"tallies" poems
It’s a coloured and shaded broad daylight.
Bring me my hourglass, my paintbrush.
Keeping a timepiece, how soon my brush
strokes become finer it is not the task.
Try once more, strike a fine chord in time,
ever ticking but doesn't make a sound!
Let’s read the small prints, the shadow lines
on the pitch of the slit sun shines!
A dark spot in the light, some dotted lines
on a blank paper, however witty you might
describe it, count on the tweeting birds
short and cute, singing in the open air.
Light and dark the two tallies, ins and outs.
The times come and go, flowing fine.
For now, let’s take a look inside.
Tint and shade nor tone them now.
Zoom in and out, just watch them as they are.
This cool sleek shade on the sunny slate
is it a shadow, or some quivering curly hairs
or are these reflections of flocking clouds,
diligent sea eyeing deep down on the ground?
Read the small prints, shadows in the daylight,
before the show is wrapped up.
And down the evening pool, the sun
parts away with the black swan.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 9:11 AM UTC
Today not all of our mistakes are failures
Today I'm closing the door on
the things we keep behind our teeth,
the ways we never learned how to be
soft, but always tried
our best anyway
this is a tribute to the lost sleep
the nights I keep marked in tallies on
my arms, the letters I keep locked up
in a dark drawer,
where maybe something besides moths and regret
will eat away at them.
Today, not all of our thoughts are broken
today you take me out of my skin and I learn how to dance;
the rhythm is choppy but I follow
it anyway, after all we are only testing the waters here
we are only stargazers
awaiting some grand cosmic miracle, we are waiting with our
hands in our pockets for something big to happen,
we are falling in and out of obsession
chasing strangers
around and around in circles,
throwing our
fists in the air claiming "not everything is lost",
slowly coming to the realization that
it's also true not everything is found.
Today you don't know what you're looking for but you can't stop
searching the horizon, like maybe if you peer long enough,
your brain will slow down enough to process
the harsh thump-thump, thump-thump that tells you you're still alive
that tells you you're still here
that tells you you're still waiting
And my fingernails are digging into my palms now from the suspense
of writing and re-writing my name onto fresh pages,
crumpling and collecting them
in the bottom of waste baskets along with
half smoked cigarettes and
last night's rain, because
it is rare that two paths will cross in this world with anything more
than a brief flash of recognition,
it is rare that anything
better can be captured before it slips
down through the cracks;
but that thought was me eons ago
that was me in someone else's skin
today I'm putting nets out to catch the things
we throw around & never keep,
I'm writing your story into my
daily script & keeping a list
of "to-dos" before the big event;
tonight I'm alone and I'm
too busy to look out the window,
maybe the stars will flicker or maybe
they won't, but regardless
I'm still counting my heartbeats to know that I'm here
(still counting my heartbeats to know
the time I have left),
I'm still patching
this wound up with fragments of could have been,
reminding myself that not all
of our hearts are broken, and not all
of our moments are failures.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 1:32 AM UTC
Movie credits descend and sink
to the bottom of the tv screen;
Admire the time travel of a blink,
repositioned on the bed, not keen
Expired pills; motivating my pulse
Hands shifting; trying to keep up
and end this life which by day gets worse
Free this defunct soul and succumb
And in that moment,
the silent tear that doesn't cease formation;
i have surrendered, time is in halt
The sadness salt, in a state of reconstitution,
But death wasn't part of the victory
She was another night of bedridden dreary
Pre-measured mentality
part anxiety
part agony;
retaining me as an emissary
to unearth my mystery
where do my nightmares trail?
who fogs my thoughts at night?
who tallies off my breaths?
So yes, those pills;
those expired ******* pills
did not give me the answer
Instead, i woke up to another whisper
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 1:47 PM UTC
<6:36 AM>
~for Joanne Louise Veronika~
patches of light, snatches of sleep,
cumulative tallies of every 24 hour arrhythmia,
detect heart alarms ringing, watch warnings screeching beeping
who cares!
new commitment, self imposed!
greet the early ones with sooth and java,
a combination, “all across the nation,”
ease them in from sleeply lyrical dreams,
to a clear sky, renew anew, bay waters
running new tide fast, tiny tendrils of water points,
etch-a-sketch paths to a calm souls restoration
the smoke haze bad dream departed,
sun rays warmth for the invisible innards,
waves look like the EKG of human at peace,
resting heart rate steady and rhythmically sweet
and I laugh at myself, preposterous!
this is my secret path to restoration,
please laugh at me, join the raucous joy
of not-taking-yourself too seriously,
meaning of a new light, fresh waters,
of an old friend, the same diurnal perspective,
a new alphabet that spells but a singular duality,
a two-word~poem of
meditative perfection:
calm sheltering
Jun 10, 2023
Jun 10, 2023 at 7:05 AM UTC
Under a low-hanging branch of magnolia,
a foolish young person lay breathing his last.
He bled out his guts to the soft-stirring air,
Soothed as white petals, like ghosts, flitted past.
A foolish young person believed those around him,
A foolish young person left Mother at home.
While many would say that she tearfully warned him,
She was one among many who told him to go.
She told him of bravery, bloodline, nobility,
And of destitution, tables yet to turn.
Under the branch that snows down white magnolia,
He bleeds out remembering others’ words.
Under a spice-scented branch of magnolia,
He thinks of the will of a God he knows not.
God would not wish for the sins he’s committed;
This murderer is not on his way to meet God.
He thinks himself hero, and calls himself savior,
Conservator of all that his short life has known.
To keep others underfoot, deprived, and in chains,
He gives up his body, his blood, and his bone.
Under a low-hanging branch of magnolia,
His heartbeat an abacus, he tallies up deeds.
He fought not for money, he fought not for "rights,"
That reasoning is long since lost to the weeds.
He fought not for love of the branch of magnolia;
He fought not for dignity, the saving of face.
He fought for one thing, and one ugly thing only:
A life lived as if of superior race.
One could say he did not know his own motivation,
Because he so fervently deluded himself,
And many, thereafter, denied it as well,
Till they worshipped the rag that led him to death.
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 2:29 PM UTC
Earlier I relapsed
Cutting away my woes and letting my pain seep out;
But then I stopped,
Realizing how many promises I was breaking
And how many hearts I was shattering
I felt weak in my knees
Falling to the ground I cried
Ashamed and guilty
How could I do such a thing to those I love?
Panic set in,
I can't let anyone know
Because I don't want to go back to that hell
That cursed and wretched psychiatric hospital
That's more like a prison with schedules and timed everything;
Painted over windows and white walls that hold tallies of torturous days and child-like scribbles
That makes it more of a trigger than everything else
But soon enough I gathered myself;
I took a hot shower,
And stood in front of the mirror practicing my smile
While I planned what outfits to wear with foundation to hide what I've done
So now all is okay and fine,
And I'm alright;
At least,
I think so...
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 8:43 PM UTC
"I'm sorry, forgive me"
"I'll never raise my hand at you
I swear"
"I love you"
These bruises on my face that
I tried to conceal are finally
Wearing me
Not all the make-up in the
World can beautify the tallies
Of your anger that adorn my
Skin
Your heart beats anger
And it courses through your veins
Pulps of blood I tried
To hide with layers of clothes
Have finally stained
And I can't lie anymore
You call this love?
Is love the purple bruises
Plastered across my pale skin
That have been left behind
By the velvety hands I used
To yearn for?
You love me
It's okay
I should not be afraid
You were just blowing
Off steam
You love me
I've been swimming in this
Pool of denial long enough
To know that I can't really
Swim, I'm drowning
And my feet are firmly
Fixed on the ground
I am afraid of
The monsters lurking
Behind the iris of your pupil
The demons that lurk
Behind your shadows
I haven't seen my mother
In a few months
I'm scared she'll see behind
The facade I put on
She'll tell me
"Baby, you need to leave"
And I don't want to leave
He doesn't want me to leave
My head has been banged
Across the kitchen walls
More than it has been raised
These walls have been repainted
Repainted, and repainted
My scalp has been snatched
More times that I've cared to
Admit
I'm ashamed to say
I've traded parts of me
For shambles of trust,
A lot of bruises,
Rough ***
Infatuation,
And called it love
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
What does your soul say through your eyes
Do they show your truth or do they show your lies
Are you really happy with yourself and your path
Or is something in the way, is it holding you back
How do you know what you feel is right
Is it when you feel less of the dark and more of the light
Is there a happy medium, like what Buddha taught
Is everything an illusion, or is that just one thought
How do we know what we really feel
How do what know what is truly real
Our souls create reality and there are so many different kinds
How many universes are we projecting with our minds
We are each a deep expression of the universe and the divine
But if that's the case why do so many of us whine
Why can't we find the power that's within
Why do we sell ourselves short, why do we see things as sin
Karma isn't even what people think it is
They mistake it for the law of attraction, what goes around comes around, but that's not it
Karma comes at the end of life and it tallies our deeds
It's kind of like judgment day, but it's our soul it feeds
Tell me what I did, was I as good as I thought
Did I learn everything I needed to, was I righteously taught
I know I learned lessons and I know I hurt souls
But I didn't do it on purpose, I just played many roles
I taught people lessons and they taught me mine
In life we have to learn quick, we don't have much time
Our lives are short, but they sure feel long
Is loving everyone deeply right or is it wrong
The emptiness in us, it comes and it goes
Sometimes we feel dull, sometimes we glow
It's hard to be consistent when things always change
Just adapt when we need to and transcend our ways
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 6:09 PM UTC
Imagine if one day
Gravity just gave way
It all began to float
Loosened from the floor
And as you begin your gentle rise
As if being pulled by the sky
What would you think about?
Would feelings within you be aroused?
Would you think of the young?
As they float up to their demise
Would you be glad their innocence
was left alone?
Or saddened that their deeds
will forever be undone?
Would you think of the old?
As they hasten their death
Would you be glad
their suffering is at an end?
Or saddened of the mistakes
they could not yet mend
What of lovers, is there a thought?
To a swift end comes their love
To feel their embrace nevermore
Or in eternity each other adore.
Families, friends and co-workers?
Officers, bankers and robbers?
Priest, sinners and saints?
Me, you and them?
All floating softly to death
So many stories
That came to an end
But what about you?
Would you spare you a thought?
Reminsce or curse it all?
Would any regret cross your mind
Or maybe memories would warm your heart
Projects left unfinished
And dreams so long without visit
For this reasons and more
we musn´t dally
So do away with lists
projects and tallies
Life is too short to spend thinking
We must think less
And open up to feeling
For we are not machine but human
And humans die
So go out there and live
Before you are claimed by the sky
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 5:32 PM UTC
The caramel corn has taken on a subtle hint of hand sanitizer.
It is enough to **** all the germs.
A kernel escapes and the search party is unsuccessful.
The tile in the bathroom reminds me of other jobs.
Janitorial work,
cleaning up after others.
The tiles in my store were larger and dirtier.
I can't think,
this headache is raging a war.
Aided by my cube neighbors fan.
I snore at night and dream of helicopters.
Things usually come back around to bite you,
like a snake
or NASCAR.
America,
the Land of the Free.
I have lied so much that
it comes out as the truth.
A rusty swing set sits in the backyard,
choked by weeds and broken furniture.
The overstuffed purple couch
has seen better days.
Tonight,
it will sleep alone.
When I am feeling down I count the ceiling tiles,
getting lost at fourteen.
Fifteen is a liar.
What would happen if the stars did re-align?
Just for one day,
the cost of beer wouldn't be so high.
Then again,
the liquor store on Jefferson sells Tallies for $1.19.
Let's not be greedy.
I will buy two of them to make sure that when I sleep tonight,
it is soundly.
The phone keeps ringing with complaints.
People are more interested in their neighbors
than the fire.
Forget about this poem.
It is better if you just skim this literary travesty.
There is no substance.
This new day is failing
and it will soon be cleansed.
