"unexpectedness" poems
My happiness is only in distractions.
It's when I'm alone
that I realize the full extent of what that means.
Another's smile makes my own spring in unexpectedness,
pleasantly surprised that it wasn't practiced.
I should be on Broadway,
with how consistently I play this role.
Of someone who gets by, whose only worry
is when to sleep and wake to work.
But this isn't me at all.
I close my nights with eyes that see a life unfold
a span of sorrow in disappointing my world.
Family that will cry at what I've failed to do
in the name of doing what I'm afraid I'll fail to live.
I'm so scared to leave this world
with nothing more than the dates I stayed.
The thought of having nothing to offer
mocks me into deserting instead of believing.
I wish for the strength to go beyond my own doubts,
the force to believe with every bit of flesh
that I can give my soul to the world.
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 12:46 AM UTC
Claustrophobic in a world without limits
From the top of the ocean to the bottom of the sea
We fight for oxygen that is free.
We limit our brain and actions to something that is expected
Unexpectedness' is pleasant in the end
But that hasn't happened yet
Only to the ones that are strong enough to be soft spoken
And carry their heart through the woods
Even if it is broken.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
Let joy shall crash upon you like the waves from the
sea, heavy and full of unexpectedness.
Let love drift to you like the soft smell of hyacinth
from the gardens below your window.
Deny not the furtive scrapings of passion always
clawing and biting their way into your life.
Allow life to be lived as life, not as scripted verse, not like this.
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 10:05 AM UTC
You can buy flowers that you make into a tea.
They look like little wrinkled brains,
But unfurl in a glass to reveal spectacular colours.
Some people hate the taste, but I can taste those colours on my tongue,
Watch the petals dance as flavours bounce along my mouth,
Loving the unexpectedness, the eccentricity.
I have a thing for acquired tastes,
Falling in love with those that some might call 'hard work'
Because I love to unearth beauty from an unexpected source.
Look harder at those who try to hide,
They may be truly beautiful inside.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 4:40 PM UTC
She brushed a kiss she felt on her cheek
Felt a gentle hand given to squeeze
She found herself surprised by the
Sudden unexpectedness of the gesture
"Your a surviver" a soft voice called
Then she knew how afraid she was
Tears that had waited a long time to
Escape were finally released under
The dark veil of torrential rain
Big fat teardrops downpoured hurt
The sky above grumbled ominously
Then turned to light spectacular
Windchimes clattered with madness
Noises amplified by howling winds
She knew the storm was on its way
She would not surrender but maintain
Her inner strength and dignity
Her vitality was the food for her soul
Her love was boundless and eternal
Natures diversity and hers together
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
What flourished beauty lives within your thought
is always silent fuel to beating hearts;
and all in melted paradise, must cease to talk
for passed in subtle air a string of farts.
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 2:24 AM UTC
Which day brings unique
Unexpectedness,
Momentous at the outset.
The day that adds a dimension.
With expectations
That fall short, meet or excede
Yesterday's forethoughts.
Start with mother's gift.
The warmth and excitement
Of home after the first day.
A birth, a funeral,
Excites different
Sounding bands.
Today was such a one.
A Good-bye Day.
Until her return
My days are numbered
Until
That Momentous Day.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
psychotic, she says
psychedelic, he says
tho black n' white,
tumultuous are the variances of shading,
the hints of unknown fragrances
of days yet to come when,
spring earth and spring buds
long past the point of expectation,
inject colorful unexpectedness
eyes so clear so bright,
how can she not see beyond the pale
emotionless expression of gaunt,
that all turbulence is not bad
see that streak of black hair,
refusing to be hidden, a provocation,
curling, asking to be stroked,
pitter patter it teases the lips,
but only after it grazes the eyelash
so seductively it screams
I am beautiful!
does she fail to see?
who will not permit her
to see what I have seen?
the lyric comes to mind instantly:
***Well let me tell you 'bout the way she looked
The way she'd act and the colour of her hair
Her voice was soft and cool
Her eyes were clear and bright
But she's not there***
*her eyes are clear and bright,
her pen delicate and light,
she unbeknownst surrounded,
by admirers that gladly lay,
not their cape, but their whole body
across these leftover puddles of winter*
*will she? will she cross over?
with those eyes so clear, so bright,
there is only one acceptable answer!*
*come spring, come summer,
her true nature will nurture*
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
Have you ever felt this,
that moment of unexpectedness.
when you just somehow,
got to connect with strangers.
Then you kind of drifted away
from reality?
I did, and its weird.
But at the same time you felt safe,
because this person doesn't know you,
same goes to that stranger...
I love that feeling of anonymity,
where you just don't need to tell.
Each others backgrounds,
and just talk anything else.
And then you would just realize,
It's getting late.
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC
by: William A. Marshall
I disrobe and survey
noiseless instruments so
austere rather dreary
colored walls that reflect
unemotional elements I
ask for another blanket
so sterile a fragrance
like nothingness fill my
nose eyes float disregarding
back to the strangeness of
time moving as sounds of
feet flap in the corridor
I wait then as a subdued
knock at the door my
immortal sketch filters this
time but I broaden with
unpredicted comfort receptions
you can only receive when people
are not well an agreeable scene
professional mollycoddling
no fussy clinging of inseams
that ruin atmospheres
I go head on into obscurity
as a nurse asked in a puzzled
way about my faith she
was confused by my notes
about Dostoyevsky
I provided in that portion
of the form she wanted
to know irrespective of what
the other staff told her
I shook my head with
acceptance responding with a
vague originality the back of my
mind thinking what if I don’t
return - a way that is disconcertingly
adequate and peaceful and quiet
I notice my garments stuffed
into a clear plastic bag
to be received by somebody
upon my possible reemergence
locating a theme in time
and a lack of difficulty with everything
not interfered with but
unexpectedness actually the minutes
move away knowing that I will
not remember spike introduced
to vein as they examine the
drips of dose inhalations mounted
in my face muffled voices
fade the syringe is plunged
I know the train is now
approaching down the
track but I am not uneasy for
some reason talking more
about nothing while people move
the morning flows mechanically
without me like water
in a brook never to be
seen again chatting melodically
then calmness where I had
gone that wintertime morning
I can’t remember all I was
content though on that cradle
I know it was suitable late the process
had taken and imagined into an abode
that I no longer recall smiling
knowing it was a delightful place
where people take you into
their care peeking slowly then
through the fog when I glanced at
my wife assured by the cup of coffee
that she offered
and recovery rinsed over me
a return to my existence like returning
from death
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC