"stammering" poems
It's hard to talk on the phone
Can't quite focus on what they're saying
Stuttering and stammering for words
At loss for what to say
Then you have the words again
You say the words you mean to say
They come out sounding weak and jagged,
Meek and lame
And you feel useless in the department of speaking
Your heart beats and jumps wildly at the attention you never wanted, the attention that seems to put an untold amount of pressure and judgement upon you
You never feel like talking again, except to maybe voice an opinion someone might actually care about
You panic when someone new talks to you
Heart thumping madly to get out of your chest, telling you to get out of this situation
This is not a cold, not the flu
Not something you can get over too
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 10:21 PM UTC
my eyes finally rested,
the perfect shade of pain's gray
Hers swiftly burned copper-red
we're bound to disappoint
along the way
always looking up to
someone out-of-reach
stammering over words,
just to make a point
the point is dull, anyway.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
Take heed of this small child of earth;
He is great; he hath in him God most high.
Children before their fleshly birth
Are lights alive in the blue sky.
In our light bitter world of wrong
They come; God gives us them awhile.
His speech is in their stammering tongue,
And his forgiveness in their smile.
Their sweet light rests upon our eyes.
Alas! their right to joy is plain.
If they are hungry Paradise
Weeps, and, if cold, Heaven thrills with pain.
The want that saps their sinless flower
Speaks judgment on sin's ministers.
Man holds an angel in his power.
Ah! deep in Heaven what thunder stirs,
When God seeks out these tender things
Whom in the shadow where we sleep
He sends us clothed about with wings,
And finds them ragged babes that weep!
4.4k
Can I trust the eyes seeking mine?
I want to
Because they look like home
Through sepia tones
A bittersweet nostalgia before
We learned how easily people break
I want to trust your arms
They look just big enough to hold me
When I know the only way I feel safe
Is in the shape of a ball
And if you were any more beautiful
I’d be ********
Much like the ten beers I should’a
Said no to
Before you
And they
Had me sycophantic and stumbling
And already
just a little bit
********
I want the smell of you to linger on my clothes
The same way fire does
After a book burning
Just a little bit shameful
I want you to stop my stammering
With a kiss
To preoccupy my mouth
Long enough to subdue my stupid
I want to let go
Of the fever that makes my back sweat
When I see you
And the worry
That your eyes might lose their shine someday
I want you
In all the ways that
I am probably not supposed to want you
But I do
I want our wrinkles to one day fit
Like ****** up Ziploc bags
It’s that bad
So kiss me
Before I tell you that
And maybe
keep your eyes closed
Until I can trust them
Because I want to
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 10:34 PM UTC
I've watched too late; the morn is near;
One look at God's broad silent sky!
Oh, hopes and wishes vainly dear,
How in your very strength ye die!
Even while your glow is on the cheek,
And scarce the high pursuit begun,
The heart grows faint, the hand grows weak,
The task of life is left undone.
See where upon the horizon's brim,
Lies the still cloud in gloomy bars;
The waning moon, all pale and dim,
Goes up amid the eternal stars.
Late, in a flood of tender light,
She floated through the ethereal blue,
A softer sun, that shone all night
Upon the gathering beads of dew.
And still thou wanest, pallid moon!
The encroaching shadow grows apace;
Heaven's everlasting watchers soon
Shall see thee blotted from thy place.
Oh, Night's dethroned and crownless queen!
Well may thy sad, expiring ray
Be shed on those whose eyes have seen
Hope's glorious visions fade away.
Shine thou for forms that once were bright,
For sages in the mind's eclipse,
For those whose words were spells of might,
But falter now on stammering lips!
In thy decaying beam there lies
Full many a grave on hill and plain,
Of those who closed their dying eyes
In grief that they had lived in vain.
Another night, and thou among
The spheres of heaven shalt cease to shine,
All rayless in the glittering throng
Whose lustre late was quenched in thine.
Yet soon a new and tender light
From out thy darkened orb shall beam,
And broaden till it shines all night
On glistening dew and glimmering stream.
3.6k
For all the lady poets
whose songs are sung
who dance on fire
when the night comes
who are willing to
go to the heart of the matter,
whose desires erupt
behind the smile
who hold secrets
and shadows,
who can turn you
into slick wet stone
with one word,
one look
one touch
one tap on the shoulder.
Who hold you between
their finger tips
roll you into a
tightening knot of
desire and fear and apprehension
and
bring home your reality
far too clear.
For all the lady poets
who know you too well
who know that shell
who can crack you
in a moment
and never look back
or
love you into life
or
leave you child like
stammering and wondering.
For all the lady poets
who love you too well
who are with you
for the moment,
know your
heaven and hell
and
open their words on these pages
a sweet treat
a sweet longing
a sweet surrender
the lady poets
can spin you
twist you
and
put you back on top.
The lady poets
hold the keys
have the words,
vast universes inside,
hold on
it's an exquisite ride
better buckle up
hunker down
hold on tight
without the lady poets
I'd never make it through the night.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
Love's the boy stood on the burning deck
trying to recite "The boy stood on
the burning deck." Love's the son
stood stammering elocution
while the poor ship in flames went down.
Love's the obstinate boy, the ship,
even the swimming sailors, who
would like a schoolroom platform, too,
or an excuse to stay
on deck. And love's the burning boy.
3.3k
Voice Rejoice
by Roger W Hancock
Victory Voice,
voicing calmly,
enunciating clearly,
slow deliberate talking,
battling the stuttering.
Fighting the stammering,
during my conversing,
when heard clearly,
spoken calmly,
Victory’s rejoice.
© 12-07-2011 Roger W Hancock, www.PoetPatriot.com
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 2:56 AM UTC
Sitting on stage
The glare of the audience immobilizes my every move
Is there a way this paralysis will soothe?
The lights suddenly blare
Like a deer bathed in headlights
How can I escape from this radiant bear?
The conductor baton rises into the soundless air
Sweating, stammering, shivering
Will this be my final prayer?
The sound of an A fires from a clarinet
Bow on string, I imitate the shrill
This magical note seems to be my fever pill
A-D, D-G, A-E
Instrument seems in tune
But will this miniscule fact solve my problem soon?
As the chief baton swings side to side
Flickering images in my mind crash like a tsunami tide
Joy, Love, Hardship, and Harmony
Music conducted the opening to my passion ceremony
Fire ignites my being
Like bungee-jumping off a bridge
The words “Anything is possible!” now beaming
Like poetry, music is an art
Raw emotion strangles uniformity
Expression bears no limit
Creativity beats as our vital body part
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
..............there’s such a clamour
so much choring
memory thread
I sit
armchair
rocking head
receiver of motion
bleaker of putty trauma
creator of mammary craving
.....best take up knitting or wood carving
the fortress of thought
(in strict connivance with a bewildered host)
compiles the 'person idea'
protects the fragile calculator
from biting at its own exposed
and useless self mating psychology
from glutting on its own tail
and merry going mad
in a tune of hoops...
..stammering to achieve valuation
for our decent management
projector
may you continue operations falser still
defeating our own polygraphs and making fools of our internal courtrooms
i sit on this chair
things go still
thoughts occur elsewhere
am i left to not be ?....................
May 11, 2021
May 11, 2021 at 10:00 PM UTC
I still avoid you in the hallways
To avoid all my inevitable nail biting
And stammering phrases
I remember how the hate coiled
In my intestines
Waiting to spring free
Out of my belly
But now the fire has subsided
And I smile and bit my lips
I still remember your birthday
And on any given day
I can recite all the late night messages you had sent me that I was too asleep to answer
And some nights I grew frantic with the knife
Trying to cut you out of my skin
That your fingerprints had so carefully engraved themselves on.
Other days I welcomed your curious stares
And our troubled conversations
Never once bringing up
How our pride had hurt each other
And how our lovesick past will always be in our minds
Another 24 hours and I go delusional
Holding your shadowed hand
And listening to your voice whisper sweet little lies in my ears.
But I hope your reality never becomes better than my imagination.
But you still avoid me in the hallways.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
RINZAI BOX
Had to have a psych eval
at the box factory
a human resources workup
to make sure
I could handle work again
making cardboard condos
for little mammal prisoners
of the pet trade
who live on hot windowsills
until someone comes to love them.
I got too depressed once
when I found tiny bunnies
mewling in a dumpster
their only refuge
yes
a box I had made
you could tell
it said assembled with care
by Kevin
and I missed a month of work
and got written up
for just being sad.
The shrink diagnosed me
a cognitive distorter
a predictor of worst case scenarios
but I disagreed
since I saw the sad bunnies for real
and he puffed up like a blowfish
stammering you’re the patient
I’m the man.
Well I’ve been around the zendo
so I challenged him
smartypants answer this…….
Do bunnies in boxes
have Buddha nature?
Irrational and pointless he said
hmmmmm I said
how do you know
maybe you’re a narcissist
on a psychobabble fugue
echoing in a therapy box.
But I have Buddha nature
and I put that in the boxes I make
and the Buddha bunnies go in the boxes
and you here in your Buddha office
are not separate
just uniquely boxed
and the label on the bunnies' box says
assembled with care by Buddha.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 12:46 AM UTC
this time, when i went
to meet Death at his place,
he showed signs of weakness.
he was watching a cricket match
relaxing in his arm chair, legs stretched.
yawns kept rolling
in slow progression
towards the boundary.
'are you well?’ i ventured.
'nothing wrong,’ said he.
stammering, i quizzed him:
which one do you fear most?
allopathy, ayurveda, or
homeopathy?
dear wilson,
have you observed sachin
facing the ***** of shane warne?
brian lara, wasim akram?
chris gail, brett lee?
i was thrown into confusion.
death admitted, unwillingly,
that like vivian richards
confronted narendra hirwani,
he was laid low by the
secret herb
of an old tribal man!
aaha! the panacea
became then
a spin ball!
(aaha…Nothing official about it!)
i forgot to ask
how our people
smuggled away by him
were faring now.
he forgot to comment
“you will see for yourself
when you face it.”
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:14 AM UTC
THE woods of Arcady are dead,
And over is their antique joy;
Of old the world on dreaming fed;
Grey Truth is now her painted toy;
Yet still she turns her restless head:
But O, sick children of the world,
Of all the many changing things
In dreary dancing past us whirled,
To the cracked tune that Chronos sings,
Words alone are certain good.
Where are now the warring kings,
Word be-mockers? -- By the Rood,
Where are now the watring kings?
An idle word is now their glory,
By the stammering schoolboy said,
Reading some entangled story:
The kings of the old time are dead;
The wandering earth herself may be
Only a sudden flaming word,
In clanging space a moment heard,
Troubling the endless reverie.
Then nowise worship dusty deeds,
Nor seek, for this is also sooth,
To hunger fiercely after truth,
Lest all thy toiling only breeds
New dreams, new dreams; there is no truth
Saving in thine own heart. Seek, then,
No learning from the starry men,
Who follow with the optic glass
The whirling ways of stars that pass --
Seek, then, for this is also sooth,
No word of theirs -- the cold star-bane
Has cloven and rent their hearts in twain,
And dead is all their human truth.
Go gather by the humming sea
Some twisted, echo-harbouring shell.
And to its lips thy story tell,
And they thy comforters will be.
Rewording in melodious guile
Thy fretful words a little while,
Till they shall singing fade in ruth
And die a pearly brotherhood;
For words alone are certain good:
Sing, then, for this is also sooth.
I must be gone: there is a grave
Where daffodil and lily wave,
And I would please the hapless faun,
Buried under the sleepy ground,
With mirthful songs before the dawn.
His shouting days with mirth were crowned;
And still I dream he treads the lawn,
Walking ghostly in the dew,
Pierced by my glad singing through,
My songs of old earth's dreamy youth:
But ah! she dreams not now; dream thou!
For fair are poppies on the brow:
Dream, dream, for this is also sooth.
2.1k
Inside this plastic orifice pulsates the vibrations of flies
Around the frontal lobe of the brain,
A honking trumpet of confusion and
Fake self-confidence,
With that fake eyebrow raise of condescending question.
A drunk woman’s loop just spilling insecurities.
I remember when I was 18 years old
and so much more sure of myself
than I am now.
Now, my questioning analysis turns to stammering cindersm
My voice to quivering gibberish,
My spine to a trembling cane.
This is the age we were worried about,
Shaking coats off to try on new ones.
To be fearless again, a shit-talking hardass
With no reason to five a **** no reason
To be ashamed of words I spit, the norms
I shatter, the growing genuine demeanor
I cherish.
My words leak off the page and down
The spinal column of answers,
Stacked and jacked for another gear change.
Green lime crime in a gray lipsticked
Lip-lock torn asunder in cheap talk.
I’ll stop apologizing for nature’s wrongs.
I’ll forsake the jumbled up mumbled mess
That drooled down the spider fingers of
Those lonely, lost days.
And for a coin, I’ll stake my life
On the candle that refused to burn
Because now the reason crests the waves of
Pedantic experience.
Made past the overly-viewed statistics.
The curves now drip away the
Remnants of fabricated wool
Into a bed of once exhausted syllables
And frequented sobs.
Without a known ending, I’ll know this much:
The insecurities are a bottomless chalice
Full of the Catholic’s guilt
And the people you see around you
Are warriors bred without Fathers.
Streamlined sick in a wonderbread coffeehouse,
These are the hours worth reckoning.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 11:44 PM UTC
In fleeting flicks of fervent flutters,
Unbanished feelings freely sway
Formed from limerent, flippant shudders
A force that's hit me like no other,
Calls the light I beg away
What room have I, in heart, for flutters?
"Leave me to my sighs and mutters..."
I hear my frigid heart relay,
Too fragile for these wild shudders
Brought to burning, stammering stutters
Nervous thoughts, frost-brought, decay
In pacing, panicked, manic flutters
This old and weary heart will utter
A word of warning ere I stay
Recompense for past love's shudders
Do I exaggerate these flutters?
Formed from limerent, hopeful shudders?
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
I, after difficult entry through my mother's blood
And stumbling childhood (hitting my head against the world);
I, intricate, easily unshipped, untracked, unaligned;
Cut off in my communications; stammering; speaking
A dialect shared by you, but not you and you;
I, strangely undeft, bereft; I searching always
For my lost rib (clothed in laughter yet understanding)
To come round the corner of Wardour Street into the Square
Or to signal across the Park and share my bed;
I, focus in night for star-sent beams of light,
I, fulcrum of levers whose end I cannot see ...
Have this one deftness - that I admit undeftness:
Know that the stars are far, the levers long:
Can understand my unstrength.
1.9k
I staggered through the desert, dressed
in brown rags,
ripped. I was surrounded by flies.
They picked at my sweaty forehead,
spoiled my food.
I had in an old wicker basket two crisp apples,
which are brown
now, thanks to those flies.
My feet are dry, cracked and ******
not from flies—
from hot scorpions.
They hide under sand
and pick at my feet.
One day I left my house n’went for a walk; kicked open my front door
walked over the old stone bridge over water bright and blue, for
miles and miles,
on footpaths by little rivers, through mossy forests,
knee-deep in marshes,
hiking over rocky, cold mountains,
stammering across the plains.
I saw the desert:
punched me in the gut.
Beautiful,
I thought—
immortal.
A great tornado of sand
came whisking from the dunes. I checked
my watch: The glass was shattered. The hands were bent crooked.
I unstrapped
my watch and threw it
on the edge of the desert and
I sprinted toward the endless tan horizon, kicked off my rotten shoes
to feel the hot sand between my toes and ran. I fell and fell asleep.
I was bored in my old, old house.
The floor was always swept to shine,
my bookcase:
big, glossy, oak monstrosity.
And no, I did not have a wife,
or children.
I lived in a sunny village,
paved with stone.
By the fountain, birds sang, merchants sold felt and mallets.
I’m too tired for explanations.
And besides,
there is no trick, I left to leave,
to run and jump and roll and howl.
I knew it would end,
like this or something similar.
I decided to
just lie down,
and the vultures came like a great black cloud to circle,
and the heat,
the headache,
my body buzzed cooled a dizzy, breaking feeling came and body was freed
like ice smashing to shards . . . on desert floor, old rags drenched
in sweat-body.
I open my eyes wide.
I keep them open.
Tears come to my eyes.
I let the sun blind me.
I turn over on my side and close my eyes, see red.
My eyelids are hot.
The vultures caw
and shriek like
squealing pigs.
I’m dizzy and my head feels thick.
The vultures will eat me,
rip my skin with beaks,
and the flies will buzz around me
until I’m bones, but
I came here just to come here,
and I lied here just to lie, and
I lived just to live,
so then I’ll die now just to die.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 2:03 AM UTC
I feel the loneliest at an airport
because my soulmate could be walking around
searching for me
and light up at the glimpse of my face,
stammering to find a conversation point;
or they are getting on a flight
after hearing my laugh
remembering the sound across the nation.
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
in the passenger seat of your
tightly packed subaru
i felt as good as royalty
you as king, me as queen,
always wondering what lay in store
for me and you.
little did i know it would
come stammering to a halt
not that it should've
but i always found it strange
how you added salt
to your macaroni and cheese
not that it phased me,
no, i loved you all the same
your salt and all.
because i was taken advantage of
and you were salty as ever
and i was high off the ground
in a lifeguard chair as i told you the news
and i heard clattering on the other end of the line
you were done, you were no longer mine
and suddenly it was as if
the ocean had its own gravitational pull
begging me to come in, come and drown
i would go fleetingly, with nary a sound
but i grabbed familiarities instead
took the knife to my skin again
and it bled and it bled and it bled
i never wanted it to stop
i was surrounded by
people who knew what unconditional meant
and they wrapped me up, kissed my
wounds with their closing fingers
too many times
i should have died.
there is no requiem for a dream
there was no requiem for me
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
there is attraction here
but i’m not sure what to do with it
shall i let it grow or just ignore it
what kind of world is this
with paradoxes everywhere
there are so many ways to justify your existence
who told you that you had to protect yourself from harm
ego and mind can never defeat the soul
and our eyes and hearts will never let go
of attachments and desires
how the samskaras echo and then unfold
just sit and breathe and it will shift
but only if you are willing to feel into all of it
where you are holding tension
is where you need attention the most
meditation is not meant to be a comfortable blanket
its a cold plunge designed to wake you up
sit up straight and let liberation dwell within you
the stars and the comets are in your heart tonight
so shift your attention and perspective
and elevate your inner directive
as filaments of the finest fibers
scintillate your mind and nervous system
the diamond light is already shining
i am wisdom personified
giver of judgement and the remover of blindness
as hunger and pain are all just names
for situations that remain the same
stammering forward she fell from the chair
and in the flash of a moment she was no longer there
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 5:40 PM UTC
I'm not perfect, I know that,
But I wish I didn't feel like a
Leftover,
Trash,
Tossed aside because my hips are too wide
And my stomach is soft and rounded, not flat.
I'm not perfect, I know that,
But I wish I didn't feel
Awkward,
Stupid,
Stammering because I'm in love,
And my day is made with her smile, not anything else.
I'm not perfect, I know that,
But I wish I didn't feel like a
Freak,
***
Whispered about because my heart has fallen hard
And it's for a pretty girl with glasses, not a football player.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
You’re turning me on, now.
I don’t know what to do with it
If you’re not going through with it.
Now that I am burning up
You know that I’m really not
Confused about you being hot.
I am burning here inside
There is nothing I can do
The cure for my condition
Is completely up to you.
I’m burning, I’m turning
Into a shivering being.
And you are the reason
For visions I am seeing.
I’m smoking and I’m choking
From the smoke you are emitting.
A night I won’t soon be forgetting.
My ego is getting a stroking.
It’s like an internal bell is sounding
It’s only my heart that is pounding.
I am burning here inside
There is nothing I can do
The cure for my condition
Is completely up to you.
I’m burning, I’m turning
Into a shivering being.
And you are the reason
For visions I am seeing.
No doctor can ever help me
The cause for it all is you.
You are the only thing possible
To fix what I’m going through.
I’m stumbling and mumbling
I’m stammering and stuttering.
I am experiencing the feeling
Of an ecstatic kind of suffering.
I am burning here inside
There is nothing I can do
The cure for my condition
Is completely up to you.
I’m burning, I’m turning
Into a shivering being.
And you are the reason
For visions I am seeing.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
Oh, as I lay upon My bed
in the midnight hour
thoughts of You pass through My head
Oh, a phantom of you dances before Me
you are so near and yet so far
those words I'd wish I'd said
a desperate fever takes hold of Me
Oh, how to make you mine?
Oh, how to let You know
that you mean the world to Me?
I toss and turn the whole night through
time passes oh so slowly
the clock ticks at a snail's pace
tomorrow! tomorrow!
Oh, what do I do? what do I say?
I struggle with words in My head
what if the wrong words do not come?
and I lose You forever?
unbearable this timeless agony
Oh, better to just come and say My mind
then if from You I'm parted
life and rime and reason
have lost there meaning
better to die than face that lifeless life
Oh, My sweet tormenter
You have made Me lose all reason
Oh, how you have crucified My heart!
suspended between heaven and earth
in a timeless agony
I stumble over words with stammering lips
Oh, I will pursue You forever
if a fool I am
than a fool I shall ever be
Oh,how all life and limb
are as nothing to Me
for who can bear this timeless agony
and the torture of the snail's pace clock
for You are life to Me
and so Myself and heart revealing
I place all online
like the men who bled and died
upon thermopyae's sands
Oh, how You hold My life
and soul in Your hands
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC