"uneasily" poems
Of woman's strength
Feminine emotion
Novice poet of rhyme
Wandering traveler in time
A skilled hunter
I am an outlaw
Choosing not to embrace conformity
Or integrate into the system
Societies matrix
The definition of normal
Existing uneasily on the fringe
Confederate born
Southern bred
I fly my flag with pride overhead
Not out of hate
To represent the heritage of my birth
A scholar
Obscurity is my chosen environment
Connoisseur of the written word
The yellowed paper soon obsolete
These are my many attributions
I will not dispute it
Indeed I am a maze of confusion
In the conscious world
I am a strange combination
All Rights Reserved@ Tammy M Darby
All Material Stored in Author Base Sept. 2013
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
Light drunkenly reels into shadow;
Blurs, slurs uneasily;
Slides off the eyeballs:
The segments shatter.
Tree-branches cut arc-light in ragged
Fluttering wet strips.
The cup of the sky-sign is filled too full;
It slushes wine over.
The street-lamps dance a tarentella
And zigzag down the street:
They lift and fly away
In a wind of lights.
2.7k
Wooden love,
Forgotten like old bones
And memories
XxXx
Lies settle uneasily on her skin
Like thick perfume choking
All who are near
XxXx
Wisps of dust
Curl into the rising air
Like invisible smoke
XxXx
Exquisite telling
Of the corpse;
Sparkling wine and cold fingers
XxXx
Do not touch
the shameless broken glass
That lie like crushed diamonds
XxXx
Two buses
Full of empty people
Pass blindly
XxXx
Rising towers of ice
A complex of cages,
And we call it beautiful
XxXx
This is the way the world ends
(World ends, world ends)
Not with a bang but a whisper
XxXx
Because we are the hollow men
And there is never rest
For a lost boy
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC
The clouds fall
I rise above them
Emerge from the haze uneasily clear
With heaven still miles and miles above me
But the soothing sedation belittled below
I wish I could
Go back to denial
Head in the clouds, lost in a daze
With a chance of returning back to a purpose,
The possible prospect of being rained down
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
On opposite sides of a telephone line
Signals from satellites bounce between
The waves of silence that are plopped uneasily
Within our absent minded conversation
I breathe, hoping it is not too loud
A sigh, a release from this purgatory
But any microscopic sound or respiratory
Inspires him to question me
"What are you doing?" he asked halfheartedly
While I lay and watch my wall paint crack
As minutes tick by, sigh after sigh
Of not knowing which words to utter
So I break the silence finally
With a insincere and restless goodnight
Because this is how you end a fight
But I still hung on to silence until the line died
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC
He lost his wings at birth
Soaked in the misery of nothingness
Child caught the face of a dejected mum
Dad gasps for breadth in vanity of time
What lurks in the darkness beyond?
Where is the answer, the poor child reels
Eyes glinted at ignorant jubilation
Not again, the village moaned uneasily
Wings refused to flap inspiration
Sun refused to dry soaked misery rule
Conscious of the stream of pain not long
On and on breathlessness overcomes hopeful desire
Heart overflows with helplessness
Birds fly around filling the air with hope
Child closes eyes not to twig bitterness
So that sorrow could fly away
All at once the days come by
No means to endure the crunch of time
Denial by the offensive of futility of all
Rescue for survival nowhere to find
Staring the freshness of gentle breeze
Hope wades in with a struggle to live
‘Abrakadabra’ the witch doctor screams
So that sorrow could fly away
Don’t give up my brother
Determination beckons with authority
Sorrow and hopelessness dumped on the side
So that no other child sees it no more
Holding firm to tomorrow that is not lonely
Misery in abyss pushed aside to give way
Alas the flower glows and sweetness flows
Like the river of life beyond comprehension
Fly away your sorrow.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
by the lake at sunrise
a strange dedication hangs in the air
concealed in threads of mist
that hang here, ghostly blankets
suspended by invisible strings
there is a silence without end every where
amorphous, it is as if the very elements themselves
hold their breath, poised
waiting for something to happen
while a silvery unexplained light
floats like mercury
on the lurid waters of the lake
the world looks on
in hideous and embarrassed silence
as I taste the lamentations of past times
a discord of sympathies swirl about
i cry out strange words
like making a wish in Latin
i am carried in a high altitude of color
through a French Pantheon of poems
and by the lakeside emaciated figures
form a density of mood
dripping in emotional subtlety
which cannot be properly named
my eyes gaze out upon the lake
in a vocabulary of incoherent signs
images that have no articulation
like that of a rancid stain
of ***** on a curved floor
that compares effects of sensitivity
to neurotic symbols
that rest uneasily on the walls
of hospital waiting rooms
a poetic syntax of sonorous symbolism
sensuously slashed
like a very, very sad crossword
I am high by the lakeside at sunrise
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC
The ship(notified) lost
leisurely drifts over waves
westwards, "Unhurried hereafter"
is the slogan written on it's mast
it would seem to an onlooker.
A net is cast wide,
to catch as much fish
as the tired crew now needs.
Each furious wave
that rushes towards the ship
changes tack, proclaims
a frothy message of peace.
No more communication exchanges
causing disturbances, no hurry any more.
None waits for the lost ship,
in any distant shore, with a binocular,
or spanning a Radar, uneasily .
The crew had already forgotten
every mission undertaken before.
It has no schedule, deadlines, plan
the ship feels more buyout than ever before
,just floats along, as if it's a tranquil thought,
towards the direction where
the purple sun prepares to set dramatically.
Accompanied by two astonished whales,
sailing along like two mates, the ship,
now a lone wolf,with a hidden yearning
has become more alive, once declared lost.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 1:36 PM UTC
-
The concaves in the glass bowl and the style which it imposes to the
Food within it to warp and appear not from this world.
The spoons and how they surrender the same effect, curving my face
Into a funhouse punch line; I can’t help but smirk,
Which somehow distorts my features even more.
You were convinced it was necessary to serve me your best today,
Pulling out the stops and balancing uneasily on the aging stool that waits in the corner
Just to get out the “fine” kitchenware.
Soon it became routine:
I was over every day, not to eat, no; selfishness is a puzzle.
No, I’d sit at the table and bide my slender hourglasses, shifting a mind between
Taking you to the moon,
Or to the ceiling fan because my goodness it’s getting warm in here.
Planet under smoke, we end the day with a drop of manufactured whiskey
Dangling from the inside of your Swedish wine bottle set from India.
(Bends the droplets into squares)
Our sun is setting and the pictures on the walls fall asleep.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 5:23 AM UTC
A MONOLOGUE
Walking through the path of solitude
Through the busy streets
And the passing tweets
The crowds are hustling
Bustling
Walking by, my head in air
Trying to reach that path
To a solitary stair
Over the bridge I go
Along a narrow road
Turning left with the rows
Upon rows of period houses
In their thousands
I walk past and up the steep hill
To the path of solitude at will
Meandering across from left to right
My solitude has come back to beat the fight
Walking and listening to the birds in the trees
And so it is a gentle breeze
I reached to the top and turn left
A mingle of people surround
As I walk, listening and watching
Sometimes trotting along the lonely path of solitude
I turn right to a row of more trees
Gathering together amongst the breeze
Along the pathway
The smell of foliage, crisp and clear
All is quiet along the path of solitude
Listening, thinking, observing
The silence in the air
Above and below
Low and behold
So tranquil and bare
On the right, a school, quiet as it may seem
In their classrooms learning a dream
Moving on in my solitude
Viewing from a distance
The rows of vehicles
To and fro
To and fro
Too far away to hear their engines
Too many to mention
My solitude is still with me
Walking amidst the sheltered trees
Me in midst
Like the abyss
Leaving the wooded trees
Turning left to a suburb
Of rows upon rows of semi detached
Still and quiet
As if the world has gone to sleep
Now walking at a steady pace
Saving grace
Vehicles in the driveway
And people coming out
Chatting, laughing
As if in doubt
I take another left
Descending downhill
Cross the road quickly
Streams of vehicles
Moving uneasily
Pace quickens
And the movement thickens
My solitude is disturbed
Unperturbed
Around the corner I go
How would I know?
The right path to true solitude
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 11:27 AM UTC
Sheila can't settle her mind
to lessons
she sees only
the boy John
in her mind's eye
his words repeat themselves
each time
the teacher speaks
maths
English
double P.E
had to be
got through
until at last
it's lunchtime recess
and she can hope
to find him
on the playing field
after a rushed meal
and she stands
on the edge
of the field looking
out to see if he's there
but she can't see him
and worries that recess
will go and she won't
have seen him
she walks onto the field
and there are kids
everywhere in groups
playing ball games
and sitting here and there
then as she turns
he's there
coming towards her
hands in his pockets
walking across the grass
looking for me?
he asks
she nods and searches
through her mind
for the right words to say
been looking for you
she says
trying to put on
a face of not being
put out
but isn't succeeding
he looks at her
taking in her glasses
and large eyes
and hair pinned back
at one side
with a metal clip
well I'm here now
he says
her name's gone again
he says
what is your name?
Sheila
she says
feeling unsettled
that's it
he says
he looks back at the field
behind him at boys
kicking a ball
Rennie asked me
about a game of football
but I said I was seeing you
John says
what did he say?
she asks
said I need to see a doctor
John says
o
she says
looking at the boy
and wondering if
he wants to be there
with her
do you want to play
ball with him?
she asks
no it can wait
he says
and walks on
and she walks beside him
why doe she say
you need to see a doctor?
she asks
as they walk on
he thinks girls
are a waste of time
beside football
I see
she says
don't worry about Rennie
I want to be here
with you
you do?
sure
I wouldn't be here
otherwise
o right
she says
let's go sit up
that end near the fence
away from the others
and we can talk
he says
she nods and smiles uneasily
he's is near to her
and his hand
is mere inches from hers
and as much as
she'd like him
to hold her hand
she's frightened
that he might
o what to do
she thinks as they walk
on towards the fence
and sit on the grass
and she feels undone
yet excited
to at last be there
with him
watching him
and taking in
his hazel eyes
and quiff of hair
and glad
she's sitting there.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 1:58 AM UTC
The stormy shore does blow
With all its wind and might
Then waves will crash
On rocks and splash
All throughout the night
***
Frothy waves tremble uneasily,
Seasick on the rolling tide
Shaken waters, choppy waves
Stormy seas on oceans wide
***
The troubled sea rolls in to shore
To bash along the rocky floor
And brushes quaint, the fishing boats
All of which no longer floats
***
The waves beneath my feet
My feet upon the pier
Day grows short, the end draws near
And dance along the rocky shore
For ever and forever more
***
Sea birds fly like kites
Soaring through the gusty winds
Sprayed by sea, they dance
In stormy revelry,
their wingéd fins of feathers
hoist them higher than the sails
Of ships, or spray of whales
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 1:50 AM UTC
I stand at the altar
Of a red brick Victorian
Baptist Church
Kneel at Namas
With my brothers for Salah
In the Mosque
Follow flags to
The Gurdwara
Amrit Sanchar*
Everyone has their bodhi tree
I carry mine with me
-
Seated in a building
Singing songs
To an all knowing deity
Some hold arms aloft
Awaiting heavenly high fives
Others shuffle feet uneasily
It's time for the alternative sermon
Where we air all the doubts
Where hushed voices sweet singing
Make way for swearing and shouts
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 8:59 AM UTC
Though the date may be late… and
Those type things don’t happen anymore…MUCH…dare I say
Those type things don’t happen MUCH anymore… (yes I dared)
It is nevertheless ingrained…
No matter the age or the date
However young or old…
It is in our DNA… and
Our DNA does not forget
Will not allow us
As other cultures will
To easily enjoy
The remote loveliness… and
Maniacally flowering greenery… and
Beauteous quiet of this
Southern forest… this
Confederate lake…
Without our spirits
Sadly counting
The cumulative number of
Hundreds of years of
Fertilization by
Black Men’s bones…
But like my father and his father before him
We show up anyway…
Albeit somewhat uneasily…
While the native good-ole-boys
Stand stock still and stare
Actin’ like they never seen one’a us before… and
Though we arrived obviously prepared for what we came to do
They still stare… as if
wondering what we could possibly be doing here…
or maybe… how dare we enjoy God’s green earth with our brown selfs…
And my beautiful Black Man
with ease of motion
Audaciously pays the Black Tax
(the quoted price over what the sign says the price is)
As I bait my line in defiance
Albeit somewhat uneasily… and
Cast it out into this confederate lake
And my beautiful Black Man
Also stands… broad shoulders back… and
Pointedly does not acknowledge the presence of the natives
As they stand stock still and stare
But it is there
(We will NOT be afraid… and we will NOT go away)
Unspoken between us... But
Always in the back of the mind…
The recesses of the consciousness…
Preparation for this day… and the worst that it can bring…
Is ingrained…
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 3:15 PM UTC
I dreamt there were millions of
Bright little frogs
With jeweled-dew eyes
And glimmering legs that
Flashed and leapt about in your sea-kelp hair
And your skin was the brown of river-beds,
Warmed by midday winter-sun
And dappled like eels swimming
And your eyes held the liquor of pearls and amber
And the sting of scorpions
And the songs of river-stones
And in my dream,
There were *****
Like tiny polished pomegranates
Clasped in a long chain about your neck;
They skittered uneasily, whispering to one another
Of faith and betrayal
And your words, they were few,
Falling in indigo droplets-
Cool, distant
Murmuring
That held the secrets of the clouds
And you wanted me to understand
Something…
So urgently- something about death and what came after-
Beaches and endless sky, or purple meadows and pale stars,
Or just words perhaps…
I don’t remember
Except that it was sad.
And then I woke up-
Tears warm against my cheek,
Heart baffled by water-love and secrets,
And memory of a million bright little frogs
Glittering in your sea-kelp hair
May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 at 2:43 PM UTC
It is as if I were
Truly, marching, numb,
Blind despite standing
On a pillar above the sun,
Bathing in an ocean of
Clarity, clean, dumb
A kind of understanding
Or a stellar love, a unison
Dripping in slow-motion.
It is as if I were
Well fastened to a past
Faint, absent, steady,
Found elsewhere once more,
Begrudgingly opaque,
As sequestered and cast
Paint spent uneasily
Around canvases ashore,
Erosionally awake.
It is as if I were
On the verge now,
Ready to step onward,
Dare, envision, try,
If but for a moment
In an urge somehow
To unravel the skies afar
Care, abandon, fly,
And not ever lament:
It is as if I were.
Jul 15, 2023
Jul 15, 2023 at 11:48 PM UTC
|| Watching daybreak
With half-closed eyes
As the sun shatters
Through night's cracks
Drinking cups
Of ambient air
As coffee slithers
Past parched lips
Listening to whispers
Of forgotten winds
To beating hearts
And engine throes
Humming to tunes
Of broken chords
Drowning woes
In music's bliss
Writing scribbles;
Transient notes
On dusty tables
And misty panes
Chasing pavements
Under peals of thunder
Dodging raindrops
And lightning strikes
Learning to dance
With hurricanes
And laughing with
The storm and surf
Relaxing at sundown
With bottles at reach
While shadows prance
In thick amber light
Walking beneath
A pale crescent moon
Feet gliding uneasily
On swaying sidewalk
Dreaming of dreams
And tangled delight
While the past's future
Slowly slips away ||
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 2:22 PM UTC
In violent light,
shadows are sharp, crisp and clean.
Heavy is the night.
The salt of your skin
rests uneasily on my swollen tongue
as I **** you like your life
depended on it.
How many times have I wrenched
the impossible from the ether
and left you slick and aching,
bereft of any intelligible thought
save for the feeling of having
been entirely filled and
completely consumed
in the same
endless moment?
One moment can change
your universe.
How long
does it take to lose an arm,
to come for the first time,
to surrender?
How long does it take to cut too deep?
I can become your
deity in the violent light
of our sanctuary
and you can take my
blood while I sleep
in your hair.
Heavy is the night
but your skin is cool
and all I want is to
die inside you.
The salt of your sins
my only meals as I
burn in the furnace
again.
I can't take my eyes
away from the edge
of our shadows
in this
violent light.
I can't take my eyes away.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 4:07 AM UTC
There is an uncomfortable ledge on the tip
of your tongue. It is the place where your
flimsy thoughts uneasily sway, and in these
debating moments of loosely hanging on,
you decide to spit or swallow. For you, it is
the worst place for words to stoop, and
sometimes your tongue just flicks them out
like cigarette buds and all you can do is look
down the ledge in disbelief. I catch the words
at the bottom, salvaging rusted-penny-like
sentences. If I pocket enough, I know I will
be able to give them worth. I will surely turn
uncertain stammers into something much more
amiable and toss myself up the sill; our anxious
balconies colliding and combining. I absorb
the last fretful words, out of your mouth,
and sip the apology slowly off your lips.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
In the beginning there were no words
for there was no call for words,
neither was there knowledge,
for there was nothing to know.
All was sublime wordless ignorance,
everything simply - was.
It was at this time, the time of everything,
that Utopia reigned.
All things raised themselves up to the sky
from the rich fertile soil,
from the clear waters,
and from beneath the weight of great boulders.
All things in harmony reaching towards
the brightness of a Utopian sky.
And it came to pass, that beasts
came to dwell in that land.
And the beasts became Man and
Man became the beast.
It was a great time of change.
And Man spewed forth words from his mouth
saying:
"Blessed is this land, for it hath many resources.
I will make claim to it and bring it to order."
And with these words came Knowledge.
Henceforth,
all that raised itself was cut down,
the fertile land defiled,
the clear waters made corrupt.
Great boulders were rent asunder in order to build
marble palaces and statues ornamented with
gold and silver, paying homage to Man.
Time passed,
and there came upon that land a great famine.
The fertile land became barren.
Fishes floated in the pestilent waters.
There was no more reaching towards the sky.
In Man's greed Utopia had been dethroned.
Chaos reigned in its place.
All became worthless.
And Man wrestled uneasily with his conscience
knowing he had lost Utopia forever.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2011
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 12:39 PM UTC
They say time heals all wounds and quite often I agree/ yet some can tanker ous uneven eternity/ The buffer of shock waves they ebb and rise unceasingly/ The sun rays wind rain earthquakes weather is me, uneasily.
Yay my legs have sea come custom to storm after storm/ I for one have grown weary of water tho running comes easily/
So I retracted an iron heart East seeking warm understanding.
Time is a healer but in a water world all wounds bleed into the ocean/ silence will keep salt off the tongue but will not spare the flesh/ Even with an iron heart held high and to the side we hobble and wobble none the less.
What is truly needed is a seamed shore line/ to rest towards the west, digest the sunsetty passing/ to release my cast iron heart into soft earth/ so that I remember from where I came and observe how much we have changed.
I have feared the setting sun long enough/I will build a bridge from sea solitude to land understanding. We have come a long way through a space time ether. All things are better together and time is a healer.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 8:11 PM UTC
shy stutter of a thought
scurrying across rough rock and diving
headfirst into cold white water
so as not to be heard, unlike
the wilted sigh from pinched lips
that draws eye contact then breaks it
like waves upon those stones
syllables soft and jumping
through valleys, over jagged mountains
just to reach ears clouded
with assumptions and a failing effort
to tune it all out
skinny fingers gripping a skull
through wild, upset hair
hands coming to rest uneasily
within each other, still shaking from the strain
or maybe it's the cold that cuts edges
into my shoulders, ties the laces tighter across my back
pinching me into place as i twist inside
looking away a thousand times, and trying
but i cannot unwind, i cannot open myself
to you
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
Sometimes
Some Images
Remind me of you.
A lake. A prayer.
Soft glow of violet, ethereal.
Soft land beneath our feet,
a lustful calling, sweeter greed.
Warm campfire in a blanket of cold.
A speck of hell under a starless sky.
Two hearts fluttering uneasily.
Sparks,
as you bless my palm with a dandelion.
Eternal promise of love.
A playground. Old sunken swings.
A boat of moonlight in it's wings.
Pitched laughter, the creaking of swingboard.
Your hands in mine. Serenity galore.
Christmas trees, laden with lights.
Merry songs. Gifts and sights.
Bliss turns into panic. You cough out blood.
A strange fear
Lingers in the air.
A hospital room. Cold and bright.
A machine with curves beeping fast.
Your hand in mine. Slumped body on bed.
You close your eyes in my arms.
Silence.
Death came at last.
Sometimes
Some Images
Remind me of
an incomplete love.
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 3:18 AM UTC