"unsorted" poems
It was hard to miss Jerry
in the corner
holding court
over the bran muffin.
Flurries of judgement and wisdom
flying across coffee dappled pages
as he sentenced a large cup of
Paruvian Dark Roast
to be ******
7 am Dan never flinched
steeling his tenured chair at
a spot one section of stir sticks away
calculably just out of reach
of the regularly scheduled tantrum.
An auburn-haired newbie
fanes camoflage
peeking over two pages of Obituaries
she never intended to read.
Her raised and nearly detached eyebrows
hover above the dateline like a magic trick.
And on every table fall
scattered leaves
of press print trees
unsorted and littered with intent
by careless absorbers of trivia.
Disconnected
ear-budded
footnotes of humanity
see nothing
hear nothing
using the disarrayed World News as
enormous coasters
unmoved by hyper-ventilating compulsives
pushing panic buttons through
desperate quests to uncover
one alphabetically organized set
of local news.
Of the papers not strewn
the remnant holds anxious
on a distant wall
a throng of flopping
rabbit-eared
step children
dangling precariously
from unaccomodating magazine racks
like smoky orphans from
windows in a fiery building.
Disordered.
Disrespected.
Discarded...words are
Jews in the holocaust.
Death of a voice.
We are irreverent in our silence
diminishing genius through apathy
put off by the imposition to be challenged
choosing disposable principles
above responsible knowledge.
Everything is disposable - cameras, cars,
relationships, loyalty, babies...and wisdom -
crumpling Pulitzer prize authors
and discarding WW2 veterans
just to get to the cartoons.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
Many things in my life, unsorted
many thoughts in my life, uncategorized
many mysteries in my life,unsolved
many potentials in my life, untested
many emotion in my life,unlabeled
many problems in my life,remains unresolved
many days pass away, unnoticed
and still, my life continues...
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 10:06 PM UTC
to hold a photograph in my hand
and believe what is presented,
take is at it already is – why not?
if I close my mind’s shuttering eye,
will you be as candid as before?
unrestricted, unsorted from the hullaballoo,
you, freer than what is imagined, closing
in like a bullet from yesterday shot out
of the sky’s contrived clearing –
to hold a photograph in my hand
and tug closer by the mouth of the fringe
as if to pour water on a broken glass,
slithering now, a shadow of moon
at the very dull end of my cup;
you are closer than any rehearsed moment
ready to catch the inner canthus of the eye:
this relentless picture-passing, tense and
fervent, avid like bankiva to air,
water to chrysanthemum: behind thick shrub
of crepuscular, an arboreal locomotion
shatters loose, your frantic figure.
to hold a photograph in my hand
and size it down to the dimensions
of this home – there is potential in this
comparison: flaring out like smoke from
where it infinitely burns, I seek an ache
and hence place a finger to shush,
to hold this photograph in my hand
and confabulate a soft blow to the gut
and feel it realer than any dagger or berretta
held at one’s life-edge: this delusory intimation,
a slipshod work of feeling. to feel it rejoin
me somewhere I ought to be back again.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 2:48 AM UTC
Th poems were walking down the street
A young teenage girl,
A Professional Loser, but life lessoned and in possession of
Eagled-claws and tongue razored sharpened
From gettin/givin acidic high school barbed kisses
(She maintained up to date put down lists),
Swooped them up, hers to imprison,
Framed them to be soully hers,
Purposed for skin restoration during the wee hours of the
Crying Nights
A middle aged man, tired from failure,
Trapped tween lost rock n' roll dreams and
Unsuccessful retirement planning,
Suffocated by the hands of twixt and tween,
Grabbed the three, like a rock climbing hand-hold to
Take him home when and where his family looks at him
Pathetically.
This grandfather espied the other two,
Looked liked old familiars, friends maybe,
But eyes/words, dimmed, disparu,
Memories unsorted, disordered, jumble-merged,
Perhaps the words to a song he once knew complete,
But did he write that phrase, or was he just a poet
Thief?
The three poems went about their business,
Bringing heaven to earth,
*FYI, even Angels can't be everywhere, so,
God invented poems to do his ***** work,
Cleansing souls.*
They rode in~out of town on a prankster wave,
A cheering throng was not around,
But a singular poet saw, recorded the vision,
And thus, this nameless poet,
Below unmasked, unsealed,
Cleansed one more soul,
And that soul, this soul, as required,
Paid it forward.
Paid as in the past tense
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 10:38 AM UTC
Thoughts,
A curious thing,
Boat to boat,
Dream to dream,
Leap to leap,
Light bulb to beam,
Idea,
Spark to spark,
Jump start the cranial arc.
Neuron negotiation team.
Ambulance the ambivalence,
Channel out the Ritalin,
Limited dosages,
One day at a time, focusing,
Wake up, ECT voltages,
Sent them in the mail,
As postage just as,
Goldy-locked as porridges,
Clear the clouded vision, it's a must,
Derail the failure,
Exceed the labor,
Taste success, it's flavor,
Savor it.
Maintain a relationship with the Lord,
Escapin' and deflating ship,
Swallowed by the sea,
With a murderous howl,
Til' thoughts drift away,
Flow into the process womb,
The man that plays instruments,
Holds the key to the control panel of THINK,
Doesn't MIND this tomb,
Destiny and instinct,
Keeping each other in sync,
Putting one and two together,
Every time an internal light switch is flicked,
Not one soul around,
My thoughts mixed,
In this synaptic mail-room,
Unsorted letters,
Swimming through the mound,
Forever searching for their connections,
Til one day they'll meet,
Between then and now,
All that are lost in the end will be found.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 4:55 AM UTC
I've slept for two days minus some hours I went out to buy cat food
Today I went to the pool in the rain, and chugged along back and forth
out of breath, encased in a partial wetsuit, watching the water steam at
times, and then glitter, with bright designs as the sun came out for a moment
And I return home to a monumental mess.
Somehow it just didn't matter, this mess as I struggled at work, fighting
a lame diagnosis that "you are just too anxious for this job because you get nervous
before evaluations" from a man easily as anxious as I am, but much less aware of it
The work rained down on me like a waterfall, and I couldn't stay dry
Weekends gave way to endless work sessions and some sleep
Suddenly, as if for the first time, I see how much paper is strewn on the floor,
arranged by cats who inhabit this place far more than I do.
The piles of unsorted things I would "get to on vacation" are now
there, waiting to be gotten to.
It's clear I am one who values work above housekeeping and the happiness of the
little creatures who inhabit my world before order.
And that's just fine with me.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 6:49 PM UTC
Sometimes my mind runs,
so my feet walk.
My brain is an unsorted file,
and my body is a disconnected server.
There are moments in life where I am so in love with it all that I cry.
Moments when I am so upset, I laugh.
I can not fully understand the loops that my mind takes
over and over.
But I still ride along them.
When I was younger, I use to be so scared of the mess in my brain.
But the truth is,
I am full of clutter.
I am the home of loved objects that is messy,
and lived in.
I am a cloud of multiple thoughts
that lead me to sing at the wrong times.
Love harder than I should.
Feel every emotion at once.
We are all cluttered boxes.
I promise you,
you are messy
but full of love.
And I promise you,
we will all be pulled
from the attic
and taken
back home.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 4:08 AM UTC
Bills in my wallet folded into wads, unsorted in their random cacophony
Smiles on the faces of those ignorant enough to ignore suffering
Cuts on her feet like symbols in the stars
From her voice I was told the taste of kiwis and ginger root
From her kiss I was sharing nicotine and half exhaled cigarette smoke
And from our silence there is an overlapping ambience of dead noise
From our comprehension we realize our ignorance
From our comprehension we realize out insignificance
It is reassuring to know that you are a compilation of subatomic structures
It is comforting to know your matter is just recycled stardust
From a smile between crooked teeth and chipped molars I find comfort
In knowing that your heart is like a sponge absorbing all my poison
And somehow you exhale such radiance, a phenomenon
I marvel from my spot in the yard, watching sparrows chase
crows
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 12:57 AM UTC
I've gone about my day only truly half-present, as with every conversation, regardless of with whom, I force myself to promote my image of simple bliss and to keep your name at bay, and only have managed to hold it on just the inside of my lips. It still presses on, like a flooding at the ***** that in time shall burst forth anyway.
I feel that, as our recent moments together linger deliberately in the recesses of my head, if I left my mouth unguarded for even a brief time your name would dance off my tongue like the sweetest confession declared in those screened-up boxes at catholic church and then all of the world would know of the sinful treasure I'm hoarding inside my heart.
And it would perhaps be but a whisper, but it'd feel like I've shouted it for hours from the hilltop at the end of my street, calling attention to everyone I've never known and screaming the sudden proverbial anomaly of my new found love in you with shameless, reckless abandon.
If I could reach into myself I'd find a restless sea of unsorted emotion thrashing about, trying to capsize my poor, prevailing heart as it chugs along like a dazed animal treading water; I'm turning over the thorough avidity in how affectionately we ask to turn out each other's pockets and uncover each lingering quirk and flavor of one another.
I carry along, holding myself not quite as tall as Cloud Nine sits but just enough to breathe in the scent of the rainbows, and it's all because I know that if I stopped living my day for just a moment, I'd recall the fortune I've found in you, and that alone fills me up like I've just put in fifty dollars at the gas station.
What's made you so special?
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
*
Taking routes I’ve long since traveled
Following a desperate moon
Seeking words of comfort written
Hoping they will find you soon
I have wallowed in this darkness
Fought my way through silent days
Felt the thorns of bygone wishes
Pointed in their sad displays
Crossed the plains of lost forgiveness
Looked away when time has died
Stood and faced the longest hours
Wiped away these tears I’ve cried
Just to lift you from these caverns
Memories that haunt your soul
Carving an unsorted feeling
Lifeless as the thoughts control
Lean on me for I shall steady
Every fall your heart may face
Never once to slightly waiver
Like a rock held firm in place
Take my hand it longs to lead you
Far from any distant fear
Showing but a glistened landscape
Skies above forever clear
Where a moonbeam lights your smile
Lasting as the day is long
To fill your heart with healing rhythms
Together as we sing this song
Sitting on a hillside meadow
Counting stars and rainbow hues
Here within my arms to hold you
Wrapped up in these wondrous views
Safely I shall shield your worries
Visions shown to understand
Never more in lonely whispers
On this journey I have manned
Taking routes I’ve long since traveled
Following the glow above
Penning words of comfort written
So that you might feel my love*
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
To a passer-by
Whose eyes are as blue as the sky
whose grief is maddened, whose cries are silenced
but whose joys are quenching;
The hiding sun is on your lips
As beguiling as the sky-lark's song:
thy movement left me fainting and murmuring all along!
That roaring sea of blueness - glistening in the wintry throng;
endless and limitless in its own fieriness, which thy gracefully bestowed upon me!
And the bronze of thy hair, thy smooth, cloudless hair!
How unsorted this gleefulness is, upon harking to thy voices!
Yet shadowed by the fitful trees,
Murky is their grin, greedy is their rind
Oh then how I had to leave thee; for the slim but fleeting rain!
No, how I longed for thee, thee with me!
Oh the dear, dear love of my life! How sought is thy presence, how cherished it is in my fair chest!
Had I then to relent,
I sprang from my lavished comfort, I retreated to my creaking den
And wanly blent myself into the scenes, again.
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
Moth-babies rock the window’s pane
but I see through their translucent bodies at night,
wearing a handful of dirt. It is the pattern
of paisley and unsorted laundry in a basket –
or ice having shattered azure.
Maybe these are butterflies so traumatized by the
Earth, its lackluster cocoon.
I whisper for them to worm inside my bedroom –
jump off the wooden Alps, get in bed
and munch on the hair from my husband’s head
for he is holding still. He is asleep.
They will touch like fairies scraping stars for
their dust, married for three years to a dull glow.
We cannot have opaque babes, oh my life stamped
freckles where lungs are intended to breathe.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC
*Rubic cube taught me,
With full of unsorted colors
No matter we can sort or not
But it is still an unsorted beauty
Leaves it's impression to be how it is
Or how more it gets unsorted
with more variations of colors
Doesn't matter what happens next
That's how life goes on!*
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 2:24 AM UTC
Will I remember that
on this day,
or that other day,
I awoke besieged
and under attack?
Does it count, all the ugly,
growling, snarling demons
licking at my gloriously unpainted toes,
if I never write them down?
Does it mean
they weren’t even ever there?
Something like imprints
on the paper from
the pen with no ink?
I see, it’s quite simply
rather easy to take
Mother’s new, colorful pens
and draw some scene
of greater freedom
than the former, greyer
stories wanted to unfold.
And the sorry tinge of regret
that appears to want to hold on
is really only misplaced
and mistrust of my own love.
Look at that!
It floats on by.
See that cloudy scene
just passing
along the screen.
Why write down only such a minor,
miscreant, unsorted kind of thing?
Jan 26, 2022
Jan 26, 2022 at 4:54 PM UTC
I’m lonely together
You see
Fingers intertwined
Lips locked, breath hot
Bed drinking us down
Like a tall glass of water
So much time
To give
But I feel
Fingers loose
Lips in knots, unsorted thoughts
Bed swallowing me up
Like a raging wave of white
So little time
To forgive
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 4:23 AM UTC
How many times, must I swing from a height
To an inevitable hollow of apathy and decay?
Riding the crest of a 30 foot wave
Strewn ashore to begin paddling the sea of life anew.
Stability is a still lake, calm and serene
Yet lacking sublimity and inspiration
Passivity, the bitter sweetness of fitting in
Normal I may be, but seemingly dull.
If only I could be coherent
When high, like tributaries to a river
Each stream of consciousness
Adding to a global master plan.
Exodus of the emotions, the Latin ecstase
As it pours forth unending, without pause
Elation edgy yet welcomed
To some my words seem without cause.
Surely there is some truth
Some empirical evidence that says
Hypomania is unsorted flourishing
Condensed and concentrated well-being.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
It's 4 weeks more to Finals,
and I'm not ready.
It's a few more days to go to practical exam,
and I've not covered all the rocks in the lab.
It's a few more days to go to my physics quiz,
and I'm not prepared.
Assignments dued,
Lab report to be typed,
Presentation for the taking,
unsorted,dangling of proposals,
But then I remember how far I've come,
I've decided to give it one last best shot,
Because you'll never be able to take back
your semester.
It will eventually pass.
I want to look back and
realize ive done my best.
so no regrets.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 6:45 AM UTC
After Their Divorce
In his garage he takes a break, and sits
Among all the mechanical debris
Of an inventor born a century late:
Unsorted hopes, tools, dreams, and engine parts
The project car that he and his son will never
Rebuild together on Sunday afternoons
An old guitar, an ashtray full of ends
A midden of beer cans crushed in memories
He should be loading his truck and trailer, but
In his garage, in bitterness, he waits
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
Whispers whisper words into my broken thoughts. Sending me on a chase to find what’s not spoken within a broken heart. Characters on a constant rival trying to become the head honcho in the world of thoughts. Beginnings turn to endings rather quickly in this world of unforgiving and unsorted living. But it all pushes me to the limit, the max of all max. Giving me a thrill of living and view to view all hearts, this categorized me into the seeker of all focused and sensible creatures of all sorts. Foolishness unjust would be the issue if untouched by a miraculous vision of godly trust. In those we trust. To never turn your back to those who responds to you ill-advised and jaded. They all represent a turning point if any, but all faded. Never once will I be just that one. That one who wanted to set a standard for the ones that seeks the same thoughts. The ones who want to explore the options that are left after those who seek the unsought. For those who come around clueless gives me the strength to keep moving, for I want the illusion, I want the, what if. I want to evolve myself into bigger, better and best. We don’t have time for frivolously manners, like those approached by misconduct and misdemeanor grammar. Corrections is needed by force and those who are untreated, I give them their unwanted thoughts.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Your selfish ways,
Choking up all the fears you've conquered,
For so long I've wondered
And imagine the images that reflected you through me,
Is it an unsorted history,
Or my anxiety,
Maybe! Probably,
Glad you were there for me
But I want more,
Your fiendish mind,
Id definitely go for miles for,
My humanoid carnivore,
Take your shoes off and drift into the past with me,
I hated all my memories,
I use to dream, but now I see,
That the whole time you we're there for me
But I need more.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
I just need to fall asleep
At this point it doesn't seem possible
I'm lost in my thoughts, you see?
In the morning I'll focus on this filthiness
it all seems so unsorted
Thinking holds and keeps
stops me from being at least plausible
my eyes bother me
and their unwillingness
to stop my thoughts from being contorted
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 2:08 AM UTC
where to begin
there is so much ******* pain
lined up inside me
like layers of skin
i have layers of pain
so much unsorted trauma
lying in my chest, mind, heart
my soul
it aches for growth, but
i am still figuring out the trauma part
i am not who i am born into
i am not the things that have happened to me
i am not the people who have hurt me
i am Me
i am my Self
I am Grace
i am strong
i have been hurt
but the weight of the pain has become
too heavy to drag around
i must dump the body
the body of trauma that lay inside me
fare ******* well
i am not required to forgive you
and for now i cannot
for you have sinned much more,
far, far, far more than forgiveness could erase
ten fold
i hope the horrible
terrible
evil
things you’ve committed
i hope they come down raining
ten fold
on your stupid ******* head
since you don’t get the picture
and here i will sit
while you writhe in suffering
disowning your evilness
rather than facing it head on
swords up
cutting through the thick disgust
but you ******* cower
like the piece of **** you are
you feel no remorse
you find pleasure in the pain of others
and for that
let bygones be bygones
i trust.
for your troubles are out of my hands
the things you’ve done to me
they are out of my hands
i will try to forgive,
oh but i will never ******* forget
i fill my hands with what i deserve
i fill my hands with love
i fill my hands with abundance
i fill my hands with peace
i let you go now
you no longer have a place in my life
holding on much longer will not suffice
Sep 22, 2020
Sep 22, 2020 at 5:50 AM UTC
Unsorted thoughts
When the silence
Was at it's loudest.
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 1:02 AM UTC