"reassembled" poems
*eking out the ultimate gasp in my last breath of impulsion
i collapse without a touch of grace at race's end
how i made it i will never know
dazed and in bewilderment
i reminisce upon my journey
an aggregation of barricades assailed me
with iniquitous decadent delight
seeming to writhe in triumph at my possible demise
capitulating as it devoured and spewed me out the other side
i humbly reassembled fragments of my near annihilation
temporarily rehabilitated
i recommenced the toilsome climb
to the treasured peak atop the mount
when in would come the tempest with its furor
and render me asunder
mere exhaustion is not the word
for death experienced recurrently
ground to mulch and back again
screaming, pleading, surrendering
proved futile as i newly met the same demise
near incapacitation i miraculously emerged
and scraping pulled myself with broken heart and bones
scratching my way through the darkness
toppling at the pinnacle
to victory's end
with exhilaration it dawns on me
the long dark night is over
i passed the test to realize
it is not the finish line
but only the beginning
©2016janetaylor
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
There is a pear above me
hovering reluctantly.
It's skin firm,
the colour of meadows in the midst
of spring.
Tightly it clung
to that little stem on the branch
which exerted much effort
to keep it away from the ground.
It looked down on me
wanting badly to be picked.
To be kept inside my pocket
safe - and could be taken out
in dark moments for company.
It could also be tossed roughly in the sack
to migle with other pears.
Scratched pears.
Battered pears.
Broken pears.
Happy pears.
Wounded pears.
Rotten pears.
Abandoned pears.
Neglected pears.
Hate pears.
Love pears.
But it clings, above me
completely out of reach.
It sways in the wind,
impossible to be climbed.
And all I can do
is wait here,
down here, down below
until time exhausts the branch
until it decides to push my pear away
in moments when I am most unprepared.
It will fall on the ground
and I won't be there to catch it - like people execute to people.
Its flesh will cover the pavement
the soil will sap its juice.
It will kiss the soles of my shoes when I passed by
Its remnants will knock, then eventually pound.
And I will see that my untouchable pear
has been reassembled to be a ruin
that shelters history
that homes the history people
with historical names
and historical nails
and historical breath.
That house will contain the smell of oil lamps
lost letters, burnt maps and scarred love
and my pear will accompany the parchment
that human thoughts choose to abandon.
Until then,
I will not be writing for a while.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
Lying beneath the stars longing to feel your honest heart beet.
Returning to the dirt we came from, I can feel your breath hot and sticky filling the gap between us.
Scrupulously steaming us vegetables.
I can't help but imagine biting into your savory peel.
Some say the skin is the most nutritious part.
I inhale the ripe droplets dewing across you,
and wonder what we'd look like mashed together.
Stuck in a blender.
Ripped apart and delicately reassembled.
And then I remember,
That we already were.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
Blazing hot sweats rolled down my back,
A cloudless sky was at reach from my palm’s view,
My eyes centered on the sun as it stood above my head.
Summer’s end sneaked around the corner,
But its endless heat
Fooled me to think it would never cease.
Milky sand grains covered my toes,
Beach ***** rolled back n’ forth,
Children’s castle were made and later destroyed,
Clear waters waved in my thoughts,
It was suppose to be a beautiful day
And until that moment, it was.
The moment the earth shook,
Loud voices suddenly began to rise
And footsteps tumbled the ground.
I looked around,
Right, left, up, down,
Where had the commotion come from?
The sun blinded me from the truth,
When the photons in my eyes reassembled the image,
A shock traveled to my heart
Making it pump furiously in my chest.
A desert ahead of me laid,
Content faces had ran from my presence,
The air dragged my body forward,
The ocean rapidly seemed to disappear,
I looked upon the never ending horizon
And its line had ascended greatly.
At that moment,
I refused to run like all the others,
I refused to avoid its magnificent moves.
The winds pushed me backwards with a tremendous force,
Sprinkles of icy water splashed against my skin,
A great calamity I was bound to face.
Shadows covered the surface of my dread,
An enormous wall of wetness surrounded me,
And with a blink, I was no longer visible to the eyes of men,
Even God could not spot me from the heavens above.
I gasped for air in the salty waters of the ocean
But there was none to be found,
And with that last thought in mind
I drowned myself in its eternal beauty.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
Beowulf the hier of nothing of rot
Mother he know not
Raised in shame banished wroght
Returned to his village to seek wrothgar a father he yet sought
News of death the sorrow he fought
Till the night trouble it brought
Grendal at night did strike
Killing thous from wicked and strife
None but Beowulf saw the **** of the fight
Guards did come, and saw a false sight
Beowulf they thought the killer that night
Sentenced to death but never to suffer that blight
Beowulf escaped and rode at dawn, Off to seek golem and where he lurk
Off to the woods there they found Grendal
With much haste golem charged Beowulf dirk was drawn
Hacking off the fingers of golem was hurt
Grendal roared and ran
Holding tightly to his wounded hand
Beowulf returned with trophy in bag gasps where made across the land
Guards double watch patrolling village to make a stand
Night came and blood was shed
Grendal made way to the mead hall all the way warriors bled
Beowulf was ready and calmly said
I have his fingers how about his arm instead
Attacking the creatures buckled arm ripping it off golem then ran and fled
Beowulf grabbed arms and said fingers now arm soon his head
They reassembled on horses arms ready and raged
Gave chase
All fell but Beowulf by accord golem laid dead he lead deeper around bend
mother by him seducing Beowulf of power and ***** by all that was said
Beowulf accepted the fouls bargain
But all was not well in thee end
Dragon flew to the sky warriors of King Beowulf Fend
Beowulf killed his son of the dervish deal the dragon
But deadly wounds of were not on dragon alone Beowulf had fallen both a killing blow send
Beowulf funeral ceremony of fire and water below the deep the foul was spotted to be burned alive with Beowulf lover in arms
Blasphemy and Treacherous woes for all of she slaughtered
Now known Beowulf deed leading men like fodder
Against them knowing deal he had waged
Too be written and sung in the latter days
Beowulf the hero king the liar the cheat they called
Beowulf the man flawed as all that ultimately brought his downfall
Nov 20, 2020
Nov 20, 2020 at 6:56 PM UTC
There are no wilds. The most dangerous
places where I live - are inhabited only by humans.
The woman with the most plastic surgery
sits idly by
as each day her features are torn down
and reassembled by someone who
obviously has other plans for her face,
carefully plotted on blue paper.
Where once her pores gave us shelter,
it is now her plastic features which we hide behind,
forgetting the simple beauty of a woman without makeup
or a tree, in a forest of others.
The woman with the most plastic surgery
sits and weeps -
for she was once powerful and magnificent, omnipresent
Mother Nature we have recreated
in our own likeness, instead of hers;
We are the ones who cover the dirt in cement.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 7:03 PM UTC
Onetime I let a boy inside my ribcage
I warned him upon entry that the path to the space between my lungs was a oneway ticket
that I had never smoked a cigarette,
but the walls inside me were tar-filled
and sick
that sometimes my heart failed to beat with my brain and instead fell into
perfect
uneven
synchrony with the faucet
where I threw-up cherry red the other night.
Onetime I let a boy with a knife inside my ribcage
and I had seen the knife
and I didn't care
he climbed inside me so gently
like he belonged there and was just taking his place
like a missing *****
he made me his home
reassembled my insides
vital pieces of me now resting on his body,
depending on his body
one hand on my heart
the other on my throat.
Onetime I let a boy with a knife and a bottle of bourbon live inside my ribcage
he cleaned the tar off the walls
but didn't cure the sickness
I think he liked the smell of it.
One night he carved his name everywhere
spine
clavicle
esophagus
and I pretended to sleep
cut
nick
slash
he tried to claim me
he tried to clean me
but lost souls can't be claimed
and I'll never be clean enough
my heart follows faucets
not boys
and that scared the boy
so one night he poured the bourbon down the throat he held
and I didn't stop him
and I almost drowned
gulp, gulp, gulp
slash, slash, slash
cursive illegible sorry's
over every spot he had once cut his name into
and he kissed the wounds
and I woke up heavy.
Organs are worthless without their host but
Onetime I watched a boy tear his way out of my ribcage.
Knife and empty bottle in his place,
nothing's been working right in there since.
I haven't let anyone in there since.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 3:57 AM UTC
i don't know which birds sing in the mornings.
i like sunrises, but only if i haven't been to bed yet.
i like to emerge from my sheets and pillows when the sun is high
and the shadows are gone.
before then, the sun is too young and exuberant
and i have such an old and heartbreakingly tired soul.
the sun was barely over the old church outside your bedroom,
painting the bare walls of your room with the colors of the last supper.
you woke me up, soft and sweet,
like i know you can be, when you put to rest your premature bitterness and apathy.
i don't know how long you lay beside me, the ***** of your feet pressed against my shins,
your pinky finger tracing the freckles on my arm in the same pattern, countless times.
but it was the softest way i've ever woken up, and it reminds me of summer.
it reminds me that bruised does not mean broken,
and even shattered pieces can be reassembled.
it reminds me that there is love everywhere,
and we once had it in the most morning-sun way.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 11:54 PM UTC
I see it for just a moment
A squishy mound of fur to the far right of the asphalt
This latest pile of dislocated mush is presented on a desert highway
A raccoon? No. Too small.
A coyote? Maybe. Who can tell?
That play-dough pile of crushed bones was not created outside the white lines where it now lays
Some chosen soul scraped and scooped the mystery meat to its resting place
Some jumpsuit wearing civilian is intimately aware with the parentage of the reassembled road victim
Do they have a moment of silence after the last shovel scrape?
Do they hold an internal roadside memorial?
What of the homicidal perpetrator behind his wheels?
He must know the identity of his victim
He must feel the agony of guilt
Or, is his only remorse in the quarters he must spend at the self-service carwash to remove the evidence?
Perhaps Road-Kill animals haunt their vehicle killers
Maybe their blood can never be truly washed from the ****** weapon’s shinny surface
Like spots on Lady Macbeth’s hands
Perhaps the killer’s dreams are frequented by unidentifiable ****** mounds with eyes that stare from unnatural places
After all
Justice must be had in one way or another
For the unrecognizable John Doe pile represents all those wild things that must chance to cross the hard, hot, lethal highway
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
Hypnotizing Swirl
The last time I saw you, my mind was an intensified and frigid blast from the polarized north.
I held onto your body and our breath emitted a spiritual corona which enveloped us in love.
We dwelled within a single abode intertwining our illuminated vessels.
Within this shrine resides the sacred enamorment that placed me in a trance…
-A hypnotizing swirl.-
Spirited away, in this moment, I moon the time away awaiting the evolution, the bloom, the metamorphosis, the efflorescence of your quintessence.
Like a delicate orchid of the brightest evergreen stem.
An exuberant and illustrious flower, a symbol of our love, it has intertwined our beings with the seeds of rejuvenation sown into our souls.
Today when I see you, like a broken record in my mind, I am detached.
I am a juggernaut, a sentinel who guards sanity within the confines of an indomitable fortress.
My dream has been nurtured in a pink dreamer’s chest; my treasure is a myriad of aromatic petals sealed away.
Upon this parcel, the benediction of amor has been bestowed.
Moonbeams and iridescent butterflies dwindle upon its rosy and stout exterior.
The Universe’s tears glimmer upon the castle walls housing my fantasy, my tenuous and ethereal hope bound to break at any moment.
-An epiphany can change things you know.-
“How do I know that my beseeching cries shall reach the Transcendental in the Realm of the Tenuous and Divine?”
-Only faith and virtue can allow me to reach the pinnacle of my desires-
To a Shattered and Reassembled Dream.
By, Sanders Maurice Foulke III
Apr 7, 2012
Apr 7, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
Dark emerald
Twisting lines of my imaginings
Creep upward
O'er the cold hard walls.
Disintegrate the temples
Men wrought of continental stone
Mountain disassembled
And raised here
To form
Buildings
Razed here
By the alchemy
Of green plants
And the elements
Of dark twisting lines
In my imaginings:
Even now
The dust begins to pile upon the ground
And the golden city fades
Beneath the growing green image.
Dark emerald
Twisting lines of my imaginings
Creep upward
O'er the cold hard walls.
Weave vine tendrils
Into the fabric
Of the stone,
Clamber over solemn tombs
What one life raised
Another will surpass,
Must first embrace its artifacts
And then exceed
And render into dust
The particles
Turn roundward.
Dark emerald
Twisting lines of my imaginings
Creep upward
O'er the cold hard walls.
Reintegrate the dust
To continental stone
In dark mantle
Mountain reassembled
And raised here
By alchemy
Of the earth
Turning in another million years
Beneath new life
Raised here.
Dark emerald
Twisting lines of my imaginings
Creep upward
O'er the cold hard walls.
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 7:43 PM UTC
I let you go,
like the waves rolling on the shore,
and a little boy who lost his footwear,
crying scared to go back to her mother
where he had lost the gifts.
I let you go,
like a couple of ashy Prinia birds
dancing among the bamboo branches
sing loudly in the breeding season, build nests and lay eggs,
but replaced by the eggs of cuckoos that grew and were cared for with love.
I let you go,
like cities that have long since died
the quiet and lonely
and people left
and no one ever came back to occupy.
I let you go,
like the paintings of pain
from wounds that bleed and lose
displayed at art exhibitions,
and everyone was amazed to see.
I let you go,
like a memory in a photo album
from loved ones first,
yellowed full of blotches of teardrops,
worn-out dusty and looks real.
I let you go,
like an angry poet
in front of half-finished poems
who have been lost for words for a long time
to be reassembled.
I let you go,
like falling rain,
and a boy running around looking for shelter
with wounds on his right hand
holding tightly to the thorny rose.
I let you go,
like a book
and sad stories
which has been left for a long time
after reading all night.
Once again,
I let you go,
as a most perfect poem,
that I have written,
from the remnants of memories in the head.
Nov 5, 2021
Nov 5, 2021 at 12:03 AM UTC
In a perfect world…
Women aren’t ***** at such high rates.
They don’t suffer from debilitating invalidation.
Societal pressures to deliver a baby conceived by **** nonexistent.
In a perfect world…
Families are carefully planned with the right ingredients.
Women aren’t the only ones getting the **** end of the stick trying to
raise
care
build
a better human
than the ones already in the world.
Once that child is grown s/he has three options
become a well-adjusted cog in the clockwork of society
become a criminal that actively tears at the seams of society
or become an unexpected victim to society.
In a perfect world…
Women aren’t brutalized just to satisfy a man’s ego.
Our worth isn’t based on reproducing and rearing children.
We aren’t objectified; cut, chopped and reassembled
like slabs of meat a butcher can trim on a whim.
The v between our knees and the ******* on our chests
aren’t the most coveted features of a feminine figure.
Our brains and intelligence are the commodities, plus they last longer.
We band together in an effort to empower one another.
This isn’t a perfect world we live in though.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
september has become
the cruelest month
reassembled
hollywood disasters
at their worst
flipped into reality
as if
we had needed that
as if
we had not known
that life is fragile
and tall buildings
can collapse
taking thousands
to sudden death
what is the point?
to prove
that one can bring
disaster
to the undefended?
to demonstrate
that minds bent
on destruction
can succeed
if they plan long enough?
what a waste
of lives and minds...
and more to follow
most likely
does wordless violence
solve anything?
the heartless deed
the glamorous sacrifice
that calls for more
and more
and more
neurotic spirals
of destruction, retaliation
and revenge
instead of global peace
now looms spectral war
born from self-righteous pride
the need to strike out
fast and hard
against whoever fits
intelligence-created data
transferred to screens
meticulously marked
coolly oblivious of the people
who work and procreate
and live
in those fluorescent blips
domesticated energy
serves the omnipotent
two millionaires’ sons
turned public enemies
upon whose final global showdown
depends
the fate of yet more
women
men
and children
to satisfy the need
for a just universe
where power flows
undisturbed by laughter
and the sounds
of real people
living
in a real world
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 6:36 PM UTC
I'm a brick layer
by incarnation
by aspiration
by luminosity.
I find unfinished buildings-
toppled skyscrapers-
imaging their foundations
their structural intelligence.
With a brick here
and some love there;
once demolished
can be reassembled.
I'll reconstruct
your finest details,
the youthful aspirations
of an idyllic generation.
Too naïve to
understand that unforgiving
weather can happen
to even the kindest of buildings.
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 8:23 PM UTC
Now that my
Parents are dead,
I guess it's okay
To tell what they did
To me as a babe.
They tore off my limbs
And they dug me a grave,
Cuz I said that I would
But I didn't behave.
They split up the parts
And dug up a ditch
In six different yards
So I couldn't restitch.
They should've guessed
I couldn't stay
In eternal rest
For more than a day.
My hands dug in the dirt
To find one another,
My feet kicked in the clay
To be with each other
Once again, to start it all over.
I reassembled
Under the moon
And slowly ambled
Up to my room
With all my stuffed animals
Waiting to be told
What they should do.
I told them my plan
To get my payback,
First we'd get Sam
And then we'd attack
His pretty wife Jan.
My lion Simba
Clawed out their eyes,
My polar bear Nimbus
Bit into their thighs
And tore off their legs
Like they had done mine.
My giraffe Mr. Skeep
Wrapped his neck around theirs
And put them to sleep
By stealing their air.
My job complete,
I walked down the stairs,
Got something to eat
Then split apart,
Said bye to my feet,
And went back to the dark
Under the streets
That my lovely parents
Intended for me.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC
There are gentle curses,
simple words that would break you
into those pieces you are,
scattered on the floor,
swept gently into my dustpan of marble,
reassembled from the
broken little statue you are
not so little, are you?
I'd reassemble your last horizons,
raining bleak shores of a suicide walk off of Beachey Head.
Smash,
dissolve into the waters,
and turn the ocean waters
purple.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 4:00 AM UTC
it appears as though
there was a coup,
in kookaburra land,
this morning.
much fuss,
and cacophony.
as the brown and blue kingfisher clan, reassembled,
their royal court.
the big old king,
uncurled his talons,
unfurled his wings,
gave one last,
manical chuckle....
and fell from his perch.
to lie still,
upon the dusty,
brown earth.
shocked, silence for some seconds, and then...
the eucalypts erupted into, (what would appear to the outsider);
cold calculating mirth.
as the young jacko princes, all began the joking joust
for the top place berth.
in a melee of swooping, chuckling grace,
a contest no less,
set to test....
mettle, worth and cackle call.
each young bird,
takes to the wing and flies into the maddening...and how close,
how loud,
how startling,
they can be.
is made known,
by those,
whose years,
have flown.
when all, is said and done. tourney overflown,
feathers are preened.
then the winner
is presented,
with opportunity, bold....
to nest the queen.
as to the rest,
they take their place,
in the chaotic, cackling, cacophonous,
kookabuurra clan nests.
to bide their time,
until, the next coup,
comes calling...
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
A swarm of flies buzzing
In the summer sun
The grass still moist
From morning drizzle
Emanating
An unreal shade of green
To contrast a perfect sky
And the pieces
Of milky white
And burgundy
Hastily scattered
In the field
Waiting to be reassembled
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
please
forgive me,
this chest scar,
is a crack in the heartland,
deep rupture,
grime and shadow seeping in.
landscape,
an infinite black lake.
I can see
my reflection clear in it;
it is
broken glass, fragmented and
reassembled again,
again,
monstrous, twisted as a
swan dipped in oil, drowned twice, feathers
lathered so thickly, so
irrecoverably.
oil, oil, it drips so
slowly and sickly and
sweetly.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
Forth and back so on and so forth
Madness masking more madness
When a narcissist cries. . .
Big, fat, salty
Crocodile tears of self love
For you to appreciate their
Sensitivity
So insightful through the most insidious of manipulations
Unaware, blissfully, so blissfully you stay unaware
In some emotional waiting room
Preparing for an appointment
That was never made
Not for you anyway
You're just the vessel
My ride to the store
Paradoxically
To the narcopath. . .
Self love is
Self loathing
Self loathing's
Self love
Those who crave pity
Must first devour all of their own
Then starve at too young an age
From loving themselves
Much too much
Behind a shattered enough stage
A mess at the start
Even cats need learn their own claws
Professional confidence from something
Re-sewn, sutured, glued, reassembled
From pure disaster into smooth alabaster
Sharp at the edges, dangerous
This insightful love of the narcopath
Fierce now unbroken
Statuesque
Whole and all powerful
Distorted fully to experience zero reality
Floating among humans
In irrelevant situations
A deep love shared for the glory
Of one
With the strength
Of one thousand suns
Be careful
Those little emo black holes, ha,
They'll swallow your *** whole
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 8:19 PM UTC
he seeps into me
fracturing each bone
contorting each muscle
The rich creamy nonsense of it all
Like a dark chocolate pudding filled with raisins; contrasting in the most horrific way
We don't fit
we just don't
there is no explanation
there is no burning fire
no raging passion
just a thousand pieces of broken china laying on the floor, never to be collected, or reassembled
I feel the darkness
it welcomes me
and washes over me with deep calming breaths
this was never going to work.
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 4:14 PM UTC
Dear Stranger you've shown me the earth.
Not as I see it but as you do,
An ocular rebirth
You asked me if I'd like for a moment
To look through your spyglass
The one you hang on a chain above your heart
And see through tinted lenses
That refract tainted beams of time
The mountains you saw as a child
And thought holy.
Well, I do
I'd like to see that and more,
If you'd let me stay a minute longer
If you'd let me take shelter in your arms
Till nigh on the horizon looms the golden shore
Till the final notes are played
Of the song you heard as a child
The one that taught you how to smile
And quietly we'd keep awhile
As society's engines run wild
I'd wrap your head in flowers
To remind you of your existance
Your momentary brilliance
As the petals lose their form
And ease into sleep
Against your skin
We too would be freed from this world
Locked in our treehouse
A temple we built
To the gods alive in our bodies
A honeycomb house
Made of chambers
Identical to those in our hearts
We'd live there too.
I'd be a river
And you'd be my name
I'd carry promises
Like stones from the ocean
Downstream to be yours
We'd be the unlikely meeting
Of opposing poles
And we'd wear the smile
Of their newfound friendship
Like a coat
To protect us from the winds
In the eye of the storm
When all we can see
Is spinning too fast to hold
So we wouldn't try.
We'd sway to the push and pull
Of the wind
Like waves that wash away
The most magnificent of castles
Into millions of pieces
Waiting to be reassembled.
We'd whisper secrets like songs
And the first one would be
"yes"
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 6:55 PM UTC
Someone once told me
to mend a broken person
breaks the mender them self
I tried to rearrange their broken heart
But as I reassembled it
The shards of glass sunk into my skin
As if it was heavily pored.
My emotions fell down like hail
on a harsh winter's day. However
I felt the rain wash over me
Sending chills through my heart
Soaking me for all eternity
No one gave me a towel
To dab away the imbibed feelings
of everything, from love to hate
to lust and lies
Someone once told me
To mend a broken person
Breaks the mender them self
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 3:36 PM UTC
Something needs fixing
Something has gone missing
So I start with the man in the mirror
I get up close just to see clearer
I try to figure out what I see
But what I see isn't me
Broken down and disfigured
Reassembled but misconfigured
Like a collage glued together
With tears, pain, hurt, and lies
False hopes, empty promises,
A bunch of tries, and silent cries
But I hide all this
Cause who would want this
**** I barely want this
So what doesn't **** you makes you stronger?
I don't believe this to be true
Cause at times I don't know what to do
So as I stare upon this reflection
Straight opposite of perfection
But I have to start somewhere
So I start here
With the man in the mirror
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 12:27 AM UTC