"stabilize" poems
Start slow...
warming... up...and...below
forty five degrees
to the left...right...others go nineties...
some freeze...from locked knees
they don't mind...they'll recover
before the hour is over...
Detach self
from what
surrounds
but...still aware
connected...
agitation
soon to be lessened
eventually....calmed
Focus...
exercise
stabilize
synchronize
visualize
internalize
energize!
Endure!
An ant bites at the back of your ear
something's crawling on your tummy
beads of sweat, drop across your eyes,
or inside your ear...you feel the cold touch within
A bee, a wasp...sometimes, a fly
circles very near your face
makes your wall of
concentration, crumble
tempting you to lose count
of the movements
testing you...
if you might still stray...even
a step away...
if, to your weaknesses
you would still succumb
will you be distracted?
or stay focused?
Let eyes, and mind blink
One...two...three...quickly!
be grounded!
stay on the right track.....
Exercise!
...visualize....
... internalize.....
...never give up!
Sally
Copyright September 21, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
Beastly is this monster state yet many damsels cannot avoid
Some may call it disturbingly conflicting and become annoyed
Where rationality coexists with irrationality in an unstable realm
Pretty monster states navigate this journey as captains at the helm
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions
Wonder is this monster state since the inception of Adam and Eve
Men can only hope to be compassionate, steadfast and never peeved
One moment, pretty monster states can be loving and best friends
Next moment, challenging one’s good nature and spirit to extreme ends
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions
Frightful is this monster state like a suspenseful thriller or mystery
Only those who are not faint of heart can sleuth this case history
Where a profound will of character serves to stabilize one’s constitution
Bringing the monster state to an uneventful but amenable restitution
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
I was down.
And so I decided I needed flowers.
But not roses. Because roses have thorns.
And I am so sensitive lately.
I decided, not mixed flowers.
Because I’m mixed up.
And I need to stabilize.
I decided, not tulips.
Because tulips droop.
I decided,
I need gerbera daisies, bright.
Because gerbera daisies stand upright.
And so I bought some
in a wonderful shade of Fuchsia.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 7:29 PM UTC
You and I were a natural disaster.
How we acted came naturally,
Though as natural as a volcano.
There is beauty in destruction.
And darling, we blew up.
We crumbled, we burned,
And we took others down with us.
The aftermath still isn't pretty,
But life is rebuilding around us.
It's avoiding the rough spots,
Still cooling off.
It's hard.
It's rocky.
It'll all come together soon, though.
I was magma, unstable, explosive.
You were the rock, the result of previous disasters.
You were simply trying to grow.
I was simply out of control.
You and I were a natural disaster.
And just like most eruptions,
We erupted when it was least expected.
Maybe now, I can cool.
I can stabilize and reform.
You can finally get the stability you need,
From a source less risky than I.
There is beauty in destruction.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
Intelligence isn't based through an IQ score, nor through ones ability to count to ten.
Intelligence is based on an individual's ability to grasp a concept in an exceptional fashion.
Rather it be math, social skills or even ones ability to make others laugh. These all show an intellectual and subjective level of intelligence.
Although regularities may vary, the general outcome of one's ability to stabilize information is no different then those of a "higher" place.
"Everybody is a Genius, but if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid."
-Joseph B Schneider
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 3:46 AM UTC
I am a white, Jewish girl from Florida.
Hit me.
Hit me with your white girl jokes,
Your Jewish American Princess stereotypes.
I will giggle and squeal right along with you.
Because yeah,
I do order white chocolate mocha frappuchinos from Starbucks,
I Instagram pictures of my nails,
I take selfies, whiten my teeth, straighten my hair,
Shop at Forever21 and drink Naked Juice like it is my job.
Yeah, my daddy buys me things,
I don’t pay for my data plan,
There’s no way in hell I would drive a sedan,
I wear Nike shorts and avoid any nearby cameraman,
And let me tell you, I love jamming out to old school Britney Spears.
Hit me one more time, because none of that means I am any less intelligent,
Any less diligent,
Any less likely to face judgment
Than any other slice of diversity around me –
I am a white, Jewish girl
My nose is not its own cartoon,
I eat bagels (but I absolutely hate lox),
I’m not tan or even the least bit tinted,
And god knows I don’t wear Uggs.
Tell me I need to get married young,
Major in business,
Wear clothes that leave me airless,
Get some of that European gracefulness,
But don’t tell me I’m dumb.
Don’t tell me I’m not thoughtful.
I’m a white girl.
Take a glance at my resourcefulness,
Understand my goals of being ambitious,
Get rid of your own stereotype-inducing cockiness,
And notice me in all of my flawlessness.
Because I am a white girl,
And I am unique, strong, inventive,
Empowered, passionate, adventurous,
Indomitable, unbeatable.
I am an individual –
Not part of some whole that you put me in to stabilize your mold,
Not the example of a societally scatterbrained ***** meant to be your centerfold,
Not a previously worn-out piece of clothing thrown to the gutter unsold,
Rather a human being of my own rules and my own morals
A human being with ideas and intelligence and power,
A white, Jewish girl,
A person.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
Being away.
It matters not the specific amount of time.
Constantly I wish that you could just always stay.
Previously feelings of distress and desperation; the rhyme.
HaHa, I am actually surprised that I have not made a shrine.
Although maybe I should have, to help stabilize my emotions; keep them level; in line.
I'm busy tidying my friends' house.
As quiet as a mouse.
The doorbell rings.
The short tune, it sings.
I quickly glide across the freshly cleaned floor.
Drawing back the door.
"Hey!"
"You?...I?....Here?.....AH!......NOWAY! NOWAY! NOWAY!"
Despite my best efforts to self-compose.
I cannot keep the repeating chant at bay.
And judging by the look on your face, it shows.
"HaHa. So Spider Monkey, can I come in or should I just stand out here and let my body decay?"
I pull you over the threshold without delay.
"Whoa! So, I'm guessing that you missed me? Is that safe to say?"
"Hmm?...Let me think...Only more and more with each passing day!!"
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 8:40 AM UTC
Down from Arizona desert cold, absence of ice and snow
three white painted terracotta pots
by the Villa apartment on the tabled walkway—
Christina’s place.
Stacked, each alternately inverted one to the next
stabilize a snowperson body.
Can you picture it?
Black painted buttons all the way up?
Lips of dots, an orange twist of nose,
deep eyes void black.
Burgundy scarf tied around the neck,
positioned just so, it could be fit
to a Christmas Chihuahua.
By its playful form and surprising attitude,
may it well succeed at pleasing every passerby
and draw out, on each scroogey face, a smile.
It’s been doing just that for me, as I park
opposite each night, my headlights there shining.
Still, I have not and shall not peak inside
the alluring, open terracotta skull,
since I have imagined not wishes,
nor disappointments, nor elves and cookies,
but practical ash, randomly spiked with spent cigarettes.
Last night, as I walked out, with my night’s anticipations,
my grab-bag of happy tangles, Christina’s hanging silver chimes
issued soft whispering over terracotta, and I caught
a remembrance of Amazing Grace how sweet the sound.
Mojo my psychic dog turned me sharply then:
he took me away–we two, hunting the moon
in a starless night.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
Mood stabilizers, they call them, but in some ways, they're more like painkillers for your heart. They numb the feelings so that you don't have the extreme moods you are accustomed to.
When you have a mood disorder, everything you feel is so much more intense, and so much more certainly snowballs out of control. That's most of the problem; the complete lack of control you have over your chaotic emotions.
But then you go to a doctor, and they give you happy little pills called stabilizers to do just as they're told to. Stabilize you. Normalize you.
Funny thing is, even with the little heart painkillers, you'll never be normal. Even if you keep up a fantastically ordinary facade, you will never be ordinary. You will always have those little pills in your pocket telling you that you are not good enough the way you are, that you must change.
Its a double-edged sword, these pills. Because some days you wonder why you can't just be you, why do you need these drugs in your veins, but then you remember the cuts on your arms and the painful nights where you drowned in your own tears and you remember why even you don't think the person you are is acceptable. Get better, Grace, be better, Grace. The words pound in your ears until you forget who you used to be and you are always striving to be something more, something better. You strive until it kills you.
You are stronger, you can beat it, they say.
What if I don't want to beat it, though, just want to have control of it? I never want to feel less than everything, I never want to feel so dull and numb that it kills me more than the pain ever did, I never want to beat myself, I simply want to be me but controllable.
Because right now I'm uncontrollable and that's terrifying.
Painkillers for your heart, numbing you until you can't feel anymore. But sometimes I wonder if I really want to feel numb.
Do I want to be me, or who everyone wants me to be?
One is safer than the other, but which one is really living?
Because all I want is to feel alive, but I don't know whether surviving will entail that.
Painkillers or killer pain.
That is my decision, one I'm not ready to make. Maybe tomorrow, when mania is not so close to my throat.
Maybe tomorrow, because I am far too afraid of today.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
I found sitting myself in a really dark place--like a dimly lit room. An overhead light flickered on and off, and in the short seconds of light, I caught a glimpse of myself, my reflection. I didn't like what I saw, what was staring back at me. A face pale like a white crayon, like I had never had the rays of the sun dance upon the edges of my skin, eyes so worn, so tired, so...defeated. I crawled my way to the nearest wall. My fingers grazed the freezing cold tile as I climbed my way to a standing position. I stood leaning against the cold, mostly to stabilize myself, but also because the tile felt so smooth against my arms.
How did I get here in this room? I can't seem to remember, it all hit me so fast. The light flickered on and off and I stood leaning against the smooth tile and thinking about where I was. This room was so small and dark. I let my fingers drag along the tile as I slowly walked around the room. At last the smooth, cold wall turned to even more cold metal as I found myself holding into a handle. Suddenly the light flickered once more and through the door I went, and then I was falling and falling. After that, everything went black.
When I awoke, I once again found myself in the fetal position on the ground. This time I was warm. I felt something tickle my foot and it jolted me awake. I open my eyes to discover that I am lying in a field filled with pink and white flowers that I could never identify. They were lovely and they seemed to embrace the cool breeze moving through their petals. I stand here amidst all this beauty and I feel okay for the first time. I am calm. I am happy.
Suddenly, though, the sky seemed to flicker just like that temperamental light in that cold tile room. I think to myself that it's just my mind, it's just my mind playing tricks on me. But then a loud, thunderous noise bellows throughout the field, sending a ****** of large, black crows into my direction. The beautiful, blue sky instantly filled itself with clouds like dark, black smoke in a small confined space. A strong wind forces it's way against the flowers and as each flower is touched, it wilts, turning the most awful shade of gray I had ever seen. The entire field went dead and I stand in the center trying to take in what happened. Everything was fine just a minute ago. The sky flickers and again my vision turns black and I wake up and I am back in that cold, the room, laying on my side. The door is there, within my view, and I lay there, staring.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
Believer takes his hat and coat,
Walks out of his room,
Into a misty gloom where shadows warp his irises,
And he falls and falls straight into heaven.
Disbeliever steals a rock from the underground cave,
Ties it to his ankle never floats away,
Blasphemy is and will always be his life,
Every night the disbeliever sat near his bed,
Praying to Believer above,
When it never came he took the name,
Coward.
Believer took pity and asked heaven for an angel,
The angel couldn't do much but mourn with Coward,
As his disbelief kept his sight blinded,
And he was content, by god he never wanted to let go.
Plants grew into Coward's room,
His frame growing frail and tired,
Years of fighting and giving up drained his veins,
Finally, an ounce of death brought a clearing in his vision,
Coward saw his angel and shot it not once, not twice, but thrice,
Once for the son, second for the father, the third for the holy spirit.
Believer took this as a sign,
That he was fearful of something controlling his life,
Coward needed to control and stabilize himself his way,
No angels over his shoulder,
No rules to abide by,
Whether it was real or not,
It was Coward who needed to learn to heal himself.
Coward shot himself once more and bandaged his wound with care,
Taking his blood with him,
He inspected it's contents,
Wondering what was inside that cursed and plagued his life,
He found that it was all himself and things he told himself,
To a shock and a conclusion of misery,
Coward knew that once he got off of his ride,
He'd have to drain his blood and purify it,
It took every ounce of sadness and courage,
But it worked. Oh god it worked.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 11:40 AM UTC
Vocabulary
Bears imagism
Foundation
Imagery
Amplifies eloquence
Apache's tear
Metaphors
Stabilize meaning
Plausibility
Allegory
Visualizes enigma
Sammi Poe
Mar 17, 2012
Mar 17, 2012 at 9:45 AM UTC
Vanity stole me
Vanity corrupted me
Vanity tranquilized me
Vanity disrupted me
These lines have me thinking wrong thoughts, thoughts that are of uncanny nature and vain thoughts of selfishness and unhealthy erotica.
Vanity took all the sanity away from the head, and left me alone, not even therapy can stabilize me, I rebuild my soul.
I'm out of my mind, and I'm yellin' out, vanity
...
Like a drug itself, these lines are like decaf and vanity is my addictive curse.
Addiction not to the drug, but to the feeling of such an intense self love, it eats you up inside, you take the substance to escape the sinful feeling.
Logic, and proportion, all dead.
Losing myself,
Get out of my head.
Get out of my thoughts.
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 7:10 PM UTC
i isolate myself in my room and keep the lights turned low
the love i create within myself dissipates every time i breathe
you are only a figment of my imagination
my mind is the only solace even though she screams at me
i fall in love in seconds but i don't know what love is
the little girl i am knows nothing of this world
i can't live on my own
independence has never been taught to me
the only way i can stabilize is if i drown myself in concrete
who i am is not known
and who i am not is alone
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 12:19 PM UTC
It's like trying to tickle someone when you have no fingernails
It's like writing poetry with no heart and with no words at all.
It's smoking cigarettes everyday for awhile and not thinking about it,
they say lung cancer wants to see you after your show, don't forget skin cancer called too
It's getting a massage from your ex and your girlfriend enters,
It's like hearing sirens but not seeing red and blue,
It's not remembering why you got their but do
you remember the path you walked to see those iron bars?
It's a hat with no brim, or an animal lacking primal instinct
it's trees without phloem but osmosis is falling on itself
it's a painter without eyes, a prophet whose own cat got his tongue
its all about armed forces, arms dealers, war on drugs, war on terrorism, brothers in arms, support the soldiers, remembering those fallen, veterans, astronauts, republican nominees, presidential faults|
"We want the world to stabilize."
It's like vanishing and coming again, its not a reflection from water
it's not a magician revealing his trick or certainly not receiving a wizard's staff
it's more like having Shakespeare's pen but not quite enough paper
it's sort of like having the world in your hand but immediately getting your arm cut off.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 11:30 AM UTC
I remember the last time I went surfing.
I loved every second of it. I loved running out into the icy water, the chill taking a second to hit the vulnerable skin under my wetsuit. Those fleeting seconds of running ankle deep in the water before realizing how cold it is, and the moments following where I just kept running anyway, my body and board becoming dispersed in sea froth. I loved feeling my feet sink into the grainy sand as I gradually reach a depth that touches above my waist, then, bracing myself for the numbing cold, diving onto my board, immersing my top half in the crisp temperature the water holds. After the piercing cold is absorbed by my skin, and I am lying flat on smooth fiberglass, I see a wave forming in the distance. In a hurry, paddling madly, grazing my hands on the fiberglass sides of the board, desperate to get deep enough to catch the wave. I turn the board around and feel the wave coming behind me. This is the moment. The moment that feels like waiting for your plane to take off, or waiting for a raffle to be drawn, hoping desperately to hear your name called out. I feel the swell behind me, and continue paddling, facing the shore this time. I can feel it as a powerful but consistent surge brings the nose of my board up, and I hurry to lift myself up. I am crouching. My hands nervously let go of the sides. I am bent over. I am straightening. I am standing. My palms are flailing madly, but feel free in the warmer air. Within seconds, I lose my balance and the rush pulls me under. I fall off the board and take a mouthful of seawater. I emerge, laughing, trying to stabilize my focus and figure out whereabouts on the beach I am. As I drag the board back to shore, the salty sea water is already drying in my hair, fingernails and skin. I feel the familiar crunch of dry sand, and collapse, laughing, into the soft grains. I could do this again.
I was so excited to finally have my own surfboard. Brand new, I just hadn't had the chance to take it out yet. My brother asked to borrow it one day, and I couldn't see why not. He helped me attach the fins and leg rope, and I watched him walk away with my latest investment.
I was going into the garage to find something when I saw it there, in half, the fiberglass peeled towards the nose, the insides stuffed with sand, lying in a pile. The next day, my brother came home to find me waiting for him outside his room. "I have good and bad news! The bad news is, I broke your surfboard, the good news is, you now have two boogie boards!". I am sitting.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 3:54 AM UTC
Ionized
my atoms are being supercharged,
can't tell if that's a positive thing
when my electrons receive a gain,
I have this tendency to dance and sing
particles here and particles there,
paired or not doesn't matter
even or odd is still the same,
hard to stabilize with all the clatter
cosmic dust results from collisions,
now the protons are taking charge
its the same thing for the molecules,
the small as well as the large
the charging particle is the ion,
can't deny there is an attraction
like the soul of a searching lover,
reaching for it's matching faction
the lips caress the positive,
while the eyes seek out connection
life from the past, life from the future,
once again brought into the collection
sparkling kisses in the comets tail,
the fiery head's mission realized
supernova explosions are all around,
good God almighty, I've been ionized
Gomer LePoet...
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
Stay cautious
Believe me
Got broken takes, no time
Healing, a way long
Fragments,
Need to be confirm
Align to the earlier form
Stabilize for endurance
Then finally
Makeover stitch
Allowing the time to recover
But this is not the end
Some of us take
Much longer than
The usual time
In those
Who are obsessed
To scratch the scar
Recall the moment
With a same dumb question
Why me?
Little do we knew
Why few don’t
Want to get healed
And what keeps them
Scratching
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 6:52 PM UTC
deep brown eyes glide over curves, rolls, edges,
while shaky hands pull back strands of glistening black yarn protecting her thoughts and ideas, allowing flowers to burst forth from her eyes the size of sunflowers,
and his shaky hands trace over unseen scars, the translucent ones only he can see as he eyes her heart and pulls out the broken chords,
only he can hear the mournful song that escapes her lips at night when she is alone by her windowsill, darkness encapsulating her, holding her, suffocating her.
he says he loves her,
but that which she believes is false, she knows not if she is to believe this too, despite the soft comforting feel of his bare shoulders to rest and stabilize,
she doubts him. he shakes in awe of her, in admiration of her,
but she has still to allow him to be a part of her too.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 10:13 PM UTC
“A to Z—the beginning and end
Abraham the volatile catalyst
Zara the terrestrial base
to neutralize and stabilize
the reaction; jointly they shall
set mankind to rightfully inherit
the world; free of thy oceanic reign.”
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
To paint a perfect picture, scribbling lines to make a beautiful enigma. Lies mark the walls heart, ****** scriptures. Life moves too fast not photogenic like its sister. Death stands still, a corroded fixture.
Idiotic ideas perplex people purposely. Seeing sound and hearing color, two signals to flee. Sometimes you need someone to stabilize you like a tree. Otherwise it is the blind leading the blind, blindly. Solid ground & stability is desired ideally. Because a hand signal is the same as a nod to me when my third eye is impaired figuratively.
Nov 6, 2010
Nov 6, 2010 at 9:15 PM UTC
your mouth is a wristwatch. i stare
impatiently. noticing strange things,
folding the corners of my page-wanting fingers towards you.
the breaths taken
say so much about the situation.
killing children in other counties
while we wait
_
my leftovers get shoved behind your
seat.
it takes a moment to stabilize.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 12:23 PM UTC
i don’t know how to
comfort humans, I don’t
always understand them, us, we
don’t find history or truth
to be gentle, respectful of the sweet,
the way we prefer
our medicine; our neighbors don’t
lend out even spoonfuls of sugar like
they used to, and all the gates and triple-locked
doors make the transition from momma’s house
to the warden’s all the easier,
i wouldn’t have known how to
tell him his momma wasn’t coming
she was going to find out about this from
a phone call from a doctor
who wouldn’t pronounce his name
right, no familiar hands were
going to help carry him into his chariot
but when he was laying on
the cement, having been dragged
out of the car that flipped twice
by people who were “basically
paramedics, and knew they
didn’t have to stabilize his spine before
moving him,” who were basically just
used to paramedics not showing up
when they called, when he was
laying on the cement, he never called for his
mother or father or sister or
any one else who might have found a way to leave him, he
just screamed out
at
or
for
God,
and either way, I just kept mumbling
“preach.”
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
Gazing through the looking glass, and attempting to reminisce, he lets go, relieves, and perceives.Colossi of raindrops subtly fall through sky’s shadows , violently battling the grey in great amounts, failing to come anywhere near the threshold of one’s most sensitive ear. Nature’s children appear to tremble as dark forebodings of a dreary future pervade the air. The danger and annoyances of such rarities is always given priority and significance. He misunderstands it; he believes in its false infinity.
Unable to stabilize, unable to achieve a desired normality. From every pitter, he regrets; from every patter he forgets. Forcefully drudging through the thick swamp of his mind, struggling to understand what and why, diminishing his hopes of any change, any desire. Suddenly, several elements collide against his one-way mirror in his cell and revitalize his consciousness. Looking through the droplet, his face pressed against, his mentality momentarily produces quick successions of thoughts and random impulses of recovering memory.
Every snowflake understands its place as sui generis; every raindrop understands its place as trite. The beauty of a snowflake with death, the dullness of rain with life. It’s uniformity and strict nature are necessary to sustain life, but somehow it places a bittersweet piece of an unusual feeling inside him. Its unexplainable transparency, disguising itself as invisible, but not untouchable, stimulates a sense of deep nostalgic hopelessness within him. As he discovers the profound pulchritude, and simultaneous incomprehensibility, of the paradoxical elements of natural and artificial state cooperating to achieve more of the same, he realizes more in this moment. The monotonous, repetitive beat of rain seems to harmonize in an odd manner with some contrasting presence.
A new rhythm to this sound, a new color to this sight. A particular emotion of gradually diminishing despair comes about as he observes little rain boots composing a sort of rhythmic song with the catchy beat of the rain’s clashing, the continuous flow of the tree’s trembling, the back-up percussion of the thunder’s loud suddenness, the sight of lightning's exciting flash, and the cheerful singing from their voices.Upon this feat, he accepts the shadow’s tears; no longer must he endure the pain of the past’s ********** of the future, now he begins to savor the varied colors of newfound harmony.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 5:50 AM UTC