"rearranges" poems
"You know, I used to be good at math,"
He says,
A cigarette cradled in his fingers,
Spilling ash on his blue jeans.
He rearranges himself, removes his jacket -
It's much too hot for leather now -
And reveals a Dean t-shirt.
Too cool for school, I suppose.
"The rules just got too crazy, too specific.
Too dependent and tangled.
Well, too much so for the effort I was willing to exert."
He's frank, I'll give him that.
How does he make utter sloth seem so innocent?
Too cool for school, I suppose.
He calls himself a Methodist.
Not like that, though.
He says he's just figured life out.
He means the hows, not the whys.
The stops along the tour of personal success.
A Methodist.
Too cool for school, I suppose.
Aug 11, 2010
Aug 11, 2010 at 1:10 PM UTC
Do not wanna scream at you every day
I don't want to fight or make you hurt
More and more I say words that cause you pain
Is it so hard to make this work?
Would need you if you didn't need me
To face that realization is hard
Sleep off doubts hoping you won't see
Return cause they never go far
Why are you what I fear the most?
Dreaming open eyes
Fantasies we hope to come true that we used to host
Never will if you keep giving lies
There will come a day everything changes
Nothing will stay the same
Left picking up pieces while reality rearranges
Both will end up with cuts of shame
Love with an intensity so great
When saying your name it rattles doors
Mind might belong to me
My heart is all yours
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 8:37 PM UTC
Eyes stare...
Into nothingness,
The jigsaw of to be’s,
Arranges and rearranges;
Into an appeal of mirage...
Swelling the oasis of life!
And when the glare pierces,
Eyes blink;
The jigsaw settles,
Synchronized with reality;
Strengthening my mind...
To derive the quirky balance -
Between the could be’s ;
And the one that is!
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 3:51 AM UTC
body language that requires
no reading between the lines
its apparent
without the mask of vague
emotions and thoughts
that chased us
apart
and you two
back together
never a matter of whether, just when
I'll pretend not to feel something
when I hear your name
notice how its your arms that wrap
and not hers
its her cheek you kiss, her not on yours
the changes that come, when nothing changes
but the world rearranges
and it all seems to fit
push aside the feelings that rip
melt and they drip
down in slow trickles
and just because they dont stream
like water from a hose
doesnt mean they mean any less
it just means that
they cant put out the fire
and thats something
that just was never an option
for you
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
The Doctor has a Sense of Humor!
<|>
give a surgeon a scalpel
and an excuse,
and the artist emerges,
for creativity is a good surgeon’s
natural habitat
Sure, sure, there’s a plan,
with best and acceptable outcomes,
but when messing with a real heart,
a sly ***** with numerous deceptive guises
at its disposal, you never for sure never know,
despite all the advanced imaging techniques,
exactly
what you will find once you go
spelunking
in caves of life and death
so, he takes a bit from here,
and a bob or two from there,
there a cut, here an incision deep,
Old McDonald provided a body,
or a canvas, and the Doc
is happy.
So I uncover holes where he
probed, redeploying the healthy,
like a good designer, Doc rearranges
and repairs, a travelogue of splicing and dicing,
his handiwork
Now standing over you for many hours,
can get tiring, though each ***** be
different, unique even, but leaving
a little marker, a stylized signature,
is well, is the rightful discretion of the artiste!
So you can imagine my surprise
when the tubes removed (ouch!)
the bandages ripped off in a
signature move of a delighted nurse whose
loves seeing grown men cry from lesser trivialities,
you cannot imagine my surprise
when I discovered my new tattoo,
upon my chest front and center!
*Herein please find your heart repaired,
and revitalized:
Please Note!
We guarantee our work for minimum 15 years
(Aug. 3, 2038),
but our disclaimer
we assume NO responsibility after that
if you should
happen to live for 30 YEARS or more*
Dr. P.
Sep 21, 2023
Sep 21, 2023 at 7:58 AM UTC
Incremental actions
bring monumental
changes
With every fundamental step
your future rearranges
You may not know
what tiny task
could be quite instrumental
in moving your successes
to new and higher ranges
Jun 5, 2019
Jun 5, 2019 at 9:18 AM UTC
Gonna throw away
The grin today.
Signs of agony
In the words I say.
Rid myself
Of joyous things,
Now a jester
After living like kings.
No use telling a lie
When you're about to cry.
Its only a matter of time,
Until you spill
The reason why.
Lost the trust,
So what's the use?
Unlace my shoes
And tie a noose.
Im not a straight shooter
But I've got a trigger finger.
The feeling of fear,
It loves to linger.
Nothing changes
If nothing changes,
Take control
When it rearranges.
Dont need
The ***** deeds,
Determining
Flowers from weeds.
Taking a walk
In a field of the land mine,
Your head isn't sleepy,
Dont lay it on the line.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 1:35 PM UTC
Now...
I'm not about
to confess
to know of this test,
any more
and maybe less
than the usual mess.
Expert
wanna be
burn my eyes
gonna see
can I make
sense of this
dominant stress
It seems a woman
plays soft
thus a man
plays hard
but what she craves in the end
she never gets
Because the
dynamic changes
our role
rearranges
instincts to sustain us
make our minds regress
And she's a mess,
(pause)
that's all, just a mess...
Control freak
she'll bequeath
he can't do
between the sheets
what once
in his mind
was
sacred and bless
She grows hard
he goes soft
happy scarred
awareness lost
he becomes what she hates
a yes-man, yes
With her eye on the prize
while he loses focus
she
in her right
lays the magick to rest
'till
all that's here
left to see
how long it takes
'till she leaves he
and follows her own sunset
in the untamed West
And he's a mess,
(pause)
that's all, just a mess...
The things she'll do
just to spite
what he wants to
and did recite
but not with him,
Oh Hell No,
not with Her chest
Fnds a way
so he knows
no doubt
that she owns
and faults him when he learns
of her ****** best
He can't sleep
becomes a sheep
MOJO lost
on the heat
of that which might have been
had he
had more zest
She might have stayed
had he played
along with her witchy way
and also
respected
her emotional tests?
And that's the mess,
(pause)
that's all, just a mess...
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 4:17 AM UTC
She’ll wander back to you again,
but drawn by the string
of ineffable instinct—kissing the sand
of your beaches still damp
by the routine of her departure.
Yet as she recedes,
you already ache her homecoming
as though longing for an estranged relative.
You count the years
by the bitterest point
of every winter, and
value your harvests
against the cruelty of the drought—
and even when she rearranges herself
nightly, by increments you’ve already calculated
by meticulous observation,
somehow good fortune owes you eternity,
even as it crumbles under the weight
of its own impermanence.
You’ve never dealt well with entropy;
all that came before you, which also happens
to survive you—an honorary god.
Stranded on earth,
you monitor your greying scalp as grimly
as you decry a darkening sky above you succumbing
to the certainty of winter, but
even she is ebbing, too.
You curse her departure like an abandoned child,
but she had never sinned against you—
that was your idea.
You mourn the day she repossesses
with mortal anguish,
yet you still find a way to forgive her
when she sends Dawn
to shine his light between the trees.
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
Heavy Minded -
Roller Coaster.
Eyes Closed ****** Nose,
Heart Open - Levitation.
Procrastination - Imagination, Heart Racing -
Life Changes. Rearranges - Destination,
Emotional - Inflammation. Loves' Amazement - Captivating,
Excitement - Anticipation. New Beginning - Fading Past, Anxious Feeling -
Worlds Crash. Whiplash - Meld, Blend, Comprehend - Understanding, Learning, Bend.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 2:25 PM UTC
I see her in the morning.
I think of her in the night.
And all the hours in between,
She enslaves my very sight.
Her shiny black hair
Is like silky waves of night.
Her deep blue eyes
Are portals of mysterious light.
Her smile is magnificent.
Her teeth are always glimmering.
Her body is phenomenal.
Her laughter is always ringing.
She has a corner office.
I have a corner store.
I await the moment every morning
When she opens up my door.
She is perfect
In every single way.
All she has to do
Is everything I say.
She's married with children.
I'm single with none.
She seems so intense,
But maybe she's the one.
She'll be here soon.
What do I do?
I've absolutely, positively
Fallen for Sue!
I'm a fool!
I've fallen into a trap.
Help me find my way.
Can you lend me a map?
She is intoxicating.
She's out of her mind.
She follows me home
And tries to be kind.
She rearranges my furniture.
She decorates my house.
She adores this little puppy
That looks like a mouse.
She whispers and gossips
And whistles and prances.
She sends everyone into
Their own kind of trances.
She tasted better
Than Blueberry wine.
But she sure did crush
This little heart of mine.
Written by: Andrew D. Robertson
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 8:03 PM UTC
Perception, keep it far from me it means nothing…
The chemical imbalance…
distorts, rearranges, changes, and manipulates what’s real.
What’s reality?
Sleep, slumber my long lost friend, we once spent countless nights journeying the deep depths of my conscience and subconscious mind,
to places of pure ecstasy
Now we meet only when the black outs come
I guess there aren’t dreams when you die.
Inhalation,
I take in more death.
I dig deeper into nothing to try and find something.
Nothing is all I find,
empty,
blank,
ran out
there is something there
the white canvas is blank,
but I see…
I touch enlightenment as I soar through space,
my white canvas has become stars,
planets,
suns…
Life is all perception
keep perception far from me it means nothing
just pass me the death. Inhalation.
The sweet death fills my lungs, and takes hold of my soul.
My perception is a layer of my intelligence.
I can cease to perceive and still exist.
I hear vibrations at moving frequencies that can not be quantified,
I visualize images that can’t be personified,
I smell the aura and aroma of pure existence,
I feel the texture of objects beneath my flesh,
and I taste life on the tip of my tongue,
the taste of loss,
pain,
love,
hatred,
peace, and enlightenment.
I am living, but I am dead. Inhalation. I breathe in death.
I breathe it all the way to my soul.
My body shutters.
Time fades in and out.
I no longer perceive I only exist.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 5:54 AM UTC
You are my one and only,
Stay with me when I'm lonely
I like that you like me
But there's a part of me, you shouldn't see
When night comes around, I cannot sleep
I'd rather watch the stars then be counting sheep
The night makes my heart leap
Accelerating my heart beat
I am pure, at night alone
No-one near, don't use my phone
So don't try to text me
Coz I'm possessed
By the night
And it feels so right
To be alone
When day breaks, something changes
My mindset, rearranges
And I can't stand to be by myself
I'd rather be with someone else
And that someone,
Is you
<3
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 4:12 AM UTC
~
t'is some sorrow that cannot fade.
its inner sadness shuns the sun;
as hydra thrives in northward shade,
yet turns thy tearful drops to love.
she thy dark night's dew,
and from thy burning rain,
thy weeping cries of pain,
bears in brilliance, sunset hues.
attires her blooms in violet blues,
in soil giv’n she finds the way;
from alkaline, in colored sprays,
her floral pink she displays.
in acid of thy heavy tears,
she bears the blues of all thy fears;
and burnishes thy greying eyes,
with dazzling flame to lift thy sight.
she shows the inner strength that flows,
'neath bitter current lies resolve;
from teardrops come thy rainbow,
and morning dew in love absolves.
queen of mournful sighs,
she coronates thy dark of night;
from bitter groans she hope unfolds
she bears thy tears in floral jewels.
~
*post script.
(the hydra, more commonly, the hydrangea,
she rearranges her jeweled bouquet
based on her soil's pH.)
a beautiful post by Naimh, brought tears and this. i gift it to my dearest Becky, whose sorrow knows no bounds. and post it here dedicated to Naimh, apart from whose recent daily, i would not have known her sorrow. may it momentarily lift her sighs. and to the countless others, those i have come to know here, who share in this sad common bond... a mother’s loss; you have my deepest appreciation and concern for your ever-present tears, your unending sorrow... and your undying love!
please read Naimh's beautiful post, my inspiration, here:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1637667/the-lost-rose/*
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
Tried to fulfil
the caverns in my eyes,
sleepless nights that echo
the chamber of creativity.
So much to do,
so much to do.
So many symbols to contrive
so that when I die,
I do not leave.
When did this ridiculous past-time
become a reason to be?
There is more truth in the flute
than a lover's tongue,
more heart in the metre
of well-formed words
than there is to belong
to any God or anyone.
Tried to fulfil
the hunger for movement;
restless flicker-book
that rearranges
the same old routine
of skipped pages
and human error
into art and reason.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 7:35 PM UTC
there is my friend
from outer space
on my Facebook page
dancing with elegant grace
and there is my friend
that screams ***** ****
tagging friends in Stripper bars
without a hint of scorn ;)
there is my friend
who walks besides angels
she lives a life of hope
and the universe,
God help!
She just rearranges...
There is my word buddy
who's own personal nightmare
became a story of hope
beyond what most of us Bear ;)
There is my Hope
There is my Dream
There is my Future
There is my Scream
There is my source of comfort
and the spine of my Pride
Complete Me ... You are my family
and I'm so happy you're on my side
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 5:01 AM UTC
First Poem of the Day: Pillows vs. Poetry
Ample
Array
Four
Five
Even six,
Pillows,
Rest
My
Head.
One
Or
All
Nightly
Available.
No matter combo or organized, a good nights sleep
Elusive
So poetry is my default rest position,
My screen savior.
Tho my pillows fail me, they are still the best friends I've ever had.
They are my plumped-up critics, those with style, lend me a word now and then. But best of all, they take my tears always, the tears that always come no matter what, most of all when I'm sad satisfied that I wrote something just good enough to share (true),
till my woman wakes, reads them and then by way of thanks,
Makes the bed,
and lovingly rearranges
my pillow friends,
so I can do this,
this poetry thing again,
And that is true love.
So to my woman, who has given me something that I guess I can say is the best years of my life, I give this gift, this first poem of the day,
Hey Pillows, gad ****** get over here, I'm weeping again.
June 9, 2013
5:12am
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 5:14 AM UTC
Weakness is a nuisance that travels
alongside everyone,
similar to the skin on their very backs-
It holds you down when you need to fly
and keeps you there in that
dark place
that you have tried so hard to escape from.
It turns those always-glimmering eyes
Into lumps of coal sunken in your face;
It rearranges that toothy grin into a less
than impressive frumpy slant
plastered below your nose.
Oh, don't you see? It turns your gleaming
aura into a dark, black vortex of emptiness.
Weakness is a nuisance that consumes you-
weakness is you.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC
The older I've gotten
Older I feel
More reality barely rearranges
All pain accumulates
Nothing but hand of time changes
Jul 8, 2023
Jul 8, 2023 at 7:25 AM UTC
Everything Changes lessons here are steep
When life rearranges the destiny we seek
Everything changes hold it close in your heart
Don't let the sadness hold on to you in the dark
Everything changes with every beat of the drum
Go with the rhythm look how far we've come
Everything changes like the sun and the moon
We'll be there shinning it's coming around soon
Hold on to your hope, go forth with dignity
Let love shine through you for all the world to see
Even through changes hold on, hold on, hold on
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 12, 2010 at 5:38 PM UTC
Time does not wait,
Change affirms its presence.
Time plays its tune,
Men are its puppets.
Time brings victory to men,
It also befalls them.
In the waves of time,
Sinks the glory
Through the trough
Shines the sun
Time always flies
And commands respect.
Time heals injuries
Rearranges thoughts in mind.
To time, we owe brightness
Smiles that ascend with time.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 10:07 AM UTC
A crutch, a walking stick
Use and abuse so sick of it
There for you when you can't move
Support your weight when you lose
But let me burn when you're cured
So **** you from all us tortured
Swinging in chains, bonded by pain
A snakes skin is all that changes
The venom still gleams crystal clear
So let me burn!
Playing with fire
Let! Me! Burn!
Your hopeless desires
I'll just take a seat right here
Blindfold off its so **** clear
This cinema rolls the same tape
But it's hilarious to see your face
The devil on the big screen
You wanted attention, now act your scene
A snakes skin is all that changes
But your method never rearranges
The venom drips, so crystal clear...
So let me burn!
Playing with fire
Let! Me! Burn!
Your faith has retired
Once again, called you out
It's hard to swim when drowning in doubt
I know, that riptide was far too strong
But in seeking help, I never did wrong
And your life is crumbling, as the venom drips
So let me burn!
Playing with fire
Let! Me! Burn!
Your hopeless desires
So let me burn!
Playing with fire
Let! Me! Burn!
Your faith! Is!
Retired....
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 5:08 AM UTC
They sing from along the path,
lined like torches would, evenly spaced.
A hazy wood surrounds me,
swirling trees and melting hues
of a late summer afternoon,
fiery colors dancing and melding together,
flowing to the next,
cream in a Sunday morning roast.
The colors, the chimes
they illuminate my stumbling journey,
my tottering travel.
I stop and catch a gaping breath,
bent over, panting, and begin to listen.
The wind pushes the trees,
it sounds the chimes colliding ring,
it exists in flux,
rising in singing ascent
and exhaling in a comforting sigh.
Drifting down the path,
I separate and regenerate
With each glitching step forward
my face distorts, rearranges.
What is the source of verse, of thought?
Rehearsal, a precursor who holds us like
a ventriloquist through time, or is it just
a keen ear for your minds own
singing wind chimes?
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC