"soberly" poems
This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility
Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place.
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky ----
Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection
At the end, they soberly **** out their names.
The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness ----
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.
I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
Blue and mystical over the face of the stars
Inside the church, the saints will all be blue,
Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness -- blackness and silence
36.3k
1118
Exhilaration is the Breeze
That lifts us from the Ground
And leaves us in another place
Whose statement is not found—
Returns us not, but after time
We soberly descend
A little newer for the term
Upon Enchanted Ground—
7.4k
My New Year’s Eve
was spent
collecting fragmented recollections
to confirm
that my dignity
had truly died.
Soberly,
I perused
the bars and clubs,
and walked aimlessly
up and down crowded streets,
feeling like my life
had somehow
been shifted
into slow motion,
while the rest of the world,
engaging in joyous celebration
and ffestivities,
was knocked out of rhythm
from my existence.
How in the world
could the clock strike midnight?
How could people embrace, and kiss
at the dropping of the ball?
How could they laugh and smiile,
and wish each other a “Happy New Year!”?
More importantly,
how could those god **** traffic lights
have the audacity
to continue changing
from red to ggreen to yellow,
then back to red again.
My dignity had just died.
My dignity had just died.
My dignity was dead.
My dignity was gone.
In the days and weeks
that followed the death of my dignity,
I noticed
that life faded
from colloquial to iconic,
like something mystical,
or an intangible object
of deep longing.
And recurrent images
of those *******
obnoxious traffic lights
insensitively
switching colors
replay in my mind
to remind me
over and over
in the greens (go),
the reds (stop),
and the yellows (be careful),
that my dignity
had died.
Memories
of the ddays
before my dignity had died
run through my mind
like old home movies
with centuries
of black and white film
stuck on repeat,
and slowly fraying,
around the edges,
because of the harsh demands of time.
It is life’s
harsh and cruel irony
that these images,
once my greatest joy,
have now become
inflicters
of the greatest pain
that I
have ever felt.
Like a sound wave
of pain,
so powerful,
that it has silenced
any other pain
that my heart
has ever heard.
So now I know,
it is true
life is a bitch.
The fading
of my dignity
has made me
overly aware
of the earth
turning on its axis.
As spring approached,
for the very first time,
I noticed
the way the flowers
seem reluctant
to bloom,
as if uncertain
of their
welcome invitation.
Such a cruel reality,
that the flowers
would choose
to bloom,
and nature
would choose
to carry on,
slipping
further and further
away from the day
that my dignity died.
And still,
to this day,
those ****
traffic lights
keep switching colors
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 8:32 AM UTC
Choruses of songbirds lift my eyelids
for the fourth time since five.
The harmonies tenderly resonate in my ears
Singing me to life
Purity where I house guilt,
the songbirds spout glorious praise,
Honestly awake when I lie still
it is no wonder I hide from the light.
With a beautiful song, he bobs through the light
that he wears on his wings
Unafraid to be heard and no reason to fear
for he is not broken, for he has not sinned.
The songbirds sing me to wake
And I soberly stare at the shadows of trees
where they perch so fleetingly,
and I long to sing in the innocence of morning.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
It's such the contradiction
the way you make me feel
like the earth has drunk
the whiskey,
the sun's sober spill.
Tilted on my axis,
weaker in my knees
I don't exactly grasp
the spell you put on me.
You sedate me oh so smoothly,
like ***** in a glass,
My morning mug of coffee,
you keep me clear, fast.
like clockwork, your lips find mine,
and my heart is in your hand
sober and intoxicated
just like you had planned
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
I don't think anything
I don't speak or write
Never mention the silence
that this void leaves behind
and no one sees that
behind my eyes
because deception is brutal
though some people aren't killed
never even fooled
(such a pity)
**** them all**
I stare at you all my circle of friends that I-
(*or **** yourself*)
and feel nothing for these blurs of people
They look familiar.
Thank god for the idiots that-
no hand prints by passing strangers
the Russian palm on the back of my neck
Eugine, Nikita,
big boys, big big big big big big
with big ***** and strong hands and broad shoulders
(look away)
god bless the ********** that buy you gin and there's this miracle
in the form of something lyrical
runs like water tastes like liquor I
love
the lyrical melody of being so ******
off your ****
face, *** whatever you wanna call it-
drunk.
I'm soberly contemplating switching the feelings off
Oh how it works
nothing but irises and going back home and kittens you don't bother to save-from
the streets
they all die anyway.
its a grown up kind of feeling
(silly)
Laughter doesn't ring the same way
you bash skulls against the wall
On Leo's drum kit and you swear his eyes are a deeper purple than the shade
of your hurt
you don't care
cant find it in you to care
we are the same you see we dispose of those we need nothing of
so its okay I guess
I can judge you anyway though
nothing nothing nothing
no feeling
"the contours of your face as mysterious as the scars that lined your hands"
left a place back there as cold as daddy's coffin
they don't tell you that sometimes
you hold onto a little bit of childhood, like laughing at
people falling on their *****
now protect us against that kind of crass humour
Ill pretend to care
-but you'll see that I really don't
the restless way my knee jumps like
your heartbeat and eyes that swim over walls and
faces
like a ski slope
left too many bruises
were all going down
and I just don't care any-more.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 1:51 PM UTC
Stars of tragedy.
Stories of their untimely demise
Told soberly in newsprint.
Stretching from Africa to Mexico,
Victims of natural disasters, crime,
And of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
What was here is lost.
What was warm is forever gone.
These envelopes that remain can be stamped with anyone’s address.
In the end, it’s all the same
Dust
That settles in the melting ***
Empty shells littering beaches,
Dried-out husks,
Vacant houses.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 7:33 PM UTC
"It's ****** depressing, when you think about it."
I looked up from my cigarette, which I had been admiring soberly in the dark moonlight.
"When you think about what?"
"When the person you're talking to is more interested in their stinkin' cigarette than your "spilling of the heart.""
"I apologize, sincerely. How may I make it up to you?"
My partner sighed.
"I don't know Nolan, tell me one of your horrible stories that always make me feel better."
I thought for a few minutes before I stumbled upon an ill fated November morning in my thoughts.
"Well Tyler, this one time I was fishing with my dad and his friend, Todd, on Todd's boat. We were out on this God **** chilling lake at 6 in the morning and I had fallen asleep. Todd's boat was small and only had two seats, the driver and the passenger. So, being the youngest on the boat I had to sit on an ice chest by the motor. It reeked of oil and nasty stuff yet I somehow managed to fall asleep. When I woke up, my dad was yelling, telling me to stay awake. I figured, seeing how I was on a boat, I might as well fish. I picked up a pole and cast it out of the end of the boat. On my first ill fated cast I got tangled with Todd's line. So, we reeled in and untangled them. On the next cast the same thing happened, only I dangled with my dad's line. They told me it might be better if I stopped casting out so I returned to my ice chest throne and almost instantly fell asleep. I woke up to my dad yelling at me again. We were at shore and they were telling me to get off and sit on shore until they were done. So, I went on shore and fell asleep almost, again, instantly. I woke up via my own devices and I started throwing rocks into the water, trying to make them skip. I watched my dad and Todd fish from their tiny little boat. They were right out in the middle and a leak had sprung. They started coming back to shore but, as if on quee, the motor died. Long story short, the boat sunk. My dad and Todd were fine. Todd wasn't even that made because his boat was a God **** floating stick, basically. I just find it funny that my ableness to fall asleep and my patrons impatience caused me to be warm and dry while they ended up wet and pissy."
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 1:01 AM UTC
He said:
“In the dark night of my soul
I stayed with my darkness.
When a pain struck voice
Came to me, I did not chase
My demons away.
Thinking of all, the suffering I’ve endured
I walked through the street of my past
Solemnly, soberly,
Witnessing all my experiences again.
Before me, light reflected on the pavement –
Iridescent fragments joined to form
Pictures below my feet.
Stories from my childhood played
Like a movie on the ground,
I’m the star of my own show,
I’m powering through each scene
With such verocity I leave nothing
But ruins in my wake.
I reach to pick up the fragments
Of the life of a girl unhinged -
To think my own mind had led me to this.
I wipe the tears from my eyes,
Then, I pass on.
In the dark night of my soul
I stay with my darkness,
For it has so much to teach me
And I learn, so little, if I flee.
© Sia Jane
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
if the curves of my stomach offend
you
i suggest you get the
**** off
of
me
but when this rage comes you speak
so
sof
t
ly
and wonder why i look at you
like you burned
me but
you don't understand how predecessors of your gender have treated me.
kind words have never been spoken to me
soberly or
without weight behind them
like bartering in a dark corner bed while everyone else sleeps
where i stop being a woman, an entity, and become an unfeeling orifice whose name has suddenly become
baby
because a few kinds words were mumbled against the shell
of my ear
you don't understand
how hands have grabbed me in the dark
and how my own hands have grabbed
only out of desperation
to feel something
you don't understand how hard it is for you to touch me and
for me not to feel lightening hot repulsion
as i lay drunk, ready to sleep.
you don't understand how when people touch my hair
all i can feel are hands curling against my scalp
and the way cold-shaking hands curled around my dress
and the way fear has been etched into the lines of my brain like a map of the city i know so well
like that alley i can't walk down alone at night
or that part of lexington where men shout at me hungrily
or the way stranger's hands sometimes 'slip'
you will never understand the weight of my insecurity because no amount of sweetness you can pour onto me can replace the venom fed to me by the men before you
no matter how 'enough' i may be with you
you will never understand how 'enough' isn't tangible
how beautiful doesn't really feel like a compliment
and how much
i doubt you actually love me
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
How can it be that
a melody can make you feel like you belong
and not, all at once?
I find myself in a composed dissolution
The world can stop, and the ground below me will give way to
the sudden awareness of a sensation
that is similar to being lost in your own room.
Suddenly, this "place" seems very raw
Things inside you open up and makes distinguishable
where you are
where you've been
and where you've yet to be.
And
Sometimes people are like that.
Your eyes are where I am
Our fights are where I have been, time and time again
and finding peace with those two rifts is where I have yet to be.
Glaciers could snap and crash with volleys of icy hell fire
Soberly frozen earth could nick my cheeks and arms
and my cold skin could remain as tout as a tuned string instrument
ready to produce sound
But,
turning inside myself, searching for a bridge to this rift produces a silence so deafening
I can hear the humming of stars
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 3:32 AM UTC
The itch that demands,
the strong impulse which shall never end.
This battle is a constant one,
this I formulate from within.
You tore up my family,
you tore up my heart.
You destroyed the one I love most,
& you've made her want to depart.
Depart from vibrancy,
the will to live soberly.
You destructed her far past a breaking point,
& now she's a reflection of brutality.
Separated from the one who raised me;
I perceived you as so strong.
You made numerous examples of heroism,
before you let yourself fall apart.
Now your but a frail,
a withered example.
Of the one you used to be,
your present image I'm unable to handle.
Handle the transformation,
that time has made apparent.
Now I'm forced to raise you,
because your brain has deteriorated.
The pain drains my energy,
the devil steals from my soul.
I know this demand all to well,
I've had this feeling since a boy.
Now here I stand,
& I'll attempt to stay strong.
For what you've done to my family,
I'll remember until my days fail to start.
Tears come and go,
but the pain remains constant.
The child-view of life left us long ago;
after this read, its apparent.
Now here we stand,
torn apart from what we had.
You reach out to me and I grit my teeth,
attempting to forget that I'm sad.
I hope I'll able to forgive,
your selfish quest for departure.
Right now its so hard to apprehend,
& the effects feel like deep acupuncture.
The one you married can't see past,
past your current image of decadence.
The combined hatred creates your impulse to disaster,
& your destructive cycle is boundless.
You meant everything to me,
and this has not changed.
However my view of you is in shame,
and alcohol is to blame.
What you've done I can't apprehend,
and I hate myself for the same impulse.
I wonder if one day I'll give up,
because my efforts never penetrated your mental.
Days turn to months, months into years.
Your time is limited here,
from the effects of all the shears.
Your shears are permanent,
Your liver is due to fail.
However every-time you hear this,
you never seem to care.
Back to the cycle,
of your every day misery.
The alcohol has driven everyone away,
And yes mom, this is scrutiny.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 10:09 AM UTC
She’d been depressed at seeing how her parents had aged in just a couple of years. She hadn’t really contemplated time much before, it had seemed an endless resource.
Seeing her lying listlessly in bed, he asked “Are you ok?”
“I’m getting old,” she admitted, closing her eyes to conserve energy.
“You’re turning 20,” he stated dryly, somewhere in the darkness.
“Still,” she said, “You should know that I’ll start wrinkling, any day now, like a deflating balloon.”
“Yeah, I was afraid of that.” He said. She opened her eyes and looked at him soberly.
“You’re almost 27, are you getting crows feet?” He flinched away from her outstretching hand.
“No,” He responded confidently, but he checked his reflection in her dorm room mirror.
“Soon, your libido will flag,” she informed him solemnly, taking his hand for comfort.
He slipped off the bed and gently closed the bedroom door with a casual swipe of his hand.
“You should start eating fiber,” she gasped, “and retirement planning!”
“I’ve got a few good months left..” he said, as he came back to the bed and started unbuttoning the top of her yellow dress, “I might need someone, in the medical field, to keep an eye on me.”
“I could do that,” she smiled, as his button work progressed, “I do need more clinical hours.”
Aug 22, 2023
Aug 22, 2023 at 7:51 AM UTC
Secrets can be silent.
But most often they are whispered
Surrounded by cup-shaped palms
Transported from trembling mouth
To eager ears
Sometimes they are muttered
Throughout staggering sleep
Unbeknownst to the speaker,
Sounded out by partly incoherent coos
And deciphered by insomniacs
Sometimes they are slurred
by drunken tongues and spilled
Like a pint across the bar.
The glass shatters on the floor.
Left dangerously displayed
Until swept up and forgotten in the morning
Sometimes they are written
Soberly on a stark page
The ink courses through your veins
The pen carves the way
And you’re here.
©
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 9:39 AM UTC
the atom waits, patiently
he knows no haste
has no grand plan
but when it comes to waste
he is THE proverbial man
we claim to know
his magic and his math
though when watching his show
he often takes a capricious path
dividing and multiplying
when only asked to add
grounding us when flying
replacing haughtily happy with soberly sad
we no longer hide under desks in schools***
or worry about bombs being dropped apocalyptically
but we would be even bigger fools
if we expected him to behave any less cryptically
we are still on the beach
staring at the place from whence we all came
anguished that Eden is not within reach
but can the tiny atom shoulder all the blame?
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 11:00 PM UTC
'It goes on'
wrote Frost...
to understand
suffering soberly.
To breathe beauty
in an abhorrance
of decay.
To sigh bliss
on realities
own terms.
This is to know.
--shoo.shu
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 7:03 AM UTC
Yesterday;
Voices booming.
Laughter filling the space.
The Aroma.
Food on the table,
Yet sweet perfume overpowering.
Us;
Up in my room,
soberly singing,
blasting music.
The Night;
went by to a tee,
but too quickly.
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 4:18 AM UTC
You were the words I couldn't say.
the words i still can't seem to manage,
and you knew them,
you could whisper them to me like pillow talk secrets,
pressed together tight between sighing information
but you are only one part of me,
the right atrium when what I really needed was the left.
you get me but your not what I need.
and i begin to resent that the notion,
that you'd say you were my best,
but your not,
you won't be,
you aren't.
Its not even vanity if I were to say that,
soberly,
The best of you is me.
time would tell you what others do not,
intentionality would broadcast the truth in the lies,
I don't expect roses,
in scripted jewelry,
just for you to think and intentionally remember me.
an aorta to your heart,
an elixir to allow you to breathe,
remember me.
when you reach for the next long legged cigarette,
with the the tattooed sleeve wrapped round his neck,
Remember me.
Because I do not forget you.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
I once wrote a poem about how I needed
To stop drinking again...
And the funny story is I'm not done drowning
Myself with top shelf liquor.
I know the pain is still there and the memories
Flood back with each sip I take
And yet it's easier being alone when you're
**** faced drunk.
It's sad that I can't think straight anymore
When I'm sober as a rock...
But the minute I hit the bottle all the
Thoughts I couldn't say before
Let loose.
I have to stop drinking again, yeah I know I've said
It a million times....
But if rather be drunk and happy for 20 minutes
Than sober and alone
Forever.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
Feet barely lifting, yet pounding the trail
He runs like the park’s percussion,
A metronome moving toward me.
He doesn’t run fast.
His neon wind suit propels him.
Laboured breathing
And a heavy stomach, a weight to carry
Slow him down.
Old running shoes
Reminiscent of an athletic past
Wispy grey strands—just a handful of hair--
Soberly recount a life led
Day by day
As he and I cross paths
I always take a breath
Wishing on sleeping wishing stars
He’ll make it home.
Less like a gazelle with each passing day,
He is not a friend,
But a friendly stranger.
My running companion
If only for a moment.
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 3:38 PM UTC
Those **** blue eyes
will forever be my demise
The way they resemble the sky
being reflected off the universe
in all of its infinite beauty
effortlessly finding its way
inside the iris of your eyes
No longer am I soberly sane,
for my heart is drunk on the idea
that your existence is all it needs
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
Gazing into your world
I see the sunrise in your
lovely & ornate blue eyes
As the power of the moon
controls tides, you pull me
deeply within your soul
Our connections forever
remain R A P T U R E D
in a compelling enigma
Unexplainable like and
X-File episode, yet our
attractions are seamless
U blanketed in my arms
reveals a confidence and
soberly tempered peace.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 5:01 AM UTC
Am scary because of scratches
Scratches I got when I dived for her
Her hands were so loose to hold me
Me being the culprit and vulnerable
Vulnerable enough to carryon
I keep seeing and searching
Searching in and out for the best catch
A catch to last with soberly
Sober enough to let go of the past
The past long gone with failure
Failure that takes away happiness
Happiness that I seek in Love
Love that has no house or place
A place I trace and have never found
Found when a heart gets a belonging
A belonging that washes off sorrow
Sorrow that is indiscriminate
Indiscriminate in ideas or acts
Acts that portray little or much
Much of the inside than the out
Out of admiration to desire
Desire so everlasting
Everlasting with memories of love.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC