"reorganize" poems
Subjugated by the
Not-so-loyal subjects:
Mind | Body | Spirit
Incongruencies
None knowing their place
Poor leadership
I'll bet I can mind my way to a better place
Better try
Plutocracy
So I grant citizenship
To my cunning and intellect
It works but
After a time vibrancy
Fades
So I call in Spirit
In the spirit of Theocracy
Spiritual matters prevail
But I've forgotten to eat
For two days
So I give Body
A seat at the table
Now we have a democracy
Or do we?
Remnants of the Plutocracy
Gave cunning a vote
So we reorganize
Into a meritocracy
< - - 3 pools - - >
Mind ~ Body ~ Spirit
3 votes
Something still isn't working
So I ruminate
Think
Pray
Chastise
And turn things upside
Down
A king should be subjugated
The best leadership
Is invisible
A
True leader
Follows
Their own path
I (the person) am ground
I am the intersect
I am the crossroads for
Mind ~ Body ~ Spirit
I am the King
And
I
Follow
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
The Jester to the court
A simple fool
A man to bring about life
Bring about the Dreary
Bring about the Light
Bring about stories of Joy & Strife
Dance amongst
Wax philosophical for
Play about the Concepts
Reorganize the Notions Preconceived and Not
Bring about the Esoteric
Bring about only the Palpable
Bring about plays of Obscure Lucidity
So alone who is he
When at home does he see
What does a merry walk become
Questions, “Who begins to portray me?”
Bring about Divinity
Bring about Sin City
Bring down to Existence and Humility
A Jester will never need a court
Will never have courtesans
He only needs to compliment their world
Must succeed in augmenting their reality through his own
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 8:10 PM UTC
Tidy room, tidy mind.
Logical, is it not?
We splash our life onto the canvas of our bedrooms.
Our dreams escape onto the walls as we sleep.
Our feet drag the dirt of our adventures on the floor.
Our desks are hidden under papers, pencils, a calculator, papers, a spoon, a comb, and two large hands ransacking the surface looking for a misplaced paper.
I like my room in the mess of sense I understand but maybe mom was right. I have to reorganize my room. I have to reorganize my mind
to clear the pathway between my bed and the door, so I can have a new vision and spend time looking for the right things.
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 10:15 PM UTC
All estuaries flow eastbound, and the subterranean rail tracks keep forcing against the estuaries’ grain and dust foundations perpendicularly to them.
How can a sane proposition -- a quantification of syntax execution (those squirming cuticles through bonds of regression)— an excessive reflection, reflexive inspection,
Prove its sanity through continued suggestion?
Deductive insurrections stirred in memory,
A rumble, causing sediments to crumble,
Wineglasses balanced atop countertops tumble.
Spilling contents upon the grained wooden, elitists' floors.
"Anesthetic, onsetting tuberculosis in breath patterns,
Gavels ringing on rigged tolling tongs in caverns,
Dark tolerances to Copernican astronomy in shadows,
And the handle grinds as boxcar wheels' flints and steels catch and spark in addled locks," I mumbled from a half-nap.
It was surgery, the smooth procedures on the moving trains,
The gains and plectrums scraped against the brains' spider veins,
To reorganize the sane, to bridge the broken definitions changed,
To prevent arguments' bone structure from fractures and sprains.
"Use gavels against the scalpels, sculpt with their judgment," a corona dream's habitant corrugated.
He pounded the gavel's end against the knife to chisel at the pituitary gland pulsing in his subject,
And her arms flailed like a horse's legs in heat-induced convulsion.
I thought it was done.
The Canson Merue train screamed in the night under earth to Yellowknife to meet Canadian soil as the Heavy Breather pounded his gavel.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
Put a child lock
on the liquor cabinets,
and fasten me
to your kitchen sink.
Watch me drift slowly down the drain.
Watch shattered wine glass
stick between fragments of me
in the garbage disposal blades.
