"turmoiled" poems
The little girl never looked into the mirror.
'They call me names,' she thought,
'and there must be a reason.'
She guessed she was ugly, hideous to see,
why else would they turn their eyes away?
So she didn't bother to see her reflection
and avoided all mirrors for years.
The little girl was afraid of the scale.
'They call me names,' she thought,
'and there must be a reason.'
She realized she must be too fat,
why else would they all ignore her?
So the scales suffered the same fate
as the mirrors throughout the years.
The little girl didn't care for friends.
No one stood by her for very long,
there was no reason to miss them.
She thought she wasn't nice enough,
otherwise they'd surely stay with her.
So a high and a strong wall was built
to protect her feelings during each year.
After years and years the older girl found some courage
to look into one of those dreadful mirrors
and her reflection gave her a nasty shock.
As for all these years she hadn't cared for herself
and her unkempt outer self hid all her inner beauty.
'I truly am an ugly person,' was all she could think,
and she decided she would stop caring.
The little girl grew up hating herself
and no one ever noticed her turmoil.
She stopped caring about how she looked
and just showered and dressed every day
as if she wasn't any special at all.
But her inner beauty struck all around
and everyone wondered why she was so modest.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 5:31 PM UTC
To **** myself or not **** myself, that is the question
I face an existential crisis every day
I want to hurt myself
I want to bleed, to wound myself physically because I can't deal with my mental
The questions and thoughts that plague me every day
I wish I could expunge these idiot things that run through my head
The stupid ******* people that cause me grief every day
Those people are the people I live with
The people I love
The people I work with
Every mother ******* person
I wish I could live isolated
But not alone
Live in my own colony of people that understand me as well as I understand myself
I wish I could operate normally
Not over correct for every ******* small iota of every tiny moment in the ******* day
Why do I have to do everything to such an extent?
Why can't I just be happy?
Why can't I just sleep a peaceful slumber instead of tossing and turning for hours before?
I hate myself
But do I really hate myself?
Or the circumstances that I face?
This life I live is not the life I want
I want freedom
The ocean
The sand to catch these unshed tears
The cold to hit my face
And something warm to embrace
I want ***
But do I want it for the carnal pleasure or for the way it makes me forget for a time these turmoiled emotions I deal with every instant of every ************* ******* day?
I want a partner
But I can't trust
I'm so alone
I'm so alone
I'm so alone
******* I'm alone
How do I fix this?
How do I fix me?
I'm so alone.
No one will ever know the inner core of me.
Someone save me
I wish I were dead.
Someone **** me
I wish I knew real life.
Human essence is the dirt of the earth.
We destroy,
We do not conquer.
We forget,
We all still suffer.
******* us all to the figment of our imagination that is hell.
Every ******* one of us deserves it.
Burn us in a firey pit and then crush our bones to make the cement that holds us all unwillingly together.
******* **** me so I don't have to **** myself.
Nothing makes this feeling go away. No one satiates this gnawing numbness I feel.
I am a black hole that devours every good emotion
Nothing to replace it inside this empty space within me
**** me
**** me
**** me
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 2:31 AM UTC
You know
they say that
you should be careful
of the
things that fly out of your mouth,
because you never know
how how it might land.
Just like
how airplanes
try to land on
gusty airports,
trying to
land on the tarmac.
There are chances that it might
just instead of landing
like a kiss of a woman on
the lips of a man she loves,
their teeth and nose get in the way.
Your words,
can land improperly
the airplanes that carry the best of feelings,
turn into dynamites.
Exploding violently.
Misguided missiles
that does nothing but destroy,
just like how the army promised us,
that this will bring us happiness and safety,
but
only at the cost of the nation its bombing,
leaving its soil,
turmoiled,
disfigured,
and produces nothing
But
radioactive plants,
we have come up
with a classification for it,
we call it
insecurities.
So don't ask me if I'm ok,
if you did nothing but
toss explosives at my feelings
cause clearly
I'm destroyed.
So no,
I'm not ok.
You
cannot stitch
tofu
back together,
after being sliced into two.
That
a sorry
will not be a substitute
for superglue,
using it to stick back
broken pieces of me.
So remember this,
that
the next time
you release statements
words,
phrases,
that you have the
power
disintegrate
the person receiving them.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
i so wish these poems weren't such afterthoughts,
words either labored, squeezed off a pained heart,
or a strong gush of stupid happy emotion as in farts?
neither pretty codified sonnets with essence in parts,
nor crisp, concise haiku's focused like targeted darts,
not the sophistried zen, oft hacked philosophic verses,
and the petty patterned words unmovingly affecting,
i despair for us to read a poem from brains turmoiled,
confused,unwritten words,unexpressed feelings,in divine madness!!
dance the unknown poem if a poem, to music uncomposed if music,
why cant we live them **** poems! so we dont have to **** write them!!
-every fellow being is a poem unwritten I feel, lets live them? Can we?-
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 1:46 PM UTC
A reflection on birthdays, friends departing this world, and surveying ones life
~~~
this one poem is not lurking,(1)
turmoiled bursting,
shaking, quaking,
release aching
write it in droplets,
my chest speak squeaks,
each thought, a stanza,
each moment, a bonanza
of the doled, muddled mix
of tremblings on this my extravaganza,
renaissance day of birth
upon this earth
sixty five calendars,
this space,
so gulf and so narrow, (2)
for what profit this man
for himself, others?
a Judgement Day of sorts,
where the man~poet is efficiently
prosecutor, defender,
judge and jury,
as is he not,
his one true
peer?
let his biases be betrayed,
his fault lines be paraded,
let his deeds be the unlawful legal coda
by which he is remanded
if found guilty of a ledger imbalanced,
more sins than glory,
only one sentence permitted,
life imprisonment
even the NYC weather
clued in and deity cooperative,
wakes me up to this advisory:
Overcast.
Slight chance of a rain shower.
High near 65F.
High near 65.
what portent this oracle,
a warning guide to this morass
of a contradictory, crevassed man
full of mea culpa poetic messes,
his old is his high...
or are these just winking,
birthday instructions from
an observer on high?
this space of years, this life,
so gulf and so narrow,
engulfed, yet so sparse is his barrow,
his first minutes of the day
a lean inventory taking,
for better or worse
as he overcasts a full review,
plus a bonus (!)
a forward progress prognosis
there is a fresh formed
Cain mileage marker upon his brow,
a check-mark scar,
resultant of his self-checkup
upon the tree rings of his tiring body
weeping only because a mistrial is declared
and no verdict returned
and he rises for coffee,
promising himself someday an honest resolution
before...
these the acts of
sixty five calendars,
of this, his-space,
so gulf and so narrow,
subjected to a now daily interrogatory:
*for what profit this man,
his actions, his loved words,
for himself, to others,
to this world?*
October 1, 2015
~~~
(1)
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1417203/there-is-a-poem-lurking/
~~~
(2)
*but I can't stop
for each hour of the last 72
has witnessed a new poem
in-between
minute one and minute sixty five
written for you,
writing for life,
writing of this moment,*
this space so gulf and so narrow
*in and between
the unity of
us*
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1413760/for-ernesto-l-gonzales-aka-the-dedpoet-the-in-between/
~~~
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Its strange how sound exists,
How silence fits around
The noise that may be far
Or may be near,
Yet always in the gaps
Within the noise
There is the sound
Of nothingness
I am noise and action
An assault upon the senses
Of everone it seems
In earshot or worse yet
Within the range
Of touch or eyes meet,
Close enough to sense
My inner turmoiled demons
Well soon enough,
Albeit not soon enough
For some,
My noise will diminish
My actions still,
And where I once crashed
About there will be purely
Blessed quiet.
Enjoy!
Sep 7, 2023
Sep 7, 2023 at 6:55 PM UTC
[Poet’s Note : this is a wry autobiographical memory written in traditional pirouette verse viz. 2 quintrains, line 5 & 6 repeat, the ballet toe turnaround. I wanted to write a narrative of a weird syncopated vignette, when I was knitting a pink mohair jersey at the time of my imprisonment. I reduced the narrative to a pirouette. When in prison, one of my interrogators was knitting the EXACT jersey in the exact colour & exact wool ! ie. everything in human life can be reduced to a pirouette, a turn-around dance. ]
knitting a pink jersey
mohair with cables fine
to process flying thoughts
political activist
south africa turmoiled
south africa turmoiled
security police
came with caspirs and cuffs
interrogation chamber
police knit jersey pink
~~~~~~~~~
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 4:37 AM UTC
The rigging is
set, Captain.
Brown rope, aye,
secured tightly - aye,
can be adjusted.
Here, I'll stand on this
chair and see how
it's looking - aye,
Captain, it's proper
tight now, it will
function just
well enough, sir.
Oh, Captain, the sea;
I can see the
stormy waves,
black and
turmoiled. Aye,
Captain, all rigging
set. All hands on
deck, yessir.
We can't very well set
sail with a chair on the
deck, Captain.
Permission to kick
it away?
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
It's crazy but her smile is the shine I crave
when the mellow orb of dawn hits the sky
her voice the melody I wish was weaved in her chorus
am no gambler yet if she were a risky bet I swear my luck I'd try
since she's a solace that can't be found even in the Pacific waters.
I long for her like a despondent refugee aches for home
her absence is hell, heaven is her presence, she's my calm and storm
the white canvas upon which I want to paint my love
and redefine the plot of my life story, she could be my wife
the missing piece to the puzzle of my 'turmoiled' heart
and definitely an incision deeper than my first cut.
she's the star I look for when the night swallows the sun
when it gets cold the only flames I want to burn
as nothing compares to the warmth she radiates
I treasure her like a baby loves its mother,
I fear losing her like a little child afraid of the dark
she's faith that gets me through, the reason I survive
for in a world flooded with melancholy she's my Ark
I was dead to the world, she came and made me feel alive
she pulled me out of deep doldrums, from a despair so grave...
she must be the one, my infinite sleepover
a purpose for the rest of my life, maybe I was born to love her.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 4:18 PM UTC
Thoughts flow like a crow flies;
mind in flight; grasping at
life's insights, fumbling across
the sky; climbing out of urban
blights, embracing self, fore,
sanity is at stake.
Reaching for sanctity in His
light; patience a virtue giving
hope to mind's turmoiled
inner persecutions, seeking
redirection for self's own sake.
As the crow flies, His wisdom,
mind and soul willingly embrace.
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 2:05 AM UTC
They:
Why do you fell for him
She:
The soul that spot my fake smiles,
And stared deep down my turmoiled heart asking,
"Whats that bleeding scar behind your silly play!"
~Varsha Srinivasan
Dec 25, 2024
Dec 25, 2024 at 11:17 AM UTC
My love is my salvation, I shall not want.
She maketh me to lie down in sweet seclusion
she bathes my head with cool water
restoring my broken mind:
She layeth her hands upon me, taking from me my pain my ache
and thou I reside within the darkness of my troubled thoughts
I will fear not the dark for she is with me.
Her eyes and her smile they comfort me
Through her words am I cleansed of my daemons
she anoints my brow with kisses as my eyes runneth over.
Surely I am blessed to have such a friend as she in this my turmoiled life
and I shall stand before my Lord and attest our friendship forever.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 6:50 AM UTC
I crave what I see in my mind
The future I have constructed
I see a messy bed and the rising sun
Bare legs peeking out from wrinkled sheets
Our love written in every crease
Evidence is ever present
I see hands sliding
Fingers tracing
Mouths speaking with no words
But still
The message is received
I see open windows letting in the breeze
Sparkling lights in the distance
The moon yearning to feel our love
Perched above
I see my breath
The cold night air engulfing me
Though never reaching my heart
I’m warmed indefinitely by the love at my side
I see my hand on a soft chest
Discovering, for the first time, acceptance and
Freedom
The only things I’ve ever wanted
I see the world in a new way
Each night is a new city
But happiness never sleeps
Life never rests it’s weary head
Neither do we
I see summer
Flowers sway with our whispers
Sunlight sings it’s song on your shoulders
I kiss and reminisce…
I see turmoiled oceans
As we drive down winding pathways
Atop cliffs
High as kites
I see convertibles and buses
Afghans and kaftans
Guitars and bonfires and sand covered bodies
Psalms of palms that sway in the west coast wind
I see beads in my hair
Fringe on my sweaters
Rings on my fingers
Jewels on my brow
I see you in our makeshift home
Sitting cross legged in briefs
Your back to me; face to the ocean
Painted gold by the suns halcyon kiss
I see undying allegiance
To freedom in its freest form
No red white and blue
But the sun, me and you
I see clearly in this still silence
No fear here, only peace
And I have you by my side
To keep me safe from solace
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
Deep inside
where nothing's fine
I've lost my mind
to the poet inside
Mind awash
with turmoiled thoughts
I close my eyes
and begin the slide
Words ripple
awakening forgotten feelings
I breathe in poetry
and finally turn the tide
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
Pharmacare insurance breakers,
Batteries to light incensed toiletries,
Smell the man next to thou,
That's thine night scented laboratory!
Light flickers to non electrical chords,
Shufflers to peddlers,
The hoarders and robbers art felonious skirds!!!
Long/night lonesomeness for thy journeys a shallow hell!
Two unknowns to a cell,
How compassionate thou are not!!!
Steal what thou has,
Forget what thou has got....
Turmoiled,
Soiled crook!!!!!
Study the firm release junk.
Tired eyed pest,
You seek the streets,
You concludeth the best!!!!
For little is better, yet is better than big in thus shoe in?
No win on win to matcheth catchy amend!!!
Scared yet?
Holiday hussies,
Mix matched fussy!!!
You complain for now....
Thou art broken and poor, hath thy infallibility lost to thine loser next to your own score?
Pathetic patriot who stands next to a country who steals your time,
They trade it,
They display it,
On shores of emegri kind.
What a mongrel of mankind!!!!!
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 2:32 PM UTC
intrguing, this global web site,
when you post at your "odd" hours,
somewhere it is early morn, or the
dreading deading of night,
late afternoon, lunchtime, and the,
this poem slow falls to the bottom of
the front page, into a Found, but Lost,
maybe, some die almost, totally untouched,
some shockingly reveberate, some holy revered,
others, break & brate, forlornly, of unlimited loneliness
this mystery I have studied, and freely admit,
after 15 years, under-the-ladder-stand, and
wisdom goes from zero to less and lesser;
it is time for spring cleaning, amidst the chaos,
in/of a turmoiled world, soiled, cleansing the
palate this year, is harder than ever, and the more
I ponder our exploding litany, I swallow acceptance
whole, pre~forgive most sins, and submit to the burden
and know this:
of time and poetry, the poetry of time,
now, more than ever, is the time for poetry
and the time is:
5:44AM
Tue 22 2025
nyc, usa
and the poem is now!
Apr 22, 2025
Apr 22, 2025 at 5:57 AM UTC
If the universe were shaped like your heart it would be a turmoiled earth
Champagne oceans pumping streams into place
A theater for the universe's dark center
Viewed as the actor on the screen,
So alone is this figure,
the sun says to him: “hello, how do you do?”
The skies they all murmur “rain will come soon from my blue womb”
The ground screams ****** where ye walk
The universe screams at life
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
The night, dark, filled with silence
Dreamy eyes fixated to the stars
Does it not lead to the doors of heaven?
Stillness soothing turmoiled hearts
Has gloom diminished the love?
Churning to uncover the illusions
As if upon multitude of lights, colors
Making lovers loom away from ideals
Sound of crickets whining away
As agitated due to careless evocation
Raindrops fall in mourning
Sorrying the ground in wetness
Anxiety as time passes by, hearing
Melodious splashing of the rain
Gentle caressing of the blowing wind
The evocative hearts arouse in numbers
Beautiful flaura danced shimmy
Waving gently as if to invite
Leave your grief for love
Sing a song of longliness
For tomorrow will be bright
Happiness you will see
For your smile brings me life
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC
Pumping out the poisoned blood
Returns to its beating heart
It flows through all arteries
Turmoiled in the capillaries
Whirlpool in the veins of thirst
Spreading all my body parts
Should I bleed like free flow
Even a foe I let him glow
Like a coin of head and tail
How can I put coffin nails?
If I let go, I shall die
He will follow same as mine
Wai Phyo Win
[ 17 February 2019 ]
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 9:38 AM UTC
Our lives are as the raindrop to the river —
We falter, and we tumble; We are lost
And in the tumult cling to one another —
Enslaved by riverbanks, the river roiling
Is rain-lashed in a torrent — We are tossed
And buffeted amidst the turmoiled boiling —
Atop the foaming surface, battles rage
As brother battles brother for the sun —
Relenting, flowing, falling to a cage
In murky depths, with blissful recollection
Of cloudless skies afore the rivers run,
We cling to hope to someday rejoin Heaven.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 7:52 PM UTC