"rebuffed" poems
Rebuffed
by expressionless faces
you'll never meet.
An image
can't be identified
through a distorted lens.
Weary words
defrost
as egotistical dreams.
Points of view
compete with self-esteem
and dysfunctional genes.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 3:49 AM UTC
the child of the child of my woman,
cries in the night,
rooming next door,
down the hall
and
he is
all children that cry in the night,
but he is
more mine
by right of quantity
numerous are the kisses lavished,
this biannual visit upon,
his four year old
oversized head,
(so full of 'bains')
his undersized,
protuberanced belly body,
a combo making him
no longer baby,
nor a grownup,
both states,
he denies accurately,
maturely in a wobbly voice
of utter certainty,
but lacking the adjectives
of what lies between,
he debates his state thoughtfully,
until distracted by other
more pressing matters of state
he is boy, little but vociferous,
quiet, pensive, his head a weapon
of...confusion and certainty that
being four years old,
he must perforce be
permanently
in skeptical awe of the world
this is the best position ever,
he has ascertained,
to filter and behold anything,
whatever newness arrives,
which is constant,
streaming and unending
until new is
fully digested, analyzed, and classified,
as if he were
a zoologist in
a wild and untamed land
only certain of what he knows
with perfect certainty,
he consults with me still,
"you kidding?"
such a sophisticated analytic interrogatory,
wise in the ways of grownups,
who, prone to deceive gleefully
his very
suspecting mind,
so much so,
they must be challenged and
rebuffed all too frequently
he cries in the night,
normal tears of discomfort,
physical or mental,
I cannot tell,
for his father
his parental hearing
more practiced, refined,
has preceded me,
such,
as it should be,
and I am dispatched back
to my 3:00am bed,
left only to ink
contemplative ruminations
on the state and nation
of being four...
and sixty,
and still uncertain, even more
than the little boy
of wizened age of annualized four,
the child of the child of my woman,
on
what is real, what is kidding,
in a quest unending
to better ascertain,
the state of my own being
and the transitory nature of
everything
all of what is thought certain,
falls aside,
under the withering,
unwavering,
critique of
"you kidding?"
and in this we are
more kin
than if our blood was
physically shared
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 4:24 AM UTC
many times I danced around the Glast festival
and I travelled in a van living
but in the end when reality set
I knew I had to make for the North Isles
a sustaining freedom where the Stone Circle of Stenness
Is a place to lay your head whatever the season
And Stonehenge sits alone in its field
a forlorn rebuffed dancing circle ended
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
Connection
From the past just a voice memories come strong and fast the school its walls doors and windows dissolved they live still
They were an integral part you can’t interact daily come to know them how ever wide the divide extends over years
They were life then now in shadows they still command your imagination never very far from the heart quietly they thrill
Sometimes alone you deny and go but you can’t leave them they were implanted ingrained in your life always they exist
Difference opposite levels vary the constant going and coming a circle one in front one in back this defines grows character
The rubbing and friction goes beyond outer circumstances it reaches inner reality from this constant exposure an unbreakable bond
This is not mundane life these are core components we cheat and allow failure if we close ourselves off our own worst detractor
You will change yourself forever when stimuli and good will is rebuffed there pulsates defenses more than we know in past friends
A prison we make when we choose isolation brick by brick we wall ourselves in close out the sunlight that shines out of other hearts
Mix words with action and then allow yourself to be moved images possess power they can forcefully carry you to unequaled heights
Those long ago days hold seeds from a harvest that can be birthed again and of all times now is crucial the time is now get ready start
The sun at your back the future ahead speak without faltering you are the guiding light of all that is to be shared and made brand new
How strong the future will be is determined by how willing you are to reach into the past being selective you draw on all that is good
Fellow students your parents their history and victories all are your guideposts unerring unwavering their spirits lead a guiding star
Many battles long has been the fight discouragement drags your smile down enlightened others beat fear now you have understood
Yours and their quality is like timbers tested in great sea storms you have come into your own now masterful owners of life now give
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 8:26 PM UTC
Struggling for a gift again,
Every year a new idea needed.
What can I get an agnostic who has everything?
Another Tiffany charm
Won't do any harm.
A clay pigeon shooting experience couldn't possibly miss
How about Afternoon Tea...
With me?
Wait, an idea that's viable,
A personalised Bible
Where, rather than 'God',
Her name instead:
"In the beginning Doris-Ann created the Heavens and the Earth"
Right through to:
"I am the Alpha and the Omega, says the Lord Doris-Ann"
What a revelation,
A new gift to sweep the nation!
A personalised Bible
Whose sales will rival
The good book itself.
Such a gift might be great,
Until, at St Peter's gate,
Doris-Ann might have to explain
That she was once God on Earth
And that should be good enough
For an agnostic not to be rebuffed.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:11 PM UTC
When the horns wear thin
And the noise, like a garment outworn,
Falls from the night,
The tattered and shivering night,
That thinks she is gay;
When the patient silence comes back,
And retires,
And returns,
Rebuffed by a ribald song,
Wounded by vehement cries,
Fleeing again to the stars—
Ashamed of her sister the night;
Oh, then they steal home,
The blinded, the pitiful ones
With their gew-gaws still in their hands,
Reeling with odorous breath
And thick, coarse words on their tongues.
They get them to bed, somehow,
And sleep the forgiving,
Comes thru the scattering tumult
And closes their eyes.
The stars sink down ashamed
And the dawn awakes,
Like a youth who steals from a brothel,
Dizzy and sick.
1.9k
this dead city is alive with stray cats and missing person fliers, but the locals are dancing
on hardwood floors and [ ferocious yellow drums ] are striking the black-most
and the back-most star, sinks
it's cleat into
banished sunrise
with No End
in Sight !
the pride of most eyes,
too blind
to witness the free
oblivious,
As corn-fed black holes
swallowing the wisdom of crowds... as the unctuous clouds
of our dismay
are ever, ever at play; where the thin pool thickens.
where our blown bubbles French with thick tongues... our open lips
rebuffed to an invisible sheen.
the running of the Bulls is always an Alcatraz in a Free Will.
we dip into shallow cathedrals
where our Mercies slip through
nausea and dank
and Islands
of Less Ocean... where
The weakest Archipelago
In a Severed Chain
Of Dreamt
Events
are you
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
Stolen words
Silenced by emotion
Unsure of its own momentum
or direction
And Sunday’s birds
Lead old aged couples
On leafy walks
to park benches strewn in sunlight
in memory to someone they hadn’t met.
Porous arms of light outstretched
Rebuffed by the lapis lazuli hue of night
Frantic star-bursts
On every street corner
Facing south-east
I head North.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:12 AM UTC
anxiety guillotine, hanging
from a thread, suspended above
my sunburnt neck. i'm utterly spent.
another day, back bent in the stocks,
latched in for the Kafka-esque:
carnivalesque body-horror.
shovel white-hot daggers
beneath finger-nail keratin.
bite my tongue off with police-tape teeth.
sadist, savor my godless screams.
drawn and quartered. send my limbs
to the map's furthest corners.
horseflies' aborted eggs
nest amidst maggot-infested
intestines, dangerously dangling.
turn my frown upside down.
stick a razor-blade
in my mouth
and pull 'till i grin
like chelsea.
interned within an unmarked grave,
save for the cairn made from the same stones
i flung myself upon from a great height. a wave
dashed against the rocks, endlessly rebuffed—
the sea's clairvoyance couldn't budge the boulder.
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 12:15 AM UTC
her magnetic force, compels his closeness
her magnetic force, compels his closeness
ever they've been in love, undeniable are their feelings
ever they've been in love, undeniable are their feelings
undeniable are their feelings, her magnetic force
compels his closeness, ever they've been in love
dreams of unison realized, it's but an embrace away
dreams of unison realized, it's but an embrace away
opportunity knocks at the door, just step through
opportunity knocks at the door, just step through
opportunity knocks at the door, it's but an embrace away
just step through, dreams of unison realized
will they venture to the evermore, all it takes is a risk
will they venture to the evermore, all it takes is a risk
by giving present ties a miss, their love cannot be rebuffed
by giving present ties a miss, their love cannot be rebuffed
all it takes is a risk, by giving present ties a miss
their love cannot be rebuffed, will they venture to the evermore
their love cannot be rebuffed, opportunity knocks at the door
dreams of unison realized, all it takes is a risk
by giving present ties a miss, undeniable are their feelings
her magnetic force, compels his closeness
will they venture to the evermore, ever they've been in love
it's but an embrace away, just step through
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 9:40 PM UTC
Something in me won’t let me be
It rots in my viscera
The fusion of wretchedness
It persecutes
Seeking me in my safest haven
Re-birth of emotions
In bloom
Dismantling the foundations
Of a strong resolve
I no more possess
Night won’t let me sleep
Once more rebuffed by mirth
Deleted by the light
Hollering for design
In the confines of a cardboard box.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC
bohemian in appearance
his narrow shoes and frilly jacket
are useless in the driving rain
his careworn expression
gave way to alarm
as the depths of depravity
became the fixation of his
neoclassic clique of mouthpeice's
they repeat word for word
the distorted lens and its bent descriptions
they surely the first to be on camera
moments into his meltdown
his bohemian woman
is lead to the gallows by the
politically correct daughters of the
american revolution
they clip her nails and paint them
patriotic colors
but are rebuffed when they go to shave
the star spangled into her crotch hair
aint no revolution happenin down there sweetcheeks
so she battles to beat the band
and wins one for dready's everywhere
you can dictate alot of things
but honeybunches bedroom ain't one of em
his bohemian style looks faded and grey
in the modern light of day
but given the choices
he beats pre-processed sliced cheese product
by a frilly jackets mile
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
The *** called
The kettle
‘Black! '
The kettle rebuffed
*** cry not foul,
Nor must you bark,
While it is stark,
You are a sooty reflection
Of a night, pitch-dark! '
While the blood of children,
The fair-sex, the feeble and the old
Is still fresh in their hand,
Perpetrators of genocide
Demand, the less democrats,
Cursed and shunned
From a diplomatic mission,
Must step aside
By humanitarian law
As they don't abide! /
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
Tide
It washes over me like an errant tide
pushing and pulling; leaving me off balance.
I reach out without thinking, and feel rebuffed.
It arrives as a hot flush, color rises, blooming in my face
as though the aftermath of a slap; true enough to fit.
But the pain envelops my heart, the center of me,
the place I escape to, curl up in, like a comforting chair
to be alone, undisturbed; often my balm, my cure,
and steals from me the peace I search for to heal.
He is gone, softly, but thoroughly, like an old song I recall.
I try not to open my heart for want to pull back,
in denial of the pain that will come; but I am compelled.
I gasp in grief – no longer surprised at the emptiness
and am wounded by loneliness – the heart’s prison.
I am stabbed with pain in the knowledge he feels it too.
No caring soul could pull away from another
once connected at their very core, regardless of the mind’s decision -
Not without the pain of sadness, or of grief in the loss
for one so dearly loved. The pain is mirrored -
the gossamer thread that connected them – near severed.
A part of me bleeds, but I gather it up, and hold it close.
I cannot let it pale me, nor shall I harden my heart –
a rigor-mortis to set in. I shall bear the pain, perhaps until my end.
There is no release for me, no happiness, no vision into tomorrow.
Joyful events pale, as the paled blood of loss drains me.
I hear the call of the zephyr; see his face in the stars
Always, a scent of limes, of sea breezes and salt water
and that gossamer thread bears ever weakening vibration,
once alive and electric, or soft, quietly humming with life.
I worry, and deny that it is fading – a self-serving trick of my heart.
It washes over me like an errant tide.
In time, I may find comfort in the pain -
knowledge in the rhythm of its pounding waves
and hope it washes away this loneliness,
far and away out to sea; if he shall not answer again.
©Lin Cava
10-March-2013
©Lin Cava
revised 12-31-2017
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
Am I broken or defective
Nothing seems to be effective
Wish I could be good enough
But instead I feel rebuffed
Lost and lonely broken hearted
Laying here a tortured artist
Longing to be loved and held
This loneliness to be dispelled
Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 4:04 AM UTC
She had stumbled out of his car,
But he took her by the hand.
She had felt chosen.
Her prince re-perched her on her heels,
And so they went.
Arm in arm they traversed the cobblestoned-night
Meeting friends,
They laughed to tears,
As their glasses went dry and were refilled.
Perhaps too often.
Her legs wobbled when they told everyone goodnight
Pecking each blurry face on where their cheeks were supposed to reside.
Her arm again in her prince's they made their way back to his car.
The journey feeling longer than the last.
Scuffing toe and heel often enough for her to carry them in her free hand.
He opened the car door again for her
This time aiding her more.
As she slumped into the front seat,
She giggled as
Her fingers had forgotten their job.
So the prince reached over and fastened her seatbelt.
Strange that her safety was of his concern at that moment.
The ride to his apartment was shorter
One could say that parts were skipped, blurry, or simply missing,
But she knew that the car stopped.
And that their plan,
to Netflix the night away
Had better happen soon,
As she felt each evening imbibement swiftly catching up to her.
He carried her up the 12 steps to his apartment where his roommates waited around a television that seemed to sway?
Or was it just her?
She gladly accepted a glass of wine
As the movie began.
Her prince, gently handing the fluted glass,
Was measured in his approach.
As the movie progressed so did his predatory instinct.
First arm to shoulder,
Then hand to hip,
And finally hand to thigh.
His lips found her ear
Whispering an invitation
Which when sober,
she would have rebuffed.
Still she managed to shake her head
And say something that sounded like
"NoIdonwantotonigh, lesjusfinish themovie"
Audible enough for his roommates
To laugh about.
As her volume at this point was uncontrolled.
So he waited
and watched the film.
All the while watching her lips on her glass.
And her eyes glassy
Lids heavy
Head resting
On his shoulder.
Whether conscious or unconscious,
He took her to his room
His roommates forgetting.
That they had been humans before
They had been his friends.
And as the upstairs door slammed shut
They realized that prince wouldn't be returning that night.
Chivalry and valor had been outweighed by friendship.
The Devil's Deed was Done.
"For evil to flourish, it only requires good men to do nothing."
Simon Wiesenthal
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 8:10 PM UTC
How do you restrain your heart?
Might as well attempt to hold back the tide
With a fishing net
The heart will feel what it feels
Regardless of the consequences
Whether it finds
Its feelings reciprocated
Or rebuffed
No matter the pain
No matter the anguish
The heart will yearn
And rush ahead in its feelings
Even though you try
To move at a more measured pace
Logic has no sway
The heart does not learn from past mistakes
Even though I know I must bide my time
And trust to the gods to see me through
The heart leaps ahead and lets its feelings
Run amok
In a pendulum swing
From exultant highs
To agonizing pits of despair
What can a poor mortal do
Alas, what a cruel fate at times
The gods did bestow on humans
By giving us
The heart.
Dec 21, 2010
Dec 21, 2010 at 10:49 AM UTC
All I asked for was a little off the top
And if you could top me off
Now I see stupid people with double chins
I'm with stupid t-shirts and kick me signs on their backs
Completely unaware of the indecent truths of the world
Truck drivers stopping at greasy spoon diners, ***** dives
Driving down freeways, parkways, highways, turnpikes and interstates
People eating up the **** the press put on us
Augmented *******
Formaldehyde for our loved ones
Pull the plug, push the plunger
On the tobacconist and his eerie broad shoulders
I asked to french kiss, I was rebuffed and left flat alone in a gazebo
The apathetic drive through worker told her to **** her father with an indifferent look
A bead of sweat traveled down her tempted face
Her moral spindle is low on twine
Her meds are wearing off
The roustabout is now a stenographer after his time in the roundabout and a heave **
Into a case of small pox and a bout with shingles
As the biker gets nursed back to health
And we all slowly decompose
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
A Berlin monastic church of blood
shed by true witnesses to freedom’s love:
These few who stood against the flood
of hate from tyrants they rebuffed.
Not far from here, these martyrs were killed
for facing down the brownshirts’ might,
in hopes that all would someday be filled
with the will to live for love’s delight.
Here Mary sits with her holy child,
carved of warm wood, set on cold stone.
She bears an expression, calm and mild,
with nothing around them: alone.
Her robes are daubed in palest blue
while her hair with a golden crown is wed;
her baby son wears redder hues
that foreshadow blood he and his martyrs shed.
This blessèd Mary’s calm defies the fear
decreed by despots in past and present years —
Softly, she whispers her granite will: Defy
all tyranny ’til hate’s tides subside.
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 5:08 PM UTC
Now don’t get hurt
Because the way that things are going
Proves this will only get much worse
So I observe
Then I codex the minutiae
That comprise your waking world
Threats unfurl
Then I realize way too late
That I cannot shake this girl
No, I cannot break the pearl necklace
And let the pearls disappear
I’ll wait a year
And maybe realize that by then
That this was all unfounded fear
You’ll disappear
My emotions will reset again
And then I’ll settle here
For whomever I’ll come close to
Someone close enough to hear and feel and hold
Someone close enough to love
But I won’t forget the space we shared
The stars we shared above
And I won’t forget the memories
Affection, care, and gentleness
Fate silently rebuffed
Come closer here and together
Let us share a final dance
Come with me dear, and let’s have fun
Forget any romance
Because that’s not what we’re here for
We’re here for the blissful radiance
The comfort of togetherness
The closeness of companionship
The air suspended in a trance
And so we dance and dance and dance
One, two, three step, dear don’t trip
I’ll rest my hand upon your hip
And relegate existence to a grade lower than this
So I’ll concentrate on keeping my eyes
From resting on your lips
This is goodbye, I’m well aware
Admission, valediction
Along with regrets I’ve yet to spare
How I would’ve liked to daily run my fingers
Through your hair
Oh what I would give to gaily
Spend my days with you still there
But mental fictions hold no truth
And hope degrades into despair
So I cannot let this pass
Without saying all is fair
Oh, these days have been so fair
But tonight we’re waltzing in an hourglass
And time has crystallized
And the sands have stilled like snowflakes
Seen reflected in your eyes
No, I can’t let go just yet
Oh, I’m so lousy at goodbyes
If a good life’s led to this
Then I’d assume this was the prize
In our little bubble
The universe has folded in
And I try so hard to exile
Feelings I have so long held within
But in this endless moment
All I manage is a grin
And in an instant realize
Just how good our time has been
Oh
How good our time has been
-AK
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 11:25 PM UTC
The half expectant gaze of ignorance
A furtive silhouette of a man, diffident
composure - recumbant
feigning order and respect
as in an occasional outward glance
I must look away for your beauty burns too brightly and i must look away
Tragic contortions of a knowing mind
How my world seems to beckon me care
and how desperate i am to oblige
shrouded though I am in cigarette smoke and dissonance The Outsider can perceive a perfect harmony
My capacity for Love terrifies me.
Decidedly I feign in a recumbant comparisons of her shining beauty, a thousand suns or more
i am blind
so I imagine a perfect world and I draw mindstuff in the sky
These moments rebuffed
Resounding for their failure to Resound
Oh this sordid worldly affair
where there's so much beauty in dirt
and the magnificence of the Earth
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
You can’t gloss over it because the hurt spreads too deep. You try so hard to express your truth yet your cries for help are branded as ignorant, everything you say is rebuffed and rejected.
Your loneliness doesn’t meet the standard of everybody else, theirs can be expressed but yours is suppressed. Your sadness falls flat because it ain’t that serious for you to be stressing about or lingering over.
If your mind doesn’t **** you fast enough opening up will, you can’t look for help where your feelings don’t hold weight. Why seek comfort from people who’d rather watch you drown than dry your tears?
How you cope may not be the solution, yet their passing judgement and distant attitude leaves you out in the cold so rather than smoothly detaching from the distress and seeking to heal the struggle of knowing your emotions are like waste irrelevant, invalidating and an inconvenience.
Whether they meant the hurt or not we all know when you say what you say in anger or serenity it can’t be taken back, & just like that, a broken record is birthed and then constantly played. Coping is to keep pushing aside life’s woes until you break again, not having the strength to face it head on you just bury your head in the sand.
Sep 15, 2022
Sep 15, 2022 at 8:50 AM UTC