"standby" poems
The body's still breathing, but I'm not quite alive,
A soul in standby, simply trying to survive.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
A new babe on the way,
Does she arrive today?
The stork is on standby,
Is she coming down the slide?
A star in heaven's berth,
Winging her way to Earth,
Now an atomic cluster,
Has she got a dust buster?
Her future unplanned,
Soon in Earthling's band,
When is she coming down the slide?
Right now, the stork is on standby!
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 11:14 PM UTC
Love triangles never work out you see.
One loves another, who simply loves someone else.
You wait to see if your love will notice you,
or you just standby and watch the love that should've been yours.
Sometimes they look at you and make you wonder,
what if they have feelings for me too and just don't know how to show it!
You talk to them and carefully drop hints, to which they never pick up.
So you decide to be aggressive, and make the first move.
You proclaim your love through letters, texts, and even posts.
Only to be denied and publicly embarrassed.
When you're the lowest you can possibly go,
you notice something out of the corner of your eye.
You turn and see someone sneaking quick glances at you.
You quickly realize that they are in the same position as you.
Stuck in the endless webs of love triangles.
You walk over, introduce yourself( even though they clearly already know)
You leave together realizing that you can't always have what you want,
but you can sure help others try.
You former lover is now single and lonely, but you no longer care.
You're with someone 10 times better than they ever were.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 12:03 PM UTC
How many times can I check facebook, check facebook check facebook?
Glance, browse stalk, stalk harder.
How many times can I watch a show on my computer?
Watched, finished, next episode next episode next episode-caught up
How many times can I get distracted, get distracted check emails—no new messages
Entertain me, distract me, disconnect
I want to be turned on standby, autopilot, you can think for me
Keep the walls of paper from burying me, suffocating me
Intellectually flat-line, a mental goodbye
Lose consciousness, fake my awake
Get lost, then found then actually find my way back to my workload
Attempt the task that terrifies
Look it in the eye,
Unafraid eager and tackle it down to the ground
One subject two three,
But the pile it looms over me, consumes me
I bit off more than I can chew
Teeth that don’t release, don’t retract
All I think of is how I should act
Attack, straight on? That’s the best bet
Nothing was ever accomplished by sitting down in fret
The stakes are just too high to try
A failed attempt changes impressions
Self-Conceptions
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 11:45 PM UTC
Satellite dishes line the sky
Sending signals and on standby
Can't see the horizon
Many buildings rising
Concrete jungle horrify
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 7:27 AM UTC
How many times can I check facebook, check facebook check facebook?
Glance, browse stalk, stalk harder.
How many times can I watch a show on my computer?
Watched, finished, next episode next episode next episode-caught up
How many times can I get distracted, get distracted check emails—no new messages
Entertain me, distract me, disconnect
I want to be turned on standby, autopilot, you can think for me
Keeps the walls of paper from burying me, suffocating me
Intellectually flat-line, a mental goodbye
Lose consciousness, fake my awake
Get lost, then found then actually find my way back to my workload
Attempt the task that terrifies
Look it in the eye,
Unafraid eager and tackle it down to the ground
One subject two three,
But the pile it looms over me, consumes me
I bit off more than I can chew
Teeth that don’t release, don’t retract
All I think of is how I should act
Attack, straight on? That’s the best bet
Nothing was ever accomplished by sitting down in fret
The stakes are just too high to try
A failed attempt changes impressions
Self-Conceptions
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 3:45 PM UTC
I feel like my brain has put an ad block on emotion
And when I try to reach out for you I see a pop up warning me that No! This function cannot be accessed whilst an Ad Block is in use.
So, I try to uninstall and reset the browser but I wake up just the same.
An empty shell of technology, faulty wiring falling into the hands of those without the qualifications to find the on-switch.
A brain both in standby and overworking, an overheating of wired vessels working overtime to provide life to a barely-functional heart.
The quiet murmur of my breathing the only reminder that there is still something behind the blank screen.
You try to keep your patience but I know you want to just throw me to the wall, an excuse to replace my shattered interface with the newest model.
A model that doesn’t feel like it takes them 3 years to get out of bed every morning, a model that doesn’t seem to contract a new virus every day.
Maybe I’m just tired, maybe I’ve run my course, maybe I’ve accidentally encountered malware. Maybe I am the malware.
Or maybe, my brain has put an Ad Block on emotion.
And when I try to reach out for you I see a pop up warning me that No! This function cannot be accessed whilst an Ad Block is in use.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
IF you stand by my side,then you can lean on me
I will care for you,
throught the rough &bad; times,
Stand by myside,and I'LLpromise to love you forever,
Stand by my side,and I will show you a
rainbow after a good nights rain.
Standby my side,I can protect you from
the devil himself!.
IF ,you stand by my side,I'LL,
even pull out a star from the skies above,and give it to you .
Stand by my side,and we can watch the sunset .
Stand by my side .and ILLgive you the world.
Stand by my side ,and I promise to never hurt you.
Lean on me ,for I am strong.
Stand by my side ,and together we can make dreams
come true ,with just one snap ofour fingers.
I can promise you'll never cry anymore or
ever be alone again.
Stand by my side,and I;LLgive you paridise,
But all I want in return,is your love!
SO please wont you stand by my side?.
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 7:04 AM UTC
It was in total a fast track ticket to the moon
and I can't return to transaction dock 8 too soon
the star checkout lane at my local supermarket
tops balloons with rocket science aeronautics
that pilot's service areas binary counter perfect
exceeding expectations bent into global orbit
My items sped along to muzak her slim milky way belt
a smile beaming discount countdowns heaven sent
taking off in bit lips when her priceless item buttons
almost burst free to air with a strain of special promotions
helpfully assisting my every excess flight of fancy
made impulse buys a baggage allowance necessity
She stroked parts of her radical laser station
to fully engage hygienic wiped spills of imagination
and I felt the warp of hyperdrive tangelo engines
urging me into a dive to scan juice ripe tangerines
a last minute save fuelled by stalling flashback cavities
gyrating in tight nets as we escaped earth's gravity
With a twist of her wrist I was into fits-the-bill ecstasy
as the whirr of electronics cut loose such quality
with a lick of an index finger our mission was bagged
handled too efficiently for any danger of jet lag
no flyby chance to not exchange standby coupons
my trolley emptied of offers too galactic to pass on
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
Its about to get ugly up in here.
I'm talking
Worlds ugliest
Thalidomide baby
contest winner
Ugly.
I'm talking
Michael Jacksons
rotten *** corpse
falling apart
in the coffin
Ugly.
I'm talking
pasty ***
fat and sweaty
old white dude
in a Cambodian brothel
****** little girls
until he runs out of money
Ugly.
Its going to get ugly...
Standby.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 5:04 PM UTC
You deserve a better version of me,
I'm merely existing;
constantly drowning myself in Bourbon whiskey.
I've been baptized by my demons,
chastised with the heathens,
yet I'm blessed to have you on standby;
patiently waiting in the Garden of Eden.
May 23, 2021
May 23, 2021 at 6:29 PM UTC
I don't want to be perfect
What an incorrect prospect
I like my defect
At least I'm not an object
My eyes do not resemble suns
My words are more like guns
Aimed at your sons
I've only just begun
My hair is not soft and fine
You simply cannot define
Or enshrine
Standby and do not whine
My thoughts are not innocent and pure
Nothing is secure
But I am certainly not your saviour
My behaviour brings danger
I am not your entertainer
My hands are not are not flowers
I have different powers
Which devours and towers
Over your mouth as he cowers
Nature is not just beautiful
And neither am I
How dare you belittle it with unsuitable lies
Save your goodbyes
I am not your demise, that would be unwise
Do you not realise I have a disguise?
I am not perfect
Yet you could never recreate and resurrect my imperfections
Save your affections
I need to find my own directions, away from your infectious reflections
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
A crow dares to mourn his
loneliness after he failed to
commit to his ******
And the flamingo dares
to say to all her flamboyance,
"Your feathers may not shine
as luminous as my
own," while the magpies standby and
enjoy their lives too much.
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
“and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.”
Walt Whitman
<>
having recently been on standby for a permanent-entry residency visa
to over & just beyond death’s door, Walt’s prescient prescription strikes my broken breastbone even harder much, than the persistent
periodic pains confirming the breaking and the healing
of this man’s mending of the human centric poetic *****
for this warped heart mine, now rejoicingly rejiggered with some threads and wires to deliver a new but fresh bloodied wisdom,
begs me, eggs me to torrent word streams, but Whitman’s wisdom cautions a new slowness, the wisdom of mortality’s hot breath urges careful consideration of every letter that my second chance, consignment shop flesh, eagerly embraces, to both prescribe and proscribe inside-insights tween the deafening sounds of eyelashes beating synchronized to the revived heart rates rapid renewal and
last second-chances….
torn tween minute torso sensations and the running silence of
a new battery’s internal rapid intervals, the silent timing gaps tween beats leaves-just-enough-space to ask over and over again,
from whence will come my richest fluency? (1)
at 300am, I lay carefully caressing and chewing well each transitory
thought, absent the former energetic ability to just spill,
though highly desired,
now requires, like me,
steady re-piecing together
the steady drumbeat of now-nearer-my-god-than-thee Titanic reflections
demands a slowing rapidity
this I thought before and now ken, even and ever better, that our primary endeavor shall always be the giving, the disbursement of the act of love…for therein lies the healing of each, and wet eyes,
make necessarily concluding this poem about nothing and everything
and I comprehend Walt’s dictum:
my very flesh is a poem,
every sensation a lyric,
every breath taken and returned to the atmosphere
so unconsciously
are my oldest
and newest
3:00 AM poetry companions
Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 4:41 PM UTC
TW: suicide / cancer / brutal imagery
july isn't a good month for me
it is a collection of all the things
i have had taken away. it is a
bitter winter chill through a
summer i do not get to enjoy.
july is lonely.
it breaks apart all the other months
like a pack of werewolves; it is
their alpha and i have six months
before everyday is a full moon
and my legs are tired of running
from it. i have six months to
enjoy the fresh scent of crisp air,
to feel the iciness of snow without
shivering through my skin. i try
to break out of this body, try to
knit myself a new one out of
preloved sweaters hoping their
stories will become my own so that
i may have a july worth talking about.
suicide happens all year round but
your suicide happened in july and
has happened every month in my
mind since. i have lost count of the
way i try to contact you to say
i'm sorry.
maybe my spiritual journey wasn't
my own; i convince myself the
universe will show me your face again
one day and i hope it is not in july.
people suffer from cancer throughout
everyday of the year but you suffered
in july. i watched the sunset through
hospital windows, smelt more chemicals
than fresh flowers, held back more
tears than my throat knew how to
swallow. has anyone ever drowned
without being submerged in water?
i have.
i imagined cracking my skull off the
glass confining you to this ward, to
this smell of microwave meals and
this buzzing of machines echoing
like an emergency and my heart is
on standby, i imagined it would give
the ward some colour because i am
so sick of seeing white.
and this july
this july,
i hold your hand as your treatment
continues. i do not feel the sun on
my face because you cannot feel it
on yours. i watch the sunset through
windows. carry the bodybag of my
soul around in "i'm fine" and "i'm okay."
i don't think my voice could drip
with any more sadness as i envision the
words cascading down glass panels
hoping if i spell it out for the world
to see, someone will stop and ask me
why i hate july, or at least,
if i'm okay.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 5:26 PM UTC
it all starts to blur together and every day fades further from the horizon.
every word uttered, every smile grinned, every surface touched
falls short from the whole when not lead back to you.
I haven't recognized my name since it was last spoken from your mouth.
I haven't let my hands float above the sunroof as I've traveled down each lonely highway, stretching farther away from you.
I haven't exhaled all the air in my lungs or been able to relax all the tension in my muscles from their constant preparation for the crash-
waiting on standby only makes the blow more painful.
I haven't been able to swim in the ocean without feeling your love.
you're like a tide, pulling me back and shooting me out again, crashing over my body with immense pressure, yet so soothing- coating every cell on my body with liquid- you pour over me and drown me whole.
I haven't been able to sleep the same.
Every time they ask me how I'm doing or if I still love you, I mutter about the "not enoughness" and the lack of, while staring at my hands, trying to retrace the last time i ate a full meal or fell asleep for more than three hours.
The one thing I run back to kills me like a bullet, firing all the way through:
The smoke in my lungs mimics the breathlessness I felt when you choked my throat
It's turning me to ashes,
but I choose to not get better.
There's some correlation between the way your existence has haunted me like a ghost,
Sticking to my skin like all this inhaled smoke,
Demanding for the light to be left on in case you wander from the unknown-
Back to your garden, your chokehold, your throne.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 9:11 PM UTC
The Big Bang
the way you slam the door
I just ignore
because I want more
The Big Bang
what you do to my heart
when we are apart
I'm under your spell
like a dart to a board
The Big Bang
when you drag your cigarette
stay for another hour or two
maybe we can listen to a cassette
Who knows whats next?
the universe and I are just as complex
The Big Bang
standby
the derby can still fall
The Big Bang
is the reason I survive
but the reason I'm alive
is because you arrived
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
Mixy-Twixy
Atom-Smasher
Take my brain
I hope it's matter
Break away from all the things we said we'd be
Internally
False pretense
On happenstance
All my socks have holes
Breaking molds
Of wither and tither
I keep your family on standby
Hand-holding lullaby
There was a cake on my doorstep
And a front porch on my brain stem
Again and again
And Asian
And never have I ever
Played a game with this many fingers
Following muffin-tops to your local coffee cart
There's a joke there
Breaking, breaking
Silence retaking
I haven't heard from you in a fortnight
Mind's eye
Zip-tie
Bedroom follies
I hope you get better
As I write letter by letter
And hope that you're not mad
Sad, enraged, but glad
Butt-mad and tired
Fired the liar
Who broke the back of the cat next door
Heart attack on front porches
Cause distress and sores
On the back of the man
Who did nothing but hoard
For more and more and more
God be with us, I do pray
But Mary take my prayers away
Make them better, I ask, I say
And send them to who needs them most
Today
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
This topic is near and dear so let me ask you the reader
I just want to take the pulse or check the reflexes.
Ladies and gentlemen. Step right up step right up.
Little closer now dont let the smell of formaldehyde turn you aside.
This is something that goes on.
The government thinks it has a right.to.
1.Tax you while you live.
2. Levy a an exit tax when you croak. How is that for a sick joke.
This is just an observation, a point of fact.
Ever been to an Irish wake.
Ther's drinking and singing
Tall tales abound as the guest of honor poses ashen and.stil.
A drink is on standby. As a test of his will.
Here's a wee snort for you laddie just reach up and knock this one back
And sing us a shanty or a sad mournfull tune .
You say what?. Yeah that's a shell game where the rules change
Like I change underwear. Now that I pulled you leaches of my sack.
Hey come back we want more.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 9:58 PM UTC
To take you and place you, raised.
You are the dawn.
You take with one hand.
I pry the other hand open and find it empty.
You are to be praised, for your creator’s sake.
Your mistakes, His perfections, sacrilegious.
Bring me towards Him so that I may pray for you to come towards me.
My eyes are closed. And I stumble on words, but not yours.
Distances. I’ve never been enough.
Legs not long enough. Arms not strong enough.
I couldn’t lift you up and I couldn’t let you go.
Regardless, you are to be praised, to be raised. Exalted.
My death is on standby. My calling is mute, mum, moot.
L’amour est un oiseau rebelle.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 5:55 AM UTC
give me quiet,
when there is no peace,
all right, take the quiet,
and release peace from
the obligation of being,
on standby, for me.
find a friend,
have love, yes,
anger holds me
with affection,
need a friend,
who does not mind
quiet, in the room.
breathe in air,
not the dust
filled indoor
kind, make lungs
blind, to a
fresh look,
fresh take,
on quiet, walks
and runs
alone
along busy city
streets with people
dressed in clothes
to hide the real
mental state,
they are in,
portable prison
cells on four wheels,
take them
to where they
do hard time,
kept far away
from the only
friends and family,
they have,
quiet and peace
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 12:49 PM UTC