"scramble" poems
The aftermath of poorly applied algebra is a scramble of numbers, letters, lonely coefficients, and an unemployed ninjas. These characters are much like those of a barbershop quartet, where members can either harmonize or simply fall flat. All of this depends on the song they sing and the order it is sung; algebra sings a song of SVSCOS (Same Variables Same Coefficients Opposite Sides) What else can come of bad math? Nothing less than a burning hatred for radicals, imaginary numbers, the saying 'PEMDAS', or maybe the fact that if you're 21 you must stay out the bars. This being said, Algebra 2 is very much like a dream; once you wake up, most of it is forgotten, but also in that it can be strived toward and reached.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
Mentally beginning anew,
Shower and storms scramble,
A mind, a mess, stuck in the cold of blue,
Writhing in pain without preamble.
A season after the cries of winter,
The tears of petals shed,
Flows hope once more enter
Where a broken heart bleed.
Relief of breath ooze,
As fragile blooms of forgiveness peek,
Through darken days of self abuse,
To nurture the delicate emotional physique,
Healing in time blind,
Pure instinct survives,
An emotional breakdown of the mind.
Until finally, awaken spring arrives.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 5:20 AM UTC
1. Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly; who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
I love you,
The best is yet to come.
Don't scramble,
Let us plan our lives.
We have it in our hands,
Luck and destiny will bend before us.
Yes we toil for it,
Both of us will put efforts.
Don't be scared dear,
Just hold my hand firmly.
What we can't individually do,
Together we will manage it all.
The sun in our sky has risen,
It will reach higher up above.
Not burning it will emblazon,
Just shining away all darkness.
How differences of ours remain,
We won't let them become large.
And yes, today I tell you darling,
Two different individuals we are.
So many of differences will ripen,
But how we treat them is unto us.
We can't let them become so large,
The love we share is much bigger.
Just practice perseverance my love,
Stay strong & toil hard we both will.
Not breaking mountains we must be,
Still challenging stay all our methods.
Zest of ours must not fail in this spirit,
Zealous we voyage on in the sea of life.
We both have that passion in ourselves,
Helping people parry off all the dangers.
Never would we worry about our past,
For we both cherish the lessons learnt.
Odds will often rise between both of us,
We won't let them disunite us any day.
This love I feel is a bit experienced,
And my experience tells me a lot.
We must never fall out separate,
Because together we're happy.
Differences do not invite rifts,
Neither should we let them...
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 1:58 AM UTC
*in the midst of an emerald slumbering forest
laced with pungent scents of jaded wood
a burgundy blushed tail
of a chestnut hued fox
scurries as copper sunbeams part the day
a hospital lumes starkly nearby
its aura exudes hints of melancholy
commingled with faint impressions
of halcyon futures
not yet lived
at neighboring dartmouth
a student sprinting to class
drops his crimson colored backpack
the prospect of cancer
far from his budding consciousness
my beloved sits patiently
pondering pensively
his last chemo treatment
elusion of death
not far from his mind
i feign to fend off future catastrophes
watching letters scramble across my screen
earnestly writing
in a desperate attempt
to be with him forevermore
an aquamarine hummingbird drenched in tranquility
senses the inverse
its amber tipped wings stand seemingly stationary
while it steals a quick glance through the window
curious at chemical infusions meant to heal
my beloved walks out
of the austere building
with rose colored glasses i feel
that we’ll whirl on the tips of gilded stardust
dancing with another chance to fly
©2016janetaylor
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC
Money Talks
and what it said back then on the railway bridge
at Bloomfield Road (no longer there of course)
was "You can spare me – it means only one less
penny ice lolly from the corner shop !" (no longer
there of course) and the train will make me huge
(steam no longer here of course) and the others
will laugh and cheer as you scramble down to
the line place me centred and climb back up
here again before the train shoots through to
Central Station (no longer there of course).
Gigantic copper-coloured disc and this recall.
Still talking half a century after.
(c) C J Heyworth August 2014
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
related to childhood emotional abuse or neglect...
not to be confused with derealization or 'fantasy prone personality'
maladaptive daydreaming is seeing your face when I fall asleep at night
or hearing your voice in a children's store
"Come look! Look at these shoes!", and seeing you scramble at a pair of sandals
Big brown eyes begging me to buy them as "an early birthday present, just this once."
Maladaptive daydreaming
is blinking and not even having time to register the fact that you'd disappeared
and I was standing alone in the children's shoe aisle,
on my knees holding a pair of sandals
and feeling that same twist in my gut that I did on the day
the papers were signed and my passport was stamped,
to get on a plane to another country
without so much as waving goodbye
Maladaptive daydreaming is crying through anti-abortion rhetoric
and sympathising with teenage mothers
it's seeing you smile behind a nikon camera, calling
"Look at this pretty picture I took! See, see?"
and then realising that I was only smiling at a fallen camera in the sand
Maladaptive daydreaming
is regretting a choice I didn't make
it's steeling my jaw at immature jokes
and relating to all those children raising children
Maladaptive daydreaming
is regretting giving up a daughter
I never had
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 1:17 AM UTC
The snow glimmers like diamonds, each falling flake sparkling in its own array of prismatic colors. The sky, clear and blue, is sprinkled with these small gems.
breathe in.
The air is cool and crisp, stinging her nose on every intake, but filling her lungs with clean fresh air.
breathe out.
Little puffs of steam flow from her mouth and into the world, each little droplet tumbling over another as they scramble to explore this new universe, until they vanish completely from sight.
breathe in.
The soft breeze drifts carelessly over the snow, leaving an icy touch in its wake.
breathe out.
The thumps of her heart increase and fill her ears as she approaches the gate.
breathe in.
The thumps become steady, a rhythmic beat to keep the time.
breathe out.
Three. The hand goes up.
breathe in.
Two.
silence.
One. It drops.
breathe out
She is gone.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
Are we fated to dance to the same tune alone in our separate universes?
Is it true that we must silently keep to our preordained curses?
Are we destined to swoon at the beauty of the moon at differing time slots?
Why were we given invisible ink to connect our lives' dots?
Must it be that our lives revolve around the whims of the sun?
Isn't it ludicrous that we won't see the intricate webs we've spun?
Was it the plan that we exist only in our minds and hearts?
Why do we have to tolerate starting when the other's ending and end at the other's starts?
Has it been written that we can only afford to infinitely chase each others heartbeats?
Was it foretold that we're trapped in a singular notion that never really fits?
Is the game set as such that we can never emerge as winners?
How is it that the ocean was made out of our tears that flowed from rivers?
Why is it that with our entirety we believe but do not know?
What's the reason for the path made clear but we're too afraid to go?
What does it entail to possess the very least but yet you covet it the most?
How do you pride yourself in something but not allowed to boast?
Why do we frantically scramble to piece together jagged shards?
Can't we just play this blasted deck of lousy cards?
Is it destiny or cruelty to have found then lost?
Why does it seem absurd that we have all its takes but can't afford the cost?
Is it the thoughts that **** or the emotions that debilitate?
Is it the challenges we take on or the curveballs we anticipate?
Why bother when sheer folly is all it seems to be?
Why tarry when the heart is free and the mind is ready?
Is it ridiculous to have found myself still very bothered?
Is it wrong to question fate that had always bound us tethered?
Why is the good always bad and the bad becomes worse?
Is it true that the harder we fight, the deeper we immerse?
Has life turned to be but sad little rhetorics?
Are we but performers on stages coerced into theatrics?
Is it time for me to surface this one-man submarine?
Will it be so that if I do, my journey would then begin...?
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
MY SON
To My Son
My baby, my son,
my precious prince
Sent straight from
Heaven and loved ever since
A gift from
God to handle with care
A heart of gold for you to share
A smile so big with such happiness and joy
The pride I have,
to have such a good little boy.
Just one month
away from turning two
I hold my head high
to be strong for you
To love someone so much,
I never knew
I could
The things I do for you,
for no one else
I would It feels so good to hold you, Just for a second though
Because you scramble down fast and off you go
I'm blessed to be with you every second of the day but I can’t be selfish, things just can’t go
my way at sometimes
I wish
I could protect you from anyone hurting your golden little heart
So many things
I want to tell you but don’t know where to start
People will tell you a lot of things son and only some of them will be true Which ones you want to believe my boy
I hope you’re smart enough to choose It’s a mean world out there someone told me life is all about the fight
So I’m going to do my best to make you strong my son
So you can choose wrong from right
I know it seems
I’m going on and on but these things
I just don’t want you to forget
Life is full of lessons baby never hold any regrets.
My baby, you are so truly exquisite, Blessed with a beauty quite infinite.
I am so happy to have you,
My love for you will never fade
Of that
I assure you.
I promise to take care of you,
I promise to guide you true,
I promise to teach you right,
I promise to raise you the best
I can,
I promise to guard you day and night. Grow and thrive, my little one,
Always be good and full of loving,
A special being like no one,
Keep your smile sweet and giving.
You will always be my baby dear
My son,
My heart will beat for you,
strong and clear.
You are my life, my everything
I promise to cherish you till my last breath, To be always there, at any height or depth.
I love you.
You the reason behind my daily hustle.
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 3:09 PM UTC
people find it hard
to believe happiness
because for many,
it’s much more of a myth
or a hazy recollection
than it is something real
and rational and
to be aspired too
love and hope
and dreams
have taken on this air of
imagination
in recent generations
for a brief moment,
they were truly believed in
by the adults
by the people in charge
by the whole wide world
even as everything they knew before
had crumbled and wrecked
to a state beyond
their power to
repair
but it was that desolate place the world was
that drove the people to believe in such fancy
and frivolous thoughts
because if they had not,
the world would’ve withered
and died, like a cow so old
you know there’s no hope
or a flower so far gone
that you don’t mind to let it
wilt
those times went though,
like a leaf upon the wind,
as the children began acting
as the adults and followed
their dreams to a land so
few actually reached
and as the adults saw their failure
and the children saw the adults flee
the belief in love, in hope, in dreams,
in morals, in rites, in traditions, in
togetherness, in family, in belief-
failed
and
sunk
the last tip of the ship leaving the surface
with the first person who believed in the
infomercial
we do not know what we can do
because we do not believe we can
do anything
happiness, as I started this all out with,
is not a bed-time story
it is very real
and it is very
powerful
but in each average person’s life
they get to experience only once
or twice, seeming like a random
occurrence, and thus cementing
in so many people’s minds that
it is
but it is not
happiness comes from knowing how to be happy
it’s not about sacrifice
or faith
or hard-work
or dedication
it’s about knowing who you are,
what the world is,
and how you
can make
the best
of it
this is not some secret art
it is a simple idea:
that happiness can be controlled
and it’s execution is even simpler:
how can I be happy?
how can I be happy,
forever?
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 8:28 PM UTC
Nightmares. I hate them.
They keep me awake,
They torture me.
They won’t let me wake up.
“Sleep! Sleep!” they say.
“Stay awake! Watch out!” they taunt.
So tired….
I’m falling…it’s so dark.
I grasp air, scramble for a hold.
I find it!
I scrape my hands and hit my leg
The jolt and the pain wakes me again.
I can’t sleep.
It’s not safe in the dark
Ah! I can’t stand the light
Nightmares…Dammit! I hate them!
My dearest, yes, that’s it.
My darling!
My love, he keeps me safe.
He’ll talk to me; comfort!
No, he’s sleeping.
I cannot bother him.
Sleep.
Nightmares.
Falling….
No!
My love…yes, there it is.
He’s so warm, I can feel it now.
Mmm, my darling;
he will not let me fall.
He will always hold on
Despite myself, despite my temper
Despite my rants, despite my antics.
Through all the…the…
Anger!
Frustration!
Overexcitement and
Fear!
Distress and worry!
Paranoia!
**** those nightmares!
I can’t help it.
I’m sorry.
I just….
So much feeling.
I get…
Jumbled.
I get…
Mixed up?
I don’t know
He helps me.
Holds me.
Loves me, even.
How?
I cry and scream,
I back away,
He follows.
I’m sorry.
I just get so jumbled.
He holds me.
I’m so tired…
Sleep, oh sleep….
I close my eyes
And I’m falling.
It’s so dark, hands are grabbing for me.
The light, I want to find it
But I can’t! I’m being
Chased.
******
Nightmares, I hate them!
Why can’t they be quiet, go away…
SHUT UP!
LEAVE ME ALONE!
I’m so tired
I just
I Get so
Jumbled.
Up and Up and Up
And I can’t stop
I’ll fall.
The light, why is it so bright?
Nightmares, voices, people, monsters
Get away all of you!
No,
Not you.
I need you, don’t go
Please.
I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean it.
It’s the nightmares
I feel like I’m falling,
Like I’m being chased
These things, they’re everywhere,
And the light, it’s too bright
And I get so jumbled
I can’t help it.
I’m so tired.
“Sleep! Sleep!”
“Stay awake! Watch out!”
Will the taunting ever end?
Darling…wake up….
I can’t wake up.
I’m being chased
I can’t stop, or else
I’ll fall.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
The door to your heart is a horrifying puzzle
Your Jigsaw pattern I can't put together
The pieces I hold don't correspond
So I take parts from you
Which is making me Leatherface
And giving you a flatter taste
And the ****** chain I saw placed
Was pressed to your door with haste
You're a killer doll like Chucky
How could I have been so unlucky?
I can't even cut through your curtains
I become a cold corpse before the movie can start
Like a careless Jamie Lee Curtis
How long can such a curted courtship last?
Before I contrive the courage to crush
The Killer Croc in your rib cage
But the corrosive corrections officer
That is your puzzle piece door
Impedes all progress to your horror heart
Because the improper placement of pieces
Will make me think you're The Witch
When you tell me Don't Breathe
As my theater's lights dim
I scramble for an exit
But my only escape from the cinema is through your door
I grow cynically situated to the pitch black pictures
How could I expect to solve the riddle
Now that I need to?
Doors that can't be opened are walls
Speaking softly turns to brawls
As your pieces scattered like change
Your door completely wrapped in chains
I feel stupid and ashamed
Your puzzled movie's to blame
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC
All my dreams
Are black and white
Colorless meaning
While I'm dreaming
Featureless faces
Claw at my flesh
A man?
A woman?
This dream is a mess
All I see
Are Cold black eyes
Frostbite burns
Between my thighs
Lost in darkness
another nightmare
I look for a savior
But you're not there
No knight in shining armor
To whisk me away
No tattooed prince
To save the day
Just me
Alone
In a twisted state
Fetal position
The shape I take
You'd think I'd know better
At this point in life
My dreams
by no means
resemble real life
Metaphors always
scramble my brain
I try to decode
Just to stay sane
Awake from my slumber
And all I can think…
Why can't I dream
In tangerine?
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
Astonished at the plethora of cars outside my casket, I try to get up. But, I'm held down by chains. It's so bright through the little cracks in The casket that I have to squint my eyes.
The sunRays ask me, "are you ready for this ride?"
I'm pinned down, hell bound. All these gifts decorated around me and on top of me signify that I'm decaying.
I am the epitome of the hearts grief. Since day one I was infected by your leave. Theres a honk, then A crash. Caused by the distraction of me being buried. Theres a hole in the window, theres a girl in the seat and there's a screech.
"Wait for me girl!" I scream. I scramble to get free. Get me out of here. Where's the rescue for her soul? The wreckage burdens me. As people flea my scene, I see backs turn from me.
Just a bit overheated, i awake from this peculiar dream. Also me in the parking lot, with the key, foot on brake, rumbled and shakes to start for a drive.
It then dawns on me; I'm going to my own funeral.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 5:00 AM UTC
I know you don't do well in the cold or in the rain;
You scramble around trying to save your hair
and you jabber nonsensically in the cutest way,
you shiver and you mumble and your hands and nose go cold.
But that's just a temporary, mundane blemish
on the beautiful temple that is your body,
one that a jacket can guard from, or a towel can wipe off.
But your heart, your fortress of a heart, is what I worry about.
I know it hurts too, I know all too well that it does.
I know that sometimes, you sit in a sea of blankets and warmth,
but your heart still aches with a horrible chill.
I know that although you may be sheltered,
it sometimes feels like your heart is stranded in a downpour
and your fortress cracks sometimes.
I don't know how to tell you or show you that
I will stand in a hurricane to hold an umbrella over your heart,
I will build you a home and a hearth to warm your bones,
when all you feel is broken and numb
I will hold you and kiss you until
all of your beautiful puzzle pieces are put back together.
So don't mind the rain, sweetheart.
I'll always be
an umbrella for your heart.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
Airports make me anxious.
There is too much going on, too many gates and times and delays and people.
They are ***** and crowded. They make me feel small and tiny, iridescent.
They are good for people-watching and spending too much on rather cheap food.
Airports make people obnoxious. People forget their manners as they scramble to the flight that they're already late for, bumping into me along the way with no apology offered.
Airports are huge, massive. Their size is daunting to me; I can so easily get lost and deviate from the path that leads me to the correct gate.
Airports are lonely. Nobody makes eye contact anymore with strangers, so I'll sit alone and read a book and maybe drink some tea or coffee, occasionally looking up to see if anyones looking at me.
Frankly, I do not enjoy airports. But I enjoy you.
So I will sit in an airport someday, sitting cross-legged and reading near a window. I will listen to some music and ponder whatever comes to mind until my flight arrives and it's time to board. I will board my plane, leaving behind the bothersome airport to come see you.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 8:06 PM UTC
Tip Your hat
And curtsy low
The masses so mandate absolute guile
A handshake, a smile, a proper and refined bow!
To adorn thy head and semble wit
And do your best!
Take pride with etiquette
If not informed
Ye won't last a mile
And differentiation between animals distinguishes you,
Resplendent child
Wash your hair and underclothes with soap
Lest ye resemble sow
And goodness dear
Have I forgotten now?
Always remember to smile!
So I'll take your Winter clothes with zest
I'll scramble on point
No unruly mess
Oh, did i forget your coat?
No, I've got it, relax, care for a smoke?
My apologies, please forgive my latency
It must be warm in here for my blood
In fact...
Boiling over kettle within
Prevent me from committing sin
I do wish to vent
Pick up this pen
And release red wells from his dainty, fragile neck
Or...
The underbelly. It's beknownst to me entrails are thick
Now whatever shall I do with this fresh clutter?
I'll act for free, so cordially!
With my chivalrous lines
But can you, my friend, respond in kind?
After all, it's only common courtesy
It's over now, my fantasy
It dissipates with urgency
And this is my confession
Yes
Imbibed in me from every grueling, tedious lesson
An implication of uniformity
The daydreams borne from the perfunctory
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
The cranes flew and the city grew and what did I do?
put my head in the sand,
so I could no longer see the change that was happening all around me.
A land fit for heroes,city tycoons and wannabe Nero's and now't left in the stew *** for me or for you lot,
and how do you feel about that?
More money than sense and scant recompense for the builders who toil,who make the monsters that rise and eat up the soil, despoiling the land,more heads in the sand but holding out hands for that scant recompense.
Reconciling the bile in their throats with those city gent suits in their trilby's and coats and soldiering on until the earth is all gone.
A legacy indeed for them who would scramble in scrub land and grow things to feed the dysfunction of family,
what seeds we have sown,how defectively grown we've become and all for the buildings that greedily search out the sun,
somewhere up in the heights.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 5:06 AM UTC
I looked to the stars to see what I could find,
and I sighed with exasperation at the wonders in sight.
For lo, behold, there were more than millions,
and poor old me, choosing one just wasn’t an option.
If you gaze at them all at once, you notice there is a sky,
but if you pick solely one, you find yourself willing to fly.
One of these twinkling wonders might be you someday,
for the world knows whom it should repay.
Focus on one tree, you lose sight of the forest.
But look at the forest, you lose sight of your tree.
Find your star, hunt it down, and you just might,
you just might, you just might,
absorb that glittering gold glimmer of light.
Then its all uphill from there,
as you shoot up,
and reach forward
and outward,
and suddenly,
you fall back down.
But this time, you have your star,
so climbing all the way up, it can’t be that far.
After hauling and hiking, you reach the top.
and as you gaze at the bottom, you start to wonder.
Wonder about what? I cannot say.
But you’re at the top, you have to stay.
Since it’s you who made it all the way.
L’appel du vide, you start to sway.
Then it hits you. It hits you hard.
Back you go! as you go down.
Down again, down on your knees!
But as you look in its eyes, your glittery golden glimmer lights it up,
and you can’t help but notice what wasn’t there before.
It cannot be, but surely, it is.
A trace of affection, gone as quickly as it appears.
As you get up, you swear it smiles,
and when it disappears with a gust of wind,
you bet on your life you heard it whisper,
I’ll see you at the top, you’ll get here quicker.
And you scramble up again, surefooted and strong,
as music surrounds you, life’s very own song.
Your ascent slows to a stop, and you look around.
Many are there, whom you never found.
And in the centre, who else could it be?
Your very good friend, whom you mistook for an enemy.
It glides towards you, and you don’t wince,
Because now you know, that which you’ve known long since.
Life pushes you down, not out of hate,
but so you learn, to open up the gate.
Now what did you learn? How can you explain?
What you’ve spent years on, things almost impossible to gain.
But you don’t give away the answer, it’s not yours to impart.
You must help out, pick up all who’ve lost heart.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 5:02 AM UTC
To a Louse
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hey! Where're you going, you crawling hair-fly?
Your impudence protects you, barely;
I can only say that you swagger rarely
Over gauze and lace.
Though faith! I fear you dine but sparely
In such a place.
You ugly, creeping, blasted wonder,
Detested, shunned by both saint and sinner,
How dare you set your feet upon her—
So fine a lady!
Go somewhere else to seek your dinner
On some poor body.
Off! around some beggar's temple shamble:
There you may creep, and sprawl, and scramble,
With other kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Where horn nor bone never dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.
Now hold you there! You're out of sight,
Below the folderols, snug and tight;
No, faith just yet! You'll not be right,
Till you've got on it:
The very topmost, towering height
Of miss's bonnet.
My word! right bold you root, contrary,
As plump and gray as any gooseberry.
Oh, for some rank, mercurial resin,
Or dread red poison;
I'd give you such a hearty dose, flea,
It'd dress your noggin!
I wouldn't be surprised to spy
You on some housewife's flannel tie:
Or maybe on some ragged boy's
Pale undervest;
But Miss's finest bonnet! Fie!
How dare you jest?
Oh Jenny, do not toss your head,
And lash your lovely braids abroad!
You hardly know what cursed speed
The creature's making!
Those winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice-taking!
O would some Power with vision teach us
To see ourselves as others see us!
It would from many a blunder free us,
And foolish notions:
What airs in dress and carriage would leave us,
And even devotion!
One Sunday while sitting behind a young lady in church, Robert Burns noticed a louse roaming through the bows and ribbons of her bonnet. The poem "To a Louse" resulted from his observations. The poor woman had no idea that she would be the subject of one of Burns' best poems about how we see ourselves, compared to how other people see us at our worst moments. Keywords/Tags: Robert Burns, louse, church, bonnet, lace, Scotland, Scots, dialect, translation
Apr 21, 2020
Apr 21, 2020 at 5:26 AM UTC
The sounds of gunfire penetrate our ears,
Ive been training for this day for years,
My trusty steed below me never leaves my mind,
For he knows id never leave him behind,
A clap of thunder bellows the skies,
The glare of fear never leaving our eyes,
My horse is my shield,
The pain that we yield,
Sticking together through fiery fields,
My master is light so its easy to run,
But this journey is far from done,
Bullets have penetrated my side,
Im down on my knees,
Lost all of my pride,
Then he screams out in pain,
My master is dead alone in the rain,
I scramble too my hooves and try to get away,
But its too hard,
All this hurt
All this pain,
The last thing i heard on that dark winters night
Was the flare of a machine gun,
and im out like a light
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 8:15 AM UTC
Whispering to each handhold, "I'll be back,"
I go up the cliff in the dark. One place
I loosen a rock and listen a long time
till it hits, faint in the gulf, but the rush
of the torrent almost drowns it out, and the wind --
I almost forgot the wind: it tears at your side
or it waits and then buffets; you sag outward...
I remember they said it would be hard. I scramble
by luck into a little pocket out of
the wind and begin to beat on the stones
with my scratched numb hands, rocking back and forth
in silent laughter there in the dark--
"Made it again!" Oh how I love this climb!
-- the whispering to the stones, the drag, the weight
as your muscles crack and ease on, working
right. They are back there, discontent,
waiting to be driven forth. I pound
on the earth, riding the earth past the stars:
"Made it again! Made it again!"
4.4k
I took my girlfriend to your last poetry reading,
she said.
yes, yes? I asked.
she's young and pretty, she said.
and? I asked.
she hated your
guts.
then she stretched out on the couch
and pulled off her
boots.
I don't have very good legs,
she said.
all right, I thought, I don't have very good
poetry; she doesn't have very good
legs.
scramble two.
4.1k
Above my home where the dark clouds
curl into the sky clinging for a home to
rest their sleepy depiction, shadowed
trees hum sweet lullabies, lonely leaves
breathe in the sad song of fallen dimensions,
letting its lifeless view roll upon their frame,
the chilled breeze sailing in the skyline,
as I scramble my way out of a filthy dumpster,
a mountain of disintegrating mess covering
my broken body, hovering flies surrounding
sticky strips of spaghetti, moldy mashed potatoes,
and moldy chicken *** pies, while my mind sunk
into traveled thoughts, bruised hands pressed against
the creases in my forehead, allowing my existence
to feel the stranded scars streaming in various mazes,
dull eyes flushed with a burning disorder, aching cheeks
and chests nestled in darkening chamber corners, buried
hips and thighs uprooting in somber blades of grass,
thorned, torn, and destroyed in different worlds. As I stood
on the slippery pavement staring at the ruffled scenery
in my sight, spinning streetlights thickening into slouched
positions, screaming sidewalks spilling sadness and madness
in the drenched air, razor-edged buildings inching into crushed
centimeters, jumbled meters, ****** yards. I replayed the sober
images in my head, the way my young brown-skinned mom said
I would never amount to anything, how I could hear the raged
noun ****** sift into the distance, its flaming mechanics
accelerating into screeching sounds, the way she hurled
her fists at my smashed face, every vibrant language
breaking apart, slamming shut into closed infinites,
snagged contractions and gerunds diverging into
shuddering double spaced negatives, the way she threw
my lingering body inside the trash dumpster, her sharp
scarlet words, You are no son of mine, ricocheting off
savage surfaces, sparking my soul in a calamity
of choking diction.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 1:04 PM UTC