"recuperation" poems
she served me iced tea
from her porch
the smell of heavenly magnolia lingered,
like her locked up emotions
she was delicately bruised
but I would not rush her
no canary could I let her be
recuperation would come in ones
unguarded moments.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
After the devastation came recuperation.
New shoots had sprung with alacrity
enough to establish a presence
in that walled garden,
contained to a strip
barely big enough for date and citrus
to thrive.
The neighbour waited twenty one seasons,
and with each season saw
young shoots
replacing the old.
Imaging a future
where grass might escape the confines
of concrete and sea
neighbour chose to start the mower,
move beyond boundaries,
and mow and mow and mow.
It's been twenty three days now
and still blades whirr
day and night
each hour inducing fresh rubble
to deter shoots, new seeds, hope.
The neighbour will retreat soon,
beyond the wall,
being temporarily satiated
with reek and wreckage,
knowing a day shall arise to return
for the fruits of the land.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
Guarded is a key word for you.
You keep your privacy highly protected.
Your reluctance to openly
Exhibit your feelings must be respected.
Though you are interested in others,
They know you ONLY to a degree.
Even when seemingly open, you show
Only what you want them to see.
Your strong will and your ability
To want to get to the bottom of things
Make your sense of resourcefulness
Guide you to seek out and pull the right strings.
You can be very stubborn at times;
Your reticence becomes persistence.
You're not usually combative, but when
You're pushed you knock down all resistance.
If people try to fool you, forget it.
You DON'T like being manipulated.
The outspokenness of Scorpios
Often remains understated.
You could be called a truth-seeker;
Your insight is powerful, your judgment keen.
Challenges are not to be feared
And must be brought into your routine.
You must learn how to master
The two forces of need and desire
So you can develop your potential
To manage the power that you require.
Until it's unleashed, true Scorpio
Energy stays deeply hidden.
Everyone knows that criticizing
A Scorpio is strictly forbidden.
You might tend to dominate
Relationships, so do be wary.
That your intensity can overwhelm
Others for you is customary.
You're not arrogant or self-involved;
Inner struggles you rarely display.
Allowing others to see your weakness
To you would be a cause of dismay.
You appear to be easy-going
And have to learn that it is fine
To manifest the intensity
Associated with the sign.
Your power and magnetism
Can be for some an inspiration,
As well as your stamina
And your fierce determination.
Your mental and physical powers
Of recuperation, along with--of course--
Your creativity,
Make you a guiding force.
- by Bob B
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC
Blot out the whole emerging gesture
To demonstrate leading astray thy pace;
Don't rebound to toil and wrestle,
Be temperate tilt not at any rate!
Outrun ne'er surpass in celebrity quartan,
Submission ties settle better productive gain;
Prepare to ignite flame of fixed canon
Must evade excruciate feeble in vain;
Riches give delight yet defend not,
Slaking thirst aqua less attract rabies;
Pride of sagacity weak riot crazy spot,
Mere contentment if alive relay miseries;
Deny not troth behave alike recuperation
Spurt what ambition turn amative thee;
Man! thou hold energy to alter cultivation
Please the almighty by culminating blemish free;
Only provident would give certain dexterity
With vigour, venture, assume design marvelous;
Where its sacred light confirm privity:
Personality seems observing rare not fabulous.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 6:40 AM UTC
In a kingdom full of inclemencies my hubris does not fail me
Profuse and Fierce, Some may call me arrogant
'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It's a recording of my failings.
'It's that amorality,' I muttered.
My hubris is my substratum towards my nescience.
It is that aspect that will lean me towards drowning in the sea of my own incoherent imbecility.
It's a deep program in my faulty code, a nightmare towards monks.
It's the ink on my arms, tattooed to my soul.
'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It does not fail to show in my wording.
It's the ferry to sea, the net in the ocean.
It is limber as it is inventive, with every exception.
It has no ingenuousness, it is unlike modesty and threatens to surmount me.
It's a sandwich in which has caught every hitch of breath, it leaves me bewitched, no certain pitch that I can tell afore it chokes me.
It leaves no correspondence with those around me, too caught up in my own fantasies that I can no longer celebrate or verbalize felicitously.
Many times I wished that I preserved my receipt so that I could trade in my Hubris for something a little less mucusless for it is something akin to Judas, and I cannot utilize it for anything utilizable.
If I could somehow find a way that would lead me to a resilient recuperation. I would judge that to be more utilizable then this Hubris that encumbers me. No matter how many times I beat it down, it war's like a lion and a bunch of tourists on a safari.
If only this grotesque lion-like hubris was shot by the doter of a hubris poacher. Every generation would be gratified and they would find that it is much more facile to coerce without that unpleasant Hubris.
Of course, I suppose in a way hubris could be utilizable in some situations that required it. If I somehow found a way to trade my hubris for something like modestly and found that I missed my hubris quite dearly. I would laugh at my incoherent imbecility and perceive myself to be remotely mad!
These ravings of my hubris I'm quite sure because I found it so consequential to indite a poem of stark preposterousness. In a contingency like this, I suppose my hubris is getting quite polished, so sharply able to strike down any sense of modesty.
I conjecture this is the terminus of this arrangement, please omit my hubris for a moment. I suppose I should give you some tea afore I dose myself in a salubrious dose of radiation.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 11:01 PM UTC
This time I have,
is but a gift.
Meant to heal
broken skin
and fractured bone.
But I realise
that there's more...
•••
What if,
repairing physical damage
is but a facet of
unanticipated tribulation?
What about...
Shattered thoughts?
Disjointed ideals?
Misplaced hopes?
Askewed trajectories?
•••
Maybe...
This time too is meant
to get my stars in alignment.
But right now there just aren't any...
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 10:50 PM UTC
Let me lean into your hair and breathe in your warm, clean scent.
Tackle me with tickling fingers, knock me over, make me squirm.
I'll nibble on your neck a bit, and make a ***** joke.
You'll drag me up and down the block, till we've searched out every coffee shop, and reading nook, and weird demented new-age store,
With scary guys with scary hair leaning over the counter offering you 'Fairy Dust' for good luck, or maybe this book about trolls?
Then I'll drag you back down a different block, and through the city and all the buildings.
Looking up and up and up.
Falling over our own four feet as we race the dusky-shadowed building monsters from one end of the bay to the other.
Exhausted by our chase, we stumble into yet another hole-in-the-wall to steal some warm recuperation.
You wrap me up in arms and drink, while telling me all about your life.
Then you **** me for details of things I never talk about, and make it seem like no big deal. I mean, hey, it's only you after all.
Next you grab your camera in one hand, and my hand in the other, dragging me back out the door, already clicking fast the shutter.
But it's night! So what? It's the city, there's light.
So you keep right on clicking and posing and grasping at figments, air where you think you might best find a shot, that would hold me to you on the screen later on.
You keep clicking and clicking, till I finally get tired. Then you, sensing me, make up for my sudden lack of enthuse, and drag me further to a club strobing with lights.
We dance there for hours, till the club's shutting down, catch a yellow-topped cab, rumbling and slow. You hang up your camera, I hang up my coat.
Time for a movie and popcorn, hot chocolate in bed. I'll fall asleep, wrapped in comforter, my pillow still breathing. You might wake me up, after the movie is finished, just in time for a few pre-dawn kisses.
A few hours sleep, my head tucked under your chin. Dreaming separate dreams, together.
Our limp-tangled limbs greet the shade-prying strips of sunlight with unconscious aplomb.
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 9:39 PM UTC
The Bishop on the radio
playing solo to an audience he cannot see
makes me
think of loneliness.
Perhaps his Holiness the Pope can keep me company
with the radio and the BBC.
This Bishop's drooling blood and guts,
damnation and hellfire
Jeez,
I'm glad that I'm not in the choir.
I find religion is like a game of chess
move a pawn and get reborn
Blessed are the knights and those other things
which turn out to be the Queens that run rings around the Kings.
Which again in turn brings me back
to the Bishop
care of Radio Shack.
Yes.
Sunday being a day of rest and recuperation
is the day we atone for the sins
of the nation.
I get down on my knees and pray,
Say dear Lord
don't punish me for being so bored with this
there's only so much bliss a man can take
please make the sermon stop.
The Bishop on the radio will never know I heard him speak
and no doubt next week he'll speak again
of eternal pain and such.
I touch the good book by my bed
and switch off the radio.
I think he's said
enough.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 3:46 AM UTC
I decided to throw a sickie,
I thought; What the hell?!
But I knew it would be tricky
convincing work I was not well.
I’m not the type to take the Mickey,
I’m normally as good as gold
And I was feeling a little bit dicky,
if the truth be told.
I just needed a day off or two
but had used all my holidays,
And I knew I would not be up to
doing very much anyways.
When I rang, I coughed and spluttered,
convincing as could be!
I won’t be in today I muttered,
ever so hoarsely.
I think I have an infection
but I’m not really sure,
My stomach keeps retching
and I have a temperature.
I have not slept since yesterday
with a pounding headache,
I think coming in to work today
would be a huge mistake!
“That is totally unacceptable”!
was the unexpected response,
“You will be in so much trouble
unless you come to work at once”!
“You had better come in this morning!”
“This is just not good enough!”
“Or I will give you a final warning,
and you can pack up your stuff”!
“If you do not come in today,
don’t ever bother coming back”!
“if you are not in work straightaway,
I will give you the sack”!
I was somewhat taken aback,
I could not believe my ears
To be threatened with the sack
after working hard for years!
I think I went into shock,
I was suddenly left reeling!
I was in an awful ****
Twice as bad I was feeling!
I could not help but stress,
I could not believe it was true.
So I went to work under duress,
what else could I do?
I was not long at my work station
when spark out cold I went!
Causing great consternation,
It was a major incident!
And when it was discovered
what had actually gone on,
before I had even recovered
the manager responsible was gone!
Thank God I recovered fully
after some rest and recuperation
and was able to retire comfortably
on my substantial compensation!
For all managers, a lesson
When people ring in sick,
You should never go off on one!
There’s no point getting thick!
You may be the one they fire
Where would be the gain?
And the target of your ire
may never have to work again!
You need to tread more carefully
In this litigious age,
You need to have the ability
To control your rage!
You may have a job to do
Lots of boxes you must tick
But if this is why they fire you,
Would you not be Sick?!
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
Never accept the things that you
cannot change, just change the
things you cannot accept and as
you begin to find out what is real
you begin to realize that nothing
is as perfect as you imagine it to be.
Somewhere in my mind just now,
as I write these words, run all of
good tines and the bad times so
fast I could hardly see them yet I
can call back any one of them and
and describe them in finest detail.
In my words I express my faith in
life, my conscience, my hopes, my
loves and my attempts to understand
what is and and what has been going
on in the world that surrounds me
and may you find inspiration and
warmth in my words.
Looking out at the road passing
under my wheels, I can't tell you all
how crazy this life feels but as a writer
I try to look at my poems from a new
perspective, turning tragedy into
tenacity and in my creativity I allow
myself to make mistakes, but the art
of it is just knowing which ones to keep.
Understand life backwards but live it
forwards knowing that once great
wrongs are done it is rarely possible to
undo them so cultivate your powers of
recuperation and restoration and even
the darkest night will end and the sun
will rise again.
Life provides the contours and we as
poets provide the shading and color
and you will find that as the years pass
you by you will become more creative
and make fewer mistakes because you
become aware that your days are
numbered and that nothing remains
the same in the game of life.
Know that habit is your constant
companion,your greatest helper, or
your heaviest burden and it will push
you onward or drag you down to
failure, but always know that it is
always at your command as half of
the tasks you do are done by habit
quickly and correctly, so be firm with
it and show it exactly how you wish
things done and after a few lessons
habit will do it automatically.
Jon York 2017
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 4:47 AM UTC
wavy face , wavy hair
raw naked vulnerable
reborn into the world, just coming out of a trip
i fell in love
with dilated pupils and an insatiable desire and unbounded awe
her hands
the childish , plumpness once there
gone , replaced with a maturity and a womanly affect
with nails reflected current inner stability
they fell in love
caressing and holding, her thumbs pressed up to open lips
moon like phases of excitement and apathy ,
alternating between pure experience and
happiness and
pain and
adventure
to recuperation and **** and self reflection and away with
the emotions she cant bear by herself anymore
she falls sometimes
holding on to love ,
giving love ,
waiting for love
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 2:38 PM UTC
Home’s not what it used to be.
