"unsuccessfully" poems
Moments
Like ordering two mochas
Just to watch you make them
Forgetting your name five times
Before getting your phone number
Wiping chocolate off your shirt
Trying unsuccessfully to flirt my way
Out of spilling on you
Little moments
Like finally having the guts to ask you out
Running to the coffee shop full speed
Just to find out it was your day off
Sulking my way through my third cup of tea
Cursing the fates for their insolence
Right until you walked in to cover someone else's shift
And running out too scared again
Little moments like those
Remind me why I fight through
Big times like these
Little moments
Like driving over the mountains
To get to the first big storm
Just to be the first ones to kiss in the rain
After the summer sun chapped our lips so long
We forgot the taste of our kiss
Little moments
Like the first time I took you out in heels
And you spent the whole night
Whispering to yourself about not falling
Right up until I fell twice
Down a flight of stairs
And for you
Little moments
Like you running over to pick my head up
Off the concrete
Staring at me with this look
That made me want to ask you if you were okay
Little moments
Like that remind me
That the big times like these
Are worth fighting for
That the big fights like these
Are worth ending
If only for the shot to have one more
Little moment
Like
A movie perfect scene in the snow
With snow ball fights, snow angels
And a snow man with coal for buttons
Eyes, mouth, sticks for arms and a scarf
But we didn't have a carrot
So you ran upstairs, broke off one of your heels
And called him Stalleto-face for a week
Little moments
Like
Burning three attempts at chicken cord en bleu
And begging the old woman on the phone
To put in one more order before they closed
And tipping $100 just to have the chance
To eat midnight fried rice on the living room floor
Because the table was full of
Foiled attempts at cooking
Little moments
Like those
So dear to me
Remind me there is no fight too big
To give up little moments with you
Nov 18, 2009
Nov 18, 2009 at 4:58 PM UTC
''When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary,
When troubles come and my heart burdened be,
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence
Until You come and sit awhile with me.”
<>
not hidden, for I reside in my accustomed spot,
but my face reveals a dispirited demeanor,
so most leave me alone, but not in peace,
late June, and the world less-than-august
These burdens which are weighty mighty.
are like weights in a trainer's vest,
while they can be removed,
only additions arrive, as screws
tightened to increase the threshold of
consternation and persistent pain insistent
the silenced aura within which I sit most patiently,
becomes both jailer and friend,
while I await your salvation arrival,
amidst tales of others who preceded me in this
waiting game predicament, most unsuccessfully,
admixed with stories of one or two
rewarded...
a tease, a stringy tale of hope, an endurance test,
to make my heart even more burdened be,
though wearied, yet unsuccmbed,
for I have seen you, existence verified,
and my patience knows no limits,
awaiting the cool of fall,
when the breezes bear and bare your scent,
and hints your returning presence,
changes the very meaning of
awhile
Jul 8, 2025
Jul 8, 2025 at 11:45 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
the grating voices of neighbors unsuccessfully singing Celine Dion ballads
the monotonous mechanical humming of the metal factory
the squealing of housewives watching an afternoon soap opera
the blaring siren of a firetruck racing with tragedy
the clunks and clangs of a nearby construction site
the roaring of the engine of an overloaded jeepney
the chiming of laughter from kids playing in the streets
the calls of the street vendor peddling sugary cotton candy
the whining of the dog begging to run around outside
this is the music of life in the outskirts of the city
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
Pop-Pop-Pop-Pop
gunshots.
People take cover
at the capitol.
Unanswered questions.
Why ram
a barricade into
a luxury car?
A brief lock-down
as congress
unsuccessfully tried
to end the shutdown.
Stay away.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
Today I felt my death
stalking me,
breathing its genderless
ice breath
down my neck--
giving me visions
of my semi-truck and trailer
sliding off the edge of this
icy cliff,
or that one,
with me inside,
the close-up showing me
with that concentrated look
of someone who is
unsuccessfully
trying to avoid
coming to terms
with their imminent
demise.
Needing to change the
doomed channel,
I stopped
flirting with death
long enough to
park my rig in
the big gravel lot
of Dot's Cafe,
and
eat lunch.
Compared to cold death,
wrinkled
baby tomatoes
and wilted
lettuce
were good--
real good.
The gray cucumber guts
disemboweled
all around my
salad plate
looked better than
mine would have,
at the bottom
of that cliff,
I'm sure.
Feb 1, 2011
Feb 1, 2011 at 6:45 PM UTC
Indigo is the gaunt damp face of the still-born messiah.
With crude-oil cappillary flush like mottled blush
On Treblinka cheek bones.
On cold steel autopsy table, It's topsy turvy shrine,
A halogen lamp halo hums and sways
Over It's holy rolling head.
Unsavory savior, the pundit spared It's pageant.
With blackhole pupils pierced and seeping
Vitreol fluid like the weeping Virgin's tears,
Carving termite trails in their wake.
It trembles, gasps, and quakes
With the knowledge of futility.
All that was and all that will
Successively unsuccessfully.
A parade of steel tables on blood spattered conveyer belt,
Pulled to the symphony of six billion bellowed pleas for salvation,
Through tattered curtains to uncertainty.
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC
How long will you sit there?
Cavities, your type of trophies from wilder days, the forgettable kind
Rutting between hills of lifeless grey flesh
Moist as the dust that stood to search (unsuccessfully) for fresh light
Nothing moves anymore
Even the 41, Guyanese invertebrates
Learned you long ago
They wait, tire
Sometimes before the hours tip, I hear you, or try to
You play the dances in your head
Just like swallowed tangos and serenades for mama
She always said you could sing
I fought for the top of your feet
My place, where my toes gripped wrinkles in your smile
Pulling me down, down past moonless flights
Yet no such pedestal stood
Mid-yawn, we breathed in springtime
I left a piece for you, buried deep in an injection
I lost my crown that day
My heart anticipated the warmth of melting snow
I'd cover furrowed brows in blue ink, sometimes black
Grinning under the blotting
Recipes for tomorrow
Words I beg to forget
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
The first thing you notice about a hospital is how clean it is.
The floors scrubbed down so hard, it would be cleaner with a more natural-looking layer of grime, because the reek of sterilising lemon-scented cleaner is sickening.
The tiles are snow but the ceilings are sludge, layers of paint unsuccessfully attempt to cover the dry rot coat, but the faeces-hue cannot be covered.
The doorways and chairs are bathed in rust, the flies not hesitating to accompany the visitors and their loved ones.
*Even the cleanest places are *****
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC
Were I given a life to return
To hold again my newborn son,
I'd take time to be present,
Really "there,"
Beside, behind him,
As he learned to run.
Instead of the tower on the hill
I tried unsuccessfully to be,
I'd walk beside him on the path,
Reminded of my boyhood memories;
I'd leave the sermons to the priest and be the dad.
I'd get us shovels,
Deep to dig our conversations,
Embrace the work and sweat and look for more,
Pick and bar our way to Rock,
Drill and blast our anchors to the floor.
Before the storm surge of his teenage years,
I'd strive to see strong footings were in place,
Weld strong the structures while the girders rise,
Pray the work would stand the weather's cruel face.
The past, now present has me chilled;
The distances are lost in haze;
What I see now from my distant hill
Reveals broken structures to be razed.
God grant us time to renovate and fill
Remaining years to bring Him praise.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 1:05 AM UTC
self love and affirmations
are so cringeworthy to me --
that's mean, i know.
the perfect depiction of
schaudenfraude.
but it's so needed.
sometimes this space feels too small
with no more balcony
you blow smoke directly in my face
stain our ceiling fan black
give me a contact high
while i try to multitask on five
things at once,
unsuccessfully,
ever more unsuccessfully.
i've lost all focus.
i just want a clean bed,
soft sheets,
a sink free from ***** dishes
and every manner of walking and
flying insect
-- this constant infestation.
i just want clean air,
to breathe,
bikes that don't break and
don't get stolen.
shoes that protect my feet
from the grime that slickly coats
the sidewalks of LA black.
shoes that are also pretty.
i don't have any of this.
money, money, money
i'm always crying over you.
i'm sick of your ****
but i'm forever bound to you.
and you treat me cruelly
taunt me with everything i can't have.
"joke's on you my friend,
you better guess again,
cause everybody's gotta pay their way"
"death is easy, life is hard"
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 2:12 AM UTC
he doesn't know it
but when i lay in his bed
my mind is stringing together
adjectives and airy phrases,
trying unsuccessfully to
pin down the emotions
he breathes into me.
he doesn't know it
but when i kiss his skin,
i imagine my lips
peppering his chest
neck and arms with
ink stains that morph
into words like "lover"
and "darling".
he doesn't know it
but the smile he shares
with me under the covers
is pressed firmly
into the corners
of my heart,
begging to be immortalized
in words.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 11:03 PM UTC
and it gets harder to breathe when the only thing keeping
me alive is an hallucination of
your fingertips that trace patterns
down my spine
when i awake to find coldness
by my side, embracing me
with its trendils that should have been your
arms. so i heave a sigh as i
try to live with dead weight limbs that
drag me down, and it gets
harder when i search the crowds
for your face, knowing that i'd never
catch the slightest glimpse of my safe haven again
and i try (unsuccessfully) to soothe the stinging
wound of knowing that you left
without saying goodbye.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 9:09 AM UTC
A year later
The smell of black coffee
Will still remind me
Of a sad morning
Spent at Lake Erie
Hiding silent
Beneath blankets and books
And sitting across from a girl
I never quite
Got done loving
Embracing for the first time
Our ultimate future
And disdaining for the first time
Our previously unshakable present
We sipped idly at our coffee
And dared not look up
From the pages of the fictional
Forever
That we had created-
Trying unsuccessfully
To worm that ephemeral truth
Out of our minds
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 5:53 PM UTC
the pull from under my ribs
is wanderlust
unsuccessfully convincing myself
that the ache in my soul
is not my red string of fate--
the one wrapped around my heart--
being pulled taut
ripping my organs from my chest
and breaking my ribs like glass
it is not,
i whisper, not fooling anyone
the distance that makes it feel
like glass shards have taken over my throat
crawling from my mouth
and cutting off my tongue
it is not,
the fact that i cannot hold you
that makes my arm feel as if they have no purpose
it is not,
you being so far from my heart, my arms
that cuts up my insides so fine
please let me pretend,
just for a while longer,
that you being gone doesn't make me feel like a goner
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
I see her at the party
surrounded by her friends. She's clearly busy..
That's OK, I just need time to work out some
incredibly clever and witty banter. I'm good
with words. I can weave letters together into
aural silk. In the meantime....I should get
Another drink
I see her at the window. an inebriated man
is attempting to woo her, unsuccessfully.
He clearly is unaware of his boorish nature
She looks on.
I know when I talk to her
I will make her heart dance and her ears
will be massaged with the gentle sounds
of love and adoration. In the meantime
my cup is empty...I need
Another drink
I see her in the hallway. The night is nearly over
I walk to her, straight as I'm able through blurry vision
She notices me
I open my mouth, ready to spill forth a tidal
wave of intellect, a hurricane of insight.
"mumblecutemumbleprettymumble"
She walks away
sigh
I need another drink.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 12:33 PM UTC
It was a stormy evening
Yet contentment hung in the air
Thick as the humidity
We ran, eluding unsuccessfully the
little droplets that cascaded like
the brilliant fingers of a pianist
gushing chords across our shoulders that
captivated.
It was rhythmic, a delicate patter
though simultaneously
It rang out with the passion of a cello’s crying depth
the lust of a singer’s feverish lucidity
the force of a dancers anguished turns.
the mighty heavens roared on above us so loud dear but
the need to return home overtook us and
the world was only your hair as it curled around your ear and
only the smell of rain on your skin and the heat of your breath.
You astound me.
All I crave is to whisper words with my trembling breath of how
I feel in your arms- a true peace. like no one could ever comprehend
The way I have let myself
Melt and reform as
All yours.
I reach to run my hand across your cheek
So soft darling, so close
I reach and I know I could never feel as
Complete. Comfortable.
Then I see it.
The white ceiling, the piece of tape left over, the stray black smudge
Ah, dreaming.
But for an instant I got to know
what it felt like, in the rain.
So, My love. My unwavering best friend
I'll set my feet on the ground and
let the sheets muffle that faint sound of
a piano
For the day will wipe away the details
And the only thing I will retain
is a curious inquiry for why my heart skips a beat
in bad weather
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 9:20 PM UTC
sometimes, i sense myself spilling
my youth from a fragile glass jar.
other times, i conclude it's just me storing
up for frantic spending in its decaying days.
but mostly, my duties occupy the space -
this intangible commodity squeezes for place.
such metaphors would have been absurd and
bizzare to the shrieking children of the kampong days
my grandparents talked about: climbing trees that rusted
with rambutans, ankles dipped in mud burgeoning with
self-invented games, a bedlam of clucking chickens fleeing
unsuccessfully, dinner for a hut bursting with extended family.
nothing i can identify with: neither a similar event, nor
a familiar atmosphere of wild abandonment of youth.
i exist in a time where parents knock on rooms to bring their
students nutritious chicken essence, with a stack of expectations.
what's so good about progress: when our roots are saliva-speak,
when our youth and beyond are spent before it's expiry?
much like acclimatisation, i am ashamed to reveal that,
many times i can feel alive only when i adhere to the routines in
this city of expectations.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 5:02 AM UTC
Snow in her hair.
Cold, red lips.
A Heaven that surely exists.
She breaks her gaze.
Then breaks my heart.
Snow mingling with tears unsuccessfully fought.
A day far away,
We'll be together somewhere
With cherry blossoms fallen in her hair.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 11:50 PM UTC
men of a certain age vanish into witness. two bricks are tied to a pair of hands that go on to clap above a baby. I chop the tail of the mouse in your mouth to pieces. optimism is any man after me also ************ unsuccessfully underwater. is your god admitting there will be no more where that came from.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC
“i’ve got the one on the right—
you can have the one on the left.”
of course the one on the left is the size of two of me
when a wing man’s duty calls, one must oblige
“you’re cute” she tells me
“you gross me out” i say to myself
however, she is nice
and had what could be a pretty face
so we drank beers and smoked cigarettes out on the balcony
i do not remember what we talked about
she works with kids I think, but to be honest
i didn’t care
i wonder where my friend is
he better be getting some or at the very least,
making conversation
i don’t just go around jumping on grenades for
***** and giggles
finally, it is time to go
i ask the girl for her number, because i knew it would make her happy
“you better text me” she says
“of course i will”
i won’t
my friend surfaces
unsuccessfully
i give him ****
he gives me the purple heart
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
El Nino, the jokes go, is responsible,
to be levied our distaste. What a
disgrace, they're putting a Hispanic
face on 1998's over a 100,000 killed
by supposedly natural disasters. Now
Nina, naming her the cause of world
drought, global warming, which the
technocracies' altering weather cycles
determined. Their greed makes lies
fly as truth, can your convenience,
in allowing them to do it, further?
This while they enjoy unparalleled
short-term profits, paid for in real
deficits, brought by their murdering of
eco-systems, our progeny will pay a
thousand times those delusional
profits to repair, unsuccessfully. That
unending river of humanities' blood
will soon take billions of poor to
middle class lives before the extinction.
Still, every second over an acre of
rainforest is felled, every three a
woman is castrated, a child dies, and
only 50 % of us bother to vote!
Still, we don't have real compassion
for ourselves or others. If no real
changes will take place now, then
when, if not here, where, you, who?
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 10:56 PM UTC
A friend who's at
the hospital
she stopped eating
A friend always tired
she stopped sleeping
A friend feeling troubled
she cuts herself
But in each of these friends
and through helping them
I've found the truths about myself
and I start to understand why
we hide things
A friend dealing with loss
she doesn't know God's peace
A friend who doubts
the Lord's love
she's loosing hope
A friend we all
ask for advice
She doesn't know how to cope
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 8:57 PM UTC
White fang piercing soft muzzle, clumsy paws fumble unsuccessfully.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 9:57 AM UTC