"sidestep" poems
a crocus opens and
closes with the stream of
midnight moon.
the playmate of exhaustion
crosses the room
in his heavy, black boots
to close the curtains.
goodbye, light.
goodbye, pride of lions
and boy transformed
into a werewolf.
a scratch
of larceny,
the cuddle of
maple leaves rotting,
the magnet spinning
in rocket-ship orbit.
all secrets held in
feathers,
in hair compounded
into strings of
black opal,
and limbs stenciling
comets around
five feet of woman.
nothing in the talk
can suffocate—a quick
and easy birth of
ecstasy and the emotional
sidestep into the dark
of slumber,
seemingly feminine but
dreams strong as
barbed wire.
when to sleep?
a question finger-written
on my chest.
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 11:18 AM UTC
it will be, you know
1.
small bird
shivering
kind hand
covering
warmth
spreading
destined
for life
2.
her well-trained cats
at the door
ants always spared (!)
on sill
with sugared saucer
poultry in the yard
collecting deep-yolked eggs
making gooseberry jam
and sweet, strong tea
with hot milk
just for me
she taught me inner grace
and the real meaning
of quietness
just birds chattering away
whistling wondrous
in fig trees
laden with heavy fruit
awaiting her deft hands
how I loved her so
accounting exams
interrupted
in sixth grade
sorry
she's gone, dear
dumbstruck silence
they ask
why I'm not crying?
3.
kismet peeps in
to embrace you
and kiss your brow
you try to sidestep
and stub a toe
knock your head
in the end:
full-circle prayer
que sera...sera
S T, 28 June 2013
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
I finish scooping a large serving of stir fry onto a styrofoam plate
with the two metal spatulas left on the counter for me.
I sidestep the forty something year old man who is our host
who has opened this house, his families house, to us
his extended family.
I jump over the dog and take a seat in a metal folding chair that has been set by the table
which is meant to seat 4, but is seating 9 tonight.
To my right is an old friend, the estranged stepsister of the sleeping hostess
to my left; the father of another friend who is, himself the best friend of the host
and a regular in this kitchen.
His son sits on the other side of the girl to my right
his girlfriend is across from him
and to his right is the three year old niece of the hostess.
Her Five year old sister sits across from her.
at the end is the 14 year old daughter of the hostess
and across from me is her sister, the reason I am here.
We eye each other across the table,
trying to say something to each other
trying to reveal the sound our heartbeats make,
but our words are frozen in our throats.
They would be pierced though by flying words
and noodles
and laughs
and forks.
they would be pierced through by the energy here
by the connectedness
by everything.
If we were to say anything
it would be rendered so completely useless so quickly
that we can't.
Or so we tell ourselves
as we sit at this table
with our large, crazy, extended, adopted family
knocking elbows as we try to eat
passing around the Parmesan cheese
listening to the dogs barking at us for accidentally kicking them
as they tried to forage for food scraps under our chairs
not telling us they were there.
There is a happiness here
a buzzing
an energy
this is a family
this is a family
and I belong
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 3:46 AM UTC
►☼◄
ओं मणिपद्मे हूं
I sing the Self – that mystic fable.
Lie to Truth as Cain to Abel.
Inner blight of fallen man,
enemy of Heaven’s master-plan:
your inner SELF! The guiding light
of Luciferian deception.
Mystic wisdom’s blinding sight;
purveyed as truth: obscene confection.
Listen well – please spare your soul
and sidestep this, the blackest hole.
Your self is sewage! Look within;
behold that putrid old abyss
then dive down deep into your sin
the fallen source of carnal bliss.
Inspire. Inhale in full the stench
from deep within the septic trench
unsounded depths, a cesspool’s source
depravity released in force.
Apart from mercy undeserved
on those whom Heaven has reserved.
Apart from Christ, your sordid purpose;
jewel whose bright refracted surface
glistens, beckoning to the feast
yet never can appease the beast.
I hail your lie, oh Inner Self
you silted continental shelf –
(or are you more a surge oceanic:
roiling undertow satanic)?
New Age myth, and Hindu idol
fallen god whose pull is tidal…
Brahman, Atman, Buddha, babble
lies repackaged for the rabble…
How deep do you intend to go
into our post – Edenic show?
How far the bottom? Whence the end?
Explore ! You’ll never comprehend.
You’ll find still worse – and yet descend.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
Well, ol’ boy
stood in the vista, a little lost
but feet finding the pub
nonetheless
that sun tried to make its point
which, though we acknowledged,
we tried to sidestep
clag mud added heavy boots
while loose, happy chat sat
in apotheosis
til a moussaka
and a couple of sublime fish dishes
let us sit down and rest
after miles
these muscles pretend to ache
Jan 22, 2022
Jan 22, 2022 at 4:31 PM UTC
A well-rehearsed dance,
the waltzing waitress tosses The Times
on table 1 as if she’ll actually finish
the Sunday crossword this morning.
She won’t.
Grease lined lights flicker on one
by one.
Like spotlights on a stage.
It’s show time.
Twostepping while taking down chairs,
she flows to the rhythm of ritual,
across a worn checkered dancefloor.
No applause.
In a dining room of Astaire’s and Rogers
she is the coffee choreographer.
Pirouetting to the ***
then a sidestep, quick! Quick!
Slow.
Warming up now, she stretches.
Switching on the metal machinery.
It grinds and growls as if it prefers
decaf.
Rings from rusted bells
hanging from the door chime
to the beat. This is her
cue.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 10:09 AM UTC
only two dancers
remain standing
shuffling
and swaying
under syncopated lights
held by
an unspoken law
an apparently unavoidable
trait of human nature
that forces them
to continue despite
such terrible choices
of song
and persistence
each was merely
a "friend
of the bride"
moving in different circles
prior to this
their dancefloor meeting
unfortunately
neither can now
abandon the other
to dance alone
to risk being seen
as the cause
for bringing this
near-sacred ritual
to an end
these residual bodies
left with no choice
but to mirror
each movement
match every sidestep
echo every clap
with rhythm
or without
it will not matter
so long as this
transient solidarity
of misplaced confidence
and forced smiles
continues into
the next song
Jan 13, 2023
Jan 13, 2023 at 10:50 AM UTC
His dog chased her
through the woods.
The rifle can **** from
three-hundred yards.
Watch her leap logs
and sidestep
sticks grabbing
at her shoulders.
There are three Gods
in the woods,
behind any tree.
No one is as ruled
as the lawless.
No one is as sedated
as the frenzied.
Sympathy couldn't be
measured in screams,
but measured
in her breaths.
Beyond the
honeydew horizon,
the senseless cease.
The half-life of eyes:
her only escape.
Where the tree-trunks
are furnished by the
candied corpses.
Her feet chomp at the
prostituted ground.
She will die, here,
whether she lives
or not.
For what is stolen,
stays.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 7:52 PM UTC
Just wanna write, just wanna be loved. Hold my hand, give me a hug.
Physical connections, emotional investments,
but you just wanna **** with no other suggestion.
Some days are better, others are worse.
Put that pen to the paper, turn the pain into a verse.
Sidestep the ******** take it straight on
Trying to move forward but it seems my drive is gone.
I can't fight it, can't hide it, like my brain and heart's divided.
I won't show it, you don't know it, but we're both about to blow it.
These thoughts in my head turn me into a big mess.
I'll tell a stranger everything but I can't tell you a **** thing.
What the **** is wrong with me?
I want these guys that never see.
Me for me.
I'm a loving, honest, kind,
hard working woman with a hard working mind.
Maybe I should just mind my own business
and keep my nose out of other people's decisions.
But I can't help it, I don't want to.
I feel the need to be involved too.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 3:32 PM UTC
Argue, if you feel you must,
Of matters unresolved,
As shades of innuendo
Flavour differences devolved.
As points of view diverge
Despite the rational discourse,
And the heat behind the eyes
Injects invectiveness’s force.
When the fire in the belly
Raises tension to extreme
And the beads of perspiration
On the brow... engage the spleen.
Catch your breath for just a moment,
Smile into the tiger eyes,
Engage the low slung counter punch
With a sidestep that belies.
Your firm control is of the essence
A cool restraint... your mortal tool,
You can argue, if you feel you must,
But you’ll seem a shallow fool.
For your finesse will make the difference
In the playing of the hand...
To keep a nemesis at bay
With your level gaze... as planned.
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
5 January 2010
Jan 5, 2011
Jan 5, 2011 at 7:26 AM UTC
There's a broken reverence we hold
For those who've lost
We fear to be bold
We sidestep their woe, keeping our arms wickedly crossed
We offer polite comfort,
A distant hug, and awkward pat
They're like a ticking bomb, we stay alert
Keep the conversation to a minimal chat
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 3:52 PM UTC
Walking step by step,
my mount makes his way through the deep green forest.
Mayapple leaves and redbud trees, visible.
Slowly making our way down the trail
Meandering here and there,
Watching the deer munching young spring leaves,
Staring at us as we stare at them.
Its easy in the saddle,
No stress, no calls, no incessant interruptions.
You can take in nature, rest your mind.
Relax in the saddle, hang your feet out of the stirrups,
Pat your equine friend on the shoulder,
and just be.
He will flick an ear, or swish his tail, sidestep,
or shy away from some unusual object once in awhile.
But mainly, just easing down the trail,
listening to the babble of the nearby brook,
watching the sunlight filter through the leaves.
Squirrels and red-headed woodpeckers
chattering angrily at our passing.
I don't know that there is anything quite so peaceful.
Just moseying like an old cowhand.
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 3:44 PM UTC
He lifted his hand, it shook.
He leaned towards speech, halting.
A stroke confined his feet
to shuffled, prayerful, praises.
The day pushed dusk through blinds.
“How you buh, beautiful?” (a rasp).
“You take your meds?” the nurse said.
“How you… to… today?”, finger pointing
(reminded of it's hook).
She smiled and smoothed his bed
"You flirtin’ again? You bad man.”
Once he'd made a vow, an oath
in Auschwitz-Birkenau:
Forced to pick gold from charred teeth,
he pledged to sidestep death… to live!
And walk - in love -
to the Sabbath.
Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 9:22 PM UTC
There's always a beginning
There'll always be an end
And no matter how you play your cards
You won't see round the bend.
For tomorrow is another day
The morning sun will shine
And the layer of potentialities
Is arrayed for yours and mine.
In looking back a long time
A little boy in jeans,
Check shirt on a pushbike
Amid the in betweens.
Nothing really mattered,
Each day came and went
and before the realization dawned
The infancy was spent.
Mother died of cancer
The agony in eyes
Just 43 years of age
In alcoholic lies.
The Old Man was likewise
Collapsing in my arms
He passed away at 43.
Evaporated charms.
Adolescence came and went
Forced to join the race
Of madness in the unknown
The world's a violent place.
Decision ****** upon in spades
Cut and ****** in life
It's Papua or Vietnam
Instead, I took a wife .
Disaster in the making
A sidestep in the way
I left the complication there
And coldly strode away.
Changed the whole complexion
Altered how it planned
Ended up with knapsack on
Afresh in New Zealand.
Strangely how it re-aligns
The order falls in place
Confusion dissipates to let
What clear defined, creates.
Somewhere I turned the corner
Took it all in hand
Built an actuality
Of promise in this land.
Pride and hard ambition,
defy the odds and graft.
Visualize a rainbow
From inspiration's craft.
Build it with your own two hands
With sweat upon your brow
And know, within your very depth
You're on the right path now.
Lady luck was with me
Somewhere along the way
I found myself a sweetheart
In chance creation's way
Then ragamuffin boychilds
Scrapping on the rug,
Engendered that which matters
In life's eternal shrug.
You touch upon the beauty
You taste the honeyed wine,
You walk on fields of flowers
In the nectar of your time.
Tenderness and kindness
Essential to the mix
Should you wish to be of value
In the blended world you fix.
Some you win, some you lose
Sometimes you just laugh
For as the years meander
There's humor in the task....
And a gentle satisfaction
In the way it all pans through
And in my eighty year reflection
I'll just throw a smile to you.
[email protected]
Mar 9, 2025
Mar 9, 2025 at 5:00 PM UTC
none of the editors reside in my head
nor does a matrician's need to coddle
sidestep
be nice
when I see ****** I say that is
******
have no points in the bank for guile
for correctness
for matters are fact
attitudes solid concrete I can see
like windows on the Trump tower
just hiding ****
brevity usually my habit
and preference
but at times I get windy
flatulent
****** me off when, shew!! it happens alone
I love to share
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 2:30 AM UTC
This is your life as a performance.
Light on.
It’s the horseshoe necklace tickling your neck.
And rhythm in between steps.
Like tomorrow could die if we sidestep the question mark.
You say “hold your breath.”
“What about your future?”
You say, “ That’s irresponsible. Sit in a giant box covered with lies.”
“Shut up play thing. I need to work. You need to work.”
Full of something else-
We are all full of something else.
Bones.
Blood.
Grandma’s Belgian waffles
Freak show?
“I’m stuck.” Jack screamed but the child
Shut down the headphones.
Inside the circus.
Wait until he’s let you out!
Poor Jack.
Here it comes.
Wind up the velocity.
Elongate your stride.
Jibber my jabber.
Here comes Jack.
And she baked cookies with your initials on top
Your name happens to be “Untitled”
So there’s a giant question mark.
Full of dough and sugar.
It tasted like Jack’s defecation.
Delicious is mutilation.
The East cries at night for the attention of vapor.
See the beautiful sunset bleeding into itself.
See the orange sky because
Of cans soot and damage.
The sunset smacks the horizon.
See the orange sky because they wouldn’t call you back-
Chained to a tree out west.
The transition will arrive.
Like an annoying child sitting between our see saw
We won’t go anywhere.
Until they leave and
SMACK.
I’ve made it ‘round the curve.
But I threw up a little syrup.
“Shoot for the dot.” And SMACK me harder.
And SMACK the shoes.
And SMACK those beating bleeding blood bags.
But don’t smack your gum.
Wrap yourself in pearls but put your ***** feet into heels.
Give me something that’s dreadfully whimsical.
Jack has made it out alive.
With a smile.
But the little boy hears his cry.
Grasping for life-
Shut tight.
Light off.
Mar 15, 2010
Mar 15, 2010 at 9:16 AM UTC
outer body
mind sick off radio silence
worry behind me
embers of apathy dissipate across pavement at high speeds
"the best of the plague years" drones on through headaches
and sometimes this all still feels real.
DIY the time of your life
i've already given up twice.
old anthems resonate between clenched teeth
i just want to know where i can rest my head
it's like i have to channel the old me just to get a wrong word in,
senselessly spinning fabrications.
blog-tag manifesto.
cicada summer redux.
we are the originators of resurgent treachery,
and it's all seeping through the cracks at once.
settling ourselves by circumventing sidestep hearts,
old prestige fades as the evidence rests engraved on golden placards.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 5:29 PM UTC
The shadows from the towering buildings and twisting shapes up above fall
like mazes on the sidewalk that lead to nowhere,
so I choose not to follow them
I don't know down which street I should be going
I sense the woman on the sidewalk across from me -
the street opens up between us in a giant yawn, and I keep her in step -
it's the time of night and the type of dark that can put anyone on edge,
alone, downtown
The woman walks with purpose,
maybe it's just a mask to shake off the loneliness of night,
maybe it's a purpose she's never been able to find in the daylight -
I cross the street and close the gap between us, the gap between us
To her, I'm just a shape to sidestep to avoid confrontation -
the stench of my breath wraps around her like a blanket on a hot summer night
until she wakes up in a sweat and kicks me off
We reach the next corner, and I turn the other direction -
as the gap between us grows, I hear her breathe again - the air around her more bearable
as she gets used to the stench
It's late, and I know I'll have to catch the last bus to make it home
I've never had to wait for a bus my entire life,
but I guess you have to start somewhere
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 2:16 AM UTC
Look over here!
there's a reason to be scared.
Pay no attention to the truth
there's misdirection we've prepared
Forget the facts
national security's at risk
we'll just sidestep what you've read
after all, does it exist?
It's just a game
a little give, a little take
we didn't mean it quite like that
c'mon give us all a break
After all
you have given us your trust
and if think that we're so bad
you should hear what they say of us
Can you blame them?
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC
A distrust of details…
Ample amounts of reporting,
And eroding authority;
More freeze-thaw cycles,
Upswells, dead zones. Early signs
Wash up onto the shore, as the
Earth’s core continues to warm.
Hurricanes play mercilessly with
Uninsured lives, and earthquakes
Evolve from tickles to fissures.
Snow disappears from
Whole mountainsides.
The floodgates HAVE opened, temperatures ARE
Rising; Perception is always partial
but there’s plenty of evidence, regardless -
When we start to question the record-keepers
And legislators, those omitting parts of history;
People who willingly walk into the sun, selfishly
Sidestep the natural order and equilibrium of all things,
Exactly where does that journey end?
I think, somewhere around the place
Where we start to forge our own histories,
Or indifference begins.
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 1:37 AM UTC
It's good until it's bad and when it's bad it gets worse. I noticed the car, butterfly, car, butterfly, caught in the engine. Curling fumes and smoke and drip drip clip clop clipping of the pipe outside the window. It's all just sounds.
I transfer the days and the seasons, Winter as Summer and Summer as Fall. The seasons all come late, after all. And the days get shorter and the nights get longer and the air grows colder but our teeth get stronger. These are the months, this is the decade. This will be my year.
But as the seconds tick and the nines get closer, I wonder about the holes in the floor. Where will we go if it collapses? What does the center of the Earth hold for us? I don't buy all that heat. It's just friction, all the tension. The hand-wringing and the nerves. The butterflies. The awkward sidestep. The silence.
In my head, it all made sense. I would do what I wanted to do now, let the reflections continue digitally until the next time I had the opportunity. But my ego is large and I trip over it on the daily. And I confuse with my circles and expect and inspect and continue, move forward into a tangled mess of dubstep and electro and Tom Waits. Breath sweet like ecstasy and Ritalin framed by clouds and clouds of *** smoke. So uh, we need to get going now, right?
Carve me a square in that floor, carpet and curtain me up. Send me to the dance floor deep in the fog. Maybe that will quiet the butterflies.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
She danced with death.
At times they would wait on opposite sides of the room,
Stealing glances of each other around the other guests.
At others, they would stand so close
Their breath intermingled like the winds in the trees.
They held each other gently,
Both afraid to hold too hard
And have the other shatter into scattered fragments.
They would twirl and sidestep gracefully,
Making others yearn to watch
Yet afraid to do so, for doing so
Might upset the magical balance they’d set up.
And so the two dance on—
Waltzes, tangos, ballets,
Separating briefly to catch their breath
And to let the tension build from across the room.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
It's easy to forget,
To become lost.
To sidestep this wound,
To smile,
To subvert,
To walk away.
To reject the pain of being a man.
To choose my monstrous shadow,
A cocoon.
Pale and absent.
Without consequence.
Without emotion.
Without need.
To stride across burning bridges.
Impervious.
And
never
look
back.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
I'm Lost amongst the Lost
Surrounded by the dumbfounded
Asking for direction but no one knows the way
Trying to focus in an intoxicated state
Scrambling through the crowds
To find a way out instead of through
Drifting further and further away
from the truth
Growing aloof and resentful
Sticking with the stuck
At a standstill
I choose to stand still
STOP
And stare at these people all over the place
These all over the place people
Going 100 miles per hour
But heading nowhere fast
Close eyes
And realise that this way of life ain't for me
Trapped in a vat of social distraction
Too long stuck on repeat
Tired by the tedium
I harbour some eMotion
Sidestep the commotion
But unlike so many
I'm no Escapee...
**I just aim to Break Free
So I can get back to being Me**
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
HWilliams
Foot to sidewalk, cement to shoe
step to song beats or give beats to silence.
Step with feet tired from too much tread,
guess I'll walk on hands instead.
beat to song, gust to mast
sound of travel, its own song.
Foot to sidestep pitfalls or potholes,
skip steps get applause for pratfalls.
Step to pulse and make hearts skip beats.
Take bow, step outside, sidewalk to feet.
Door to frame
button to lock
ignition to key
motor noise, engine block.
Radio, radiator, radius, ulna
cylinders under hood
cylinders filled with soda
serpentine belt squeaks, fix it you should.
The car is no Chevelle,
but Chevelle's in my speakers
keep pace with traffic well
"learn to choose to breathe."
Stuck behind brake lights
as soon as headway is made.
Sigh as loud as music plays
click volume arrow upright.
Anger builds when traffic fills.
Stomp throttle or else you'll throttle someone.
Throw insults like a mime in summer,
lip service they might see in mirrors.
Can't point at points A or B
trace stress to line that traces in between
Between the 2 spaces where my car parks
mile markers, tail-gaiters, nail biters.
Foot to sidewalk, cement to shoe
step to song beats or give beats to silence.
Step with feet tired from too much tread,
guess I'll walk on hands instead.
Foot to sidestep pitfalls or potholes,
skip steps get applause for pratfalls.
Step to pulse and make hearts skip beats.
Take bow, step outside, sidewalk to feet.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 4:29 AM UTC