"unsteadily" poems
My fingers tangle and trip
over sloppy knitting
like a deer
learning to walk on crooked
pencil legs.
Like a song I don't quite
know the words to.
I move unsteadily,
uncertain, with short shaky breaths.
Remember when I taught my lungs
to breathe again in August?
After so many mistakes that
I didn't know how to
reconcile.
I wanted to die out back
of a hotel in Montana, dramatic
in the weeds and grasshoppers.
Needles fighting, I
spread a mess of mustard yarn
across my fingers like
I need a napkin.
Has anything changed?
Dropped stitches, weary knots leaving
gaping holes.
I think of how I ran away
from it all.
There are days I still look back.
But I look straight into the sky
as if demanding an explanation from
God himself.
I have to shade my eyes
sometimes,
seeing blinding brilliance
in the sun now.
I can't live any longer only
by the light it sheds
everywhere else.
No, in births of light and bursts
of truth and slow, overdue breaths
is a song I'm finally learning
the words to.
You will not defeat me.
I rip out my knots
and begin again.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 12:07 PM UTC
Three days, is what the HR rep said, somewhat sheepishly,
As if she was fully aware that boxing up one’s grief
In a span of a few dozen hours
Is a matter of wishful thinking
And certainly she sympathizes
(Indeed, as she speaks,
She spreads her hands in such a way
As you half expect doves to come forth in full flight)
Empathy being their stock in trade,
But the law and the handbook say three days,
And then you need to have your head
******* back on and looking forward.
Eventually, the mail brings fewer envelopes
Marked with embossed flowers
And subdued and tasteful stamps,
The usual flow of solicitous inquiries,
Pre-stamped and pre-sorted,
Inquiring as to your credit needs,
The condition of your windows and siding,
Resumes apace, and more than once,
In fits of inappropriate black humor and frustration,
You scribble, in bold thick strokes of a marker,
The addressee no longer resides at this location.
You return to nine-to-five,
Though your ghosts keep their own hours,
Stopping by to visit on their own schedule alone,
Prompted by the tiniest of things:
The dog scampering to its feet in a hurry,
As if someone was at the door,
The discovery of a long-unused pitching wedge
Standing expectantly in the back of the closet,
A song from long ago which was beloved
When you lived in the pairing mandated by Noah
Before you entered the shadow world of ones and nones.
Sometimes you give into the giddy madness,
And rise to waltz around the room,
Careening about unsteadily, clumsily
As you have yet to completely master
The difference in weight shift and distribution
That is required of a solo act.
The timing of these visitations
Often disrupts your schedule and sleep patterns,
And you think that perhaps tomorrow you’ll call in.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 10:38 AM UTC
Where do you put your arms
as the night swallows your bedroom?
Do they dangle over a rib cage,
warm and separate from you?
And is the rhythm of her breath,
Rising and falling unsteadily
Your favorite lullaby?
And where do you put your hair
as the morning sun intrudes?
Do you let it fall all down your back,
Or do you fasten it to your skull
Put on your glasses
And brew coffee to cut the
Nostalgic
Lingering
Scent of fall?
And where do your thoughts meet
When your mind races?
Is there a taste stuck on your tongue?
Or a conversation stuck in your head?
Do you breathe my name when
you can't find sleep?
I'd always kiss your eyelids
And rub your back...
Do you remember that
And do you miss me?
Do you ever miss me?
*Sometimes I miss you so deeply
I can feel your absence in my lungs*
Do you miss me at all?
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 8:42 AM UTC
[pills rattling]
[water running]
[muffled voices on television]
[exhales slowly]
[ominous music]
[breathing unsteadily]
[melancholy orchestral music]
[door opens]
[gunshot echoes]
[demonic orchestral music]
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
The train pulled into the station
It was the beginning years
The days were not my own
Her, yanking my arm as we boarded
Me, following unsteadily down the row
Hers, the only seat available
Something to be shared
Something to be taken
The sounds of the engine and passengers
Giving me hope for more
My purpose and destination unknown
The train pulled into the station
It was the young years
The days were meant to be savored
Me, ravenous for freedom
Her, a haunting presence
Something to avoid
Something to push to the future
My seat by the window, roomy with possibilities
Giving me hope for more
My purpose and destination are mine
The train pulled into the station
It was the middle years
The days were lived for others
Me, dragging myself aboard
Her, a presence in a crowded aisle
Something to hide from
Something to question
The window frosted over, hiding the passage of time
My purpose and destination traded away
The train pulls into the station
It is the golden years
The days and story my own to reclaim
Me, climbing aboard, prepared and vigilant
Her, diminished but unforgotten
My seat fully my own
Some stories to be shared
Some spirit to be rekindled
The sunset out the window, guiding the autumn of my life
My purposes and destination lighting the open road ahead
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 2:17 PM UTC
They never mentioned
That the smell of aftershave
And toothpaste
Would be triggering.
Forgot to say I was destined
To be what twisted men crave -
My skinny waist,
His slithering.
Cannot sleep on a waterbed.
Fear that the waves will move
Unsteadily,
Irregularly.
Threw away purple bedspread.
Prayed its absence would improve
Sleeping,
Dreaming
I recognize his twins
At work, the store, and on the street.
Unable to breathe.
Petrifying.
Their crooked grins
Calloused hands, tight grips, yellow teeth
Calls me 'sweetie'
Triggering.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 12:27 AM UTC
Apples & plums high on their boughs
autumn is not far off now
nearby, red brick houses
sleep in the after-shower sun
only a few more days
& summer's done
the cyclists are speeding
on their way from work
along the Bristol-Bath cycle path
also ' railway path' called
& with a three year old laugh
a child in an anorak unsteadily sways
I've walked this way in the night
with the moon shining up above
& seen a fox run out in plain sight
into the middle of the path
the street lamps either side
amongst the trees, shining on it's red fur
& in the early morning light
watched a mysterious toad blink it's wide eyes
& walked it all the way
to Bristol town & back
& also to the old Steam trains
out past Warmley
dressed in my old boots
waiting for the sunset & the dark
calling up ghosts
musing on Rousseau
listening to birdsong
& wanting nothing more
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
with a soft touch and a blushing smile,
vibrant green creeps into the landscape.
the longsuffering trees,
whose limbs have long been heavy with snow,
finally stretch their arms into the warm air
as suggestive buds speckle their gnarled fingers.
the clouds swell with life, and the sun
glows stronger than ever before.
as their spidery roots drink voraciously
from the moist dirt, smirking daisies and
blooming tulips unfurl their alluring petals
and bask in the glorious yellow light.
the firm, unyielding ground is teeming
and bustling with a myriad of fauna,
unsteadily rubbing the remnants of slumber
from their bleary, squinting eyes.
the flat, chilly silence of winter
has been quelled by the lilting robin’s song.
and as the very earth herself wakens
from this melancholy hibernation,
i let go, and float down that euphoric wave called life.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 3:12 AM UTC
A certain innocence fled my soul when you entered it,
Only a few can say what kind.
Little did I know the night you tied me up, it would bound me for life.
The light in your eye flickers unsteadily,
Along with your kindness and chivalry.
If life gave me a clock to do with the hands what I please,
I couldn’t be certain which way I would go.
Questions rise to the surface, breaking the still seas.
And you’re standing on the edge, looking down at someplace you don’t want to be.
With each distant moment,
Each unspoken word;
You get one step closer.
I stood here beside you on this journey.
From the frigid, bleak valleys,
To the sun kissed peaks.
We sailed through red skies on the backs of Pegasi,
Fought demons with double edged blades;
Seemingly to only hurt ourselves...
So I’ll put on a velvet dress and put on a smile,
And you take your pen and your paper and wrong our rights.
But, like an ink stain on velvet, I will never be the same.
But in the end, really, who’s to blame?
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 3:03 PM UTC
Evenly blue is the sky as my dream
Its vibrant colour the indigo seem
Vividly spreading its divine beauty
I beam over to watch it soulfully
When I look at the sky
Glancing birds flying faraway
I smile with the thought how beautiful life is
Freedom has reached its new horizon
To the heavenly gods I pray
For creating such a masterpiece
When the soft soothing colours
Are so hard to depict delicately
The more and more it hypnotises me
The proximity increases so unsteadily
For once I can't drift my eyes over
While my heart says to adore it forever
It gives me hope
My dreams,my thoughts
My desires and everything
And that's why I love
To admire the endless sky.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
She's a little girl
And her rings are just shadows she's tied to her fingers
Lace socks folded over cracked plastic heels
That unsteadily make their way down sticky wooden stairs
Out the back door
Away from his hands
To a corner with an orange stake
Plunged into the ground
Knees in the dirt to pray
God is her only secret
Sometime later, somewhere inside
His shadow falls in her light
And she's reduced to a whisper again
Her green velvet dress will have to come off
He says
Because the last thing he wants her to be
Is a little girl
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 3:19 PM UTC
Do I still call out to the saints?
If my nightly prayers remained
Unanswered
For the longest time
For how I longed
To hold her hands
To gaze at her eyes
To be eternalized as one
But my delusions
Were always shattered by the faint of heart
That weighs, unsteadily heavy still
Cause everywhere I go
I’m confronted by my fears
And everyday I hoped
That even after all these years
That someday, you’ll be mine
I keep on formulating
Various questions in my mind
But I’m too scared to know,
Of the answers I will find
If ever, you replied
But I’ll find, the words, to say
I’ll find, the words, to say
Someday
Regrets come to play
At the form of actions undone
That up to this day, still religiously haunt me
As shadows of the past
Her, being a constant audience of one
In my theatric, electric dreams
Looking up to that fictional stage
With diamond eyes that seem to gleam
A bitter reminder of what could have been the sweetest tale ever told
Oh, what I’d give for her to be mine to hold
Keep your distance away from the bright burning lights
Give me a sign that you will be all right
Let me have this dance to show you the wrongs and rights
Although the lessons can't be fit into one night
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
HEARTBEAT OF DELTA STATE
The rain has fallen again,
The streets are isolated,
Everyone is filled with sadness.
Houses and shops have been abandoned,
Villages and towns have been inundated.
Bags and cargoes floats unsteadily,
Cars and buses are deeply buried
deep into the water in a hazy manner.
People, animals, all are transported
by little wooden vessels.
With no idea of when
to take over their properties,
With no idea of where else to go.
The cities, their streets,
houses and cars have being flooded,
Properties, expensive
and extra expensive have been left over.
East Delta had been covered
by the unmerciful ocean.
Precious lives were gone
and more were at stake.
Families and close friends- divided.
Farms with large crops- destroyed.
Hunger and thirsty, hugs my people with sadness,
begging for aid.
Sickness and diseases fill people
with sympathizing outcome.
A land of peace is now a land of disaster,
A land of Labor is now a land of turmoil.
May peace always reign,
May ignorance be neglected,
For the dying heartbeat of Delta.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 3:43 PM UTC
The girl I love
has demons inside her head
and beneath her demure facade
is a turbulence
no one should ever know.
the same eyes that light up
when she talks about her
photo shoots
or coffee
or me
can darken in an instant
and I can't do anything
but hold her as she cries.
the taste of tear drops
on her lips
is bittersweet
and the salty tang
reminds me
that this is my battle
too.
sometimes she'll call me
in the middle of the night
and I know that something's wrong
as soon as I hear her ringtone
(our song)
because even though
her voice is the most gorgeous sound
I've ever heard,
she would rather carefully craft her thoughts
with texts
than open her heart
candidly.
I answer the phone
with shaking fingers
and ask, "Are you okay?"
there is a pause
and I swear to god
there are a million deaths
and a million births
in that space of silence.
"Baby,
the demons are talking
and I don't think
I can take it."
her voice is a hoarse shadow
of its usual smooth sweetness
wounded by chokes and sobs.
"Everything will be okay."
my words are as much reassurance
to myself
as they are to her.
"I'm on my way."
and when I find her
I hold her tight
and I'm relieved she's still breathing.
but the familiar glint
of a razor blade
stained with red
catches my eye
and I start to cry
too.
I pull her beneath the safety of the blankets
and kiss her forehead
as our fingers entwine
and I start to sing her favorite songs
as a mantra to ward off the demons.
she's soon asleep
and I untangle our limbs
and give her one last kiss
before standing unsteadily.
without hesitation
I grab the demon's weapon
from her nightstand
and shove it in my pocket
because I know the trash cans aren't safe.
something snaps inside me
and I throw open her drawer
to reveal dozens more.
I take those, too,
and I search the rest of her room
tearing through her photographs
and vinyl records
and the finger paintings we made together
to collect every blade I could find.
I soon find myself in her bathroom
ripping open her medicine cabinent
grimacing at the bottle emblazoned with her name
full of the pills she never takes.
I collapse onto the cold tile of the ground
knees drawn to my chest
eyes stained with tears
pockets full of razor blades
heart devoid of hope.
The girl I love
has demons inside her head
and they talk to me
too.
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 2:48 AM UTC
“Hey, I’m third-wheeling! Haven’t done this in a while!”
Wait… No… I’m going to stop you right there
Just because your friend has been texting me daily
Does not mean that we are any sort of duo for you half-heartedly attach to
Because I am a ******* unicycle
Admittedly, I don’t always stand too well on my own
But all it takes is some momentum and a little bit of blind faith
And I’ll be the one-wheeled contraption staggering unsteadily over any terrain imaginable
The only sort of second tire you’ll be hearing about for now
Is the declaration that I’m “two tired” to deal with this ********
Peddle your flirtations all you like, I’m not buying it
I’m the single spokesperson for a single set of spokes
You cannot tread on me just because my tread is wearing thin
Notice the lack of handlebars, you see, I am in control
Although my balance is unpredictable at best
I don’t have any brakes, because I’m getting sick of being broken
Do not mistake clowning around for simplicity, you see, I am easier said than done
The unicycle is not an easily mastered skill
And sure, perhaps I should be grateful that someone even bothers to try
But if you’re trying to shift gears, I should warn you
That doesn’t appear to be an option
I should warn you
All rides are solo
I should warn you
Unicycles might go in circles
But at least it's what they're meant to do
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC
To the starry eyes who wink in the night,
lurking over empty solitary roads--
groaning pleas locked in impalpable shackles.
I unsteadily balance fear and prayer--juggling them
over each bony knuckle protruding
from ghostly white skin.
As I anxiously pull the wheel,
spry eyes dance between the hungry road
and the speedometer...
I fear the patient embers waiting to ignite in the darkness--
shall the chariot of fire roar from the gates of Hell tonight?
(I feel the weight of earth's calamity and Man's eternal sinful nature
amass atop my vessel,
sagging through the invisible tier,
mashing me farther and farther
beneath the wheel--
til I'm grounded meat within the gritty boulevard.)
And the embers snicker and flicker in the shadows of the endless night;
they prey on my fear like red-eyed vultures perched on scraggly branches--hunched, crooked spindly necks
crane menacingly into my windowpane.
But you, oh winking eyes of innocence who silently approaches me,
dragging across the gravel path on ****** knees--you like the presence of God in the burning bush, and I the meek shepherd in the wilderness!
Your urgent warning comes to me,
eclipsed within a single gesture--
in the brief moment the road swallows you up in darkness
as you shyly close your humble eyes in sincerity.
(The embers they know not of your betrayal,
with your back erected sternly towards them.)
In that instant I hid my face from you
and removed my sandals to stand atop holy ground.
Darkness soon broke, as your eyes again opened,
and in its radiance, an irrevocable axiom:
*It is when a person walks at night that they stumble,
for they have no light.*
It was then that I saw the light;
and in doing so I weaved the vitriolic embers--
those desperately seeking my spark to their ignite.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
Stains on the mirror.
Scars on the arm fade over time,
Scars on the heart last forever.
--------------------------------- ---
When I started out writing this, I was carefree, innocent, happy.. Now, as I sit inside this dull-lit room
on the cold stone ground, I think about how my life used to be, and how much I long for things to go back
to the way they once were...
---------------------------------- --
As I looked up and glanced over towards the dresser drawer that lay open beside me, I felt a longing to it, a pull that
just wouldn't let go. After what felt like ages, I got up and looked inside...
-------------------------------- ----
It was a simple razor.
----------------------------------- -
Memories came flooding back into me, it was like a tidal wave crashing down on me with full force. Memories that had been repressed for far too long. Memories of anguish, hatred, pain, and even fear.
My hand began to unsteadily reach out towards the dresser drawer. I took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from my eyebrows.
-------------------------------- ----
I knew that I didn't want to head down this road. But I had no choice.
---------------------------------- --
I had already come too far to stop now.
------------------------------------
~His final act upon this earth was a single sentence. One final cry. It was written in his own blood and then smeared all
over the mirror.~
--------------------------------- ---
'It drove me crazy, knowing that we would never be together...'
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 2:06 PM UTC
The sun was out strong
and there were ducks
and swans on the water
in the park
and Julie
was there with you
clothed
in her hippy dress
and her hair let loose
and unbrushed
in sandaled feet
beside you
on the park bench
she had her legs
out straight
in front of her
as if she were making sure
they were still there
need a fix
she said
need it
like hell
you took in her eyes
lightless as if someone
had switched off
the bulbs in the rooms
of her head
can’t they give you stuff
back at the hospital?
you asked
they’ve no idea
they’re stuff shirts
and narrow heads
she said
that ward sister
doesn’t no ****
you sat
and looked away
some kid
was feeding ducks
at the fence
enjoying the excitement
of the feeding process
lost on the less innocent
it’s all if you do this
such and such will result
and if you take
such and such
this may go away
she said bitterly
how about an ice cream
up there on the rise
of the hill?
you said
she pushed her hands
between her legs
as if to push back
the fix hunger
as if that will solve
the fix ****
she said
didn’t say it would
but it sure tastes good
you said gently
seeing the kid
clap her hands
for more bread
Julie got up
and walked away
and you followed
watching her hips sway
unsteadily
like a ship buffeted
by rough seas
she spoke over
her shoulder
said words about
her parents
the rich
middle class
suckers
about the do-gooders
who came
to the ward
with their bright eyes
and second hand faith
you just listened
walking beside her
her hands going up
and down by her sides
as if out of control
how about that ice cream?
you said
watching her eyes
staring ahead
I know what you’re after
she bellowed
either my soul
to save
or a quickie in bed
an old woman
on a park bench
gazed at her passing by
with that
o dear me look
in her ancient eye
you asked about
maybe take
in the art gallery
look at the Moderns
you had neared
the ice cream van
and she stood there
looking with her eyes
on the menu
on the side
hands motionless
and still
what are you having?
you asked
a fix if I could
but that ice cream
with chocolate flakes
and sauce
will do for now
she said
and so you bought two
from the Italian looking guy
and gave her one
and kept one yourself
and walked on back
by the water
and bridge
she quiet
slow walking
you eating and *******
no thought of ***
or her fix
or side room
*******
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 3:56 AM UTC
I write to you not knowing who you are. I think about you everyday. I am in my evening humanities lecture hall listening to Joaquín Rodrigo's Second Movement of Concierto Aranjuez and I can feel my soul unraveling. I don't believe it is a calling for me to be a poet, but I can feel its presence instilled in the very core of my being. Poetry pulling at the chords of my lungs, accelerating my heart beat, causing me to breathe unsteadily. I believe in you. Eleven minutes and fourteen seconds is more than I could ask for, yet it will never be enough. I will never stop wanting, desiring. You're out there somewhere. My words are yours.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 5:02 AM UTC
Dylan Thomas, drunk-ass poet,
uncorked nouns, imbibed the verb
downed six pints and thought about it
sitting unsteadily on the curb:
“Winds of word unleashed in drink
will fill to the full my poem’s sails…
though it may totter on the brink,
my drunken boat defies the gales.”
Floating on wreckage to distant shores,
our ***** bard beheld the deep
where whales spout forth their lyric stores
while the inebriate muses weep.
This postwar lush and lyrical fad,
was the biggest pint in the bar called Wales.
While not the worst, his verse was bad…
(but better after seven ales).
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
I WILL
step unsteadily, inhale exhale cigarette 100s
dance through the smoke and make love to the starry night
dream of sending a part of my body to you
write letters, admire van gogh
get lost in window reflections, get lost in myself
imagine tendrils of your hair on the soft red pillow
pay for love, pay with my blood my heart
give my soul if it remains in tact
be your vessel, please fill me up
love you through photos until you love me again
forget the past, prepare for the future
hope for a future
try try try
promise
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
I woke up today in a house, a house I knew was my own but looked much different than I remember. The kind of house one sees in dreams, unfamiliar yet definable. In some way or another. I was tangled in a bed of sheets that had clearly been slept on for months without cleanse. Painted with ****** secretions, ranging from ********** to menstruating. Ash, from pipes to papers. Make-up, from nudes to noirs. You, a stranger, walk in with a giant bowl of cereal and two spoons. You knew it was my favorite, but I didn’t know you. But I knew you, you know? In some way or another. I wanted to call you a name, but it didn’t seem fitting. Maybe it belonged to a memory, what was that memory again? Oh, I don’t know. But you looked at me like we had shared so many memories that we became a new name. You spoon-fed me Wheaties and folded your feet between my legs. You kissed me and whispered a Van Morrison tune, “I never knew the art of making love ‘til my heart yearned with love for you.” And that’s when I knew.
I shoot up from the bed, leaving a concave within the foam mattress, and eye the carpet as if my feet were going to fall through.
“Hardwood. This is supposed to be hardwood.”
“What?” your eyes follow me in confusion.
“Be quiet.”
I grab a loose end of carpet near a corner and start tearing it up from its bonds. Low-and-behold, blonde hardwood sat quietly beneath it, as if it’s been waiting for me to unearth it. Unearth you.
You.
I buried You.
Everything started rushing back to me.
I get up unsteadily and tear down the wallpaper to find a screen playing back every memory. The faire. The zoo. The restaurant. The concert. The park. The bed. Our path. A doorway. A starry night under a deck. Loose cigarettes and empty bottles. A volume so loud I can’t hear myself assess. A voice echoing off every wall; “I love you’s” in infinite delay. “I hate you’s” in infinite succession.
I’m running through this half foreign house now trying to find You. Who, what, and where are You? You’re nowhere to be found. I’m searching behind every door, rustling through every nook and cranny, tearing down every trinket of décor. I’m falling to my knees and crying in my palms. Where are You?
I cry every last drop from the ocean of despair within me, open my eyes, and let the reality sink in:
This house is empty and You’re nowhere to be found.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC