"spaced" poems
some nights you will feel
like there are a thousand galaxies
exploding in every inch of you
and you are burning too bright
to ever be looked at directly,
and some nights you will feel
impossibly small, like your
whole body could slip through
the spaced between atoms and
never reappear in this world again,
and some nights you will feel
like a paper doll, carefully crafted
and easily blown away, fragile,
too delicate to ever be touched,
and some nights you will feel
like each cell in your body is
made of the strength that holds
the whole planet together,
and that is okay because you are
made of stardust and miniscule
atoms and breakable bones
and the building blocks of
everything in the universe,
and you are too alive to never
feel anything more than human
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
What's it take
These days
To write a poem
That makes the world go mad
That brings the crowds to their feet
That spreads like wildfire
Through a dry winter forest
Is it those excessively long words?
The ostentatiously loquacious
Platitudinous ramblings
Of an insecure mind aspiring
To authentic intellect?
Is it perhaps...
the "creativity"
of varied spacing
or... could it be..... the lack
of capitalization
the loathsome little letters
screaming out
hey, look at us!
... or maybe it's
the punctuation marks,
littered, haphazardly
through the text
(whether used correctly)
or, theyre not?!
despite worrds mispeled
and a grammar might is broken
can these gimmicks increase interest
though miswritten or misspoken?
Is the trick alliteration
Whose bite brightly bids us
To center on the snappy sounds?
Although all along
unvoiced underneath
Ideas idle in the isles
(or perhaps the aisles)
Of the mind
To meld and craft and bind
Our thorough thoughts
And worthy words
Into lines
Which
Heard by herds
Raise the
Praise for which we
Privately, desperately
Pray
Maybe it's a magical mix
Of splendid in-your-head rhythm
Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks
Flowing smoothly without schism
Well-spaced stanzas
Well-used time
Well-crafted phrases
Well-thought-out rhymes
Well, maybe not...
those gems are often ignored
cast-aside, unread, even abhorred
Why?
Because the modern world
doesn't need your rules
your restrictions
your regulations
your misguided boundaries
your oppression
your antiquated ideas
of "the right way"
to write
to speak
to act
to live
to (fill in the blank)
No, what the modern world needs
is
Negation!
Contradiction!
Resistance!
Revolt!
And poetry whose words
Say the same thing
Repeat the same meaning
Echo the same lyrics
Rephrase the same thoughts
But in an ever-so-slightly
Different
Varied
Altered
Adjusted
Changed up way
Line
After line
Of synonyms
over
and
over
and
over
again
-----
What's it take
These days
To not give in
To narcissism's spiral?
But more importantly:
What's it take
To make my poem go viral?
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
I battle my identity,
As people try to label me,
My mum tries to show me the right path,
But is this really destiny?
9-5,
Zero hours,
Holiday and sick pay impossible to claim,
Expected to work for 20 hours a day,
Minimum wage,
This society makes me insane,
On the weekends I can I run away to raves,
Take what ever I can to create waves,
Not like the sea, like to much Dizzle,
Party all night society says that's crazy,
But whats crazy is the war on drugs,
Some users just victims,
Can't get enough.
Instead of giving criminal records,
Affirming our behaviour,
Turning us riot, ruckus,
snapping wires,
How about a little support?
After all how bad must life be,
That children as young as 13 turn to drugs to escape?
It's medical,
Some say medicinal,
But when your mums crying,
Her heart dying,
Because her baby boys been lying?
No one wants police at the door,
But it was gunna be the last night you swore.
A new batch, strong stuff, you didn't believe
And now your six foot under
Rotting, deceased.
But maybe this could change?
If the right support was in place,
For all those getting spaced,
People will always seek a fix,
So why not monitor, control and safe proof it.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
He looked at his object with an eye.
So, he came closer to clarify.
An angle that will compliment for each element.
A product that can make a statement.
He chose the bright colors to incorporate.
Because her smile suited a great light.
He focused the subject, and suddenly it was fading.
She was started running.
Running, from the picture perfect life that he created.
She was a medium of unrealistic bliss.
And found herself out of nowhere.
People envied her but they didn’t know the truth.
She was missing the unfiltered life.
She spaced out, and her heart was bruised.
He was definitely imaginative.
And fooled by unreachable perspective.
He looked at his object with an eye.
Thinking, with her was a root of a great life.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
The stars dotted across the dark blue sky remind me of the multitude of my scars.
All spaced out but all connecting to form constellations.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 4:17 PM UTC
nothing like going back
to the golden days
when getting up 20 minutes earlier
was a fun thing
to put on a bit of mascara
and lipgloss;
the blush was natural.
now 20 minutes of sleep
seems like a treasure,
worth everything
and never to be given up.
back when laughter was sunflower yellow,
music was neon blue,
and friends were a sweet purple,
their smiles like lavender
addicting and easy to find.
nothing like going back
to the golden days
when choosing the font for a paper
was an hour long experience;
the funnest part of writing anything.
now no writing matters
to anyone
unless it's 12pt font,
Times New Roman,
double spaced,
and with a heading in the top left corner.
back when school was light,
homework was a breeze,
and the only thunderstorms
were those that involved
coffee shops, window seats,
and copious amounts of hot chocolate.
nothing like going back
to the golden days
filled with warmth
and honey
and a whole lot of butterflies.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 9:04 PM UTC
The sun was so close to
the fingertips of the earth mother
while the rose bloomed so bright
the first morning the sun rose on the earth.
The sun spaced up high up to the blue sky
so the colour of the rose may not wither.
The mother Fathima smiled even brighter
upon the rose, the sun draws back every sunrise
is ever closer till to date a colour never withers!
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 1:10 AM UTC
somehow all neighborhood tribes & tribe lords love you.
somehow you beat my score on the nickelcade spaced invaders.
we leap fences
in escape of party befouled
cops. crusaders
of mustache & veiny hate.
you rip your jeans
& lose your artifacts in the creek. into
convenience store warm lights
& makeout mixtapes.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
I have hairy legs.
The dishwasher is broken.
I have been reading books.
I have been solving stupid math equations
I have to wash the food crusted dishes.
I’m writing a novella
I’m also researching sodium chloride
My novella is only six pages single-spaced so far.
Comment vous appelez-vous?
Why doesn’t anyone participate
In the
Wash Your Own **** Dishes Program?
I’m studying French.
-b +/- Square root of b2 – 4 (a)(b) over 2(a)
Anyways.
I have been teaching myself
How to play my
Black
Stretchy
Accordion.
[I don’t know why,
But it’s stretchy
Like mozzarella cheese]
I have to help my sister-in-law move
Into my house.
Into the basement.
Heh heh heh.
Daiya non-dairy cheese:
“Melts and stretches!”
Now I have to scrape the
Black tar gunk
Off the plates, because
Mother told me to do so.
Oh, the odium of sodium!
There is
No more time
For me
To shave
My legs.
Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 7:15 PM UTC
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
You need to pay a sin tax
for the way you talk smack,
calling me your property
your syntax is making me
over. the. hill.
I’m heels over head with
you
making me crazy
the way that you speak
your diction’s too weak.
“you’re so nice”
how boring, I choose more
elegant words
to describe your glory
I could write
a five-page double-spaced
essay about you
and get accepted to your ivy league
I could wrap my
arms around you
like ivy on stone
hang you up to dry
on the
clothesline
til you answer the
telephone
I could cling to
you
like static
on your sweater
you better
not
flick.me.off.
Hell, my poetry ain’t free
it’s about as free as
slaves
I have confines, rules
bats in caves
It costs me thoughts
and time
and frustration
costs me more than just greenbacks
and a vacaction.
you need to pay up
talk isn’t cheap
your words cost you
attention
even if
my love don’t cost a thing
I train you like a golden
retriever
you retrieve my orders
like a wide receiver
my language is figurative
but your actions are derivative
you’re confusing me
like
trigonometry
love triangles are not my thing.
our
l θve i ∫ a sin(x)
cos we go off on
tangents and don’t know where to
begin
first we’re infatuated
then we’re done
next we’re inebriated
then we have some fun
happens so fast
then we come together at last
This rollercoaster of emotion
has me puking again
I’m trying to calculate this algorithm
in my head.
its so complicated
I’ll need something else instead.
in this kaleidoscope
I see
many sides
of you and me
I spin it round to try to understand
all I see is a blur of colors
even when I hold your hand.
I wish I could see
the thoughts you hide
from me
I want to understand
you’re radioactive
your face is glowing
even in pitch black
your smile is showing
but, I never get to see
your eyes
make me crazy
hazy
they trip me up
and pull me down
periodically, you’re in your element
and everything clicks
then we stick and the chemistry’s quick
but then you open your mouth
garbage spurts out
I think it’s about time
I take you out
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 2:06 PM UTC
Gaping valleys,
Asylum-colored.
Spaced enough to
Let daytime prevail
And to let horrors imagine themselves
In the black lung membrane
Of 3 a.m.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC
This morning I dreamed I followed
Widely spaced bells, ringing in the wind,
And climbed through mists to rosy clouds.
I realized my destined affinity
With An Ch'i-sheng the ancient sage.
I met unexpectedly O Lu-hua
The heavenly maiden.
Together we saw lotus roots as big as boats.
Together we ate jujubes as huge as melons.
We were the guests of those on swaying lotus seats.
They spoke in splendid language,
Full of subtle meanings.
The argued with sharp words over paradoxes.
We drank tea brewed on living fire.
Although this might not help the Emperor to govern,
It is endless happiness.
The life of men could be like this.
Why did I have to return to my former home,
Wake up, dress, sit in meditation.
Cover my ears to shut out the disgusting racket.
My heart knows I can never see my dream come true.
At least I can remember
That world and sigh.
2.1k
they hit you everywhere,
bruises, slow faders,
pretty much all over,
spaced out, body and time
some, they come back,
months, years later,
enticing, devising,
with revelations perfect,
you melt with helpfulness
some claim they are born
with only questions and an
insatiable quest for knowing,
but line in the soil tween rows
is there for you not to cross
some proffer their pain,
asking for ablution and absolution,
from demons they wish to share,
but refusing the smoke of my offering,
that could cleanse both our inhalations
like highway men of yore,
they hit everyone, below the belt,
stave breaking into the heart,
slow bleeding, with answers
received in absentia and silence
until the till needs refilling, and they
renewed, reappear, reformed, with
perfect words, even better questions:
my portfolio of replies mostly go/grow
old, noting the obvious, we are socially
distance by age and geography and
degree, I free and clear to provide while
they just free to hit and run, one more time
Aug 6, 2020
Aug 6, 2020 at 9:11 PM UTC
This wild night, gathering the washing as if it were flowers
animal vines twisting over the line and
slapping my face lightly, soundless merriment
in the gesticulations of shirtsleeves,
I recall out of my joy a night of misery
walking in the dark and the wind over broken earth,
halfmade foundations and unfinished
drainage trenches and the spaced-out
circles of glaring light
marking streets that were to be
walking with you but so far from you,
and now alone in October's
first decision towards winter, so close to you--
my arms full of playful rebellious linen, a freighter
going down-river two blocks away, outward bound,
the green wolf-eyes of the Harborside Terminal
glittering on the Jersey shore,
and a train somewhere under ground bringing you towards me
to our new living-place from which we can see
a river and its traffic (the Hudson and the
hidden river, who can say which it is we see, we see
something of both. Or who can say
the crippled broom-vendor yesterday, who passed
just as we needed a new broom, was not
one of the Hidden Ones?)
Crates of fruit are unloading
across the street on the cobbles,
and a brazier flaring
to warm the men and burn trash. He wished us
luck when we bought the broom. But not luck
brought us here. By design
clean air and cold wind polish
the river lights, by design
we are to live now in a new place.
2.1k
How Brave you must be~the squaw exclaimed to the Chief. " Why, I am more than a Brave", the Chieftain quipped.! " Just look at my feathers and the scalps hanging by my side, do they not tell of My many Deeds ? Her reply was a simple ,, "YES, I can see how you have adorned yourself ! " He retorted ~ " And you certainly can't miss all the colors by which I have claimed MY-STATUS ! " The Squaw responded~ "YES, the HUES on you, certainly tell me who and what you are, now that I look closely ! " And he added~ "Look at the careful way in which I have displayed my Collection of SCALPS, Spaced ever so carefully around my waistband ! She questioned further, "Have you ,Oh Mighty Chief, Properly named each of the Scalps , SO YOU won't forget from whence they came ? ? "OH, My Goodness, YES, he answered. "I wouldn't ever want to forget where they came from, SO~I admire each and Call each of them, By Name~ Everyday. "SURELY" She continued, "YOU are much more than any other Chief, and by the way , DO you use Windex or Glass-Plus to clean your mirrors ? ? " HE exclaimed, "I, really don't know what cleaning agent my servant uses, to clean my many mirrors ! BUT, they certainly do shine, when I look into them ! The SQUAW queried~ " BUT what about your shoes, moccasins , if you would, WHAT~~ is that Green-Gooey Stuff all over them ? ? HE-Commented~ " I guess that when I take my mighty steps, toes and feet, IN THE WAY, Fall under the Prances that I make ! ! ? " Then,She asked~ "Do you do your War'Dances often, or just as you are called on, by your mighty warriors ? " AND,,this Brave-Chieftain PROCLAIMED~ "WHY, I"ll have you Know, I do all of these Prances and Dances ~BY MY OWN CHOICE, NO-ONE tells me when or what to do. Except my visits with the Prince of the Air !" The Squaw thanked him~turned~then turned back~Asking " Measured by~ Scalps~Prances and Dances ? ?
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 8:11 AM UTC
Maybe it was weird that I didn’t move my hand
When it rested against yours
Or that I didn’t move my leg when our knees touched
Or that when we slept facing opposite directions
So we could share the same pillow
I pretended to be asleep when my lips touched your forehead
Just so we could be close a minute longer
I know I cry in my sleep
But you don’t have the same dreams I do
And you don’t have that awkward belief
That all people fit like puzzles if you press hard enough
What the hell do you think hugs are?
Or holding hands is?
I know I can’t accidentally fall into you
And sure
maybe it’s weird that I rub my socks into the carpet
With the sole purpose of shocking you
But how else do you make sparks fly?
I know that my life’s story is an open book I tell so well
My pages are shameless
And my words are honest
And yeah
I know I stare at your mouth when you speak
It’s just that
Eye contact freaks me out
And I’m sorry I spaced out while you were talking
It’s just that I was staring at your lips
And I suddenly wanted to kiss you
I know I have no filter
And am practiced in the art of bad timing
And poor explanations
But we’re only human
We only want simple things
Like to be needed by other humans
Go ahead
Need me like a parasite
I’ve already got so much excess baggage
The weight of your monkey on my back
Might as well be an anchor
Keeping me next to you
There should be dents in your memory foam by now
Pretty lady
There are dents in my cheeks from all the smiling you cause me
And I’m pretty sure you could light a match
From the heat in my face
So I am sorry if I can get a little creepy
It just means I like you
Aug 6, 2011
Aug 6, 2011 at 1:29 AM UTC
A semi-circle of white mushrooms
Around my crab apple tree
Usually I'd cut them down
But for this symmetry
Half circle evenly spaced
From each other and the tree
Odd arrangement crescent moon
It was meant to be
My crescent moon of symmetry
r
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 5:26 PM UTC
Inspired by: Toilet Tisha by OutKast
Spaced out
Brain out
In space
Checkin stardust
My timewaste is
Just a journey to the center of my soul
With the far reaches as my goal
And the cold wastes as my place of solace
Feelin soulless
Pacin in my brain
Shy away from sane
My plane doesn't fly
It hydroplanes on to other planes of existance
With no assistance
Sliding on a rainy runway
It's a jetplane with a runaway
Who close his mouth
When he's got the most to say
But not enough hope to pray
He implodes
A black hole
That warps him
Warms him
Like frostbite
Deadeyed all night
But he's never felt more alive
Lost in the thoughts of another life
Based barely in reality
Impressionism over realism
Is it really healin him or killin him?
That's the question of the hour
Sittin in the head till it spoils
Goin sour
Green eggs and ham
With a side of sacrificial lamb
And extra power
Now imagination junkie's
Feelin weak as his soul slowly
Drifts back
Drips back
In to his irises
To the land of the living
While sipping with Osirises
Feeling riotous
While his lips split
Dry with the taint
Of the fountain of youth
Sittin there rotting away
Without use
Tryna meditate without medication
Racing to slow down
Before the "Why?" in the road
Cuz once he gets there
He knows
He'll never know
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
first, make sure you are very concerned with
unlearned or silenced or misread minorities. this establishes that you
are a rarity, a person of charity,
a champion and deity of the small and the voiceless.
you’ve made the right choices
swallowed the right poisons
so now you’re not pointless,
you’re with the top few
of the economic disparity.
do you aver verity?
not so much.
you just make the choicest noises.
second, it is very important that you stud your vernacular
with words like deictic, post-spaciality, and sub-simulacular.
when you, font of knowledge, squeeze out pearls like turds
in twelve-point, double spaced, times new roman rows,
lined up like crows or some other ***** birds,
be sure to write no sentence shorter than thirty words, and
see to it that two thirds of these words have more than ten letters
that even the nerds in their plaid-patterned sweaters have not once ever heard.
when you walk, A paper in hand, from your car to your apartment, past four vagrants, do not look at them.
do not look into the eyes of the man standing in the rain, barefoot, black, green, and yellow toenails oozing and crusting, nodding his head and shouting at no one, and do not wonder whether or not he’d be there had he been educated.
lexicon is not eloquence.
erudition is not wisdom.
intelligence is not a prerequisite for rights.
you have no rights.
take a dictionary and shove it up your *** and
while you’re at it, shove one up mine, too.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
*In her cryptic words
a thoughtful owl,
proclaimed aloud
secrets never known;
the horn bill was loud
in registering his objections.
Let it be hidden, he said
like jewels in the folds of rocks,
only ones who searches deserves it.
The forest went still
the next moment;
a harmonious silence resulted,
the tussle, in it was dissolved.
The night--
quickly took over,
spread it's net of noises
inter spaced with silence-
that engulfed all discords,
orchastrated it as music,
then wrapped up everything
in darkness opaque.*
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
Image based, and
position placed,
to keep society spaced,
image of peace erased.
Individuals put in groups,
separated by bodies,
as Congress lobbies,
preparing forbidden fruits.
People told to turn a blind eye.
Focused on the one atop the pyramid.
"Spend greenbacks, don't sigh!"
These are government truths!
Not a marketable lie!
Human soul for sale;
morals thrown out to no avail.
Industry infiltrates and states:
Conformity: You'll win, not fail.
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 3:34 PM UTC