"troughs" poems
1123
A great Hope fell
You heard no noise
The Ruin was within
Oh cunning wreck that told no tale
And let no Witness in
The mind was built for mighty Freight
For dread occasion planned
How often foundering at Sea
Ostensibly, on Land
A not admitting of the wound
Until it grew so wide
That all my Life had entered it
And there were troughs beside
A closing of the simple lid
That opened to the sun
Until the tender Carpenter
Perpetual nail it down—
8.6k
ECG
They showed the broken rhythm of my heart
With inky ripples traced in peaks and troughs
The night when sudden life was torn apart
Left echoes like a dry persistant cough
This paper trail more signature of self
Than any scribbled scrawl of given names
More indication of my vital health
Than any poet’s talk of light or flames
My quick survival charted there as fact.
“And here, you see a murmured aftershock”
The remnant spider scribe of heart attack
My ailing pulse, my brittle ticking tock
Once took a moment’s beat to catch its breath
And left me reeling at the edge of death.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
Skin as White as Winter Snow
Legs as Boundless as the Sea,
Stationed in Venice or Bordeaux
From Blue-collar to Bourgeois.
Hair is Chic, Yet not Pristine
Soft and Cropped and Fine,
Cheekbones High a Distinct Ravine
Embellished by a High Neckline.
Undefined Peaks and Troughs
Cumbersome and Lank,
Garnished in the Finest Cloth
Awash with Unassuming Swank.
Miss Androgynous hear my call
For I've Become a Virile Gent,
I Yearn for your Unwieldy Frame
That God in Heaven Sent
February 2011
Apr 3, 2011
Apr 3, 2011 at 3:11 PM UTC
My emotions roll with the tide,
Toe tip dip,
Into the blue,
The cold dark liquid,
Seeps inside.
My hair turns to the creatures,
Of the big deep,
All of their poison
Rapidly seeps.
Sea salt water enters my lungs,
Gently squeezing,
And halting
My slow breathing,
Years from here,
I'll reach the troughs,
But what if this ending
Isn't enough?
My skin a crustation,
Water baby
Can't swim,
Let the ocean compress me,
****** me from within.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
It is true that the rivers went nosing like swine,
Tugging at banks, until they seemed
Bland belly-sounds in somnolent troughs,
That the air was heavy with the breath of these swine,
The breath of turgid summer, and
Heavy with thunder's rattapallax,
That the man who erected this cabin, planted
This field, and tended it awhile,
Knew not the quirks of imagery,
That the hours of his indolent, arid days,
Grotesque with this nosing in banks,
This somnolence and rattapallax,
Seemed to suckle themselves on his arid being,
As the swine-like rivers suckled themselves
While they went seaward to the sea-mouths.
3k
windmills turn
slicing days
as prescribed
moving water
as they do
set troughs
can't complain
there is no point
cycles set in place
grids buckle
like we're
trapped
live chequered lives
without ourselves
on deck
though paths
with every step
trod blind
at close of day
did we not take
that road
for steering wheel
this hand
grabbed
let's harness Self
remove the screen
and see
in this precinct
or yonder place
we've opted for
we took a route
with outcome
flawed
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 11:35 AM UTC
Fifty-percent illusion at any given time.
Your unintended muse will plead 'not guilty' to the crime
Of snatching back the quill and reshaping every line
into the role she wished to play
-- it seems the choice was never mine --
but the boy with the weighted wedding ring,
the self-appointed jury of the south;
him sheepish at the door with roses,
and the brute who owns this house.
Was it feminine mystique or was I crystal clear
while you blocked your ears and pretended not to hear?
A three-act structured tragedy.
All archetypes assigned.
"We've had this date since the beginning" --
if the part must be mine to play,
it is in my hands to manipulate.
Direct your blame to those who cast the roles.
Torn petticoat, blue piano;
flattered by the dimming glow --
oh, to be glossy pink and gold!
A trophy bride. A victor's prize.
(I snap awake and still see his eyes --
that ego swells him thrice my size --
with bruising force, he parts my thighs.)
Was it hysteria - madness? - or was I crystal clear
while you blocked your ears and pretended not to hear?
My fate was written for me,
in the frontal lobes of those who came before me:
down that narrative route, all bumps and troughs -- desire!
Fragments of an old Rossetti poem... o, vanity of vanities... the streetcar rattles and groans.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 4:19 PM UTC
I'm staining your raiment with blood while rolling my tongue to create a sputum so that I can wipe off that blood from your raiment. But, you know what I don't want you to clean your shroud because it is a paradigm of our potential—blood. This blood is so potent that it will remind you of me because it is our dark side where we encapsulate. It is something which makes us distinct in our privy shell. Smears of this blood can create revolutions. You know how? Its redness denotes the umlauts of our love and its states depends upon the crests and troughs of our relationship. When we are reaching the crests, it gets brimmed with oxygen and give rise to a new life but the best part is that our troughs don't boost up the mortality rate, instead bring us back to the life. See, how such a small drop of red liquid is so significant for the two of us. It's because it's not a drop of 'liquid' but life. Blood is life, life is blood. We are blood, blood ARE us!
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
I am analogue.
made of troughs and of peaks.
My medication offers
silence with tweaks.
I'm upping and downing,
either dreaming or drowning.
So I can't stay too long
in case something goes wrong.
First thought of the day
is of impending doom.
Rain clouds have gathered
and it pours in my room.
Later on that day,
I feel I'm okay
and I don't know why but
. . . . . I'll take it.
Poetry by Kaydee.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 5:08 PM UTC
Long distance calls,
scratchy images,
Invisible walls,
created.
Wavelengths afar,
crests and troughs,
moving stars,
seated.
Put out fires,
burning embers,
all the desires,
heated.
All these wars,
through thick and thin,
and life was,
fated!
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 4:32 AM UTC
Down, down and down he goes
To rich navy troughs and cerulean hues
His winged arms flailing to the skies
Wishing for his father's watchful eyes
The sobs of Daedalus are silenced by the sea,
And his tears are drowned in the waves
Icarus has fallen! Icarus has fallen to his death!
Oh how the seagulls squawked with mirth!
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC
Questions curdle
Each disdainful day
A glowering cloud
The threat of rain
Pounding footsteps
Troughs of anguish
Wavering moments
Images of altercations
The pleasure of detesting
Chocolate cake
Flavoured with money
Resentful ripples
Washed up on rocks
Drowning sounds
Solemn and deep
Slowly sinking
Disconcerted water birds
Shimmering reflections
Echoes in the darkness
Displaced by contradictions
Clanging, banging
Bouncing *****
Dissolving memories
Misplaced optimism.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
...
Two years ago in time
Seventeen of age, twenty seven of mind
On this blue planet sewn with heart breaks,
Blood pouring like it’s red wine
Took birth a love story
Another one of cupid’s crimes.
Ten days to meet
Twenty to plant the seed
Forty, and they had their first fight
This is not a story of love at first sight.
Oh Romeo, do you remember
The day when you pulled her closer
To comfort your lonely heart
Signed an agreement with the devil that night
Which would tear your life apart
And now here we stand, reading your memorial.
Contemplating everything that went bleak.
You knew the outcome of this journey
Even before your feelings learned to speak.
It’s a dangerous equation,
When LHS does not equal RHS
The mathematics of life starts to collapse
Like an imbalanced swing abandoned by the kids
All you need is to be cared
To be a priority in someone’s life
I understand, little brother
But you cannot demand love as you like
Oh Romeo, I do empathize
You suffered from PTSD, I do realize
From when depression molested your feelings
And left you naked on the streets, bleeding
But you were the captain of your sail
You drove the Titanic to the bottom
With the ocean so deep,
It made her love for you rotten.
Her emotions were like
the wings of a butterfly.
They would flutter restlessly
from dawn to dusk.
Our conversations felt like
a trip to some remote hill station.
The view was pretty,
with a few crests
and countless troughs,
but I fell sick of the constant motion.
Oh Romeo, she did love you
After all, you felt like returning home
But love fades over time,
just like the memory of this poem.
…
-KD
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
A laugh is not a pretense
I wanted to tell you that, Urooj
And maybe to myself too
Because I know you saw peeps
Of the vacancy
Nestled in my skin
And I too was acquainted
With your queer sorrow
That rises and falls
With a schedule of its own
We saw the jolly winds flirt with greyed trees
And heard many a strange talks
In golden fields of youthful wheat
And mustard flowers alive
But we ran too, didn’t we?
I pointed to the slender tree far, far away
Count as I go, I said
And count you did as I rushed
Rushed clumsily on
My feet twisting in troughs
Eye-lashes fighting dust
Twenty, you shouted, as the tree grew
But I barely heard
my body singing a battlefield
You stumbled through the ploughed soil
Hardened through suns
Crushing the remnants of harvested wheat
beneath the flat soles of your sandals
(who wears those to a field?)
Then more
Through soft, chestnut soils
Trying not to damage the baby onions
And I laughed through my burning lungs
A smoke piled up in me
Yearning to gnaw all away
And we licked the gusts singing gossips
Of sour, raw mangoes
Then relished the cool water that
You forced the earth to puke
(I still don’t get how that hand-pump worked)
And I know you sneaked along a wilted rose
From your sister’s grave
And wept, quietly sniffing
Seeing her in all the birds I pointed out
All the leaves dried to immortality
In my notebook
I too treaded through rows of childish guava trees
And struggled to will my ghosts away
I too got stranded in the insolent rays
of the dusty sun
But we joked still, didn’t we?
And when, on the way home,
I reminded you stories
Of the silly children we once lived
Your laugh glimmered all around
And mine mimicked
And the radio was ****
So we swam in our own private silences
Got lost in the rowing birds
And I know, at some point,
All the dead days
And all the rotten mangoes
Seated themselves in the car
Along with us and our shackled beasts
And the villages and the stalls and empty fields
Ran past in silence
But we had laughed
When the restless winds nearly sent me
Tumbling down the tree
And we had laughed when
The freshly-watered soil tried
To **** us under
And a laugh is not a pretense
Urooj, a laugh is not a pretense.
I wonder if we know.
May 13, 2021
May 13, 2021 at 10:55 AM UTC
I'd like to live life in your shape
Settle myself between the furrows of your brows
Knowing only I can ease them into the softest of troughs
Id like to sit myself between your legs
Looking up at you uttering my name
And talk about bees and trees and holy seas
Cause you are the sun and stardust filling my lungs
And I could barely fathom you, my silver-tongue
I'd like to, I'd like to
Darling I'd like to
Give my heart in lieu
Apr 15, 2021
Apr 15, 2021 at 7:00 AM UTC
Put your head on my lap
Let me sing you a lullaby.
You've been awake through some nights
But there was a girl who went through few more
And in those moment you let your tears drop
She wrote herself a song.
*I know you're broken,
I know you're sad,
But it will be over before you know;
Life's not about the crests, there will be troughs
Like a musical note.
It's dark now,
There's no one with you,
But at the end of the day we're all alone;
Be your own best friend, why do you pretend?
That we don't die alone.
Those teardrops on cheeks,
Glisten like pearl beads,
But the thing you're crying for doesn't deserve it;
You're worth more, than you know
So you might as well listen to me tell you how.
We've fallen, but we'll get back up,
Our failures don't define us.
We're broken, but we will heal
Else carry scars on our back with pride.
They can hit us once, not more than twice
We are not weak, just polite.
We'll fight for what's ours, not smile when we're dark inside,
We have hung enough of us for sacrifice.
And those double faced friends, relationships with dead ends,
Say them goodbye and make it end.
Just keep smiling, Sweetheart
You're better than your past,
There's more to life than war.
So don't give up!
If not today, tomorrow is ours,
If not better we're less worse.*
2am,
I've got to go,
I'll visit you again, when you're alone
If not sweet dreams, may a sweet life wake you up
Sleep well, my love.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC
With my head pressed on your chest
I listen to your breathing;
The rhythm of each breath
In harmony
With the pulse of each heartbeat
Like the lyrics of my favorite song.
Slowly waves of sleep
Wash over me
And the crests of my inhalations
Fall perfectly in tune
With the troughs of your exhalations,
And we drift off into different worlds
Together.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
the night and the frost and the words that they speak
your fingers are frozen, your eyelids are closed
the crests and the troughs of your breath in the air
like the language of winter winds;
harsh tones that never go unheard
beneath your feet or inside your ribcage
or even as the frigid night that entwines itself with you
demanding to be felt
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 12:01 PM UTC
it's like we never left mt. calvary
2018 is 2015 again
only my escapist mechanisms
no longer work
i get lost in this endless cycle
of troughs and crests
this constant pursuit for a home
is like a sickness that never gets better
these pathogens that have found
refuge in my heart have grown
ultra-resistant to the medicine
they no longer want to leave
why do i still wake up?
i've been asking for deliverance
for years but
i guess heaven is not a
wish-granting factory
and God is not a genie
do you miss our catching-up
sessions?
the ones where you ask me
if i can still get up
in the morning and
i ask you if you still
cry yourself to sleep at night
oh, right, those never happened,
because you never had
the strength to care
and i never had
the guts to ask
for time
and maybe that's why
whenever i try to write
it always ends up as
an apology letter
(that you won't ever get to read)
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 2:30 PM UTC
To whoever thinks that life is a disgrace
Full of failure and unending anguish
With no thought of ever surpassing depression
Here is a beacon of hope
Life is akin to a wave
Its got crests and troughs
Never straight it is
But only one thing is for sure
There is always a way out of every challenge
That comes our way
Whilst we put God first in everything before us.
Only then we shall have our eyes wide open
About the resolution to failure
Failure like success
Is part of our lives
And never can we eliminate it
But we can overcome it
And have it vanquished
Waiting to take on the next big challenge
Persistence, perseverance and above all positive mental attitude can render failure hapless in our faces.
Consequently you'll realize
That only three little words can make a difference in our lives
They will help you cement your post
In the realm of excellence
These words are, "Never give up"
Don't you ever despair in this life
And all shall be well with you
And like in psalms 93,
"You'll crush mountains under your foot"
Embrace the life
That the most predominant Lord beyond compare breathed into you
Be grateful for thy life
With a smile every passing day
For its no mishap
It's life with a purpose
And EXCELLENCE is the reason for life.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 8:11 PM UTC
no man has seen him, but
when here, when making his grand appearance
the world prepares for him.
the trees are first to bow down,
bending their trunks and shedding their leaves
and swaying about their roots to royalty
the half-damp clothes on hanging bamboos prepare
with its fabric flapping to play a fanfare,
then sound off with a fluttering finale as he whistles by and leaves.
the angled windows then, as if by unanimous consent,
slam themselves painfully into perfectly parallel
posture – like soldiers in a straight file.
and in mirthful defiance, a wandering page of the news leapt
and caught the wind like a kite, riding the city
on its crests and troughs
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 7:05 AM UTC
Sisyphus compelled to roll his boulder,
the poet who attempts to reconcile
what he knows with what he feels,
sensing even in compulsion
his stony effort no match for gravity.
Knowledge transmuted into feeling,
feelings obverted to some new knowledge,
a seismic process that rolls in waves,
peaks of insight, troughs of mental block,
all to foist a new perception upon the world,
squeeze perspective from the driest fruits.
What devilish irony to be admired,
for verse most often misunderstood,
philosopher and virtuoso to a tone-deaf audience.
Camus concluded Sisyphus
was happy with his lot in life,
but a poet continues to paint strange landscapes,
never content with color schemes,
ever niggling for that undiscovered pastel.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 5:38 PM UTC
On my 5th Thanksgiving
my parents took me to my Grandmothers house.
It was a short drive from Miamisburg, Ohio to Liberty, Indiana.
Over the Little Miami River, past empty harvested fields.
Dairy farms, and towering silos.
Frozen horse troughs, and soon to be rustic barns sheltering small livestock from the cold.
There was snow on the ground and roof, and the cattle, sheep and goats were already having their dinner.
There were no Christmas tunes on the radio of our Ford, but rather “Let Us Break Bread Together” by some local church choir.......... A sadness came over me as I looked at the animals in the field, and I whispered in my Mothers ear........Mommy, do the animals know that it is Thanksgiving?
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
Bring colors to my sky
as each spoken syllable
dances off your tongue
past my favorite set of lips.
Darling, you know those
are my favorite four letters.
Ideas of us are the catalyst
of hope, the beacon of light
that shines triumphantly
through the suffocating black
sky. Crests of waves tower over
shallow troughs revealing
the power of your high as
I prepare my veins and
feel your body with me.
Tonight I'll keep thoughts
of love and lust discreet
and stare oceans deeper
into your eyes.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 7:40 PM UTC
i keep thinking about this poem in my head
i cannot remember a thing
even though i live in my head
bloodshot eyes are all i see
looking straight in the mirror, lost at sea
keep thinking i will see you again
knowing the answer is "never again"
i still don't know a thing
about this world
keep thinking everything i hear
are lies that are told,
that everyone is out to get me, like a tower of cards
left to stumble and fold.
that people only care for them selves, even though
they always told me
two people can make one's self.
if life is truly survival of the fittest
then my life is a jacket that could never really fit
i outgrew it before i was born
a shame, a shame
i am a shell of who i used to be, i am a lame on the street.
after you died, nothing can ever be the same.
the love we cherished
at fifteen, will stay with me till fifty.
god forbid, it is 2016, here i am thinking
i would never live past 2015.
i am gone, i am dead
whatever you hear from me is posthumous
being written from the troughs in Heaven's den
lost and forgotten, look around, see.
the rock of Sisyphus
weighs heavy on the walking posthumous
they are gone, they are dead, they push on.
i hear them say, rest in peace.
hope they will say the same,
when i find reprieve
at the bottom of the sea.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 12:45 AM UTC