Watch broken sentences
arch over our faulty plumbing lines.
Watch pieces of you stick strictly to silver spoons.
Take the skin of your Cuban
and roll a noose around my neck
to yank the blaze from my throat
into the bile of my slip-ups
that pool on the kitchen floor
from an unattached pipe
that just can’t seem to keep
her pretty little mouth shut.
Penetrate my thoughts from behind
and throw plates at the walls
of my shoulder blades
when you need to hear the question again
because it doesn’t matter what she thinks
if her face is nothing but
a cracked serving platter.
Force your hands
onto the authority of my hipbones.
Pierce your wedding ring
through my belly button for safekeeping.
Decorate my body
with super glue
so your words can stick to me.
Sort me in
with the pots and pans
so your voice
doesn’t have to clang against
my eardrums anymore.
Reorganize me
again and again
until you can’t wash the stain
out of my bottom lip anymore.
Pour me a drink
while I drip Taps into the sink
because when I realize
water isn’t strong enough
to make me forget how blood
runs so much thicker over my skin,
tears begin to slip so easily off my eyelashes.
Let my death
be a pail
brimmed with ex-lovers’
cries for attention.
Let me kick the bucket
this time
when they begin to drown out
the sound of my own.
Let me be a reminder
that not all channels
you lose yourself down
have to be man made.
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 9:10 PM UTC
Romancing the aether.
If soul mates are just little parts of the big bang that are meandering their way back.
Knowing everyone is just a little remix of what they came across up to that point...
then maybe when you meditate and be one with the universe you're just allowing everything to reorganize back to it's natural space.
Telling everyone that their learned fears and hatred are not necessary...
we're all fragile little bits of stardust trying to find where we fit again.
If you give love,
and understand that we all just want to survive,
feel happy and loved...
then it's so much easier to abandon all these unnecessary negatives we have collected.
Fall in love with everything and nothing.
Be appreciative of the space between.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC
She slouched against the smoke stained wall
Her skeleton hands both trembled
She sighed heavily with effort
Then emptied another stiff drink
This was not the place to mention
But she revealed her affliction
Then shooed away further questions
Acting startled and offended
She knows I am familiar
With obsession and starvation
And the resolve to self-destruct
For never being good enough
But I witnessed devastation
Then I resolved to keep living
Or at least to keep on trying
A death’s not worth its weight in grief
Now I can't just shake this from her
Reorganize her scrambled mind
Retract my own comradery
And convince her she will be fine
So dangles her mortality
In faces of those surrounding
Watching us plead desperately
While she starves something worth feeding
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
Things need to disorganize
they need to run around with their arms creating a tornado above their heads
they need to scrabble
to shuffle
to dishevel
to destroy
to complicate and confuse
to break up other things
to create a topsy-turvy world
in order to leave space
for things to reorganize.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 5:22 PM UTC
We’re off to New Haven - hurry, hurry -
we’re jammin, crammin, slappin'
and slammin' everything into our bags.
“Fifteen minutes to take-off,”
Michael announced, “the chopper's waiting.”
with hugs all around we separated.
Our roommates too, are all catching flights
vectoring in from various sites -
our motley group will reassemble tonight.
Pew rated Yale one of the hardest universities
to get into in '23 - so is it really a certainty
that our cardkeys will let us into our residency?
Fall grades came out yesterday - Lisa and I are all grins
- we’ll have thirteen days to visit and settle in
and reorganize things before Spring semester begins.
I hope that your vacations were as fun as ours
but the New Year’s begun and in a matter of hours
we’ll resume the school grind, our holidays devoured.
Jan 5, 2023
Jan 5, 2023 at 1:12 PM UTC
Early morning before
anyone has ordered coffee
and I feel delicate in the dewy
sun with the heater on low
at my ankles, I reorganize
the drawer below the register
gingerly feeling at staples and
rubberbands, Caleb watches from
the corner on tea with raspberry
in doc martens and ***** trousers
I wonder if I seem as pretty as I
feel or if he feels the staples too and
the dust from gift cards, if my hair
flares out in the light, if I am a brilliant
solar eclipse.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 3:52 PM UTC
“You are under no obligation to remain the same person you were a year ago, a month ago, or even a day ago. You are here to create yourself, continuously.”
Richard Feynman
<>
perhaps
you are among the many who state,
I will do things differently today!
or
amidst the few,
who actually do
most of us satisfied by our resolution,
go back to sleep and let our
daily dissolution succumbing
pleasantly ****** us into
the nirvana of familiar
repetition
We speak not of the little compromises
that satisfy for periods too brief:
denying yourself a meal,
or having just one less cuppa
of English Breakfast Tea,
Blue Mountain Java beans,
or skipping breakfast entirely
a face saving gesture to the
odyssey perpetual
of losing those friendly
five pounds that “just”
snuck aboard
<>
know that we all peer
into my famous
bathroom
mirror
conducting a head to toe review
of our very deepest buried
burdensome “to do list”
that charge you to be changed,
that discharge your guilt long lasting,
Oh, those things that truly matter
to which we,
thanks to Richard,
we reorganize and add a
first poem, the top priority
of this new mewling twenty four hours:
today,
I will continuously
wright/write
be a maker & builder,
yes, writer,two,
of
myself anew
and not copy
all that I wish not to;
here goes my first daily,
a myself poem of every new day
of my
interval upon this green Earth
a seed step tiny
to grow a forest
continuing
Oct 6, 2024
Oct 6, 2024 at 8:11 AM UTC
Fall semester starts tomorrow. It’ll be exciting - for a few days - but it won’t be long before we’ll miss the tanned bodies of summer, the cool, clear lake-water or lounging carefree, on bright, sand-like gravel beaches.
Tomorrow, things will be different. Our days will start earlier, they'll be a value - a new currency - to morning hours that went wasted on unproductive summer vacations. The change will be sudden, herk, there may be an audible pop of some sort, somewhere, in tonight’s darkest hours.
We’ll be going to the gym so early that we’ll be done and leaving before the first, lazy pigments of sunlight weave morning.
I imagine my room looks like backstage at a new Broadway musical, the very first rehearsal - when nothing’s set in stone and everything’s a mess. My clothes are everywhere. Why did I decide to reorganize tonight? Brilliant.
Peter wants to come over but.. “No,” I say, sighing, overwhelmed. “Look,” I say, as I slowly pan the Facetime camera around the war zone that my room has become.
“Oh, my GOD,” he says, jerking back in horror, like a Californian seeing a fur-coat, “Was anyone HURT?!”
“Ha, Ha, I say, sarcastically, suddenly too tired, “Breakfast at 6:30?” I ask.
“Sure,” he says, taking a tucked pencil from behind his right ear. “Guh-night,” he says.
“See-YA!” I say, pressing the red button and letting gravity guide my phone to a gentle rest atop the clothes-pile that’s concealing my bed.
Aug 31, 2022
Aug 31, 2022 at 12:17 AM UTC
before commencing his third
poem of the day, to review,
reiterate, reorganize his day’s
life, and his life’s day, to establish
better value, logical priorities,
He thinks,
better to let woman sleep,
as no pressing pressures
of decisions or choices
need be made before noon,
and another huge mug of
coffee seems logical, wise
and a prudent next step
and no sin needs forgiveness,
by the act of sleeping late
He’s torn,
between readying the
coffee machine’s unending
needs for water, beans, snd
careful waste disposal,
shaving a 2 day stubble,
and starting his next poem,
when he grins stupidly, or
stupidly grins, for clearly
he has made and an acknowledged
decision, certified by a silent
exclamation of duh!
He reassures,
his inner demons
that all will be satisfied
in no particular order as
the day is young and the
coffee hot, good and satisfying
and he can type letters without
spilling coffee (again), and the
world will be no worse off
or improved if he focuses
on completing this dirge
here then the third poem:
life is nothing but an
endless series of decisions,
many, most, low hanging fruit;
ironically, the big ones,, the
important one, get made quietly
without malice and forethought, by
deliberations so quiet they go
unnoticed.
At Nine o’clock, he will
wake the woman,
because he’s lonely for company,
but wisely
will bring her coffee and breakfast
in order to
soften the blow of his arousing action
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 8:46 AM UTC
A screen was posted on a wall, the corners of my mind
Were stretched so very thin indeed, reverberating time
And vapid personalities then danced upon the veil
Attempting to impose themselves as those who never fail
In perfect step with everything, their tendencies align
Allow for new anatomies to form upon their spine
Collect, repel, reorganize with regular delay
I cannot tell you what's become of every single day
To calculate would take too long, the change of pace too much
And I've become immune to what is parallel to touch
See, I have learned their song by now, I've memorized the beat
Its rhythm pulses fervidly, intensifies the heat
The space is filled with every breath of those who write the notes
A call to those who cannot keep the music in their throats
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
I couldn't breathe today when I considered certain possibilities,
I am so
T
O
R
N
.
I am bruised and glistening,
Attempting to collect what I can of myself for you,
So you could see
The truth.
I want to apologize for all these months,
But the time healed not only my wounds
But grew me a new heart
Wrapped in a salty, sharp, piercing, sincere, untameable soul,
GOD!
Gathering these thoughts is impossible for me
You destroy them,
I reorganize this tesselating mess of feelings and passion and appreciation
Only for you to smile or laugh or SPEAK
And blow the chains I forged apart,
And once again the wings flap inside me.
I want to be plain, speak clearly, but I can't grab them all,
All these lights inside me.
You have contributed to the construction of an indescribable sun inside of me,
The envy of Sol
For its vitality, mass and luminescence.
IRIDESCENT
you are!
It's killing me, your brightness,
For I cannot guarantee a proper expression into words and action
Conveying what I feel
And why I want to worship
The sun.
Blind.
I should stop.
You are a girl, a woman new to this same world as I,
Please do not over think,
Simply
Consider
me.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 11:14 PM UTC
The metal floor is slicky
Desert heat amplifies
The odor of ***** and blood
Mostly empty IV bags hang on their stands
Packaging from numerous medical supplies
Litter the ground
Quickly and carefully I clean and spray and sweep and scrub
I sort and pack and refit and reorganize
Preparing the chopper for the next call
Lives were saved
But
I don’t know what will become of them
Some will leave the Army
Some will come back here
Some will do the job the enemy couldn’t do
And take their own lives
I can’t think about that
This is hard enough
Feb 10, 2020
Feb 10, 2020 at 11:02 AM UTC
Let me; reorganize
-
Thoughts, feelings, unjustified
Cannot see, I cannot feel, but
I swear on everything it's real.
I could care less, if you don't see
This pressure built inside of me
-
I can't let go, I won't give in
Although it seems love just won't win
The brain implodes, the heart attacks,
Through this pain I don't want you back
-
Why can't you see, you have to know
That I will never love you so.
If you could ever awaken, see
That I have fallen to my knees
-
I truly wish that you could know
I've always wanted you to go.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
Moving On from Moving On
June 11, 2014 at 11:36pm
Musings by Vivvy Walker
When I got divorced people were helpful and understood
I was moving on.
They knew it was a BIGGIE
A big, huge, ginormous time in my life
I was moving on.
They helped me. I helped me.
Everyone was familiar with the process.
The pitfalls. The backtracks.
The wins. The successes.
I was moving on.
And now I am firmly entrenched in vague territory.
I have moved on.
And I need to move on. From moving on.
I moved. I packed. And unpacked.
All the baggage. Physical and emotional.
I am post-moving on
I am done.
I no longer need to work ridiculous hours.
Or raise my girls alone.
Or be alone.
I always thought it would be easy when I was done
Moving on.
But it is hard
To reprioritize yet again.
To reorganize my life & thoughts (yet again)
To adjust
To be laid-back. And free. And funny.
I have to constantly remind myself
I'm no longer moving on
That chapter has closed.
It is time for my voice
To be heard.
For my dreams.
To be realized.
For me
I think of the men and women who- like me
Have moved on
And I raise a glass
Coffee, wine, beer, *****
Drink with the little umbrella
I toast you
The changelings, the chameleons
The doers, the movers
And shakers
Those crazy laughing' probies'
Of life post divorce
I toast you
The tortoises
The 'long run' winners
Those plodding wonderful people
Of life post-divorce
I toast you
My fellow butterflies
My new wing-having friends
All those who cried
And then didn't anymore
Post-divorce
I toast you
For bravery
And audacity
And showing me how to move on
From moving on
Post-divorce
~Vivvy Walker 6/12/14
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 3:22 AM UTC
So much energy
Plenty to do
I can do anything
Except what I need to
My thoughts are a whirlwind
I want to escape
I can't drink liquor
When I'm working late
I can watch movies
Play games on my phone
Reorganize my desk
Sing a long song
When it comes to it
I'm just depressed
Life's going nowhere
Memories repressed
Keep pushing on
Take a deep breath
Practice mindfulness
Repair whats left
REMEMBER
There is only today
What I don't get done
Won't go away
Grab up that energy
Make a big push
Write a little poem
And GET OFF YOUR ****
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 3:35 PM UTC
pressure pressure pressure
hollow paper skin
I'm not a paper airplane and
I can't pretend to fly
through stormy wednesday mornings
when the rain begins to drop;
here begins the tailspin
structure folding under
paper-coated hollow bones
the skeleton that shivers
here begins the pressure.
irking little seed
with roots deep cut,
knees cut down
to bleed you on the street
and stretched upon the ground
pressure curls you under
I've got here this paper skin with
tons of flesh to mark
reorganize to find inside
organs tucked in battered skin,
with paper thin
crumpled in your hand
you thought it ripped;
really only crinkled
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 6:27 AM UTC
The seed senses
A moment where the clouds turn right angles and the ocean turns herself into a bath tub
After the moon runs her cycles all in one night the systems reorganize themselves
And we are swung, eyes grasping just barely at the vastness of this eloquent dance
under the pull of a surrender
owning the ludicrous living.
observer
come , gather at this silence
flow slowly as this meanders
full moon love is delicate tender
ask , receive , thank , release
rinse, imbibe , rest ,
release
receive
laugh
shake
shake
laugh
give, allow
be.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 7:53 PM UTC
come drip with me
drip in me
fill my senses
with fluidity
liquify my mind
flood my memories
reunify, end your trip down stream.
drip with me, into
each possibility
roar with me
encompass all barriers
along the road
fall into
the falls with me
s o a r i n g
through the bends to the end
of that trickle.
be me its all I have to offer
as I desire to be you.
I know the truth
you do too
the chemicals make visibility cloudy
and then we start to consider
is stream or steam
better?
and then we slow freeze
and develop a rigidity
and miss the abyss of the hairline split in time
we were destined to kiss.
we miss the lessons of our Mother
so we must start at the heart.
clear your heart for me
let me top off your energy
with the love I feel pulsating
through my crown. shower
You down to me.
reorganize beliefs
move like water
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC
I go over my bucket list one more time...
Study, then jog a bit, finish my drawing for my grandma, then the equation I couldn’t figure out, then write the essay-
Or wait-maybe I should read the guidelines one more time-
The due date, when is it again?
AH! Piano is more immediate, where’s my metronome?
Oh no! The books are all our of order again and I can’t find it, why don’t I reorganize them in the process-
My room looks like trash why don’t I-
“Honey, are you done with your homework yet?”
Um...
Well...
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 8:40 PM UTC