"totter" poems
The weak breeze whispers nothing
The water screams sublime
His feet shift, teeter-totter
Deep breath, stand back, it’s time
Toes untouch the overpass
Soon he’s water bound
Eyes locked shut but peek to see
The view from halfway down
A little wind, a summer sun
A river rich and regal
A flood of fond endorphins
Brings a calm that knows no equal
You’re flying now
You see things much more clear than from the ground
It’s all okay, it would be
Were you not now halfway down
Thrash to break from gravity
What now could slow the drop
All I’d give for toes to touch
The safety back at top
But this is it, the deed is done
Silence drowns the sound
Before I leaped I should’ve seen
The view from halfway down
I really should’ve thought about
The view from halfway down
I wish I could’ve known about
The view from halfway down
Feb 11, 2020
Feb 11, 2020 at 9:53 AM UTC
Babels of blocks to the high heavens towering
Flames of futility swirling below;
Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flowering,
Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow.
Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers,
Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun;
Catacomb deeps whose dank chaos delivers
Streams of live foetor that rots in the sun.
Colour and splendour, disease and decaying,
Shrieking and ringing and crawling insane,
Rabbles exotic to stranger-gods praying,
Jumbles of odour that stifle the brain.
Legions of cats from the alleys nocturnal.
Howling and lean in the glare of the moon,
Screaming the future with mouthings infernal,
Yelling the Garden of Pluto's red rune.
Tall towers and pyramids ivy'd and crumbling,
Bats that swoop low in the weed-cumber'd streets;
Bleak Arkham bridges o'er rivers whose rumbling
Joins with no voice as the thick horde retreats.
Belfries that buckle against the moon totter,
Caverns whose mouths are by mosses effac'd,
And living to answer the wind and the water,
Only the lean cats that howl in the wastes.
15.8k
..life is full of life
like a magic land full of wonders,
like songs whose notes go high and low,
with lines which rhyme to make a flow!
and whole experiences in life goes just like a wind's blow:
soft yet swift, silent yet clear.
It begins,continues and may even end well only if you put forward a virtuous life indeed.
All you need to be away from is the poison tree
which fed Adam and Eve.
Look away!
It may be placed in the center of your life too.
You may find it the most glossy and glittering today.
Bowing to this may keep your head held down forever.
Know this fact for a sinless life
All the tempting trees yield fruits sour & reel
you'll stumble,totter,wobble & falter!
Then'll you realize fasting away this fruit was better.
But by then you'll lose paradise forever and fetter!
So let us all not reach to this concluding our lives should have a better ending.
which is to be more certain,graceful & dutiful.
Cos we live only once but it should have the worth of tons
Life'll help you do that..As "life attracts life"
BEAUTIFULLY ,ENORMOUSLY & PERFECTLY!!
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 8:20 AM UTC
Let's celebrate indecision!
The weighing of pros and cons
The doubts and what ifs.
Rejoice in the feeling of uncertainty
When all the options seem equally weighted.
When doing what you please doesn't seem pleasing at all.
Suppose there was only one choice,
Now add five more.
Conjure up that feeling of confusion
Cherish that back and forth
Like tossing and turning at night
The uneasiness with which you approach
A fork in the road, which
Sounds more like a headache.
The longer you teeter the more you totter
Until at last! The decision seems made
...Or does it?
If only they made one brand of toothpaste.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
1 The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home,
2 'Tis summer, the darkies are gay,
3 The corn top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom
4 While the birds make music all the day.
5 The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
6 All merry, all happy and bright:
7 By'n by Hard Times comes a knocking at the door,
8 Then my old Kentucky Home, good night!
9 [Chorus] Weep no more, my lady, oh! weep no more to-day!
10 We will sing one song
11 For the old Kentucky Home,
12 For the old Kentucky Home, far away.
13 [Solo] They hunt no more for the possum and the ****
14 On the meadow, the hill and the shore,
15 They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,
16 On the bench by the old cabin door.
17 The day goes by like a shadow o'er the heart,
18 With sorrow where all was delight:
19 The time has come when the darkies have to part,
20 Then my old Kentucky Home, good-night!
21 [Chorus] Weep no more, my lady, oh! weep no more to-day!
22 We will sing one song
23 For the old Kentucky Home,
24 For the old Kentucky Home, far away.
25 [Solo] The head must bow and the back will have to bend,
26 Wherever the darkey may go:
27 A few more days, and the trouble all will end
28 In the field where the sugar-canes grow.
29 A few more days for to tote the weary load,
30 No matter 'twill never be light,
31 A few more days till we totter on the road,
32 Then my old Kentucky Home, good-night!
33 [Chorus] Weep no more, my lady, oh! weep no more to-day!
34 We will sing one song
35 For the old Kentucky Home,
36 For the old Kentucky Home, far away.
3.7k
I
I see the boys of summer in their ruin
Lay the gold tithings barren,
Setting no store by harvest, freeze the soils;
There in their heat the winter floods
Of frozen loves they fetch their girls,
And drown the cargoed apples in their tides.
These boys of light are curdlers in their folly,
Sour the boiling honey;
The jacks of frost they finger in the hives;
There in the sun the frigid threads
Of doubt and dark they feed their nerves;
The signal moon is zero in their voids.
I see the summer children in their mothers
Split up the brawned womb's weathers,
Divide the night and day with fairy thumbs;
There in the deep with quartered shades
Of sun and moon they paint their dams
As sunlight paints the shelling of their heads.
I see that from these boys shall men of nothing
Stature by seedy shifting,
Or lame the air with leaping from its hearts;
There from their hearts the dogdayed pulse
Of love and light bursts in their throats.
O see the pulse of summer in the ice.
II
But seasons must be challenged or they totter
Into a chiming quarter
Where, punctual as death, we ring the stars;
There, in his night, the black-tongued bells
The sleepy man of winter pulls,
Nor blows back moon-and-midnight as she blows.
We are the dark derniers let us summon
Death from a summer woman,
A muscling life from lovers in their cramp
From the fair dead who flush the sea
The bright-eyed worm on Davy's lamp
And from the planted womb the man of straw.
We summer boys in this four-winded spinning,
Green of the seaweeds' iron
Hold up the noisy sea and drop her birds,
Pick the world's ball of wave and froth
To choke the deserts with her tides,
And comb the county gardens for a wreath.
In spring we cross our foreheads with the holly,
Heigh ** the blood and berry,
And nail the merry squires to the trees;
Here love's damp muscle dries and dies
Here break a kiss in no love's quarry,
O see the poles of promise in the boys.
III
I see you boys of summer in your ruin.
Man in his maggots barren.
And boys are full and foreign to the pouch.
I am the man your father was.
We are the sons of flint and pitch.
O see the poles are kissing as they cross.
3.4k
Dark clouds roll in over the calm waters
Winds howl and signs tilt and totter
As I sit and watch the big storm roll in
Waves crash hard onto the sandy beaches
Bright lights strike fast on the water it reaches
As I sit and watch the big storm begin
From the black sky, mounds of rain start to pour
And boom crashes fill the open shore
As I sit and watch the big storm hit peak
Lights begin to dim, thunder grows quiet
As nature starts to storms the storms riot
As I sit and watch the big storm grow weak
The seas calm and the black clouds disappear
A sight of beauty to all who are near
As I sit and view the storms creation
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
I.
Everything meets
in the middle,
all that is
and was
and done
or said
eventually.
So they say while
the fulcrum creaks
and the lever sags.
That’s where
they’ve
lost there way.
Take two magnets and
try to push them together
to meet at center, instead
they slide from side to side
and go around, no force
can bring them together.
I say everything
that goes around
comes back this way,
the wrong way,
to haunt or remind us
but never to the middle,
never offering peace.
Maybe that's why
some say suicide
is a valid option,
as if to trick
the sacred balance,
sneak up on
magnetic rejection
and force your way
to center.
Sometimes I dwell
on the mystery of
Golden Gate.
Such a sacred place,
the breeze, the sun,
her hypnotic beauty
and the fact that
no one jumps at
night.
II.
Nero: "Jax, do you believe in Karma?"
Jax: "Not today"
But I believe.
I believe because
I have lived it.
My Karma is Grace
and I can’t tell you
how many times she
has found me,
always where I didn’t go willingly,
dragged by a massive darkness
and held up high while the weight
of death sat across the divide
on the other end of the teeter-totter.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
John Anderson, my jo John,
When we were first acquent
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is bald, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo!
John Anderson, my jo John,
We clamb the hill thegither,
And mony a canty day, John,
We’ve had wi’ ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we’ll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo.
2.3k
We used to sit in your parent's basement
with your two dogs on their little beds
in the corner by the old desktop computer,
wooden hand-me-down grandmother cabinetry,
lace doilies underneath all the candles
on the coffee table. I made you turn out the lights.
We would sit there and pretend
that we could find something better to do
than kiss between commercials
or talk about all the things we used
to dream about in high school, how I
got mine and how yours were like
the back bumper of a car that got left
out in the rain too long-- a little rusty.
Your kissing was a little rusty,
but I let it go because you didn't make fun
of me ordering a double grilled cheese
on our first date. You also didn't judge
when I got drips on my dress
from my ice cream cone. I can still
remember the way you'd yell at me
for stopping too far out at intersections,
laughing how I was gonna get us killed
one day, but I think
you just really loved to hear me sing
over you. I think you really loved
me, and here I was playing teeter
totter on curbs in little jean shorts
with a guy who gave me a slice
of leftover pizza. Here I was, burning
down your own ambitions because
they didn't seem as glittery as my own,
because you didn't quite match all the sketches,
all the plans I had on my map. Because
if we were to draw straws I always thought
you would come up a little short.
I think you really loved me and I left you
like a penny in between that couch
we used to sit on.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
Newton, Shakespeare and Lady Day
on the shoulders of giants I totter
science technology and poetry
politics media and philosophy
layer on layer of ideology
collide like matter and antimatter.
Rules from school and infancy
loyalty influence and love.
You ask me what makes me tick.
The clock ticks. My watch ticks.
I quietly wonder - tick, tick, tick.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 6:03 AM UTC
Ten years old again,
In a tree ten feet high again,
In scuffed shorts with tangled hair,
And with the boys I longed to be.
Sanctimonious girls in dresses and frills,
Boredom and constraint personified,
Stare up in incredulity
As I heave myself over mossy branches.
“Girls don’t climb trees.”
I do. I roll in mud, play racing games,
Never brush my hair.
“You’d be pretty if only you tried.”
You’d feel alive if only you tried.
The wind on my bare arms,
Dirt beneath fingernails,
Scrapes on my shins
Red and out of place
Like smudged lipstick
On children’s faces.
I’m not you. I’m me.
Boxes serve to keep us in,
Deliver us neatly packaged
To a society which cannot cope
With fluidity,
Individuality,
Uncertainty.
Boo!
She says those two misguided words:
“Make over”.
Impossible. One cannot start afresh.
This is the result of every waking moment,
Of every word heard and spoken,
Each memory joyous and painful,
A piece of art nineteen years in the making.
Not to be destroyed in one act of disguise.
Yet curiosity is my mistress.
She leads me to boundaries
I never knew existed.
Up goliath trees,
Into foreign beds,
To the brink of reality
In mind-bending worlds
Of parallels.
Like a mannequin, devoid of identity
I give my image to you
And you place yours jarringly
Onto my reticent body.
The obliging cheers
At my transformation
Into an eloquent femininity
Feel hollow and worthless.
I have done nothing of merit.
I totter like a toddler
Uncomfortable in my own skin.
I’m on stage, an act,
A project. Not a person.
How bizarre it feels
To wear a stranger’s façade
Of dresses and frills,
When you know you belong
To a different world
Of dirt, and treetops,
And freedom.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 4:26 PM UTC
1476
His voice decrepit was with Joy—
Her words did totter so
How old the News of Love must be
To make Lips elderly
That purled a moment since with Glee—
Is it Delight or Woe—
Or Terror—that do decorate
This livid interview—
2.2k
On having thought of the deeds I do
Day in, day out, and all through
Some I wish I hadn’t done
Though doing which was no fun
Slapping my own baby,
Hurting a daughter
For instance
I am no man, maybe
I reel, and I totter.
Often I repent, life’s force spent
Yet on living on, hell bent
Sometimes it’s just a thought I bore
Heart from heart, gut wrenching
Usually only a word that tore
Mouth’s bile, soul drenching
Doubt engulfs me unknowing
Words my own, self rending
Even I know when I am no match
For a conciliatory patch,
Plod on I must, myself to prove
I may yet find my gentle groove.
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
She is obscene, ******* inbetween
I shouldn't haven't to explain what that means
Only a handleful don't find her scary and overwelming
Ok so I'm letting the angry apple flavoring do all the writing
Who is really listening, honestly
This psychotic chick will always be the one and only
Sorry if you were expecting me to sing
I suppose this was not enough
Oh well I'll keep sipping while you're guesstimating the measures you should be taking
Here's a secret, I mentally teeter totter unstably
So does the rest of poetfreak
Let's start a toast and forward the drinking
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
1433
How brittle are the Piers
On which our Faith doth tread—
No Bridge below doth totter so—
Yet none hath such a Crowd.
It is as old as God—
Indeed—’twas built by him—
He sent his Son to test the Plank,
And he pronounced it firm.
2.1k
Constantly I am fumbling
Trying to keep time with the beat
I catch up with one thing
While the other one topples
Struggle as I go
Struggle as I go
Like a teering totter
One side high the other side low
Can I get some consistency
Please?
No
Again and again
Always
Struggle as I go
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
We're kinda small,
But we can be tall,
And play with the switches
On the walls.
We can run.
Ready. Set. Go.
You'll never catch us,
Don't you know.
We can reach anything
Out of reach.
We ride our bikes on our street.
We sometimes laugh until we ***
We get our bruises riding scooters.
We're one on our teeter-totter.
We see-saw you.
Jul 28, 2021
Jul 28, 2021 at 9:00 AM UTC
Slip into a syncopated
Yaw that staggers some,
Never touches others.
Come back home if you don't have the chops, or
Open up to ranges
Pleasant...
Awkward...
Totter some and Tatter some.
Insiders,
Outsiders
Nestle or Negate whenever Music syncopates.
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 11:53 AM UTC
Decisions Decisions,
it all takes precision.
To do this or that,
teeter here, maybe totter-tat!
Decisions Decisions,
how many we must make,
decisions decisions, we give back what we take.
Take a step, leave your print,
take up the sun, leave your shadows.
Give a smile, leave an impression,
all these little things, to learn a big lesson.
Decision's Decisions,
we're always given choices,
two choices, maybe more,
I'd rather have my freedom of choice, rather than standing at a locked door.
Decision's Decisions,
You know when one door closes, another one opens?
For me, I prefer the windows,
the smaller but clearer choice is for me.
We're given choices,
do one or the other,
so think about this,
a small food for thought
who do you make your choices for, who makes your decisions
or have you already forgot?
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
\|\||//|\\\\||////
I see young reeds on the marshy water
......with flexible stalks...softer...smaller
forcefully swayed by the ones taller...older
...squeezed in between
...no choice given
.....but to exist within
there are those that bravely stray
...even before the stiff ones get blown away,
.....out of the reedy confines, they peek
......curiosity and freedom...they seek
i watch these young reeds rise and totter
when the wind moves the shallow water
bravely peeping...finding their light,
...claiming their space....with traces of fright
.................learning to fight
...with every fiber of their might.
...they can't go farther
................than yonder
in restrictions, they'll find some wisdom
eventually, they'll discover true freedom
one day...their blades would be more defined,
toughened, honed by rain, sun, wind and time,
in their minds, my words would have to rhyme...
but, until then...i got to be taller
......sharper.....tougher
...flexible, but dauntless
i have to sway 360 degrees,
.......when the need arises....
Sally
Copyright July 12, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 12:55 AM UTC
brady’s cafe
i’m doing a reading at kent state
got an interminably long wait to get on
protesters outside provoke the cops
about an after nine noise pollution law
they bang bongos and march through
the cafe
disrupting the readings
chanting
“noise is illegal noise is llegal.”
i am getting nerve racked and edgy
so i drink port from disguised juice bottle
we smoke a joint
the time drags and i get
somewhat drunk-my face a fiery blush
but no longer feel the thump of my heart
somewhere up in my neck
it’s round midnight
we smoke another
and suddenly i’m on
i totter up grabbing chairs for leverage
the crowd receptive to my words
never knew my mental anguish
or saw the slight in my left knee.
ana christy from beatnik blues
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:07 PM UTC
my emotional feedback alternates-
hot and cold
it is sometimes like fire and ice
my dreams totter back and forth-
hot and cold
it is sometimes like fire and ice
my weakness is strong-
hot and cold
it is sometimes like fire and ice
her beauty floors me-
hot and cold
it is sometimes like fire and ice
when they leave me alone-
hot and cold
it is sometimes like fire and ice
today the pinniacle is at it's peak-
hot and cold
it is sometimes like fire and ice
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 6:42 PM UTC
Slipping into my skimpiest dress I scream and smash all the softly twinkling
Glass
Embedded in mother's wedding heels, I totter on the edge 40 stories
High
In a stranger's bedroom, eyes low with a gun to my
Head
Away from relative safety, dance past a sign reading No
Trespassing
In the life of a married man, drinking wine and letting him
****
This life, light another cigarette, burn my palm with the dark end of a
Match
Made in heaven, made in hell, keep on
Moving
Inside me, out of body, casual notions, perpetual motion
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC
I sometimes feel like I'm walking in circles
A cyclone of emotions
An unknown miracle
I sometimes feel like I'm close to failure
Swaying back and forth
An unstable teeter totter
Going from reality to pure nightmare
I'm left totally scared
Pondering the thought of going back there
I sometimes feel like I'm stuck in one place
To everyone else life is one big race
A test of strength
To determine ones fate
And I'm left in a past date
A complex state..... of mind
I sometimes feel like I'm close to crumbling
One big gust of wind will leave me struggling
Fumbling and juggling
My hardship and my triumph
Both reveal battle scars
One last trip to mars
To look at the stars
Before I hit earth
To revert back to my old ways
The olden days
I sometimes feel like I can't stop rambling
Or time traveling
Maybe just one more time
To ease my mind
I sometimes feel like...
There I go again
Not enough ink in my pen
To finish off my train of thought
So I'll just stop
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 11:59 PM UTC