The grass isn’t as green as the other side.
The sky is grey like the middle land between where I am and where I don’t belong.
The tides are changing,
Guiding me to somewhere else and pushing me somewhere new, telling me to just drift along.
This place has become my safe house
Somewhere I’ll come for rest and recuperation.
And to get spoon-fed like I was one year old again,
The stop-point to get fuelled up, like a filling station.
While I was away I felt liberated in a land where I was nameless.
Coming back home I feel like the alien that’s landed here in no man's land,
Rather than the boy walked these streets shamelessly as a local hero.
Now I just need some way to disappear.
Time passes here dictated by the clouds of monotony.
I’ve watched those clouds all too often from this same perch and pondering if I would ever find the gear that’s lost here.
I think I have found it,
But I’m still looking for the accelerator.
At this point I’m closer than ever to putting my foot on it.
I’m at a moment in my life where things could take off this road to ‘now’.
Because that’s somewhere I’ve never thought of being.
I’ve failed in the past.
I’ve surrendered to the future.
But ‘now’ is the place to stay.
I just need to open those clouds and accept whatever weather it may bring.
And I’ll get there somehow, along this long road to ‘now’.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
The decision I made,
my mistake,
gazing in the mirror with myself to blame.
I often second guess myself to death,
I re-solicit every step,
I attempt to catch each minute as it comes to me,
Contain the recollections
and let them stay by me.
Now days,
all the children want to be insane,
self diagnose and fix themselves,
go around prescription pills.
Be that as it may,
my disorder can't be cured.
Self-disdain and selfishness tend to hold me
awfully close.
Attempt as I may
to keep it together
why is recuperation taking forever?
Trick the world,
just until I get better,
but maybe I'll be faking forever.
Endlessly I ponder what went wrong inside my head,
I don't have the answers, but I wish I did.
All the torment I can't clarify
won't blur the fear, the sadness, the pain of it all,
by the disgrace that is my mind.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC
A hundred times I tried
A thousand times I failed
A million times I lied
A billion more times I failed
And a trillion times I cried
I lived in fear everyday
Bullets hit they did not ricochet
I waited for that day
That single day
For the one that would save the day
He was my one and only
With him I needed not to be
Scared, afraid or terrified
By our covenant he would abide
In his presence was my delight
In his embrace I saw the light
Our relationship was never bright
But I always dreamt of being his bride
I imagined making vows in a gown so white
But the reality hit me with all its might
The love we had for each other, we always had to hide
It was either we lose each other or lose our lives
We could bear neither so we covered ourselves in lies
Through the darkness, through the light
Through daylight and through the night
Whatever time of day we had to hide
Hiding from the battles of the war
At the same time hiding from our own wars
Fighting on opposite sides of the war
Was the greatest challenge we had to face
We never intended to fight the war
But joined it only to save face
Dodging bullets, striving to achieve
Upsetting hornets but trying to live
Violence was the order of the day
Always seeking resuscitation
Seeking doctors everyday
When what we needed was not medication
Indeed we were victims of intoxication
But we were not looking for physical recuperation
What we really needed was intellectual restoration
We needed spiritual inspiration
Then again there was the physical calculation
It was 'needed' for our own recuperation
But in the end, at the end of it all
We all wondered
What was it worth? But nothing else mattered
It was just the war
Nothing less, nothing more
We were all striving to achieve
Striving to live
Even though it destroyed our love
That was one thing we could never have
We could never, ever have love
Miss Fit
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 8:17 AM UTC
Let's combine our powers
Then we won't defeat us
Wade in wonders, memories and time machines
Rewind the hours
I'll teach numbers you say words
We'll reach a grade of genius
We could be an A
Let's go and perform with the dinosaurs
The crowd will go wild
Then I kind of thought we could birth a sausage
Doggedly solving crimes of sorts
Possibly go back even further to the beginning
I've never been in the prime before BC
We could be in A
Don't like the SciFi stuff?
Then Great Scott let's go back to the forest
My sources tell me it's new
If you don't hate a view we can go wide-eyed
Be one with the horses sorry ponies
If only we could talk to them
We could be a neigh
The Pup would be tired. Pooped
Perhaps we'd all require recuperation
To remain stationary
Or we could carry on
Should our wonky legs become carrion
Donkeys will help us or we collapse in the trees with no phone
At least we'd be alone
We could be NA
But how can we get up when we can't stand ourselves?
If your knee is weak use mine. Can I use your hip?
My entire right side is over and apart
I'm hoping you could be my other half and we'll rise together
Until our eyes our better. Drier.
We'll hold our healed hands and lean shoulder to shoulder
We could be an A.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 5:28 PM UTC
*i'm back to drinking that milky absinthe of Turkey, another night and i'll **** a ******* keyhole with my eye.*
after nearing a 36 hour stretch of being fully awake,
is the serotonin in my brain became caffeine,
i figure, if i managed this diet alcohol free
and push the limits to, say, 52 hours, through
my brain's lack recuperation, i could suffer one last
major lie in on the electric bed and be happily gone,
even physical labour doesn't allow be being tired,
stuffing my stomach to ensure the blood flow went
to the gut... that giant star moving in the night
yesterday above my house didn't help either -
maybe that's why i left studying science, after all
the major discoveries, scientists became a bit
like priests, so entrenched in their beliefs,
artists can theorise, sure, but they rarely make things
dogmatic, take for example Frank O'Hara's manifesto
concerning Personism, the dogmatic in art doesn't
come from artists, hardly a single impressionist
could allow themselves a sticker with:
hello, my name is MONET... champagne and canapés,
artists don't bother defining themselves by
movements... it's the rich girls & boys who do that,
incapable to stomach the truth, the bourgeoisie reality
(proto-Marxism, borrowing money, eh?),
they can't become artists they become critics,
they're the one ones distributing the 'hello, my name is'
stickers for everyone to stick onto themselves,
sure they provide the money - the really rich?
ha ha... the fifth earl of Shropshire hangs the first
earl of Shropshire on his wall... like in Buckingham
palace Queen Elizabeth said of Francis Backon's
artwork: oh that horrid man painting those horrendous
monstrosities of metaphysical plastic surgeries?
the really rich deal with hereditary art, things passed
down, priceless artefacts, which would hardly fetch
£100 million at an auction house like Sotheby's,
believe me... they might get a tenner at best.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
oh sure sure, because Burroughs
didn't exactly celebrate his
****** addiction in his writing...
what's there, not to celebrate?
alcoholic or not,
i enjoy the masochism
involved in the recuperation period
of, the next day,
for about two hours,
before i come to my senses and
retain some form eloquence...
my English verbose plush...
of a tangerine, or a plum...
but hey...
no one says to a painter:
too many colors, or...
not enough colors...
but i'm pretty sure that
Mozart was criticized...
in that film: Amadeus...
by Emperor Leopold II...
too many notes... too many musical
notes...
**** well...
let's just listen to the ambient music
of the refrigerator's drone hum,
snooze, buzz and frizz.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 11:01 AM UTC
It seemed it was a little too late
For recuperation.
Once it was all I ever saw
But now your face
Is mindlessly forgotten.
So don't return,
Don't try to be
A September summer day,
Because you'll never be one
If you ask me.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 12:46 PM UTC
Blistering weather withers
As cooler climes take over
Reflecting
Revealing the emptiness that surrounds
Pervading the hollowness that echoes
Like an empty cavern
Floating through a ravine of longing
Waiting
For the improvements that signal
Recuperation
Regaining the equanimity
Of our own circle of life
Holding fast to passions and fancies
Foibles and follies
Hopes and dreams
Fears and failures
Following the road to the precipice
Onward
Holding hands
Always reaching for the next plateau
Always seeking the unanswered question
And laughing
To cover up the unknown
The sham laughter of sorrow
To hide the tears
That flow too readily for propriety
Yet shrink with hope
Fleeting
And rise again
On a roller-coaster of fate
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 10:52 AM UTC