"sidetracked" poems
Are you aware,
did you know,
have you been told
you've got killer voice,
leaving me no choice
but preemptive action...
Let's ensure mutual destruction
of clothes;
my thoughts
made those illegal
in a secret meeting;
that security council
in my head...
while the heart was busy beating,
doing its own thing...
Captives in my cells
twisted and bled out
their escape plans...
Excuse me, got sidetracked,
what's your name again?
I'm twenty-three
but only if you switch the digits.
For a high-functioning whatever,
I must say I'm admirably sane
but you pull the wrong lever,
and the lyrics spill with the melody
breaking the levee.
So what do you do for a living?
That's adorable.
How are we still sitting
and talking here?
You thought I'd be taller;
I was expecting you'd run off screaming.
Let's drink to that, the small victories!
Time will tell what's next
if only we listen,
instead of reading more text,
unless we're OK with missing out.
God, my thoughts do talk loud!
When did your face get so near?
Lips go "clink", and eyes go "Cheers!"
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 10:19 AM UTC
O Krishna, Lord of Hindustan, I sorrowed by the lonely Jumna river bank, where Thy flute-notes thrilled the air and led the lost calves to their homes. O Lotus of Love, musing on the sad absence of Thy delusion-dispelling eyes, I saw Thine invisible Spirit take form, frozen by my devotion's frost.
Thy divine form of sky-blue rays, with feet of eternity, walked on the banks of my mind, planting lasting footprints of realization there. I am one of Thy lost calves which followed Thy flower-footprints on the shoals of time. Listening to the melody of Thy flute of wisdom, I am following the middle path of calm activity, by which Thou hast led many through the portals of the dark past into the light.
Since all of us are of Thy fold, whether moving, sidetracked, or held stationary by the fogs of disbelief, O Divine Christ-na, lead us back to Thy fold of everlasting freedom. O Krishna, Thou reignest on the heart-throne of each knower of Thy love.
From: Whispers from Eternity
A Book of Answered Prayers
1949 Edition
7.4k
consumed
sidetracked by cleanliness
you were
museum closes in half an hour
picture seat
picture seat
there you sat
subsumed
distract your mental mess
go there
sometimes the rain is just a shower
picture seat
picture seat
where you sat
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC
Oh dear sir, you are many things
But wholesome is not one of them
You are very incomplete and fragmented
But such parts are unseen by most eyes
And though you are unconsciously longing
For someone to fill such hollow holes,
You are sidetracked by societal expectations
That you'd resort to the boring entertainment
Of busy days and bland tasting wine
Oh dear sir, you are many things
And lonesome is one of them
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
*Time to hand the deck back
Before Alice in Wonderland
Becomes Malice in Blunderland
The looking glass cracks
And there's no passage back.*
Sat at Life's table
Night after Night goes aRound
And you're Unable to leave.
Coulda drawn the Ace
But got sidetracked by the Joker
With your Inability
to pass up possibility
And it Leaves you looking in the mirror
At this fool that you see
The fool that you are
As you fall so easily
For this game
Who's only aim
Is to breed
losers to please
Those who have already won
With ease
Been Established for centuries
And now you're indebted
to this Society.
It Leaves you
Staring At the innocent face
You strive to disgrace
Even though it hurts you
And The sincerity
aids in your
Despair at he
That puts Gold before Good
Though it makes sense
Alphabetically
He who wages happiness
On the back of money
Will eventually sight
Looking glass Or not
That the price is not right.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC
I need to pretend that I'm dying,
and I don't have much time left to live,
'cause if I don't do what I came here for,
I may miss this one chance that I have.
I've seen my friends go in a heartbeat,
their life's purpose still left undone.
Dear God, I don't want that to happen to me!
Help me to sing my own song.
Sometimes I can act like it's nothing,
pretending I never will die.
I want to believe that I'll live here forever--
Why do I insist on this lie?
I know that I've got to keep writing--
it's the gift that my heart longs to give,
and if I have spent my life writing
I won't care so much how long I'll live.
The way that I want to be feeling
when Death comes to take me away
is satisfied that I've finished my work,
that I've said all that I have to say.
I keep getting sidetracked by something--
when I look at it square in the eye
I see it's fear that I'm not good enough
to make a great poem of life.
You know that I want to write deeply
from the spirit of love here inside.
How can I sing when I bury my own
spirit behind fear and pride?
I know that great love and great writing
can flow from You through my heart--
I open it wide, please help me right now
To focus my life and my art.
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 11:51 PM UTC
You know how you know the moon's name, but it doesn't know yours?
feels like being sidetracked
How its light beams mildly to your eyes, but yours, just irrelevant
Cold breeze makes you shiver
but the night takes no effect from you
_It's nothing like your touch,_
You touch me like a cotton ball,
carelessly, effortlessly gives a sign of relief
A sigh of affirmation,
of how this spot is reserved for only me
and your hands are designed to remember every edge of my body
and how you say my name,
like its the only thing that matters
and how your gaze sends electric signals as you utter words, so gently.
I feel my knees melting
_No, I can't feel them anymore_
And I feel like I'm _floating_
The night, once against me, has become my fortress, our fortress.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
Grinding....
Leaving it silenced, drawn and quartered
Clawing for the scraps left over
Predicament I found myself in
Or, towards the end of it
Slipping from the edges
Forager focused on finding any way back home
Sidetracked by some apparition left crying
Alone, in the corner
Grinding...
Paused, with rain drops weighted, heavy sense in the air
I can feel my lips turning blue and
Twitching
It's more literal than I would dare dream in a waking nightmare
The smell of every molecule tantamount to another realm
Hangs motionless in the air
The stone transposed becomes a rooftop asylum, overlooking such uncouth misanthropic parcels, self absorbed in this grotesque imagery, a veritable wall of self hate puzzle pieces
Grinding...
Low, on an almost ominous note, still grows colder in my ears
Blowing on winds filled with the spite and righteous
Anti holy
Fully rupturing sound of far off laughter of the
New root
My lips still moving
No sound produced
And my mind
Grinding...
I still pray to god for you
Beset on all sides by the same wickedness
Still afflicted by myself
Argue for arguments sake
****** up on the uptake
I thought that you might want it
I guess I forgot all the subtle ways
The fires spring to life at night
Arguably the wrong choice is
Looking at him
I try not to
Catch that glimpse in his eye
Already my mind races
And my bones are shivering
At the thought alone
Brickwork backing
Still swells maggots
And filing paperwork
For entrapment habits
Grinding
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
You know it’s a cold world
with hearts even colder
So few heroes seen
Evildoers get bolder
No choice, but to step up
and prepare for the fight
Not many other men
will stand up for your rights
It’s time to think with your own mind,
to walk your own steps
Hold your head high, yes,
but, please, protect your own neck
There’s no need to stress
Just attempt to do your best
cleaning the world’s mess
Don’t forget to take a rest
It’s a lifetime achievement
A path you walk alone
There’s little time to settle
when there’s so much to roam
Don’t become sidetracked by attacks
or distracted by a side kick,
though it’s rare to find
a good friend or a nice chick
Still, remain focused,
stay true to the cause
Know how much time you lose
when you choose to pause
May your name become a legend
and strike fear into foes
May life become better
with everywhere that you go
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
DAG NAB IT!!
Different day, same ****
& here I am back at it
Such a love/hate kind of habit
Speeding up the pace, gotta go like the White Rabbit
Although, I'm not going to be late
I'm just TOO impatient for time & it's hard to wait
I'm sure some of you, at times, can relate
Like when you're ready a tad bit early for a date
Time seems to go so much slower, which I ******* hate!
Of courser I am well aware
This habit is the reason I've got extra time to spare
& that is when I do & redo & redo my hair
Which I do quite often, not doing it is actually what's rare
Just another fun little FYI fact I'd like to share
& yes I know, you probably don't really care
A list of 'to do's' are done with such a quickness
Cleaning is a breeze, it should always be like this
I guarantee you though, there will be something I miss
I get so sidetracked, that's what my problem is....
Days have no end & nights rapidly just begin
Enters is turned up, my blood is steadily pumping under my skin
Creativity is leaking & starting to overflow from within
WHOA SHOCKER! Another race with the sun & yet again I win!
I don't always have the greatest self discipline
DAMN....this habit is one hell of a bittersweet sin!!
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 6:42 AM UTC
during service
a slight girl
with a weight problem
somersaults
down
the church’s
main.
in choir, her boyfriend
longs
for a dart-gun
so he can stop
slicking
birds.
the school’s
second janitor
crushes a beetle
in the pages
of a hymnal but the beetle
survives.
it’s heard tell
that this
second
janitor
hit puberty
without ever
getting
an ********
because his blood
became sidetracked
by the smallness
of his fingers.
it occurs to me the only place
the janitor
can hold an egg
would need to resemble
a dark
weekday
church
and that
if god
gave beauty
the world he gave
fragility
my first
unborn
son
perfecting an attraction
to nothing.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
Blue for the chill,
It's blue,
That hill,
Off in the distance,
Past that window,
That hasn't been washed,
I'll do that,
I will.
But the hill,
It's blue,
Blue is for the chill,
In case you forgot,
I do that sometimes,
I can't remember my lines,
But it's ok,
Cause they did too,
So it's not just you,
But look,
Out the ***** window,
That I forgot to clean,
A minute ago,
Oh,
Right.
...
Now look,
Look!
Past the window you don't know is there,
Cause its so clean,
Out to the hill,
It's blue,
Just like you,
Blue is for the chill,
Blue is for you too.
I know why blue is yours,
Cause I know almost everything,
I knew what your favorite colour is,
I know your favorite song to sing,
I shouldn't give it away too soon,
But the colour is blue,
And the song Blue Moon,
I knew I shouldn't have said anything,
I gave it away too soon...
But that's why you need to look,
You need to see,
Just like me,
I see you have eyes,
I know that cause I can see,
Big surprise,
It's deductive reasoning,
I like your wide eyes,
Makes you look scared,
Maybe you won't be so combative,
Maybe you'll do better than the others faired...
No no,
Don't cry,
Please don't cry,
I,
I don't know what to do about tears,
I find them to be one of my bigger fears,
I fear them like you fear death,
I'm not sure how to make them stop,
Without stealing your breath...
That's better
I'm glad you stopped,
It's better than you smile,
Cause it's been quite awhile,
Since I've seen someone not so scared,
Perhaps you will do better,
Than the others faired...
Oh no,
I've gone and frightened you again,
I'm sorry,
I don't mean to,
I'm unsure what to do,
How about I show you something?
Here look,
See,
It's a ring,
Diamond and gold,
Will keep shining forever,
Till we're grey and old,
Isn't that something else?
It'll last longer than both you and I,
But that's no surprise,
Rocks have long lives,
We humans almost never survive...
But never mind that,
You got me all sidetracked,
Trickster you!
But look,
Beyond the window,
All the blue,
That is the hill,
Cause blue is for the chill,
And I know how you like the colour,
I like always how the world is still,
Never moving,
Not an inch,
Not a mile,
Not bit,
Not in quite awhile,
I've often wondered why not,
But then I forgot,
What I wondered about,
And then I scream,
And I shout,
And when I stop I find everyone's sleeping,
Not making a sound,
Not even breathing,
So I dig a big,
Big hole in the ground,
And in they go,
Without a sound.
But don't worry,
I won't forget a thing!
I won't ever forget the name of that song,
That song you love to sing!
It's called...
It's called...
It's called.....
...
....
...Hm,
Wake up sleepy head,
Wake up lazy bones!
Oh,
You're dead...
You never even got to see the hill,
That's passed the window,
It's blue,
Blue is for the chill,
All for you,
That hill,
Cause it's blue,
And I know you really like the colour,
Or liked I guess,
What a mess...
I'm sorry for this,
I really thought I'd miss,
Never hit anything with it before,
But I guess I did today,
I had hoped you could stay,
For a little while longer,
I knew that I could be just that little bit stronger,
But not today...
Jan 13, 2010
Jan 13, 2010 at 11:53 AM UTC
30 years of this and that
tea with cream and sugah please
the dress has changed
the color soft, the
panther walk returns
butchered biscuits sweet jam too
cautious crouch she roams the room
sitting perched a chatty chair
his cage lair fare
framing faces firelight
white glove distance dynamite
sippin heated cognac tea
they just gotta believe
speechless curtains cooling flames
she's easing into her humanity
dust drawn ellipsis sputter crack
his arm he almost reaches out
his meteorific muse starlight shade
conceptual covers commence
subtle surprise he's sittin sidetracked
his design devised, his
pipe dream purring panther
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC
Metal, glass, glitter,
all shimmer, so sparkly!
What was I doing?
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC
the caffeine is crucial
for this day-time creature,
the low-lit room an optional feature
for my attempted artistic-flair
paint brushes discarded on the floor
i took up drawing, graphite stained hands
and red eyes in the light of morning's sun
through the cracked window
of my old apartment-turned-studio
it was that morning i realized
the faces on paper would never
come to life
or serve a greater purpose than
good looks and candy-to-the-eye
it was that moment, i realized,
there was much more than re-creation
remixing and redoing
redundant copies of someone else's idea
and in that moment, when i realized,
talent is subjective and in the general eyes
of the artistic world, i was **** on the side
of the street where van gogh and picasso
strutted their dead-man's artistic *****
and now i know that there's got to be something
more than staying up all night drawing from a
photograph a classmate gave to my sight
and earning ten dollars for every hour spent
dragging pencils across leaf-thin skeletons of
plants that could have grown to serve better.
and now i know i was made for something more
than sitting on my **** cold bedroom floor
and replicating the eyes of a sixteen-year-old
spanish self portrait photographer.
in the western world, the people want me as
an artist making prints of their faces and loved ones
but for the rest? my hands are needed to build homes
for those who have not had the privilege of holding a
pencil or seeing their faces on a mere piece of paper.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 3:56 AM UTC
What happened to you?
You were as strong as a granite rock
full of cracks, sparkly corners
yet strong and dense
What happened to you?
your heart was the therapist for others
immune to unexpected skipped beats
What happened to you?
You had it all planned
the blueprint, the 3D module
even the prize at the end
What happened to you?
You never needed anyone
you never cared
What happened to you?
You loved how big your bed was
versus how empty it is now
What happened to you?
You embraced your determination
then suddenly got sidetracked
by a passerby
What happened to you?
You learned the art of seduction
and heartbreak and inflicted it
now what?
What happened to you?
is the feeling of being alone haunting you?
is age creeping up on you like a perverted
murderer
wanting to slice years off of your life
without you even noticing?
What’s going on?
is this what you want to do?
stand up, from that chair of yours
grab your bag, take a step towards the door
and look back
marvel at that empty chair
and praise your God that it won’t ****
the life
out of
you
Get
out
while you
Still
Can
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
Only yesterday that your glass blew
The flame was burning untouchable
The disk spinning fast, un-reversible
No home in a town so inhospitable
A world where questions are daft
Drafted to unravel an inbuilt psyche
I stand out in the jungle countryside
Strumming listening to “wild world”
Each rhythm a wavy walk on a path
Steps and strolls always sidetracked
The poppy field faded in sheen redness
When it turned cold and bled sourness
It was me who was left by the riverside
I sat by the bank and dreamed away
Then viewed my mirrored reflection
Melted in indecisions and intricacies
Extreme ongoing cognition appraisals
Silenced in the sound of the stillness
The flash of the grassed field called me
Embraced me as I paraded on the verge
A resolving embrace of a stab erased
I plead not to be understood or wanted
For these riffles are fixated on our heads
Bolted in our thoughts, wants and desires
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 9:30 AM UTC
scumbag:
activate your squirrel *****
please mom,
i get sidetracked from being sidetracked.
dolphin cheese,
you're on my mind.
**** these days man,
and off to work we go...
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 1:31 AM UTC
I write all the time.
There is nothing I would rather do, nothing I can see myself doing in the future, nothing that makes my fire burn like writing.
That being said, my writing has yet to reach the ears of those who would appreciate it. Pending my inevitable gain of transportation, I will embark on a euphoric journey to havens of people who revere this art to the level that I do.
Case and point: where I call home at the moment is full of phony faces. Everyone, with a few brilliant exceptions, is afraid for one reason or another to make their true feelings and selves known. It's not that these writers I seek do not exist; it's that they are hesitant to show their faces, for fear of ridicule?
Ridicule for what?
Succeeding in capturing fleeting moments, powerful emotions that others balk at? Confronting head-on the darkest parts of their own soul and being? Not being afraid of what will come out in their writing, so long as it is true?
There is no need for ridicule, of course.
Excuse me, I have become sidetracked.
Ah, yes.
The world and our community of Johns Creek will be immeasurably bettered when we come to the understanding that masks just won't cut it anymore.
The truth is what we need, and until this is what we get, there will be a number of horrible side-effects of our disguises.
War, Distrust, Confusion, Sadness, Apprehension.
In truth, they dissolve.
Whomever you referred to, Allie, thank them for me as well. You have great things ahead of, behind, and beside you. Never forget your potential or your accomplishments.
Nov 10, 2010
Nov 10, 2010 at 12:59 PM UTC
My therapist told me that
I should try remembering something good you did for me,
Instead of focusing on the bad
I told her nothing good ever came from what should have been good from you
She said that there must be something,
That I would think of it eventually
She suggested I make a list
Good on one side, bad on the other side
In my head, I think of how ironic that is
So here I am
At 5 in the morning
And I've been tossing and turning,
Racking my brain for your something good,
When all I can see when I close my eyes is yours,
And how alike yours are to mine
I write that down on the bad column
I’m staring at the bad,
Searching for your good
Coming up empty, not for the first time this week (the past 5 years)
I turn the page over, looking at the back bad column
Your bad filled up the front already
For a second, as I’m flipping back and forth,
Trying to make sure I didn't leave something out,
I wonder if I would make you proud
I’m temporary sidetracked by the fact that you would probably be proud
Of me,
Of the me I am now,
The one that sees a therapist
And sees your eyes when I try to sleep
Yeah, it’d probably make you jump for joy
To know that you've ****** someone else up for a change,
Instead of just getting ****** and not in the fun way
6 a.m. and I’m still thinking about that empty side
How the page isn't even and why that bothers me
I think to myself of revenge, ways that I could hurt you like you did me
I write that on the bad side too, even though it’s the bad side of me
Not just you
I’m wondering if I would have been writing this list,
Instead of sleeping, if you hadn't came into my life, my family
6:15 a.m. and I’m doodling in the margins
Drawing pretty flowers, watching them get droopier as I move down the margin
I start to remember the electric blue nail polish your mom gave me
When she came to pack your stuff and take you with her
That used to be my favorite nail polish
I add that to the good list
To this day, I never found that exact color
I add that to the bad
I’m sure I have a creepy smile on my face;
Taking into consideration, that the only good thing I can think of from you,
Wasn't even from you
As I get settled back into my bed,
I think of that day when the giant U-Haul stopped in our driveway,
Coming to get you for the very last time
I add that U- haul to the good list
When I feel myself finally drifting,
I finally think of an actual good thing you gave me;
The best thing you gave me,
I think of you getting in that U-Haul
And never coming back
I add that to the good side
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
why did he not bother to contact me
that is the big question which shall remain
from our conversations he did abstain
other matters were more pressing for he
his mind sidetracked to sweeter terrain
the grass was much greener at that place
it held sway o'er my unattractive space
a well lit spot made the seeing real plain
he employed an axe to chop the line
dead was the telegraph no more chit chat
pickings of delectable kind he'd pursue
mine were akin to a dull farmyard swine
one once was as blind as cave dwelling bat
but one now knows the color of his hue
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
When you get sidetracked by things that don't - and won't - matter, look around. Breathe. You already have all the love that you need. Remind yourself of what and who you want to be. Improve. Focus on yourself. Stop searching for love in people it will never be. Love will find you when it's ready.
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 1:02 PM UTC
This world of ours keeps spinning round
Faster than we know
Our days pass by before our eyes
Life so quickly goes
All the time we think we have
We have not at all
Just take a look at what you meant to do
Before distraction came to call
It is so easy to get sidetracked
Forget the purpose that you had
But this old world keeps spinning fast
Sometimes we get misled
This world is something we can't control
We can't stop it or slow it down
But we can always redirect ourselves
Our purpose can again be found
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 4:27 PM UTC
It's hard to write poetry
When I have no motivation to do so
I'm just looking for inspiration
Somewhere
Anywhere
But I can't find it in me
So maybe you could help me
If you would talk to me
'Cause right now
I'm having a one sided conversation
And it's not going well
Because my words to me
Demotivate me
So would you please join this conversation
With me
Maybe I could be happy
But I've gotten sidetracked
With envy
And displease
Sometimes looking for the words to describe me
Sometimes trying to find me
Using sad music and poetry
Staring at the mirror
Long enough to find every flaw that bugs me
Getting in to arguments just to see if I can win
Then the begging comes in
'Cause I still want them to be my friend
I'm sorry but it hurt me
Every conversation you cut me off in
But don't worry I'm used to it
That happens to me with friend or not friend
But I know you care about me
You do right?
Did these words come out right?
Did it somehow turn into an apology?
Because I am sorry
But for what?
Maybe for always being wrong
Because someone once said that I always am
I'm wrong
It's true that I am
So here's the poem I tried so hard to write
And I sincerely apologize for it
Because these words might eat you
Like they ate at me
Gripping unto something
Maybe the guilt inside me
And as it comes flowing out it's making me shaky
Hitting my nerves
On the way to escape me
Because even it wishes to leave me
So I'll beg once more
Please will you save me
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 3:45 AM UTC