"uncharacteristic" poems
hole in the sky. tap tap, the empty vessel flows out. a weightless sink. the hour goes, blaring swell of humidity, and the jug lukewarm, leaven oft in the barred space. I return to my room. I drink the cold milk on the sill. I finish the third wretched spill of the journey to Olympus.
Downstairs a howl, a wind slam SOLOM OBSERVATIONAL MATRIX STRUCTURED TASKS AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY TO ASSIST WITH INSTRUMENTAL DECISIONS. I close the door I close the door I close the door I close the
In this uneasy slumber, the bed shakes, the windows rattle, the sky splits, the earth floods a red simpering capitulatory spasm of earthly flesh. Here is the circuit, the tired nervous tic of inaction, I shrink back from the outstretched hand, a condition which recommends two pills in the morning to mask the double image beneath my hands.
i have slept through the week again, this pathetic flesh obeys nothing, where are my pills inescapable ******* dullery
THE JUG IS HOT. I return to my room. I close the door two pills on the sill to go down with the milk
THE DOOR SLAMS GALL BUCKLING FIT ODE BREATHLESS CLOSER CLOSER CLOSER BUT THE SOUND REMAINS
Figures muffled by the walls. There are guests in the house, the looming presence of multiple species with incomprehensible intentions. In a bout of uncharacteristic curiosity, I slip my sight through the crack of my door. UNDER RCG IT WILL BE MANDATORY FOR ALL CUSTOMS CARGO REPORTERS IN THE AIR SEA AND ROAD INDUSTRIES TO SUBMIT REPORTS TO SARS ELECTRONICALLY. I am unmoved by such perceptions. I prepare the final climb to Olympus.
the cyclone is ended. the front door is barred. the jug is cold. the yard is littered with unmoving shapes.
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 11:19 PM UTC
cyclic lingering
disconnected rambling
the same words rearanged
breathes shortening
impotent bargaining
the same pattern misbehaves
Ive always walked this way
hormonal litter cursed by anatomy
hyesteria
weepy futility
uncharacteristic of one so bold
the words of tongues
drag mud through wounds
a voided heart : not so
deep breaths
stand strong in misery
mindfulness, like a drug
disconnect and call it religion
pacing pacing pacing
thoughts;
I bleed for the words of others
For both praise and scheming lies
I wish to leave this haunted soul
but I
But I
but I ...what?
need to run?
to hide?
to hold my ground?
we'll see as it comes
a controlling women's worst nightmare
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 4:51 PM UTC
Rising before instinct completes my sleep, rousing common sense out of bed,
I pack the car. It's so dark the moon is still drowsing.
Soon I am in the cool ocean, arms propelling me and a surfboard,
stomach submerged and chest free through white water splashes,
then crests breaking, then up and over their shoulders
to arrive at the very place where waves emerge from calm water.
At this hour there are only a handful of other dawn-patrol surfers, all Hawaiians.
Greeting with a smile of bright grace learned from the sun, and a cheerful How'z It?
brown glowing skin tattooed with small triangle patterns on strong arms, chests, backs,
emblems of kama'aina heritage and Aloha's honor.
A little talk story, sharing a laugh, and I sit up to take sentinal,
beginning the quiet meditation
searching the horizon for the sea's ever-changing intention.
Morning wakes color, with sleepy palms rubs away the world's hushed gray veil
revealing sky blue on royal aquamarine and palm-tree green silhouetting tropical canyon jade.
The mountain's gold-rimmed halo of mist is announcing dawn's imminent arrival.
She bursts over the ridge, arms showering the water with tiny pebbles of light
gold jewels skipping across the sparkling surface and turning silver.
It must be so beautifully curious from below, the whale's eye view here in their sanctuary.
First we see a mysterious dark shape, a nose, that morphs into an ever-expanding building,
that materializes into the entire magnificent whale suspended in our thin world
then arching over, she bursts the water, scattering dawn's sparkling treasure.
We surfers call with uncharacteristic exclamations, pointing in excitement,
So close we can feel the whale's contagious joy.
One Hawaiian woman slides off her board, to place her ear on the water in reverie;
hearing the Kahunas ancient Aumakua call.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
Falling out of distracting thoughts
he reacquainted with his glare in the mirror;
he'd been somewhere else, undoubtedly lost
in a moment of her.
She too was standing in front of a mirror,
putting her face on, yet the occasion was stained
with an uncharacteristic frown, as if sadness
had found her somehow.
After many anxious intakes of breath,
he reached for the door-keys lain by the trinket box
next to their photograph. He cradled
the apartment keys in his palms for a brief moment,
then went on his way.
She stared at their joyful pictures on her wall,
a shrine with each an expression of love.
She clutched his name on the key fob and left also.
That evening in the restaurant,
her eyes glued to his as intensely as her hands
pursing through the gaps in his fingers;
two sizes too big.
He reciprocated warm heartfelt smiles,
trying to keep it together for both of them.
Circling his thumb gently on pressed fingers.
Her accented cadence a perfume for the ears
and her broken English endearing;
this would all haunt him,
these details tearing at the pit of his stomach
as he languished in the reality
that he has no choice. He must return home.
Over the balcony
wrapped in her anaconda-like arms,
he witnessed her cheeks
tear-staining in the moonlight,
her whimpers battling the lulling tides and cricket chorus.
She crumpled as a strewn napkin against his frame,
before exchanging a kiss;
soft and lovingly endured. The very kiss that wishes
not to end but to stay this way forever.
How melancholy it was in the sea breeze,
to walk among their favourite spot on the beach;
where many an anecdote was told,
many a sweet little nothing shared
and many a glance embraced.
Right now with the hush of salt water
lapping the shore;
their 'Last chance to see' had been studied.
In that instant, both knew
that it couldn't be possible to have
one another again.
They stood for a long while by the waters edge.
Both just as broken,
before becoming ghosts of the scene
and ghosts to each other.
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
I had the most scary,
awful,
horrifying,
sickening dream last night.
It was a dream that my grandmother had passed away.
Died.
She was gone.
And I
wasn't
even
there for her.
I was told, no, informed,
through the most insensitive,
impersonal means possible.
A simple, three worded,
text message.
I don't remember how much I cried
in the dream.
Or if I really even shed a single tear.
All I know now, as I scribble down these
scattered thoughts
in a handwriting almost illegible,
an attempt to rid them from my mind,
is how I feel with my mind racing through the possibility of such an event.
My stomach hurts, every muscle in my being clenched in a
sudden stress,
a tactic to hold back that urge to purge myself
of all contents and feeling whatsoever.
Both hands are cramped as one braces me
against this abnormally warm and now uncomfortable bed,
the other struggling to write while my forearm
throbs with discomfort.
My breathing is off.
There is no normal steady rhythm to it;
rather a scattered pattern of inhales and exhales
both long and short,
often separated by uncharacteristic
pauses.
I've dealt with death before.
More than once,
many years ago.
(I'm still dealing with it.)
I understand that it is very much a part of life,
and the rest of us must continue on,
void of voice or choice.
It is the cruel awakening.
And my relief at waking to the most normal of texts
from dear old Dad
and the realization that my fear
had only occurred
in the depth of that unconscious realm
ruled by sleep...
I just cannot ever explain.
I can only remain horrified that I would dare endure
such a pain, even in imagination.
And yet,
as the day's busy agenda begins to take over all else
and I am only too eager
to push the dream away
and let it disappear into nothingness
as I mentally prepare for today and this week,
I've already decided...
