
and causes me to empty, unfortunately, more than occasionally
but my spirits are high! my energy, higher
and i can't find anything to do
my veins scream for heightened blood pressure,
a faster heart beat
the jitters have taken over, my feet remain cold
alas still, time just grows older and older
yearning to be filled with actions and words
sunshine and warmth
but i have been robbed
the dark clouds in the sky are threatening.
intimidating.
i can hear the army of H two OH gathering for attack
upon the earth below
do you think they're laughing? surely they know
what sadness they cause on a day that should be beautiful
on a day where our father sun wants to show us his love
right? surely, they know.
*ode to coffee
on a mucky yucky day
an entrapment of a sort. Lovely, to say the least*
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
Bounty snatched and safely stashed
Bare the yielded land
Fringed wilderness displays her wares
Palms open outstretched hand
Tawny millpond stubble seas
are lifted wave by wave
Mechanically exposed, tossed over
Broken, pummeled flat again
Cool the calm September days
Winter clothes as yet we shun
Creeping through our summer weave
Dead men's fingers tell of what's to come
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 5:19 AM UTC
They would not defend it -
dangling over the gate, split nosed –
the fall I watched from inside,
so jealous.
They would not reason it;
splint in the accident
of the wasp pumped crimson
lip, nor my lopsided
forgiveness for smacking
the backs of their laughter
so. They would not look
away
from the wind that ripped
my threads of hair -oil
slick - the slate of
what became so readily
an excuse to cry. Their
eyes became the
grinds in my cheek;
a pummeled day
where fists would grace
and I mapped my desk
with what they wouldn’t
do; the lines of every taut
lesson I held thick,
the thumb pounced athletic
nib of my pen
crawling my arm
with schools of red fish;
itching arithmetic.
How could they know
which colours I use
to dot the I;
that spot
being so readily marked
with their X?
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 6:47 AM UTC
There was heat lightning as I walked back home that night.
it was Saturday, or rather, Sunday,
5 am, still dark
when I got his text and I wondered this: how far can two strangers go?
how quick can two fall in Love,
and just how quick does it take
for ignorance to come on?
Love is not Love anymore.
but I’ll admit to missing this,
only to you, my reader:
I do sometimes miss the sight of my once lover
walking towards our table with two cups of coffee in hand.
he hasn’t memorized my order yet, and I’m content with this.
it’s moving slowly, we’re just friends that happen
to spend a lot of time together, and share favorite movies,
and favorite songs, and could listen to a newly discovered old album
all the way through
just lying on his bed
and gazing at each other.
we could stare into the other’s eyes till we found our own reflection.
he was in me as much as I was in him.
Love is not love anymore
when I’ve left that part of me in upstate new york, in another land.
Love is being content.
but I am not content with myself
or my others that try to be significant,
like the one who sent that text,
hopeless, romantic, and misguided.
I am not in Love, reader,
not since him.
so when I got this text and he said that he could imagine us together,
holding hands, in a state beyond
nice, simple, naïve, simplistic
friendship,
I paused
stuck in my place,
for long enough that the lightning had a chance
to greet the storm.
the rain pummeled down, extraterrestrial,
and the bag of White Castle burgers I carried
disintegrated.
as the bag narrowed down in size, sliders plopping down onto the pavement
I kept running towards my home, trying to forget that our friendship was in question.
Love is not love anymore.
it scares me more than it should.
I’d rather let my seven dollars go to waste,
than give into love’s blind, bitter taste.
I’d rather my toms be pounded down into the pavement by the rain
and later spend three days drying in the back of my closet
and have the security guard stare at me, confused,
as the last of my sliders fall down onto the sidewalk outside his door.
“That’s a mess,” he says,
as if I didn’t know,
and he makes no move to help me clean it up,
so I choose not to reply to him.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 10:02 PM UTC
Catching my reflection in the mirror, I noticed that I look beautiful today.
I look like still sadness, or slight grief, or a breeze through eucalyptus trees.
I smell like the sea.
I feel like a storm, or like the shore freshly pummeled by waves.
My skin is peaches. My skin is rain. My eyes are rain.
I want it to rain so that I can cry and belong. The sadness never stops with talking.
I'm talking all the time now
tying myself into knots and hanging my brain to dry when the clouds die
I'd like to slap you.
If only anger could boil over and burn our eyes and make us all forget
I would callous over my burns and it wouldn't matter anymore
Layers of burnt skin
I'm like an orange, I think. I'm easy to peel
and easy to eat away piece by piece
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 5:19 PM UTC
It's never ending,
The drains overflow,
Cars bathe pedestrians
Who are already drenched.
There's a cool breeze
Blowing in this city of wind.
It would be perfect,
If I didn't live in the city.
Take me to the moors
Where the grouse nest
And the choughs graze.
To the sea of heather.
The smell of wet earth,
Pummeled by car exhausts
Poisons the streets and
Like me, the trees try to escape.
I could wander the moors
Till I reach the cliffs
Where the salt of the Atlantic
Makes love to the gorse.
The shelter given
By a rotting house
Cannot be compared.
I would rather roam the moors.
May 7, 2011
May 7, 2011 at 12:38 AM UTC
Inside the network of humanity,
There is a swell increasing,
Bubbling to the surface,
Clawing through sand and gravel,
and mud,
They are the sacred and pummeled hands,
riffling through the cosmos,
By and by making their thirst increase,
For dominance,
For sheer arrogance,
For all things wholesome,
For the coming of reason,
Dipped down by the ever restless,
Drawbacks that pinch their sides.
Then a time will emerge,
The face of the clock,
Shrouded in smoke, fog, and
mirror.
A specter of radiance,
draped in neither human
costume,
or of drawbacks; pinned wings,
Suckling a Dionysian Principle,
relishing the illicit,
and honoring the
perfect existential
burden,
Thus making assured this gift, this
upheaval,
Obsolete, dangerous,
misunderstood,
To the grand choir and,
velvet dungeons,
Slime pouring from an,
everlasting faucet,
His fate is surely carved into the
hieroglyphic walls,
in madness and panic,
swelled a deep tranquility,
The etchings formed poetry,
formed testament,
formed testimonial,
formed remedy in martyrdom,
Others were closed to strange intensities,
Others sat and smoked on their patios,
Watching the worlds collide,
Rattling the great fabric gong,
seizing with pleasure,
omniflourescent fireworks,
of absolute brilliance,
The twinkling dust falling,
flickering as
they fall,
Becoming imagined demons,
sacred omens,
reassurance that things,
derive from all things,
What had been said and done in the past, now is the wall keeping them from taking a look at the real veiled horizon that captivates the ethereal mystery of the child's wonder.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
*The word that twirls a lady in
a windy moors
with daffodils watching her from afar
moving their bodies to the velocity and rhythm
Words, words, words,
the flowers took a glance of a
pummeled heart
the next day where clouds gloom
pouring anger to a lonely life
the lady lay on a bed of grass
waiting for the rain to melt
her raging heart
Little daisies whisper
as the lady found a shade
and sat looking at a tranquil sky
She waited and waited
until the night came to cover the dismal eyes
Every day the flowers
await for the beam of sunlight
and the soft touch of the wind
who used to play with the
lady in the moors
She disappeared without a trace
One day, she came back with
a discreet smile
walking with grace
on her way to paradise
she planted a sunflower
under the sunlight
she looked up and blinded by the glint
the flowers giggled
and started dancing again.*
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 9:36 AM UTC