"unscrewed" poems
Songster, not as sinister as they say,
she's no monster, just admittedly
a bit lost in her way.
she caves as I'm walking
down the hall.
I pick her up, off of that flooring,
the rubbery kind, whatever it is,
I guess it's rubber, but the kind that
squeaks when you walk on it after
coming in from the rain; to hell with poetry.
And so anyways I pick her up
and sit her on this bench next to me
and give her about five minutes to come to
terms with breathing and pick shimmering
auburn hair out of the tears smeared across her face,
two, mesmerizing, perfectly blue wells
the source of the streams.
And then I ask her what that
was all about and she blurts out that she
belongs in the Fine Arts Department,
and her car broke down months ago
but her father
doesn't give a **** about it,
because she can't lay up the basketball
or steal the base and so he honorably
lump summed her entire tuition
and sent her to another state
and how ****** she would be
if she had to get a job for the first
time at the age of twenty three
so she wouldn't have to be
dependent on her family and
that she was sick of wondering why
not a single guy had ever given her
a ******* flower
and that if she ever did end up liking one
two weeks later she would find out that he
was exactly the same as the others and
she had a broken look in her eyes
when she said she wondered why we were
all here in the first place, and how we were
made this way, and if people were actually
ever meant to fit together or not;
*what if there was nothing as certain
as two halves making a whole?*
She wanted to know how everyone's
mind had a different game to play,
she wanted to know why Jupiter
had to be so far away and everything in
between.
We had strolled off of the school grounds by
this time but I still looked twice before pulling out my flask.
I unscrewed the cap, handed it to her and said
*follow me to Deadbeat Hollow,
where we've already thrown
our problems out of the window*
and she said
lets go.
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 9:46 PM UTC
While they noticed the stretch of kohl in her eyes,
I could see a pacific of emotions trapped.
While they admired her blushing cheeks,
I could read the paleness she painted red.
While they were going gaga over her smirk,
I could fathom the depth of pain that debarred a hearty gale.
While they were lured by the cascade of her hair when she unscrewed the bun,
I could feel the onus of the tantrums she wanted to turf out.
While they were hypnotized by her mesmeric curves,
I was stunned by the withstanding efficacy of such a fragile body.
While they adored her attire and scarves,
I could trace the bruises she carried with poise.
While they were hung up by the glory of her face,
I could do no help but ride out at the scars she concealed with sprightliness which was the most beautiful thing my eyes could ever have a view of and it left me dazed...
And my mouth wide opened.
-Aparajita Tripathi
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC
The amount of days I've been given have been kind, but each day rather cruel
Trying to lift the thumb off my back of the looming stresses that rule
It could be me again and this is not the end, if fact it probably is
So before I unleash my problems, swear to mind your business
I would be lying if I said I wanted this day to last a forever
Because I found myself one forever short once we weren't together
I've said my piece so many times the puzzle is almost complete
So I've decided it's time to get off my knees and back onto my feet
I've fallen so much I keep Flintstones band-aids close at hand
My heart sewn to my sleeve for only you, which I've yet to understand
You unscrewed the machine that was me and left the parts on the floor
And I'm pretty sure I won't work just right anymore
Fading is the dynasty of what we labeled our so-called "love"
Like sticking my foot inside my sock at night to find it's a glove
The discombobulation is so overwhelming, I think the ocean is jealous
Could I start swimming now or is that being too over-zealous
Life is hard and the people crammed in it tend to make it worse
At times I tell myself it to cry, look to the sky, and curse
But there's a tune in my mind that won't seem to shut up from that one song
Telling me life is a ride, kid: grieve, learn, burn, and move on
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
He was the epitome of a loveless boy, and he knew it. In fact, that was what kept him restlessly awake most nights, especially on this particular evening. He glanced down at the dark mess of hair that was laid across his chest and listened to the soft emission of peaceful breathing slipping from the lips of the girl whose name he did not remember. For a second, he debated on searching the dark corners of his mind in an attempt to remember it, but he soon realized he never even bothered to ask. This disappointed him for one reason - it was another question mark that he had to add to the list of names that he kept pinned to the front of his brain. At the thought of this particular list, he felt sick, as though an ounce of regret had seeped into his stomach and spread like an infection and now threatened to rise like bile. He knew he needed to keep it down, so he leaned over his bed and wrapped his fingers around the neck of the glass bottle he kept hidden in the bed springs. He sat back up and slowly unscrewed the cap, his eyes mesmerized by the amber liquid that swirled around the bottom half like a whirlpool of gold. He brought the top to his lips and tipped it back, filling his mouth with the warmth of forgetfulness and feeling as it burned his throat like fire the entire way down. It instantly washed him clean of every bad memory he had done his best to forget for the past week. Every tear that every girl had shed on their knees in front of him, begging him to love them; every cigarette that he had chain-smoked on the rooftop of his apartment building in an effort to cloud these very memories (unsuccessfully); every streetlamp that he had found solace in as he walked the streets mindlessly at three am, searching for answers that never came to him. He closed his eyes and imagined the whiskey rising inside of him until it leaked into his lungs and filled them, drowning him. He held his breath, pondering how long it would take for him to go lifeless in this position. But the sudden stop in the rise and fall of his chest caused the female lying on it to stir in her sleep, draping her arm around him and pulling him even closer. He felt sick again so he took another sip. He knew that when he looked back on this evening, he wouldn't remember it, which was becoming a classic move on his part. In fact, his life had become nothing more than disconnected nights with nameless and faceless females and fire whiskey that filled all the empty space within him. And he wasn't sure how that had come to be, but he no longer cared enough to even attempt to figure it out.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
What if smells a lot like vanilla
But not like scented candle vanilla
And not like perfume vanilla
But like liquid air freshener vanilla that you’ve had in your drawer for two years and didn’t have enough left in the bottle to use the spray top so you unscrewed the lid and splashed it all over your sheets
Let it dry
Waited two days
Then invited a pretty girl over
Let her sleep in your bed
Had ***
Dreamt of forever
Took a shower
Laid back in your bed
Let her go
And then slept face down on the pillow you let her use while reading text messages about how she won’t be able to keep seeing you any more
You know, that kind of vanilla
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC
When I was young, I caught a moonbeam
in a jar.
And I caught the summer breeze, too,
and the smell of wildflowers,
and just the way the mourning dove sang
outside my window.
And the moonbeam glanced through the glass
in a thousand rays,
and the breeze swirled around
for a hundred days
and the dove’s notes trilled and echoed back
into themselves.
And I put them in a little drawer
and turned the key –
to keep them safe, you see.
But I kept them there for overlong,
the lids were tight, ******* on too strong,
and dust had settled over the tops.
And when again I pulled them out,
the moonbeam flickered, small and sick,
and not so quick, the summer breeze.
The flowers were a vague perfume of
summer, and the birdsong was a whisper,
nothing more.
Most carefully I unscrewed all the jars,
and shook the remnants out the window like
dead things.
But the new wind caught them and
carried them away on its wings,
ferried off to the grave of the uncatchable things.
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 10:28 PM UTC
It was the night of Christmas Eve when I was on my own
You came round with Chantelle lowering the festive tone
It was okay until you left and I found that big baguette
Such a time of desperation one time I will not forget
A toilet tragedy I suffered when I discovered your Yule log
Why did you leave that monstrosity inside my ******* bog
I had a drink to calm my nerves but I didn't want to tackle
In the U bend that ******* **** was caught up in the shackle
Trying hard to get rid of that thing with hot water in a bucket
It didn't move with my attempts so I thought "well **** it"
Taking the plunge with pipe unscrewed it wasn't very nice
A gloveless hand you wouldn't want to handle that thing twice
With heavy heart I manhandled that large brown log myself
The size of it I'm petty sure was detrimental to my health
I know that Chocolate logs traditional to celebrate the Yule
Did you have to leave me one made from a combined stool
You blamed Chantelle but I'm not sure if it was her or you
But whichever way you look at it, its a nasty thing to do
So come on just admit it who dealt me that crap card
Getting rid of such a thing well its really rather hard
It really isn't all that much of a Christmas appetizer
Having to disguise it for bin using the local advertiser
Yule be so disgusted if you had crap Christmas news
A real low time of my life with Yule tide log abuse
Next time you decide to call round in the festive mood
Have a **** before you come not meaning to be rude
Don't pass solids in my bog to avoid a repeat performance
I have already reached my peak concerning **** endurance
Use my bog with courtesy without Christmas block activities
I don't want your crap on my hands ruining my festivities
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 5:39 AM UTC
Maybe because I've always been
*******
Or unscrewed, I suppose--
In the mental department
Maybe because I know he's a friend
He's just as scared of the world as me
He's not some evil figure
Lurking about at night
Intentionally trying to terrify
He's a man all the same
I don't care what his appearance is
He just tries to hide
Seeking refuge and comfort
Trying to hide his lugubrious mind
He just wants a friend that understands
So he lays under the bed
Or sits in the closet
He doesn't even say a thing
Except "Boo-hoo"
When he hears your life story spoken aloud
By your conscious lips
Or subconscious dream clouds
But what most people don't hear
Is the important half
"Hoo"
They hear boo
And awake and scream
Trying to climb into bed with parents
But Mr. Boogeyman hasn't visited
In a long while
And I'm starting to miss him
Maybe he'll come back tonight
But I'm not afraid of the Boogeyman
Because I've met much worse
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 1:02 PM UTC
I hit the airwaves almost silently
Hoping out there, somewhere you'll hear me
Because it turns out radio time costs a lot
So here in the a.m., 3:13
I stop the easy going melodies
To tell you that last night you forgot your sock
Wait...
No...
I mean...
Yes you forgot it, but what I really mean
Is what happened last night doesn't regularly
Happen to me, like, ever. I swear
So, now that you know you're an innormality
In this life of mine that's not so lively
I think it's time that I clear the air
...waves
****
Wait...
I have as much time as information on you
And the ******** we did left me a little unscrewed
As I looked in your eyes and I struggled with your bra
And a one-night stand, I'm not likely to do
But we did... well... a lot, some old stuff and some new
As you gyrated, bit, moved your hips, kissed, and clawed
Ooh...
Wow...
Um...
Times winding down and I've said nothing right
Even if I did, chances are you won't hear this tonight
But all I have is your sock and that's not very fair to me
So what I'm trying to say under that "ON AIR" light
Is that I want to see you again, maybe for a quick bite
So that you might be tempted to leave a new piece of clothing
Well...
Yeah...
Goodnight...
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
Her laugh made flowers bloom,
popping out of the soil and making my heart grow enough
to where my doctor told me I had a preexisting condition of loving you.
He couldn’t fix me, so he took me to a mechanic to see if I was broken,
If too many screws got loose,
If maybe my problems were caused by me afraid to lose you,
So he twisted me apart, unscrewed me part by part,
But the only thing he found were rusted windshield wipers and hydrangeas on my dashboard.
I told him every time it rained,
I opened my sunroof and let cold drops hit me through my hoodie,
Every time I saw that flower,
I’d take it petal by petal and spread it across the dashboard
so you could always be with me, no matter how far I go.
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 6:30 PM UTC
we'd wake up and play with magic
like any other game of pretend
bath towel tied into a cape
we'd approach an empty plastic top hat
wand in hand
we were tapping into an ancient power
that we barely even knew
we've played a superhero, Sub-zero
and now, a miracle worker
there was nothing we couldn't do
we'd climb trees to the summit branches
as high as we'd dare to go
we'd lower the hoop and dunk with ease
alley-oops, 360s
sometimes in slow-mo
there was nothing but room
to grow and explore
frontiers of the imagination
seized on roller blades with plastic swords
we'd tie skateboards to the back of bicycles
and Jamaican bobsled down the street
we were free ninjas in the 90s
off to adventures no one sees
we'd front roll down hills like hedgehogs
we'd scrape knees
we'd footrace to the stop sign and back
to pretend we're going faster
we'd kick clouds of dust in our tracks
we'd steal bricks from the neighbor's garden
and throw them into lakes to see the splash
we'd throw pebbles to see how high they'd go
or paper planes from the top of the staircases
one time, we jumped off:
it was a dare
we did it though
we unscrewed the air cap from the tires
of our enemies' parked cars
we clapped back with super soakers
the block was truly ours
we'd play until the streetlights came on
with more discoveries left unseen
and in the shadows while sleeping
we'd play catch with our dreams
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 10:51 PM UTC
My father came home
with a tube of blue
for me.
Dark as half-past midnight,
but when purified,
as clear as the sky
and babies' bright eyes.
I warmed it between my
welcoming palms,
marveling at the thick, round
tube that, when squeezed, would come
opaque oceans
dazzling eyes
mermaid hair
and dragon scales.
Yet this same wonder
held
monster claws
Yeti fur
vampire skin
and hot ice.
It was so
dangerously beautiful
my hands hesitated
to curl its delicate fingers
around this mysterious magic.
But then, I remembered,
I hadn’t unscrewed it.
So, consider this:
There is a pthalo
to every robin's egg,
An indigo
to every turquoise.
Consider this:
Even the most righteous fall.
Trust no one.
Make no friends.
Love none except yourself.
Never dream.
Never dare.
This ode has just taught you
how to
live life
a sealed
tube of blue.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 12:07 PM UTC
i pawned you and split tails for your headhunt
made more money in one night
larger stacks than i could fill the tub with
came home late
wondered who had eaten my leftovers
gave up quickly
and crept into the windowsill
a nest had buried there
i slid my tongue in and tasted some wild berries
they weren’t my dinner
and the karma had caught up to us both by that point
i unscrewed a light bulb from above my head
and sat in the dark kitchen
the linoleum felt nice on my cheeks
it was a cold night
but I was still hot
i was looking in the fridge
waiting for something to happen
you are so pretty
i can’t even stop looking at you
the image fits into my eyes so frantically
as though my pupils have been carved to your shape
i thought i had devoured you completely
i shouldn't be this hungry still
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 10:08 PM UTC
incomplete
lost
unscrewed
without a pair
Jan 16, 2020
Jan 16, 2020 at 7:23 AM UTC
I unscrewed my belly button and my **** fell off
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
my grandmother unscrewed
the door to my room
and removed the carpet from my floor
in the winter months
my toes went white and my fingertips hued blue
my lips marred red as i looked to the ceiling
and pondered my importance in this reality
i went to sleep that night and had a dream
i thought was so clever
in this dream i said: 'Roses are sometimes red, and violets
are rarely blue'.
Somebody hand me a Pulitzer this instant
in hindsight, my dreams were foretelling
as i awoke in the hospital with a headache
and diagnosis of hypothermia
the nurses and social workers sat in chairs
with my grandmother beside them
i closed my eyes and visualized all the
yellow roses and white violets often overlooked
and with a few smiles
and words of affirmations to the guests judging my performance
I received a standing ovation
of vibrant violets and beautiful deep reds thrown on stage
and returned to the Tiled Floors.
Jan 22, 2025
Jan 22, 2025 at 7:13 PM UTC
My old vacuum lasted over five years
Can't tell you how many times
I unscrewed it and cleared it with
a wire hanger to make it fine
On TV the Olympics roar
people making history
but I'm just happy with my new appliance
in my humble home, making it clean
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 3:27 PM UTC
A chest of boardwalk
and nails unscrewed,
an arsenal of rusty
marching faceless
graffiti, musty
multi-eyed designs and grinning
tiny men right beside,
with lips rose-pearl, sharp-end.
Right beside small carriages to lend.
Wall art wiping off like a fresh tan
once winter comes, scrubbed
with air-carried sea salt,
reabsorbed into brickish mortar and tin-ringing
structures that overlook sweezshing shoals;
dough-rolled hats kneaded on shake-grain shores.
This is where the wolf pup goes
after it snatches the children of my wide-eyed games,
figments of nativity babies
and their red-cheeked discord.
Wailing betrayal
in a swaddling maw,
Vanishing into these walls,
and like that, more pinched-lipped mini-men
lull this predicament into a then-ling
ceased, ignored as the child-pile
rises in the wolf's den.
The umpteenth hour:
i flip through old calendars and
fill in the boxes of dates and
reassemble daily fates
in my head with pink marker
tracing my palmsandpickingupsomethingwhatisthat—
oh.
just child #62
all plump and fat
growing in my throat,
rapidly birthed
with a nasty cough.
spit in my lungs.
and she cries
and then it's novoctuary (or just june)
and the paws claw kindly, schlep-ripping
my featureless form like knocking at a door,
and this is the departure
of my never-was newborn.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 8:53 PM UTC
A reminiscence of a kiss
A paradox of loneliness
Addictive vased solitude
Unscrewed from the walls
I drown in ecstacy
To deck on your shores
As the strong wind fades
I hold the strong anchor
Plucking the unknown
Compressed in reality
Pressing the known
Caressing the phone
To nip, heaped dips
Sinking down depths
The broadcast of us
Where earthquakes traps
Rub my soreness
Deflate the reforms
Unroll the society
Your tremor, my tenor
I extend my arm
Afar to your side
Hold my embrace
Feel my want, my all
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
Some years ago, there was a Mensa convention in San Francisco .
Mensa, as you know, is a national organization for people who have an IQ of 140 or higher.
Several of the Mensa members went out for lunch at a local cafe. When they sat down, one of them discovered that their salt shaker contained pepper, and their pepper shaker was full of salt. How could they swap the contents of the two bottles woithout spilling any, and using only the implements at hand? Clearly -- this was a job for Mensa minds.
The group debated the problem and presented ideas and finally, came up with a brilliant solution involving a napkin, a straw, and an empty saucer.
They called the waitress over, ready to dazzle here with their solution.
"Ma'am," they said, "we couldn't help but notice that the pepper shaker contains salt and the salt shaker -- "
But before they could finish,..........
the waitress interrupted. "Oh -- sorry about that."
She leaned over the table, unscrewed the caps of both bottles and switched them.
The was dead silence at the Mensa table.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
Your on the outside looking in,
It's sad how unmotivated She has been
She's making her way slowly
The ride is getting coldly unenjoyable
For Shes no longer able,
No longer stable,
No longer capable
But your just on the outside Looking in
Every now and then,
Shes wonders what you see
Is it hard trying to be who She be's?
For Once she lost the key,
She payed the cost
Without a key,
Beauty is the only thing she is unable to see
That's why when you look in the eyes of "she"
You wish to run and flee
For her eyes are contained with what looks to be;
The Red Sea
Her heart is black and blue
For all the bolts are unscrewed
She wishes for everything to undo
But your just on the outside looking at her doom
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
Do you want to come
to my doll's tea party?
Janice asked
I wasn't keen
but looked at her
as we sat on the grass
by Banks House
Easter holidays
warm morning
who'll be there?
I asked
well Teddy will be there
and Miss Woolworth
and Golly of course
and maybe that doll
Gran got me
from the jumble sale
with one eye
I looked over
at the coal wharf
coal men were loading up
their horse drawn wagons
or lorries
I guess I could
I said
(Janice had no brother
or sister and apart
from her gran
had few friends)
o good
she said
I'll tell Gran
and maybe
we can have real cakes
and tea in little teacups
and I have a KitKat
we can share
she added
what time?
I said
maybe tomorrow
after lunch
she said
sure
I said
I'll be there
(not my usual haunt
be aware)
I unscrewed a bottle
of lemonade I got
from the greengrocer guy
and took a gulp
want a drink?
I asked
she nodded
so I passed her
the bottle
and she wiped the top
on the edge
of her skirt
and sipped a mouthful
or two then passed me
back the bottle
very fizzy
she said
bubbles got up my nose
I gulped more
(I didn't wipe the top
it was only
her mouth after all)
then put the bottle down
on the grass
she looked at me
and said
best be going
as Gran said not
to be late for dinner
ok
I said
and watched her go
over the fence
and along Bath terrace
and out of sight
I sighed about
the doll's party
but I mused
it may be all right
and watched the coal man
on a horse drawn wagon
go past
trotting slow
not getting
anywhere fast.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
If you could only let it drop
we would not need to bear it:
that holy hoity-toity
illiberal burden you announce
from where you wear it.
Would you then be able to live
with your fellow citizens:
fellow toilers in rhyme
buying gluten-free time
at Whole Foods
US; your citizen-neighbors
online cloud of witnesses
Looking at used Subarus
and paying our dues
with you
at the dealership.
Could you only see
through deplorable eyes
and love with a deplorable heart
you would appreciate the art
of the real deal,
loose the seal
of your own apocalypse;
let love reveal
landscapes your pride
has kept hidden for too long.
If you could let your hatred drop,
Slough off the smug and the sneer
If you could stop
signaling to your own
long enough to know REAL diversity, and live
perhaps you’d give
a thought to your own fallibility
lost in a forest of woulds, failing to see
Your neighbor’s Tree of Life. . .
But you are busy perfecting strife,
screaming Timber!
before the axe has even been laid
at the root of your poetry.
If you knew, as the rest of us
how often you have shouted thus
you could understand why
we tend to ignore your warning cry.
Perhaps it could be feasible
to stop blaming
that orange source of all unreasonable
derangement, cease from naming
your neurotic projections
as they are unscrewed
to reveal another inside:
crazed conspiratorial Russian doll
of your own
discredited obsessive offended perpetual alarm.
Apr 7, 2019
Apr 7, 2019 at 6:16 PM UTC
I didn't like her as soon as I met her.
She'd known you an hour, and said your name wrong.
But she was pretty and little, and blonde.
You smiled, and charmed, and I rolled my eyes.
For Christ sake.
While you were out for an hour or two,
I knocked on M's door with a bottle of Sprite
from the vending machine downstairs.
Let's toast.
I unscrewed the lid and she uncorked the bottle.
She didn't ask why, just nodded and agreed.
**** yes.*
Fizz, fizz. Glug, glug.
There's a mug in my hand, and I'm drinking it up.
Tastes like sweet soda, not at all like wine.
We're sitting in silence, when I start telling M
I don't mind, really I don't.
At least you're over him.
She pours, and I swallow,
the bubbles pop in my mouth.
I hear you come home, little blondie in tow.
Have a nice night?
I ask loudly, standing too close.
You're toeing your shoes off, and I realize we're alone
in your room.
Go for it!
The wine whispers, urging me on.
Can I help you? I'm trying to change.
I want to do something, but what?
I'm scared you'll smell the sugary alcohol on my breath,
and dismiss whatever I do as a buzzed regret.
But I wouldn't regret it, what I see in my head.
I would go to you. I'd kiss you and kiss you,
till the wine wears off, and my lips are red
and a little bit raw.
Jesus.
That's what I would do.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 9:06 PM UTC
A pile of human teeth lies next to the faucet
Only proof that she had lost it
The blood drips through the pipe
Another premonition of life
You can hear the screams from above
And all she wanted was to give him a hug
We always thought she was unscrewed
It was only until she killed us, we knew the truth
Every step forward she makes is a step back for life
They all knew that when she had her knife
She smiles as she cuts the throat
She just needed another rope
To hang the regret she felt
That was the only thing to make her melt
Fall apart and burn
Is all she wanted to turn
The voices that taunted her again
But this time she wanted them to win
So she could take another life out for a spin
And her famous ****** plot was about to begin
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 11:48 AM UTC