I think I'll call Grandma today.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 10:30 AM UTC
You are
You are
a chiseled statue
a myth, animated under my gaze
tangible flesh under my hands
out of my closeted mind
you are
you are
in essence, a beautiful mirror
of a beautiful essence
For Adonis, I come to understand
my feelings are lulled under your tongue
patience
as my blind senses seek them out
you are
you are
a silent strength
owning to yourself
must I thank
you
this dance
of serpents of ether
smoothing feathery scales over the riddling bones of Lilith
I owe this response to you
For the things you stand for, the truth under which a fined tooth comb scrutinizes
grasps of tickling warm fire conjure my intentions
I am a smooth stone, burning by the illicit form and desire of this worldly hearth
under my arms you reach and you soothe
this idea from the small of my back, out of reach
I walk my thoughts further away from you
to objectify the sensations that pursue
Eros draws
his serrated arrow tip alongside my cool unassaulted skin
should I linger here, I'll find it sheared
and my sanctity tampered
use this silence to displace this feeling from outside of me
so I can take my leave
lay frozen still as I divulge and lavish upon you my disgusting intentions
to my absence
so I can leave
and rid myself of uncharacteristic traits
tempting
butterfly wings fluttering against the underside of my skull
I am not tempted
I do not regress
Eros is unwelcome here
when he speaks of this particular entity
under his outstretched upper lip
I am enraged
what can a boy-youth know of the complexities of the feminine spirit
to which the heart works in unison
my feelings are my own, in a shallow drawer where they aren’t tosseled
arent felt
I may feel the warmth of them under my desk
but I refuse to eye the key
where do you get the audacity
to touch and give advice to one as old as me
my feelings belong to me
not the wild underside of a rooting pig
hunt them mercilessly with your arsenal instead
as your mother-Aphrodite
inspires their sloshed pursuit of an obscured truth
put your maquillage on them
and clear your mind of mischievous foolishness
or vain undersanding
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
Uncharacteristic of her;
She's been wearing vintage love garment
Over her deep wounds and scars of hate,
To tame all her demons from,
Tearing them apart, in broad day light.
Jesus! her demeanor is elegantly beautiful.
Copyright|McDaniels Gyamfi
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
Put the long boat in the deep waters of the mind the calm peaceful knowing all is glowing we glide not
Knowing where were going the subconscious will be our guide dividing the two worlds the quiet
Submersible is wild anything may be floating in these depths we have left shore far behind truly
We have entered unchartered waters there is no fixable Bering a lustiness takes over there is no helm
Just a pervading looseness not unsettling but truly uncharacteristic for the coconscious must always
Have a grip a grasp of what is where it is and every detail must be quantified now all senses are blown
A storm is brewing its far reaches unknown but there is softness that excludes fear the overriding
Thought is possibilities can be forged maximized eternalized thoughts are ghost like unknown entities
They were formally known but now remain a mystery dislodged from thought bases that are not solid
All is free association tantalizing in one sense then disconcerting in another what do I do with my mind
Surly it has jumped off the track I could be bewildered if I could get a hold on the situation free flowing
Unspoken but still distinctively saying volumes where is the slow button reams voluminous thoughts
Are spewing into nothingness being lost I can’t keep up the discernible is mixed with eons and theorems
Time and space is void of meaning the world here is elastic mass it convulses at will no parameters exist
The only thing constant is high velocity change being in one place is impossible all is jumbled who stirred
This caldron in my mind voice and pure thought are the same think it know it what burdensome lives we
Live when it is all a tattered sail on rough seas we behold nothing know nothing in the extreme
Romanticism blurts out sail for Trafalgar we are strangers in a plush gifted void try as we will there is
No simple answers but we are a simple people truly the only time were are fit is when we are sound
Asleep well then sleep on and I will do the same dreaming is therapeutic just think how crazy we would
Be without it
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 5:41 AM UTC
He materializes in white, as though from cloud
out of petals and vines--bright ferns whose arms
flower and wrap as though silken angel's yarn
breathing a sheer and layered freckle-shroud
about the capacious canvas of his back
in an uncharacteristic ceremony of purity or bliss.
So capricious a beloved yet elicits a dual image
in the mind of her who's also seen him black.
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 9:17 PM UTC
Bedazzled Dreamer
Put the long boat in the deep waters of the mind the calm peaceful knowing all is glowing we glide not
Knowing where were going the subconscious will be our guide dividing the two worlds the quiet
Submersible is wild anything may be floating in these depths we have left shore far behind truly
We have entered unchartered waters there is no fixable Bering a lustiness takes over there is no helm
Just a pervading looseness not unsettling but truly uncharacteristic for the coconscious must always
Have a grip a grasp of what is where it is and every detail must be quantified now all senses are blown
A storm is brewing its far reaches unknown but there is softness that excludes fear the overriding
Thought is possibilities can be forged maximized eternalized thoughts are ghost like unknown entities
They were formally known but now remain a mystery dislodged from thought bases that are not solid
All is free association tantalizing in one sense then disconcerting in another what do I do with my mind
Surly it has jumped off the track I could be bewildered if I could get a hold on the situation free flowing
Unspoken but still distinctively saying volumes where is the slow button reams voluminous thoughts
Are spewing into nothingness being lost I can’t keep up the discernible is mixed with eons and theorems
Time and space is void of meaning the world here is elastic mass it convulses at will no parameters exist
The only thing constant is high velocity change being in one place is impossible all is jumbled who stirred
This caldron in my mind voice and pure thought are the same think it know it what burdensome lives we
Live when it is all a tattered sail on rough seas we behold nothing know nothing in the extreme
Romanticism blurts out sail for Trafalgar we are strangers in a plush gifted void try as we will there is
No simple answers but we are a simple people truly the only time were are fit is when we are sound
Asleep well then sleep on and I will do the same dreaming is therapeutic just think how crazy we would
Be without it
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 10:40 AM UTC
Put the long boat in the deep waters of the mind the calm peaceful knowing all is glowing we glide not
Knowing where were going the subconscious will be our guide dividing the two worlds the quiet
Submersible is wild anything may be floating in these depths we have left shore far behind truly
We have entered unchartered waters there is no fixable Bering a lustiness takes over there is no helm
Just a pervading looseness not unsettling but truly uncharacteristic for the coconscious must always
Have a grip a grasp of what is where it is and every detail must be quantified now all senses are blown
A storm is brewing its far reaches unknown but there is softness that excludes fear the overriding
Thought is possibilities can be forged maximized eternalized thoughts are ghost like unknown entities
They were formally known but now remain a mystery dislodged from thought bases that are not solid
All is free association tantalizing in one sense then disconcerting in another what do I do with my mind
Surly it has jumped off the track I could be bewildered if I could get a hold on the situation free flowing
Unspoken but still distinctively saying volumes where is the slow button reams voluminous thoughts
Are spewing into nothingness being lost I can’t keep up the discernible is mixed with eons and theorems
Time and space is void of meaning the world here is elastic mass it convulses at will no parameters exist
The only thing constant is high velocity change being in one place is impossible all is jumbled who stirred
This caldron in my mind voice and pure thought are the same think it know it what burdensome lives we
Live when it is all a tattered sail on rough seas we behold nothing know nothing in the extreme
Romanticism blurts out sail for Trafalgar we are strangers in a plush gifted void try as we will there is
No simple answers but we are a simple people truly the only time were are fit is when we are sound
Asleep well then sleep on and I will do the same dreaming is therapeutic just think how crazy we would
Be without it
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 4:28 PM UTC
Simply seeking solace in bouncing thoughts
Feeling warmth in that cold rock
Characterizing an uncharacteristic dribble
Watching it flow with no discourse
Or even disguising a movement to share
A leaf finds its mark now one wagers thought
Dogs bark rattles empty can in alleyway
Moonlight disects that churning in passerbys charts
While blowing winds shift around reason
Heavy hearts languish at the next whistle stop
Many will board to simply stare back
At others who dare when not to park
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 10:10 AM UTC
*the temperatures are devilish tonight
made in hell's antithetical brewery
from whence uncharacteristic blasts of cold air
fly at those who are poorly-clad
so make this ghoulish frost in my heart go away
hold me against your body and pat my back tenderly
tell me it's all right to suffer the sting of the elements
on a night like this when my imagination runs riot
and i see apparitions leering at me from worlds unknown
so dear favoured one,do make the cold go away this night
and rescue my being from the doldrums of apocalyptic nightmares*
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
We were kids again in the dark,
Standing on a hill and looking at the lights of the city;
Shining pin ****** are easily digestible when the magnitude of the world gets you down.
Infinity begins where the sky is darkest,
and the stars, unmarred by light, shine in brilliant multitude.
Breaths of cherry smoke and drying straw
Are still invisible in the uncharacteristic warmth of a night in October.
What kind of pictures would you draw
If you could pick the stars from the sky and rearrange their order?
What kind of constellations would we make if we dove into night’s great infinity
And shone like city lights glimmering against the velvet blackness of it all?
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 6:07 PM UTC
mess around deep funk happens,
anonymously,
just about evenly.
you've got to know by now
some experiments turn out
to prove that the theories were wrong.
You could fly like a
dove, or land splat,
barren of love,
uncharacteristic of
energies shove..
running with abandon all people taste
like chicken, carbon statistic-
that mansions are often built with bones-
and when I lose my sanity, I know,
at least I will have seen.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 9:17 PM UTC
When the mundane routine beckons
An uncharacteristic tremor is desired
Yet, I turn my back on the door
All I get from running is tired
Making my own path through the fields
Turning to see no one around me
A silhouette approaching from the sun
Against the wind I flee
Transfixed at the sight from way up above,
of the benign waves caressing the shore
Unable to take the step that I should
Unable to bear the thought for a second more
Shielding my eyes from the piercing truth
Eternally existing in blunt display
I close my eyes, and surrender to ignorance
All I seem to be doing is running away
Mar 17, 2010
Mar 17, 2010 at 9:26 AM UTC
As absolute an effect
as the strange
trading apparency with
the normal...
dead center of dead
of center, at dawn the
crosswalk is already
fading into sunset...with
uncharacteristic lucidity.
As if something coming to,
at the right place of no-place...
at the right time of no-time.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
I trust that these hands will break-
that the crevice of your smile
will turn into a crack upon the impact
of my lips upon your cheeks
but do not cry.
For the only mark I have left in your life
is that of a scar.
Never the girl you marry,
only the one you admire
and aspire to one day acquire
but ambiance is a con artist
the way the room feels good and warm
doesn't mean there hasn't been tragedy there.
I am too hung up, to be so rung out to dry
and I hate this feeling that has been given to me.
The wind had sought my insides
and everything is a mess now.
Don't put a label on me
for that will only taint the way things are now
never deserving of more than the shadows
never in the spotlight long enough to be seen.
You are ever-changing and I am in need of consistency.
But I am no hero of this novella
this short-winded fiction novel
you write upon your lips as if it is just letters on a page
but to me, this is non-fiction
to me, this is everyday.
You wear this mask like it is a coat of armor
but I have hung it up once again
and you don't like that you see yourself in me.
Hurt is the only thing I seem to know
and they all run the other direction
when the walls come down
and my true colors are painted out instead
they realize the setting is different now-
the ambiance isn't what it was before
and this novel just had an uncharacteristic plot twist.
Now you have trouble predicting the outcome
you think too much, and don't feel enough
and that's been my entire life.
No longer the girl you put a ring upon-
just one you put a bet upon and hope you don't lose
and when you win, once you see how good it feels
you run fast in the other direction because of the obligation.
Intimidation tactics are found in the dark circles under my eyes
and trouble is etched in the curve of my smile-
I have yet to find someone who dies to keep me,
one who realizes I am a novel worth reading.
But I am only worth a few pages before they have had enough of me.
They try and try to rewrite what's inside-
but you can't taint print on paperbound.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
something is wrong here
i don't know the snow
but there is a reason for
it's return, there must be
the pale faces carelessly
scattered about, smacking
pavement with haunting
heads obscured and
influenced by the severely
storming winds
i've learned to find reason in the mundane
though i don't know how that translates
into uncharacteristic weather patterns
i want what i'm after
i'm distracted by crystal orbs of longing
i want my tires to skid out from under me
i want to be buried in snow
there's a reason it falls now
i'll happily crawl to my end
though i shiver i long for more
i'll freeze but i need it
i've awakened in a snowstorm
i must embrace frozen fate
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 4:28 AM UTC
It’s all very elusive, by nature I believe
Such things aren’t easily avoided, like carrying guns in pockets so deep you loose track
Have you ever woken up too early? And the smell of dew seems like the most important detail thats ever been contemplated on?
You must stop overanalyzing it
There is always more coffee to be made, letters to be written, opinions to morph
Don’t read your battered copy of Jane Eyre swollen with thoughts of self-pity
It’s uncharacteristic
The heat always seems perforable in the cold
Do remember that
Do remember your bad habit of assuming the worse of yourself
Sometimes good luck is just that, not everything must be turned into homicide
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
The waters of the East River were blue,
bluer than I'd ever let myself expect,
bluer than the sky today.
The sight of the lights and shadows
Swimming over the passengers wasn't something
I'd known I was missing.
A few uncharacteristic craning necks;
I wasn't the only one
Newly displaced from below-ground.
Outside,
It was bright enough to color-blind;
The view from the window
For one moment
Rendered a monochrome tableau
Of New York's industrial past.
Then the red brick buildings,
Precarious window units and
Makeshift curtains of every color.
Between these-
Between these--
Heart-stopping views of
Sun-washed streets like rivers,
The sunroofs and food carts
Glinting like silver scales
In the early evening glare.
Each time I surged forward,
Gripped the overhead pole convulsively,
Drank in that view
As greedily as anything;
I'd never loved the city
Like I loved it from fifty feet up.
And the walk home was
Novel from the west;
Suddenly the sidewalks ramble-wide,
Suddenly the parks,
Suddenly the people.
A block from my apartment,
A teenager looped his finger
Through the dangling handle
Of my grocery bag as we passed-
Pulled gently,
Not tugging away,
Leading me into a turn.
We were facing each other then,
Even as our feet carried us in different directions;
"Can't I take you out?"
His youth and my mood made it charming-
His wide eyes and narrow shoulders
Held none of the threat
That comes with a man's stature-
And I couldn't help
But soften the no with a smile
Before carrying on
Towards home.
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 4:28 PM UTC
Love was, is, and is to be
Good by it's definition
To Love to destroy is sick
And uncharacteristic, of Love...
Wouldn't you agree?
What is Good and what is Bad
Comes from what we've Lost and Had.
Fleeting feelings free of form
For a purpose is adorn.
Love is Still worth all the Risk.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
On the journey of finding myself,
I found a broken heart.
We went on an adventure together,
No questions asked.
We bonded on shared love for music,
Movies,books and abstract art.
We huddled when the road bumped,
Then....we drifted apart.
With a constant ache for more,
We Kept trying to make it last.
An unspoken rule to let go,
To not think about the future past.
A rocky Mountain,
With smooth silk lane.
A fresh perspective of storm,
Just to keep us sane.
An impossible possibility,
An uncharacteristic faith.
A bond formed with respect,
No caring for mutual gain.
An attachment. ..or attraction...
Didn't know the name.
Just a bug ruptured,
Driving us insane.
One couldn't express,
One couldn't hide.
Push and pull of desire,
Love came in blind.
Few smiles. ...immensely expressive eyes.
One look of naked emotions. ...
The dam broke....and the ice vaporised.
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 7:12 AM UTC
"There was
an uncharacteristic
plot distortion
when
your art
in voodoo
hit upon my
mettled soul
like ******
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC