"tensed" poems
Stressed ?, Tensed ?, Frustrated in a blow ?,
Go to desert, beach, hill or a mountain of snow,
Sure, plan a trip, better make it solo.
Be free, feel the thrill, fear, love as you go.
Travel to unknowns, meet strangers say hello.
Feeling hurt?,
Stretch a desert,
Feel the sand,
Slipping through your hand,
Realise everything isn't in your control
A camel safari make it a goal.
Experience the culture, mix with locals
to rediscover yourself.
Are you in pain?
Head to mountains,
Altitude will test you in every way,
Your petty issues will go stray,
Try trekking, feel the snow,
Chilly breeze upland it blow,
Challenge your limits.
Trivial issues but mighty mountains digits.
When in doubt,
A beach you scout,
Feel the tropical sun,
Respect the relentless sea overrun,
You surf, sail and try the scooba fun.
Go beyond, challenge your limits,
Experience the miracles of nature,
Subside your pain, let stress be a bygone,
Rediscover yourself in the far unknown.
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 5:28 PM UTC
The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.
Deserted like the dwarves at dawn.
It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!
Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.
Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.
In you the wars and the flights accumulated.
From you the wings of the song birds rose.
You swallowed everything, like distance.
Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank!
It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss.
The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse.
Pilot's dread, fury of blind driver,
turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank!
In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded.
Lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire,
sadness stunned you, in you everything sank!
I made the wall of shadow draw back,
beyond desire and act, I walked on.
Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost,
I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you.
Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness.
and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.
There was the black solitude of the islands,
and there, woman of love, your arms took me in.
There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle.
Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain me
in the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms!
How terrible and brief my desire was to you!
How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid.
Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs,
still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds.
Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,
oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.
Oh the mad coupling of hope and force
in which we merged and despaired.
And the tenderness, light as water and as flour.
And the word scarcely begun on the lips.
This was my destiny and in it was my voyage of my longing,
and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank!
Oh pit of debris, everything fell into you,
what sorrow did you not express, in what sorrow are you not drowned!
From billow to billow you still called and sang.
Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel.
You still flowered in songs, you still brike the currents.
Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well.
Pale blind diver, luckless slinger,
lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour
which the night fastens to all the timetables.
The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore.
Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate.
Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
Only tremulous shadow twists in my hands.
Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything.
It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one!
14.2k
she ruled kingdoms three
the land were prisoners roam free
she spent her time staring at walls
making worlds which would never fall
the chieftain came in and bowed at her feet
'My Queen,the enemy has left us no option -
surrender or retreat.'
Aghast,bewildered and tensed she paced the court
'Oh dear! did they sink our boat?'
'Your majesty, will you please tell how to act in such a situation?'
'You fool! how am I supposed to answer when I am the Queen of Procrastination!'
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
Exams are a great fear,
Less marks,no one can bear
Exams are like ghosts,
During exams,our mind gets roast
Exams are full of studies,
Everyone gets tensed even the WhatsApp buddies
No one laughs, no one plays,
Empty roads empty ways
Study study study,
Exams are on the way
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 10:29 PM UTC
I don't know if I can feel love anymore.
I know that there's many people who care a lot about me,
but I don't know where the warm fuzzy feeling in my chest went.
I only feel pain.
I only feel my ghosts replace the air in my lungs with poison,
as they curl up inside me, so I can't breathe.
I don't know if I can feel relaxed anymore.
I know there are times where I'm not completely tense,
but I don't know how to relax my shoulders,
because they're always tensed up to protect me.
I only feel anxiety gripping me tighter everyday.
I only feel fuzzy, not in my heart, but in my head.
I don't know what happened to the good feelings,
because all I feel is pain.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
The beloved country Africana can boast of is Ghana. The manana of Africana black star is Ghana A nation rich in culture and natural pasture.
Its nature reflects the creatures’ caricature
We are black reflecting our true beauty.
And we are packed with captivating ability. The typicality of our nationality brings unity. Who knows whether our safety lies in our variety?
This unity amidst our diversity is our reportage. About twenty-four million are surviving in our age. Over sixty ethnic groups and fifty-two major languages. There are hundreds of dialects which are to our advantages.
In W/A, Ghana records the highest percentage of Christianity… Yet the modernity of our sanity portrays minds of malignity. But the fraternity of our humanity builds our community. The variety of our morality and privity builds our society
Who said Ghana cannot be capaciously superfluous? We have the very illustrious and exuberant resources. The elites and the voracity are harnessing the recourses. The destitute remains poor and the gentry linger the forces
Our democratic government is an African paradigm. Our peaceful political regime is of no pantomime. Who of course would help us measure corruption? The whole nation would have tensed up to eruption.
If not the gargantuan wayomelogy of the wayometer. Who knows whether the next tool would be attameter? Who wouldn’t love to be a proud Ghanaian to enjoy our hilarious fila and jargons tongue can employ
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
Just a Game. . .
In the comfortable stockade of my mind
Hide and seek cannot be won
Tiptoe away and find a hollow,
The solitary spot
Slipping between turmoil
Festering in alcoves
Always waiting; back tensed,
Adrenalin sheathing the silence
If I remain undetected
Perhaps the seeker will ease off,
Forget the ollie ollie in comfree
Leave me stowed away.
Much later, I could creep into safety
Call a truce, change spots...
Yet unmarred, the same old rules;
Vicious whispers that ask of unknown.
Meaningful glances and gritted teeth,
The shock of lush green eyes chasing down memory lane.
Wake up, Maple. Wake up.
But I wouldn’t, and it didn’t matter.
Because the stabbing whispers would continue inside;
Dueling emotions I long ago left at bay.
Reside there, waiting.
Counting.
Watching.
*Ready or not,
Here
We
Come.*
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
Not a casual day for me,
I get nervous ever hardly,
And that was the day buddy.
23rd September in 2014,
Tensed I was that mornin',
I was making sure at that time.
Luckily all was sorted out,
I reached on time that day,
It was your b'day gift - the pout.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
Stressed out to the max
Head uncontrollably whirring
My patience being taxed
My stomach is stirring
Blood rushing, veins bulge
Muscles tensed, tearing apart
In this instability I do not indulge
This madness, lost in dark thought
I need to be alone
Prevent any harm
Lay like a cold stone
To return to calm
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 7:42 AM UTC
I am not here. I hear them talk, but
their words do not reach me. I hear myself talking like
a theatre actor learning a play's lines. I am
faraway, beyond the light and into delightful days, where the
highway does not bring me home, but where I do belong. That
place is a faraway land, full of fairies and leprechauns and
knights in shining armour... they don't need to know
that I exist. It is a land where I will go beyond my
body, beyond reason. Because my tensed body gives me reason.
I can feel every muscle in my body full of that faraway land
energy, and every blood vessel in it is full of the dream of
having it devouring my imagination. I feel blind. I am not
able to see, nor hear the voices in my throat. But they are
there, so close to my heart that I could breathe them
through the lungs and spit them back to where they belong,
back into my heart. I am not here. I feel myself, but beyond
their reach. They will never touch me, as I have put them
there, where they belong - in a shadowed corner of my ear.
There they will not be able to hear the sound of the fairies
wings, nor the laughter of the leprechauns. They will never
be able to smell the tar on the back of my knights. But so
be it. Let them smell fresh rain on hot concrete and hear
the cracking of elders bones. As this is who they are and
who I am.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 2:59 AM UTC
A shuddered sigh, then some hope inhaled.
A wince of distrust, yet a heart unveiled.
A cautious smile leaves a little too late.
And a hopeful look rises to the bait.
A tensed up brow begins to relax,
For peace and joy have been too long taxed.
Sorrow still lurks in the back of the mind,
But reluctantly it is left behind.
A cautious faith is restored anew
And I open myself
back up
to you.
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 5:48 PM UTC
she wanted my soul
so I cut off a finger,
noting that this little pinky offering,
came from the same hand,
who, who went to the market
to buy her a love poem
all her own, because,
it was from the self same hand
that wrote:
*who, can cut a soul into pieces,
no one!
so one will still ask you,
who!
who will love you
in whole poems,
that are both past and future tensed
composite composted,
from words overly overused,
but still foolishly feeling brand new
when referencing you,
so you can believe with new fool-thinking,
this is your sole composition*
she wanted my heart,
applauded her determination,
gave her one eye to see me instead better,
so the visions she essays, to write,
like when I sit down to write
of women I’ve loved but!
they do not come from my heart pieces,
but from inside insight from of parts
that are blind to everything
but raucous untamable invisible desire
she asked me for all the world’s wisdom,
while standing on one legging,
I simply said, here I am,
telling you I’ll love you the way you requested,
if only to be loved in return
so with one eye and one leg,
you will observe, two is not more
than the sum of the parts of one love,
as I count to ten on my nine fingers
fingers that wrote of love not enough,
no matter how many he gave up
she wanted my brainiac left hemisphere,
said, sure,
the left side of me is where the baby poems
are created, and then angel-released when ready,
when needed, now that I
see you’re needy for pieces,
but still mistaken that pieces can be reconstructed into
a whole with spit and spirit
and an overarching imagination -
no!
the whole comes from only a holy place extracted
from the hole-in-one that is my entirety
give me then your utter essence,
the place of you
I, only I know exists, must exist,
but cannot touch to see
where you keep it hidden
from all the women who love you,
better than you even love yourself
if you want that, then collect it,
for it exists and lives on
in every woman that asked for nothing,
but was rewarded with more
than a thousand poems,
stored in stars, for her,
to be creamed and cleansed,
when she plucked them
from the night in the galaxy where exist
love poems, only
to she-one shone-shine
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 1:48 PM UTC
Mnemonic...
Over my mug of steaming coffee,
...i see cookies and a fruit...sliced,
to freshen my breath after my coffee break....
one glance...
one unexpected glance, took me back... to
when i decided to do something for myself,
to be happy.....and to be somebody....but,
finally....i fought the desire, to be defiant...
those awakenings, and newfound feelings,
still haunt my evenings...the hurting, somewhat
changed me, and my beliefs.......i realized that,
at some point in one's life, a chance moment
unfolds on a landing...clear to the eyes...on a mission,
to change attitudes...to erase wrong impressions,
triggered by unpleasant experiences....i have also
discovered....at the right time, somebody comes,
......like an angel with hidden wings...to soften
our hardened minds....to melt our frozen hearts,
ease our tensed opinions...offer us a healing balm.
sometimes, a place, or a face, becomes a kind of paper
that can't be crumpled, or destroyed...so hard to forget.
anyone...anything, that strikes the heart hard,
easily comes back, with the slightest reminder,
catches you..........unprepared....
this fruit on the table, in silence, it just sits there,
...unaware of its being mnemonic...doesn't matter,
if it's fresh, rotten, or candied...a plum, apple or pear
....................would prompt me, to remember,
over my mug of steaming coffee...
Sally
Copyright July 27, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 10:40 PM UTC
when time has worn right through my skin
and tasks ahead i can’t begin
my weary brain thinks only that
i wish, i wish i were a cat.
were that my only thought could be
a bird too high up in a tree
i’d lash my tail and arch my back
with muscles tensed for the attack.
i’d lick my whiskers, plan my spring
but falter when the bird takes wing
no matter if i miss that chance
a cat won’t give a second glance.
for cats have freedoms kept from me
no head for mute anxiety
no time but now, no deadlines missed
my only duty: to exist.
but if i were a cat i bet
i’d find some way to feel regret
i’d gaze through glass and ponder why
i’m pleased to let my life go by.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 9:19 AM UTC
See I wanted to write about you and everything that I silently picked up on up
if you're wondering what I picked up on
Body language and cues
The way you tensed up when you were about to hear bad news
your anxiety
how it at times it came crashing down and you didn't know what to do
I reassured you the best way I could
when you're concentrating or deep in thought about something
( I knew not to disturb you )
opening up to anyone was a task in itself
you hated doing that / I understood
The way you like to sing off key you think you sounded horrible singing wise
I disagreed
Personally, to me, I thought you sounded good
you told me a lot of info about yourself gradually over the months we got to know each other
I told you a lot of things as well
but one thing is for sure I picked up on several things you weren't aware of and I'd never tell you this
but you're easy to read just like a book
if you're annoyed, angry or upset
you might think oh no one cared or noticed
I noticed
as it was written all over your face meaning you had the most readable ****** expressions
if you're wondering how I knew about your moods
it's simple really I could tell in the tone of your voice
if you were about to cry you had a certain tone of voice that suggested quivering in I'm about break down and cry tone of voice or how you were upset you had a certain way of behaving that let me know either to give you space or to comfort you
if you were mad ( depending on what the issue was / who the individual was and how long ago it was in addition to the details determined everything )
how you'd need space or you felt upset / still brought up the issue no matter how long ago said everything
and how could I forget your favorite songs the way you hummed them
favorite food and snacks
I still remember the details that you told me
the way we both know I'm fine or I'm okay
is a complete lie when either one of us
is upset mostly you though
when you're upset or down it's like I can sense that your energy is off / vibes are off some way or another
but one thing about our friendship is how we told each other several things
and because of that I still remember how you react
favorite snacks
your dreams and what your plans for the future were
how you handled relationships
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 12:56 AM UTC
my hands tightly clenched
the bathroom counter,
my mouth agape,
eyes rolling,
tossing hair to the side,
tighter,
tighter,
veins aching,
my vision sliding
to look into
my own eyes,
pupils dilated,
bags,
red,
my face covered in runny
black paint
on my chest
the word
"dead" written
with the tips of tense
fingers,
that way if the sirens
ever made their way
they wouldn't waste
their time trying to fix
me,
tighter,
tighter,
i was my own maker,
my own master,
my own destroyer,
i hated to say it,
but i hoped she was alone,
because i was alone,
i fell to the floor,
traced the word
on my skin,
lighter,
lighter,
my head began to fog
with dense advice,
everyone is right,
except me.
everyone knows all,
except me,
my hands tensed one
last time,
my mind faded to
black,
and i took my gamble.
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 1:59 PM UTC
The glowing jacinth sun was just beginning its descent,
casting long, flittering shadows on horse and rider alike.
Although the horse was young, he walked
with an air of importance,
like a racer entering the track.
As the playful breeze rustled the viridian leaves,
his muscles tensed.
He perked up like a toy soldier,
watching the purpling sky with wary eyes,
the amaranthine clouds reflected in those deep sable orbs.
As he trotted about like a fairy,
his russet coat shone vibrantly in the setting sun,
a body of twinkling rubies set in amber.
The sprite padded softly on the ground
with the delicate nature of a hummingbird,
he had a stride like a river of sweet milk and honey.
The chestnut dreamer skipped across the ground
like notes across a page,
his song light and airy.
he tiptoed and pirouetted,
his three pearly stockings dancing
like the melodious keys of a piano.
Her cinnabar savior bounded over the fences
like a prancing stag,
and his dainty ears pricked forward
as his chocolate-brown eyes fixed on the obstacle ahead.
As he jumped, he lit up with a bravery
that could have been felt all throughout the arena.
Had the two not been alone,
the entrancing sight would have been easily able to charm his way
into the hearts of even the stoniest of onlookers.
With a gleeful snort,
the sunny gelding seemed to fill the air
with good-natured laughter.
The rider reached down to give him a pat,
and he brightened at her touch,
the pet like a kiss on his glossy ginger neck.
And as the last of the daylight filtered away
into the velvety mazarine sky,
his neck stretched down and his walk slowed.
Satisfied with their ride, the two made their way back inside,
surrounding by the growing darkness.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 9:42 AM UTC
She held onto the cigarette
quivering hands and ****** veins
it lit up and scorched the leaves
infiltrating in her tensed lungs.
It reminded her of him.
Breathing in the grey smoke,
she suffocated from
the air that they weren't sharing.
Hugging the cigarette,
with his shapely lips
she knew that any attempt
of kissing him
would **** her
but yet she longed to die
at his touch.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 7:00 AM UTC
You're going on the highway,
Bringing a new 4-string bass guitar,
And a drum-set too for your sons.
Now you could be a family rock band,
You could churn your own Summer of '69,
The world will know you three now.
A really hot chick hitchhikes in your car,
You are tensed as your eyes meet.
There is unfathomable longing in hers,
And the bathykolpian woman's so inviting.
You can't play the good man at this age,
You decide to cheat your own wife now.
You stop the car quickly anyhow,
A quickee's on your mind & nothin' more.
She smiles at you and lunging towards her,
You smell the inviting scent of hers.
In middle of the kiss you start foreseeing,
You forsee a bright romantic future,
Suddenly her wellbeing's lost & she vomits.
Then you bring her to the hospital,
The gynaecologist congratulates you,
"Congrats! You're going to be a father!"
Taken aback, you say, "But I just met her!"
The girl who hitchhiked says, ***"He's ****** lying!"***
The doc summons the police and your test is done,
"Good news & bad news," the doc says,
"One, you're not her baby's father."
Hearing this you're relieved.
"Now the bad news, doc," you say.
The doc says, "You could have never have fathered any even if you intended to."
You are flabbergasted, "What the hell! Why?"
The doc pacifies, "Your load doesn't have any sperms,"
Seeing you shocked the doctor says,
***"It's a birth defect that happens rarely but yes it does..."
"...You may sue the girl for everything."***
The biggest shock in your life so far.
You just shake your head and turn around to go.
You're in the middle of a nightmare,
It couldn't be true!
***If not you then the 2 kids back home,
They belonged to whom!***
Now that's the biggest tension!
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
*Clinging to PAST TENSE
Trying for FUTURE PERFECT
Making all PRESENT TENSE
All VERBS tensed.*
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 5:10 AM UTC
The way water pellets run down
your tan firm body
like light nimble fingers
caressing your edged jawline
makes me wish those fingers
were mine.
The way the sun reflects off of
your white brilliant smile
like many bright little stars
inside your lips
makes me wish your light could shine
into me.
The way you walk towards me right now
your muscles tensed and eyes locked
like an animal going in for the prey
makes my heart race and skip beats
a little kid on a sugar high.
Which I am.
Looking at you is like feasting on
Halloween candy
eating the entire pillowcase-full in one night.
Gazing at you is like going back for
seconds
thirds
fourths
on dessert
and not feeling the least bit guilty.
You are my secret stash of
eye candy.
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 12:48 PM UTC
Cry me a river.
Douse me in the irony of conflict.
I'm just a rock on the edge of it,
sitting patiently for your sigh.
We both sit idly by, tensed for the precious birth of words in silence. Trust the ever-living body of guilt that is boiling over the edges of my self-concept.
Don't speak to me as if I'm some dignitary for justice, but simply as if I might irk out some monochrome of truth whilst I sip my coffee in exasperation.
Irritation is also intoxication might I remind,
so I'm fumbling and tripping over my own flawed reasoning.
I got to this point somehow,
so let us examine it rationally and see why I drowned in the liquor of my own rhetoric.
Or, we can sit tentatively vacant waiting for some resolution to spring from the ether that is the growing chasm between us.
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 7:36 PM UTC
I literally just had a panic attack.
It was scary.
My heart began malfunctioning in my chest
It was doing 150 beats per minute at best
And all I did was thought of the possibility, that we'll never be.
This is what you do to me.
I spent, half and hour under the shower,
Trying to get my breathing under control.
In... out... in, out and hold..
Holding my breath in hope it would lower my heart rate,
Before it was too late.
I watch my chest flutter like humming bird wings,
My chest, tensed violin strings,
A melody I know too well.
Symphonies and notes that tell,
You are my heaven and my hell.
Will someone please call the doctor?
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
I spent my time letting my hands die in the arms of my own body
I broke the chains of slavery yet broke myself in the process
I drank my spit with a dry swallow and discontent for what that meant
My legs tensed and I, like most of the time, felt disgust with myself
And though this was new and strange
I’d known it for some time now and it wasn’t getting easier
My eyes welled up but not enough to form a tear
At least not at this point
And my teeth grinding at the thought of what was happening to my body
But again I said this had happened all too often
And lastly I thought of my day
And the whirlwind I was in that brought me to my own demise
And I wondered why this has happened so often
And each time a bit worse than the last or at the very least a horrifying reality
My fingers felt different than my own and my depression from what they said
Would be to blame but I thought of this much differently
And not in the sense that i did not feel depressed
Just in the sense that the only thing I knew how to feel was death
Death of a self or a hand or even a time in place that I could not accept
I thought that everyday must be like this
And this is why I felt alone or rejected
At wits end or neglected
Why I felt like no one understood or like I was the only one standing in a room
And even with no words leaking from my mouth
My cintrivical force still beared witness to the pain that existed around me
And though my confusion consumed me
My eye began to shed a tear
And my left knee buckled up
And even though my right pointer finger was not to be found
And ultimately made my teeth grind again at the thought
I still was able to exist
Even in this poem
Even in this world
I was here
And the tear fell down my cheek
And thinking of you made it fall harder
The hardest thing I’ve ever experienced Was in the eyes of someone I’d described my pain to
And their go to was to make me feel it again or some part of it to an extent
Their first instinct was to let me relive it through them
As if the pain initially was not enough to comprehend
And that’s where I come to end
This poem or this explanation
That everyone has something to prove
And if it cannot be done through them
They will choose your pain as a way to regain theirselves in vein
And to say this is a joke
Well my only hope
Is that you are not another to
Let my heart be revoked
Of its own truth
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 12:19 PM UTC
I was alone, outside, apart, my back to everyone.
He came up behind me, I could feel his warm breath on my neck it made me close my eyes.
As he started to touch me, I tensed up.
He laughed and said we all ways have fun, for him I guess that's true.
My body burned with his touch, but not in a good way.
He lead me away - completely numb, compliant, submissive.
I am too afraid to leave; part of me knows I deserve this.
When you are raised to be an object, how do you find a voice?
I can barely utter please, stop, and he laughs again, he knows he has me trapped beneath him.
I hate myself for this, over and over again.
Same story, different guy, it will never end.
How can I grow past pain, past fear, when it is continually inflicted?
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC