"unprepared" poems
Why Men Cry in the Bathroom
For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.
Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.
We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
Nonetheless,
We are forever unprepared.
Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.
Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.
But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,
*The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath*
Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.
Why just men?
I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know. end.<nml>
Jan 6, 2013
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 10:46 AM UTC
The desert,
A sea of sand, drought and dry air under a scorching, blazing Sun,
The wind may feel alike a cut, which burns through your senses,
Relentless, the heat takes over by day, yet by night it is cold enough to freeze you if you come unprepared. Such would be a foolish idea,
A dessert of thoughts, driving into my brain, leaving ideas uncovered
Leaving productivity hidden, under the sand of hatred and self doubt
Such places, landscapes, covered by firy silicate or ice are truly lethal,
Such state of mind, covered by uncertainty is truly lethal, for ones wonderful creativity, for art of all kind, conveyed or material, if you might wander through such a land without any guide to help out,
Worry not, for after every drought comes rain, blissful rain to fertilise the soil of thoughts which will blossom in wonderous ways, to shine,
After all, motion without movement cannot be possible so try to move
A wise friend once tought me, that if you give it enough time, even a nigh impossibility becomes a certainty, even a desert could be a forest
But until then, be patient my dear, even the most deserted place, carries some beauty in it, no ?
~ Umi
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 6:08 PM UTC
People whom take pictures called "selfies"
are too easily dismayed.
A person who has true humility
wants not their image displayed.
Someone who has to put themselves
out into the world,
across the screaming gulf of the internet
really makes me want to hurl.
A true person with humility,
humbleness and jest.
Let's someone to capture their image
unprepared, and not at rest.
A true person's form
comes not from a mirror pic
but from friends and their smiles
preferably not when they're shick.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC
The stairs slipped away under my feet.
My slippers are soggy.
Hair is hanging like fly paper, instead of flies it's snaring run away raindrops.
Soon to be snowdrops, as is predicted.
Spring snowflakes, spring snowdrops.
Country stops, unprepared.
Nobody cared.
Perhaps they should.
Could be good.
Buckets of grit, let them be spread.
No more pretty pure white ****
Mushy, ***** slippery slush.
*C **************************************************************/
*H **************************************************************/
A**********************************************************/
O******************************************************/
S***************************************************/
(C) LIVVI
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 8:11 AM UTC
There is a pear above me
hovering reluctantly.
It's skin firm,
the colour of meadows in the midst
of spring.
Tightly it clung
to that little stem on the branch
which exerted much effort
to keep it away from the ground.
It looked down on me
wanting badly to be picked.
To be kept inside my pocket
safe - and could be taken out
in dark moments for company.
It could also be tossed roughly in the sack
to migle with other pears.
Scratched pears.
Battered pears.
Broken pears.
Happy pears.
Wounded pears.
Rotten pears.
Abandoned pears.
Neglected pears.
Hate pears.
Love pears.
But it clings, above me
completely out of reach.
It sways in the wind,
impossible to be climbed.
And all I can do
is wait here,
down here, down below
until time exhausts the branch
until it decides to push my pear away
in moments when I am most unprepared.
It will fall on the ground
and I won't be there to catch it - like people execute to people.
Its flesh will cover the pavement
the soil will sap its juice.
It will kiss the soles of my shoes when I passed by
Its remnants will knock, then eventually pound.
And I will see that my untouchable pear
has been reassembled to be a ruin
that shelters history
that homes the history people
with historical names
and historical nails
and historical breath.
That house will contain the smell of oil lamps
lost letters, burnt maps and scarred love
and my pear will accompany the parchment
that human thoughts choose to abandon.
Until then,
I will not be writing for a while.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
My, oh my
Do I find myself facing a faceless giant
swinging his gigantic arms
bringing about his colossal hands together
creating a thunderous clap
His skin thicker than the crusts of the earth
with a voice that booms from the corners of the skies
My, Oh my
Do I find myself stunned with fear
as it puts its foot down
shaking the ground beneath the soles of my feet
How do I slay a giant such as he?
He strikes me through my heart
melting the inners of my mind
shattering the bones beneath my skin
eating away whats left of me.
How?
I've got no sword left in my hand
my armor has crumbled
turned into dust
my spirit barely alive!
I
am
Weak!
unprepared!
and
unequipped!
A soldier in shame!
A warrior who has lost
all who he is!
My, Oh my
Do I find myself crying in silence
with no tears left to shed
with rage that boils inside
of my chest
thinking that maybe
this is it for me.
My, Oh my
Do these shadows fall
upon me.
Opening up scars that have healed
Sinking me deeper and deeper
down the cracks of the earthly soils
swallowing me
as I try to find myself
beneath the ocean of pain.
My, Oh my
Do I find myself bleeding
hurting, and
screaming in silence
My, Oh my!
this giant gloats about
as he strikes me down
as he strips away every bit of my courage, and strength
Oh, he gloats, and gloats
and gloats
-----
But My, Oh my!
My, Oh my!
Do I still find myself getting back up
every time I'm struck down
beaten up
buried beneath the ground
My, Oh my!
Do I say to you my giant,
"You strike me down a thousand times; I get back up
a thousand and one times!"
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC
how to have a good
haiku: make sure you do not
run out of sylla-
****
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
Born into this world,
Tears at the end, tears at the start
Never going back,
My story becomes a piece of art.
Unprepared and free-handed,
Keep the paint flowing.
Cover up any mistakes,
Who knows where this story is going?
Do I love? Do I lose?
Do I laugh at the pain?
Do I bite? Do I bruise?
What does my heart gain?
How will you decorate it?
Choke a bit on glitter.
Have you ever tasted paint?
It tastes bitter.
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 6:42 PM UTC
I have been chasing
Conteplating
What is truly evil
Is positivity meditated
Or is it truly real
It is a dream sequel
A fight for whats equal
The negative mind
Only thinks of the lethal
What is right may be wrong
What is wrong may be right
Some say that God is black
And the devil is white
God can be anything
He is a mind's creation
An imagination
To keep the positive vibration
Across the land
From sea to shining sea
He is the birds
Hes is the bees
He could even be a She
Who knows not I
I am the one with the eyes
Call it sight
Call it vision
I look up to the skies
I smile
Hapiness will follow
I feel the light from the God of Sun
Call him Apollo
Keep your ears open
Laugh at the unaware
Smile at your peers
Remind the unprepared
Together we can make this world a better place
We can change
Erase sin for dear grace
Always remain happy
Bond as one
Stay strong
Forget the ignorant
Forget what is wrong
Focus on the plus sign
A positive design
I am there on cloud nine
I already found mine
Jan 28, 2010
Jan 28, 2010 at 9:23 AM UTC
We were just like stars.
Exploding and crashing into one another.
It was beautiful at first glance.
Like glowing specks dotting the night sky.
But it was painful like deafening explosions.
And ashy clouds suffocating the inhabitants below.
As your hands enclose themselves around my throat.
I used to think that passion came from the heavens
It doesn’t.
It comes from a place of evil not unlike this.
One where wars are fought over control.
And can only be thought of as an enveloping abyss.
One that I know, you no longer miss.
Because now I am yours, with or without consent.
We were like stars glittering, so very far from the rest.
I thought it would last forever, that we would dance
Into eternity, with your hands locked in between mine.
The moon dust splattered like droplets of fresh paint.
Across a vast canvas that was never to be finished.
I was unaware and unprepared for the intensity of
An abusive relationship.
That to outsiders looked like desirable goals.
If they only knew what happened behind closed doors.
We were beautiful, just like stars
But we were just as violent.
With a hauntingly quiet release, a single star fell.
You return to the evil that you call home, but that I call hell.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 3:23 AM UTC
To talk to the menace of man
To hear fast words belched out
Like a drunkard holding His gun
Time trickles tears
Of the one's
Left behind
How beauty moves
Is a mystery
To minds unprepared for chance
I hear year long struggles from bugles
Laced
In
Gold
And am very very bored
There are times when I speak
And I cannot recognize the voice
Somewhere far off from me
A woman pulls up her flowered shorts
Was I there to pull them down?
Or was I here?
**** wednesday forgot its own name
Distracted by the glare of the bad masses B's
Expensive and ludicrous jewelry
To take a moment is to take a slice of life
Forgetting that you were once nothing
And soon will be
Nothing
To fret the death of the ego the work the paint splattered soul dirt
Chipped teeth line curb side markets
With trinkets and hairy arm pits
I destroyed a letter I wrote to myself today
Because the nakedness of mine own soul
Was to boring and dreary to read
For now we are the waking still lives
Of the art we all wished we could create
So close so far so long so short
Is our time here to giggle at the way a dog must walk
When it is constipated
Don't laugh at that because dog constipation
Is a
Very
Serious
Thing
Regression in the Freudian sense croquet neck tie polar bears
My mother named me after that
But not before
She shot the winning shot
In her hometown
Volleyball game
Letters of three make me sneeze
Jun 5, 2011
Jun 5, 2011 at 10:43 PM UTC
I feel as close to you as how wind is to my skin,
I feel as powerful with you as how I am with a gun.
I feel as courageous next to you as how sky divers are with working parachutes.
I feel as sad without you as departing rain drops from dark hovering clouds.
I feel as bored dismissing you as a good book read by a blind man.
I feel as far from you as how the visible sun is if you look from Earth.
I feel as clouded missing you as the moon is clouded by nebulae.
I feel as dejected promising you as government cronies over promising development.
I feel as lonely not seeing you as Golden Retrievers are when their masters are not around.
I feel as blatantly bloated next to you as over-heated air balloons raise up the shiny sky.
I feel as speechless around you as unprepared speakers in a conference hall.
And at the end, I feel as close to you as how my eyes met yours then cheekily, we detached our sight and pretend that we were never close at all.
I feel close to you still
but even closer
to sin.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
Of all the matter that we can see,
And of more that is dark instead,
Where light loses its fight, Endlessly,
Bound to and of itself until it bleeds,
And for its blood this light shines red,
Of all the matter that we can know,
And of the rest that goes untouched,
Does here atop what is not yet below,
By where right goes furthest; and yet left more so,
That to a life a thought can clutch,
Four percent of all that there is,
Only four percent of it all,
Is made of what lets life live,
Is made of the tangible clues that it gives,
And the ratio thereafter is small,
A family now resides here,
Together, equally, crowded, alone,
Sailing through the air,
Never sure and unprepared,
It's good to see you, Welcome Home,
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:21 PM UTC
it's funny how i'm not invincible anymore
around you
my advantages dissolve and i'm left with nothing but
butterflies
their wings at rhythm with my scattered
heartbeat
lean close to hear my quiet voice
i'm so shy
unworthy to meet your gaze, those pretty eyes
listen please
i'm a little scared, a little unprepared
a little lost
but i hope you'll stay with me anyway
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 9:55 AM UTC
we are strong people - full and sure
our purposes are not in conflict - just out of phase
we share the need to achieve
and to find new solutions
we are intense people - busy and needed
our hours are overfull - our agendas undone
we share the delight of discovery
and endure our learnings
we are expectant people - determined and convinced,
respectful and cantankerous
we share an expectation of excellence - of success
though unprepared and unbelieving
we share the need for trust and commitment
we share the dream of excellence
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 11:15 PM UTC
I drop my pencil under a guy's chair and my friend convinces me to ask him for it back because "he's nice I promise" so I work up the courage to call his name as loud as I dare and I just start talking so I can tell him what happened before I lose my nerve, but halfway through I notice he's not listening at all and instead of asking for my pencil I ask him to ignore me. He does.
I met a boy and he was intriguing and clever and sarcastic and not unattractive and I thought he had potential but I waved in the hall and he didn't wave back and he didn't want to sit next to me in class.
I invite a boy I've known since 3rd grade to sit next to me in class, and he does, but then his friend shows up and there's a wistful look in his eyes. He doesn't talk to me, and he switches his seat the next day.
I sit at a crowded lunch table full of people I don't like because the people I do are outcasts. I don't have time to eat all my food.
I switch lunch tables to sit with my crush, by invitation of a friend. They ignore me to talk to each other. I try to join. I ask what's so funny. They shake their heads. He's sitting almost on top of me because the tables are so small but he never even turns to look at me.
Last year he sat with us and talked mostly to me and her table was having drama and fighting and now they all wear skirts to school and look pretty and my eyes are puffy and my legs have a light layer of fuzz which is easy to see because I'm still so pale.
I was the only person to sit alone on the first day of biology class and when I walked in the second day a girl who's never been particularly nice to me and wasn't in the class yesterday is there. She's excited to see me. She asks me to sit next to her. She looks at my paper while I write. I don't say anything because I don't want to sit alone anymore.
I'm stressed out by the second day. Unprepared.
718 more days.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
When there are no cards left to play,
We start a new game.
There's never a winner,
Just two broken hearts and
Smiles that don't crinkle the eyes.
Do you remember when I buried my face in the plaid cotton of your shirtsleeve and cried,
'What do you want from me?'
'Everything,' you whispered into my mouth,
Your voice muffled as if we were breathing underwater,
Though we were both unprepared to drown.
Darling, if only we'd realized that when you took it all,
There'd be nothing left for me.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 4:43 PM UTC
Illusions of skydiving in a kimono
are not nightmares that awaken her
in a sweat each night
Fantasies of floating like a drone
creep into morning daydreams
Unprepared for make-believe
no kimono hangs in her closet
Each day she stands in front
of her full-length mirror
stares at perceived imperfections
as they thicken before her eyes
Friends don’t notice
each misplaced mole
or cellulite pleading
to hide from any
audience
Co-workers notice her
post-it-note headline
“Intelligent Perfect Women
Skydives in Kimono”
affixed to the cubicle wall
Today results of
her search for kimonos
of various colors
is carefully placed in
a folder entitled skydiving
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
Seven New Poems For Seven Days #3: Orphan
Orphan
The funeral will commence at 11:30 am.
Gives me one last review time before the
Final Exam.
Panicked, I discover a whole new chapter
for which I am wholly unprepared,
though its inevitable presence was
assuredly knowable long in advance.
Orphan
It doesn't fit, occur, imagery is of a young child to
soon abandoned, not a late-in-life curmudgeonly poet-boy,
who has been multi-times reincarnated.
I add this title to my list
of proper ways to address me,
titles earned by dint of hard work,
or just unlucky luck.
This new status, orphanhood,
bequeaths no special privileges,
other than, a semi-official
societal permission slip
to feel bereft, lost, and compose poetry.
Know a real orphan, from early, early on,
has never recovered and
never will for it is just impossible.
Just impossible.
So whom am I to make light of
my undesired, unrequested new degree?
I accept it and to my surprise,
It hurts.
7/21/13
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
These words keep arriving by post,
By phone and through the air:
They say, “I love you the most!”
And he’s always unprepared.
I dismissed them until I knew
What they could mean,
What they could do.
They let a young boy believe
In a dangerous fantasy
Of the young or naïve,
And give himself to ecstasy.
He’d already given himself away
To a girl who “merely loved” him;
He was swayed.
He was wounded by a whim.
How could his young heart
Know the anguish of love spurned?
Of changing minds and false starts?
That passion fades as quickly as it burns?
He was “crushed” when it ended;
His response, pure and true.
Still that phrase he insanely defended!
“I love you, I love you, and I love you”!
How hollow to me it still rings!
My beloved son in pain.
What makes a girl do these selfish things?
What is it that they gain?
Young hearts now seem to lack wisdom;
They’re so eager to believe.
Yet they haven’t the caution
It takes to give love and receive.
Summer, 2006
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 8:56 AM UTC
caught off guard
by yet another downpour
unprepared again
he could shelter
from the torrent
tormenting
and tempestuous
beneath the hung branches
of this laden tree
overreaching
beyond its means
but he knows
it cannot keep him dry
for as long as
he might need
from bough to branch
to leaf and bud
down the back of his neck
through layer upon layer
soon sodden and soiled
those discomforting drips
will expose that
which he didn't want
to feel
Jul 27, 2023
Jul 27, 2023 at 9:30 AM UTC
Every day, a new sentence
prepared in our heads
We try to plan out our lives
but they never coincide
I'm looking up to the sky
With all these questions why
thinking that I'll get answers in reply
I can't seem to think straight
Thought I had all this sense
But I can't find the change
And every day I check,
that a new day has come
But I'm a song stuck on repeat
one that sticks in your conscious for weeks
Why am I not living life the way I should
Seems I’m stuck in traffic Morning and night
Work all day just to come home to sleep away the night
Is this really all I'm meant to be
Used to think I was meant for greatness
Now I just can't see, that being me.
Feels like I've left this all too late
I came unprepared to storm this gate
Better turn back now,
just let this dream fade
Always thought greatness
was where my life would lead
But now I see, I didn't need greatness
To feel fulfilled and succeed
Thought fame would be away
To achieve everything I'd need
But fame just brings disaster
and attention I really don't want
So I think I can be happy with what I've got
And this is no real story
Just thinking out loud
Through fingers, I keep typing
Hoping this will connect
Maybe someone out there
Needs something to which they can relate
And I've felt those feelings
where you spiritually connect
In others writings, It's a talent
Which is a blessing to possess
I'm trying to find that spark
That helped me light up the dark
Haven't written in so long
But I know this is somewhere I belong
Why am I not living life the way I should
Seems I’m stuck in traffic Morning and night
Work all day just to come home to sleep away the night
Is this really all I'm meant to be
Used to think I was meant for greatness
Now I just can't see, that being me.
Feels like I've left this all too late
I came unprepared to storm this gate
Better turn back now,
just let this dream fade
Always thought greatness
was where my life would lead
But now I see, I didn't need greatness
To feel fulfilled and succeed
Thought fame would be away
To achieve everything I'd need
But fame just brings disaster
and attention I really don't want
So I think I can be happy with what I've got
I've written a bunch of verses
Unfinished works, Sometimes it truly hurts
losing motivation for something
you once so dearly loved
It got you through all those hard times
Now you won't even take the time
To write out some lines,
think of some quips and rhymes
Try to define yourself as a poet
Get those emotions out
With a pen and paper now
So that you can show it
And all those who need to read
So that they can see
there not in this alone,
They're in this with me
Why am I not living life the way I should
Seems I stuck in traffic Morning and night
Work all day just to come home to sleep away the night
Is this really all I'm meant to be
Used to think I was meant for greatness
Now I just can't see, that being me.
Feels like I've left this all too late
I came unprepared to storm this gate
Better turn back now,
just let this dream fade
Always thought greatness
was where my life would lead
But now I see, I didn't need greatness
To feel fulfilled and succeed
Thought fame would be away
To achieve everything I'd need
But fame just brings disaster
and attention I really don't want
So I think I can be happy with what I've got
©2017 Written By Benji James
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC
my body and i,
we do not always
get along.
our relationship,
like that of an old married couple.
an old married couple who got married a little too young,
too unprepared,
too wild.
a couple that's been together way too long,
so long that, now
we could not be with anyone else.
we don't know how to
and anyway, we have the same friends.
my body and i,
we fight a lot.
years upon years of arguments,
betrayals.
too many feelings have been hurt.
i'm not sure if there is even any trust left,
both equally as guilty as the other.
but there's still love there, somewhere,
deep down
and every now and again that goodness will appear,
hidden within the little things;
leaving meals out for each other,
tucking the other into bed after a long day
warm showers.
small moments of love
we stay together.
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 7:27 AM UTC
Everywhere I look now
I’m reminded of the past
When we were kids together,
And forever’s meant to last.
High school was that future thing
You thought you’d never reach
Now you’re there, so unprepared
It’s still hard to believe.
I thought I knew just what to do
But now my paths are crossed.
It used to be all fun and games,
And time was never lost.
No one asked these questions,
“What next? How not? Why me?”
It was all inside the moment,
We believed in who we’d be.
But now I take the SATs
In Physics, nonetheless
I finally beat forever
I never would have guessed.
Girls wear make up everyday
And “like” has turned to “love”
I miss the way it used to be,
I miss when we were young.
‘Cause children don’t take SATs
And children don’t regret
Kids rejoice in what they have,
And loving what they get.
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 3:17 PM UTC
I slept a little last night
But I don't think I closed my eyes
I'll tell you I'm alright
You should know I'm good at lies
I'm tired and terrified
And I'm sick of being scared
My brain is kinda fried
Maybe I'm just unprepared
Maybe a change of scenery
Will cure my misery
I'd like plane tickets but I can't afford 'em
So I'm going to Portland
I had a drink last night
And I was nowhere to be found
I'd like to think it was one drink
Only if the whole bottle counts
I'm a servant to the rush
And I believe in laying low
But when someone says to hush
I like to give it to them slow
Maybe I need to leave
So my mind can finally breathe
I don't need no beach of sand
I'm going to Portland
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 9:44 PM UTC