Forgive me Father,
for I have sinned.
Please,
watch over those I care most about.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
We are gathered here today in a space
cluttered with you and you who I’ve cried and tore
The voices that I’ve played in my auditory canal
When sentience has made me raw.
And our collective limbs have babbled through fields
or roved on roads of tyre
Watched mitosis play with our fingers
So our heads float to bricks that are higher
We are sewn together by memories
Shooting synapses bounce inbetween brains
The first time she wobbled a milk stone
The pink cardigan left on that train.
We will stretch out our patience to mountains
Nearly burst in our tallies to ten
But there’s always a rope shared between us
Always straw in our symbiotic den.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 4:17 PM UTC
They publicize Education with promise of security. Falsifying all your leizure and reward.
Yet,
While you drown your accounts with tallies and numeric rallies they develop the technology to summarize, tax, bill you with your debt and fill your mold in the position you strained and craved for.
Broken and stacked back rattling
You stand on a pile of panic and,
Manicly fade into the grave they plotted, and you dug.
Technology is our downfall.
We see the button and push it
Free of refrain.
Curious, instantaneous passionate trust in all the oncoming waves of silicone information.
The image is cast;,..
It attempts and so succeeds in including you in this performance
This, plastic
These fading lights.
Everything
Burns
Out
So it seems our nation is fueled by a finite flash.
With the filaments finally finkled out, the bright idea gone,
The shepard is shot and the sheep are frenzied.
As the population grows great in numbers alone, the engine is fixed with rusted parts and the plan...
A long, smooth drive with the emergency brake cranked the whole way.
We'll see just how far mediocre runs,
We'll see...
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
Chest stews jealous behind the sun-risen eyes of confusion.
Beaten and drugged to midnight without touching overt illusion.
Humility is shaken false when the sun set tallies.
I’m still subject to the vacillation of peaks too valleys.
My peak is but a broom in an infant’s hands.
Troubled by the dust of a valley’s demands.
That claims to sweep what I could never pain…
Paint me the wandered sheep that wore lion’s mane.
I feel the viper of ignorance in the bump of a stranger.
Venom through my pride peeks invisible danger.
Whose reflection is my shadow radiating a contusion.
Vanity is not fair till it's understood delusion.
For I knew not when I didn’t in prides hindsight sip
My Master will always humble silence to thy lip
Brings meaning to the scars of my landscape
Plowed, reaped and sowed for a son’s sake.
………….
I Love Jesus
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
*I wrote my way out of the dark pages of my life.
I know what it's like to see your life hanging by a thread;
scraping your skin with your fingernails to stop yourself from crying;
weaving scars on your skin to get some high out of life.
Smiling on the outside, but tearing up on the inside.
I've been there,
disguising last rites as declarations of love;
holding out for that one guy for some unjust reason.
I was once told I was beautiful on the inside,
I used to scoff at that thought.
I couldn't be beautiful,
my metaphorical skin was sewed and patched, ruined and defiled
and there was nothing beautiful about that.
It took me a while to see that beauty for myself.
I was once that one girl sitting in corner at midnight
contemplating suicide over family tiffs, unrequited love, loss, loneliness, and every other
stuff that I couldn't deal with.
I can't look at my left wrist
without feeling some sort of disgust because of the tallies of pain
I left behind.
I had this habit of saying 'I'm always good' whenever asked
but I got tired of seeing illusions as reality,
I was tired of escaping my own life. I was not okay and I needed help.
I wish somebody had told me
this sooner:
MELANCHOLY IS NOT TRENDY, DEPRESSION IS NOT COOL,
CUTTING IS NOT A FASHION STATEMENT
SADNESS IS NOT ATTRACTIVE
It's actually sad that we,
teenagers,
advertise sadness as if it's something to be proud of.
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL
YOU DON'T NEED VALIDATION FROM PEOPLE
DON'T LET HIM TELL YOU HE LIKES YOU BETTER WHEN YOU'RE BROKEN.
NO, SCARS DO NOT MAKE YOU ATTRACTIVE
SOME SCARS AREN'T WORTH HAVING
CRAZY IS NOT ****
**** IS NOT ALWAYS ****** SHEDDING A FEW KILOS WON'T MAKE HIM LIKE YOU ANY MORE THAN HE DOES
UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS DON'T HEAL --words I wish I'd heard sooner
You are not broken beyond repair
YOU ARE A PHOENIX,
A PHOENIX MUST BURN TO EMERGE.*
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC
Libyan Rebels ring the town,
poised to make their final ******
The defiant wait with loaded guns,
The butcher tallies up the cost
Is this the Arab Alamo?
Defeat presaging victory.
Or just another episode
Of “I **** you and
You **** me.”
The world waits
In ****** anticipation
For their oil to be
Delivered
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 6:42 PM UTC
Waste (wāst) v. (1.) To use, consume, spend, or expend thoughtlessly or carelessly: For hours on end we laid waste beneath the plastered moon. Our hands mimicked the stars weaved between a silked sky. The grass imprinting tallies into our back.
(2.) To cause to lose energy, strength, or vigor; exhaust, tire, or enfeeble: The tar wasted your lungs. It was the nicotine talking. We could never have a safe argument and now you are telling me that I am too much of a nice guy. Nicotine is the crutch between the crunch in the cracks that pry through the truth. (3.)To fail to take advantage of or use for profit; lose: You wasted an opportunity to be with me. You are missing the reverberation of our laughs under the viaduct, and the tickle attacks when we played hide and seek. (4.) a. To destroy completely. b. Slang. To **** ****** The cigarettes wasted our relationship. My eyes couldn't take the second hand jaundice, being the second pair of wells you flipped your wishes into, this second pairs of eyes that understood you. Now they draw blank when they see you. (5.) Garbage; trash. You had the audacity to keep your lips coiled to the cigarettes, than throw them in the waste basket. Countless weeks of me having to take them off your counter, from inside your purse, your backpack, I chose to become your waste basket. I carried your four year burden in my pockets. (6.) Regarded or discarded as worthless or useless. You were a waste of my time, a waste of my feelings, wasted space in my life.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full charactered with lasting memory,
Which shall above that idle rank remain
Beyond all date even to eternity—
Or at the least, so long as brain and heart
Have faculty by nature to subsist;
Till each to razed oblivion yield his part
Of thee, thy record never can be missed.
That poor retention could not so much hold,
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score;
Therefore to give them from me was I bold,
To trust those tables that receive thee more.
To keep an adjunct to remember thee
Were to import forgetfulness in me.
1.2k
Pavements sparkle
Asphalt glistens
Like a warm rain that just washed everything over
And a dream hit your head when the rain hit your roof
And you've just walked outside at 3AM to buy smokes
It's the weekend, you're free and it's ok you're all alone
You slept through the night's rallies and tallies
But it's ok- the streets are empty and beautiful and they're yours
Evergreens look like fake rubber plastic palm trees at a serene luau
Graves of white houses omit a strange glow that makes them look pretty all in a row
Grass is soft Astroturf to roll around on in moonlight
Like a well-paced acid-trip comedown
The world is your playground of wonder
You're in control but just as willing to give it up at any moment
Stores are closed and streetlamps guide you through invisible neon signs which seem far more friendly when out of the daylight
Dirt, grime and teeth-stomped bubblegum take backstage to glittering cement and rock elements
Intoxicated by everything and you're on nothing
You're on nothing
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 7:21 PM UTC
At first glance
You compliment me
Orange hues igniting
My brown sugar frame
I have been scratching tallies
Counting down
The days
Until autumns grace
You embalm me
Forever preserved
Begging to forget
To shed your memories
Brown shriveled leaves
Cracking swiftly beneath my heals
Dust which once glowed green
Filled with promises to deceive
My twisted beautiful frame
Will remain
Your words lost
In the crackle of crisp air
Autumns arrival
Will bring your ruin
But I
Will be born anew
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
You brought me a monster disguised as a mime
Said it was my time to get it talking
I pondered what great a gift to set something free
While in the shadows you put blood in the water
Then fed it to me
I remember lips moving, but never the words
I remember immobility, but never the verbs
(How two-faced is instinct when masked
With a drug you've never tasted before?)
I thought I had shaken this feeling of quiver
Until you delivered me straight to the sheep
Who immediately sank their teeth and grinned
They still had fleece: The joke's on me
At the same time your obsession wavered
Said to savor the memories and the mystery
For what I didn't know would **** me
And so your hands are clean
But I knew something too
A sober fool- yes
But even drunk on your first elixir
I could see through you
Kept coming back to catch you in the act
Partaking in your habits to appease your false politeness
Until it painted my world black-
But I was so close
Just wanted to know a piece of you worth saving
But you feared my mind's sedition-
You mistook napkin stories
For published ammunition
And so gained pleasure in wetting your fingers
And putting out my flame
Keeping secret tallies with your body-snatchers
As to when I'd burn out and fade away
But what you never told them
And will never tell the future
The truth-
Your scars may be invisible
But fire burns in fury when it's blue
So I'll be waiting in my exile
Till the end of days
When the haze has lifted
Your spell has broken
And the Creator returns to its rightful owner
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 11:45 PM UTC
Let's talk honestly shall we?
It's easier to have a face to face with the devil
To communicate with the dead and summon evil
Draw a circle, scratch a pentagram in the middle
With a flame dancing on the peak of a candle
Flickering at the outmost tips of the symbol
Sandle wood incent lit, hit a gong or crash symbol
Then a little rhythmic hum to conclude the opening ritual
Pretty simple
The theatrical aspect varies culture to culture
But the critical structure, the essence, the flavor
The nature of "just call and I'll be there" is there
Let's be honest here, you don't get that with prayer
You'd have better luck with a comatose soothsayer
A blind palm reader, or and end of days sandwich board holder
The one on the corner screaming about unspeakable horror
Just think about it
What do you got to do to talk to your lord and savior?
Is his policy open door?
Does he have your back while going through your personal war?
You're trying to survive the unjust life he made and you're in store for
He just stands back and tallies the score
"IF YOU WEREN'T GOING TO HELP THEN WHAT WERE THE EXTRA SET OF FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND FOR?!?"
This is straight from his written lore, though purposely vague on what's real and what's a metaphor
What are the odds you're right?
He designed you to never be able to directly interact,
Explain that
It's a wildly overlooked fact
Infact,
It's what knocks his believability off track
You look at him and you go blind as a bat,
Why would he do that?
His voice will cause your ears to bleed if your head doesn't explode on first contact
He didn't have to design it like that!
The only answered prayers are those of musicians, athletes and the beautiful people who can act
The rest of us? Good luck Jack
If he hears your prayers then most of the times he's just like, "naw, fuuck that."
What's up with that?
Pretty convenient
©2024
Feb 3, 2024
Feb 3, 2024 at 7:14 PM UTC
Deaths are like tally marks on your mind.
They are charcoal black tick marks
that build on your subconscious,
never fading to scars.
Some are merely penciled in,
like the death of an aunt you never knew.
However the death of someone close cuts deep into you;
a constantly fresh wound.
Never scarring, never healing, it only festers.
But watching someone die burns a dark wound into your brain,
a permanent scorched mark,
the insignia of a life taken forever,
branded onto your thoughts.
We can never remove our tallies and
they only build over time,
our mind growing darker from past sufferings.
But when all that remains is what caused it in the beginning: death.
you become just another tally on those you loved.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
all alone in the unaccustomed patches of this
house, irrevocably mesmerized, washing the
eggshell blue ceramics submerged in winter,
all folly for the tallies I've sketched across
my forearm to the number of
pensive detachments I've buried in my pocket
from only that day, and that day alone.
no answers to the manner of this impulsive
habit of stretching my mind across the ocean
a fishing line with no hook
a photo frame with no picture living inside
I’ve turned you into someone you're not
I’ve brought you to places you’ll never be
surrounded by strangers, lovely oblivion
they don’t know, they’ll never know
and neither will you
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC