"readjusts" poems
Enter scene:
A girl sits on a bed in a room.
The room smells like cat **** and Fabuloso
(whatever the name of the yellow scent is).
The black-out curtains are open,
letting the moon shine onto the bottom of the bed.
The lavender fitted sheet has come undone.
The girl hasn't slept in a day.
She hasn't eaten in two days.
There is an empty handle of Jack
that she bought three days ago.
The scabs on her leg were four days old,
But she reopened them three hours ago.
The girl had chestnut hair that flowed,
cascading to the small of her back,
but she cut it herself, drunk in the bathroom.
The girl has chestnut hair that spills
in a mass of tangles to her shaking shoulders,
uneven, moving with her as she readjusts.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 1:41 AM UTC
It bubbles up, emits a high-pitched scream, then dies
It was a thought, a dream, a notion
Cascaded now back into the ocean
Where other unborn dreamers lie.
Life cycles in inner circles
Death crumbles at the edges it nabs
And life readjusts its grip
Trying to give nothing to grab.
Life must spiral
And death must follow
Meeting high up
Under suns that one day waver.
Waver and fade
Into a supernova piñata bang
And everyone rushes to get the candy
And everyone is just trying to be happy.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
Today, I found beauty in hairy arms and a receding hairline.
My substitute for my English Literature class was a man. His name is Danny. He's short and a little fidgety, gesticulating with every word he speaks. His voice is moderately deep, strong and clear. He's attentive, though his fidgetiness makes him seem a bit scatter brained. His white t-shirt with a few buttons on the top and brown pants were rather plain. Rather, his attire was practical. Alongside his 5 o'clock shadow and glasses, he's average. He's your average middle-aged man, subbing an American Literature class.
But he isn't average. He's passionate. He knows what he's talking about. He's descriptive, knowledgeable, well-rounded. He's excited to examine and read and understand literature. He's genuinely excited to unearth the underlying meanings of our most recent readings. You can tell in his spazzy hand movements when he gets excited, or when he pushes his hair back and readjusts his glasses when he's in the middle of a thought. You can see it in his thoroughness of his explanations. He's engaging- he talks to and with us, not at us. He loves his job, he loves his work, and it's very apparent.
So Danny is beautiful. I think he is beautiful because of his passion. It caught my attention and it has me hooked. For this first time this semester, I want to go to this class because I know he'll be there, eager to explain the reading and ask us what we think about it too.
People, I beg of you to be like Danny- find what you love, immerse yourself into it. Your passion for your work will flow out of you and captivate you to your core. When you're that invested, it becomes infectious. Others will be captivated and immersed as well, even if it is more so in you than it is in your passion. Passionate people are alluring and captivating. I think that's beautiful, more so than other things a person could be. It's beautiful to be so passionate about something that you exude and live it, almost as if your passion were the air you breathe.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 6:26 PM UTC
I see this boy every now and then.
Every sunset and sundown, he walks into my view.
And what I see is a boy lost in a sea of torn faces.
However, he tames himself and continues with his duties.
Readjusts his tight collar, tune his hat, and sags his jeans,
Because that’s what society clothes him in.
But I’ve seen days where this boy is barely lit.
Like a faded glass, there is little shine in his eyes.
The coal within his chest quietly dies out slowly through his lungs.
And after the smoke rises up, he cries like the heavens.
I endure the flood, but just as I swim forth to him
He takes in the smoke and readjusts his tight collar, tune his hat, and sag his jeans;
Because that’s what society clothes him in!
Locked behind the mirror, my fist bleeds against the glass
And my voice tramples against the edges!
Tearing every fiber just so can preach to his ear
The smiles of those he’s touched deep in their hearts!
I want to him to take in the air that mists around him of confidence!
For I have had enough of letting him each sunrise and sundown drowning under the sea of scars!
Am I tall enough? Am I manly enough? Am I a good person?
Yes, your height is fine, be proud, you’re taller than Tom Cruise!
Yes, you bare the strength of a thousand men in one beat of your heart!
And yes, yes even when you destroyed the girl of your dreams heart,
You fought like no other person to make her smile again!
Deep inside you, buried six feet under, is a man.
A man who you were parading this world as this entire time!
And I press my face against the edge of the glass,
And my voice stretches out to him,
And our eyes cross lights,
But then he readjusts his hat, smiles;
His lips move about with the slightest steps.
Another sunrise and another sunset, he’ll keep walking despite the rain.
He flicks the lights to fade black and gone again through the door.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 4:08 PM UTC
Things in this house get
forgotten.
Leaves on the stairs,
a cat grows old in the
basement.
The wind sings itself to
sleep and the trees
dance with shadows
across the window.
Things in this house are
hoarded, cloistered,
shut up in
locked drawers with
missing keys and
locked chests with
heavy lids.
He hides things in here,
letters and toys and pictures,
and he leaves his walls bare.
He lovingly locks his memories away,
half pencils, one mitten, lost teeth,
and he can sleep at night because
eighteen years' time has
manifested itself in
tops of baby bottles, plastic bracelets, winter hats,
and now they lie dusty but safe in
his quiet, lonely house.
The light in the kitchen burns out
one day.
He readjusts the crayons
in their drawer.
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 9:41 PM UTC
Why is it................
When you take your car to service center, for a simple oil change, the technician always readjusts the rear view mirror, seat position, and re-tunes the radio. It takes two weeks to finally get them back to where you had them, especially the seat position.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 2:40 PM UTC
Take a word and mix the letters and the result can be absurd
But an anagram is a word mixed-up that makes another word
Or if you blend a couple words it can be quite satisfying
If the spin-off words are helpful and the result is clarifying
A ‘Sycophant’ ‘acts phony’, which is something ‘The eyes’ ‘They see’
While the ‘Snooze alarms’ too early says wake up ‘Alas no more Z’s’
‘A decimal point’? - ‘I’m a dot in place’ and there are other spots
Would you believe ‘The morse code’ reorders to ‘Here comes dots’
Be cautious when you marry, not of your wife who has no flaw
Don’t forget the ‘Woman ****** who will be your ‘Mother-in-law’
That one was rather damming the next one’s better I’ll admit
When I become a ‘Father-in-law’ I will be a ‘Near halfwit’
Who would have thought ‘Astronomer’ readjusts to say ‘Moon Starer’
But Knox the ‘Presbyterian’ would have thought he’s ‘Best in Prayer’
The huddled masses may revere New York’s ‘Statue of Liberty’
And shuffled letters also state she was ‘Built to stay free’
Oh ‘I bet the wound's lethal’ the junior policeman will have said
Of course, replied the coroner it was ‘Two bullets in the head’
December comes I ‘Search, Set, Trim’ for the perfect ‘Christmas Tree’,
Kids hiding in a ***** room’ which is like a ‘Dormitory’
In ‘The countryside’ ‘No city dust here’ if I’m ‘Silent’ I can ‘Listen’
And ponder my ‘Indomitableness’ or is it my ‘Endless ambition’?
‘I am not active’ in ‘Vacation time’ I will rest and heave a sigh
With joy I watch a ‘Butterfly’, and see it gently ‘Flutter by’
A minor risk? A ‘Slot Machine’, the result is ‘Cash lost in me’
A lethal risk? Revealed too late, ‘Radium came’ for ‘Madam Curie’
The last “surprising anagram” in this poem that I hope was fun
If ever asked what’s ‘Eleven plus two’ reply it’s ‘Twelve plus one’
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 12:22 PM UTC
so im laying in bed, right?
and it’s like 7 am and
i had totally told myself i was going for a run
i instead laid in bed, until exactly 9:27 am,
giving me 33 minutes to be
out of my dorm and on my way to class.
for nearly two and a half hours
a large blue beast named Depression
sat on my chest,
and smiled a big sharp grin.
he lit his cigarette and said
“It’s all pointless, you know,”
he took a long drag
and blew the smoke on my face.
Anxiety is dancing around the room
laughing maniacally
her hands shaking as she reorganizes
the same shelf for the seventh time.
he shares his cigarette with her
and I think they’re the ugliest couple i’ve ever seen.
he readjusts on my chest,
and starts to list the things that i need to do but can’t.
Anxiety starts listing the things that could go wrong today
and tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day—
when I get back from class
Anxiety will jump me
her long nails digging into my arms
the overwhelming feeling of death
surging through my veins
i struggle to breathe
i struggle to lower my heart rate--
there is a toxic relationship
living inside of my brain.
and i am so tired of being a third wheel.
e.g. rowe
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 10:20 PM UTC