"untying" poems
Stuck in the land of perplexity
Untying labyrinthine cherry knot on
Thorny mountains and alleys
I've got a war in my mind
Throwing dice flipping coins
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 9:11 AM UTC
My back is tight, knotted
I'm not entirely sure why
But I would trap a dozen
Eskimos for a massage, honestly
Enter the sad realization that, despite
Bruno's good intentions, he is unable to
Fulfill this request with paws
Oh, but that's alright
It's one of those half-hearted dreams
That drifts along in wispy bits
Every now and again
To whisper and invoke a peace
Within the cataclysm, but don't dare
Turn around, or it will be
Gone
Like the ghostly fingers untying me
One loop at a time because
They've lost the scissors
May 12, 2011
May 12, 2011 at 5:42 PM UTC
I left him like a child lets go of a balloon.
Untying the tiniest of tight knots from my imprinted wrists, knowing I could not take him where my travels would.
My finger tips shook upon releasing him,
but **** did he soar on the wings of the wind.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
11:20pm
You kidnapped me and we flew back to your home planet.
I was left speechless as this heavenly body took over my soul.
He tied a martian string around my heart and promised me to stay.
11:30pm
You took me on an adventure across the galaxy that distorted my mind.
I let him guide my body into a meadow of star dust, without any fear of hesitation.
He tightened the martian string around my heart and promised that I will be his forever.
11:40pm
You gently caressed my untamed spirit and helped this earthling experience a new look on life.
I only craved for my eccentric martian, so I feared the day I would have to go back to that dreary planet.
He glared down into my dark brown eyes and promised that I'll be his officially, to have and to hold.
11:50pm
You slowly began to distant yourself from yourself my soul as the days progressed on this martian planet.
I noticed that the string we held tightly around our hearts began to steadily loosen as the nights grew colder.
He turned his back on the earthling he once loved and promised to let me go so he can travel the stars alone.
12:00am
You promise that we would explore the extrasolar worlds together as we floated through the dark abyss.
I believed in his promises, hoping the martian string that bounded our hearts together would remain intact.
He delivered me back to my humdrum planet while untying the same string that we once held so dear.
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 4:22 AM UTC
Love poems rot,
The sensical knots.
I tie, overflowing, the dread.
The Pickwitkin Heavy,
The Verveberry Wedding.
Such shanks, still stuck in my head.
My memories loosen,
The Stopshift Tallcluesen,
Cut to myself dreaming in red.
Full throttle forward,
I'll sail ever toward,
My untying your knots from my bed.
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 7:24 PM UTC
Standing in the August sun,
Your skin soaks up the light,
And saves it for November,
When clouds occlude the sky.
The gentle breeze softly coaxes
The folds of your paisley dress,
To gather up their courage
And ask your hair to dance.
Silent finches straining to hear,
Her soaring, piccolo laugh.
The waves cresting to see,
Her pure and radiant smile.
Like stars that come to speckle
The navy nighttime sky,
Each morning a brand new freckle
Appears below your eye.
Adorned with grace and charm,
With patience and joy complete,
Dare not to look away,
None other can compete.
Grumbling fingers,
Untying scarlet ribbons,
White banners to unfurl,
And forfeit to the beauty,
Of my gorgeous summer girl.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 12:01 PM UTC
This pounding in my chest
It hurts my love
It hurts so much
Because my mind well it's decaying
And what used to help has stopped
Everything has stopped
So I need you
I need you to do me a favor
Take my heart
And unravel the veins
Like you're untying your shoelaces
Then kiss me tenderly
Let me close my eyes
And weave flowers in my hair
(daisies if you can)
And tip the mortician so she does a good job on me
Then when my body turns cold
And my lips are sealed with glue
Just know in my final moments
I was thinking of you
So wipe away your tears and get rid of that frown
Cause baby I'll be happiest when I'm in the ground
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 5:01 PM UTC
I’ve seen you dance
Your eyes caught my glance.
I’ve watched your mind turn
I still see your eyes burn.
Wildly they steam they shimmer.
I’ve felt your love through their glimmer.
They beam to me untying my woe
As if it was a soft silk bow.
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
Depression is Skipping meals because it's easier to be hungry than it is to get myself out of bed
Depression is Sitting on the floor and desperately trying to talk myself into putting socks on...
Because putting socks on would require wiggling up the bottom of my skinny jeans, putting the socks on my feet, and then carefully pulling the jeans back over my socks without messing them up (you know the feeling I'm talking about)
Depression is struggling with the socks because I know once that part is over, I'll have to put shoes on- the converse match my outfit.
But I've got a wide foot, and I can take converse off without untying them, but I HAVE to untie them to put them back on.
So I have to untie these shoes,
And the RETIE THEM. It's a lot. It feels like so much.
I know it shouldn't.
It's putting on shoes.
But wait, there's more!
Once the shoes are on, I've got to pack my book bag, Which first requires taking the stuff out.
Once the stuff is out, I have to put that stuff in its place.
then I've got to put more stuff in the bag,
I have to put the bag on
Walk out the door,
Eat.
Class.
Rehearsal.
Drive
Park
Walk to my building
Up the stairs
in the room.
Take the shoes off
Change,
Lay in bed
Know that I could've been in bed all day
Try to celebrate what little I did
Fail.
Toss and turn knowing I should've done more.
Fall asleep feeling alone, wondering why I'm never satisfied.
Wake up.
Meds.
Socks?...-
Realize it barely changes
Because
I'm sitting here typing this at 3:53 pm
When I should be
Putting.
My.
*******
Socks.
On.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 4:56 PM UTC
two summers ago,
I found myself under a cabbage leaf
curled beneath the sun.
circled in slumber,
like there was never an end to anything.
then, I grew wings
and left my warmth for speed
sacrificing my calm breeze for cold storms
and windy nights.
on my flight home,
I sit through red lights and
look for tear tracks on the
faces of strangers
kissing their cheeks with my eyes
and pretending I can see the salt.
because there is hope left in
loss, my friends.
sometimes, you just have to let
the best things fall.
(how do you think storks still fly?)
so, I spend rush hour
untying the cloth diapers from my ankles
and when the highway pulls
my hills away from me,
I send them flying out the window
like dead birds
knowing
I will never see the seeds
fertilized through their bones
praying God thinks this
is a gesture of my good will.
let us all pray that God notices
our empty hands when we give up
the deepest now for an uncertain future.
Personally, I am praying for a cardboard-box
collection of home movies documenting
the growth of all the people I left,
of all the places thrown behind me
like stale cigarette smoke,
the homes I have broken with
my ever moving feet, my restless
guilty wings.
I will project the shaky film
all over my internals until my
gut is soaked with light
and the last shocked thought
of my quickly fading mind
will be of the things I could have seen,
the memories I would have made
if I had not gone away so much.
If I had just stayed.
but the wind is a vicious thing,
especially the updrafts
especially the hot breath under wings
which gradually convinced me
that my home was a cold dead thing
that there was no life left in my town
that the only world worth seeing was
far far away.
I have burned the eyes
of bluegrass Beethovens dying
slowly on a stage just to prove
that I never needed a quiet place.
that I was above all the country songs
and overalls and camouflage,
but we all need to hide sometimes.
even from ourselves.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 11:39 AM UTC
Normally it'd be a promise that I cannot keep or let myself hold to,
but everything I swear just seems to bring me away from you.
How awkward too, getting close then coming unglued.
I feel like I'm running and you're untying my shoe.
I feel like I'm getting so tired I can hardly move.
So I'll wait here for you.
I've spent so many nights locked out of you,
I'd rather live with my lights knocked out by you.
Might as well, rolling my eyes to the back of my head
just looking for the words that I have not yet thought or said.
Oddly, you're not even my type, being the kind made to be chased,
But typical isn't what I want to find, and clearly I don't set the rules in this race.
What a day to forever remember and a night to never forget, but I'm just trying my best.
With untied shoes, fast-paced, reckless.
But I'll wait here for you.
Jul 8, 2011
Jul 8, 2011 at 5:57 PM UTC
Racing in the blood
A war in your veins
Breathes multiplied
A chill remains
Clenching of fists
Heavily battering eyelashes
Chattering of teeth
This is going to take a while...
Clearing thoughts
Cleansing minds
Strengthening a heart
Piecing the puzzles
Connecting messed up lines
Untying the knots
Take a look...
...there is a warrior in my hazel eyes
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 9:19 AM UTC
Tie up a ribbon
Make sure it stays
Tugging it tight
Make sure it's strong and intact
Tied up a ribbon
Hoping it stays
Tugging it again
Strengthening its hold
Tied up a ribbon
But it is starting to come loose
It's untying itself
It's coming down
Tied up a ribbon
Made it so pretty
It looked beautiful
But it has loosen
And it is gone
Even if
I were to tie it up again
*Will you stay?*
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 1:53 AM UTC
~for she who will know~
the Mother of Muses came to me
on bended knee
come for to confess
a lie so grand it boggled
the heart
*we bring you nothing more
than what you already possess,
the jewels of rose gold are emplaced
in your dual ventricles,
the veins stained with blue green sapphires to
feed the right and left hemispheres,
where the emerald heat and the yellow gold,
raw melt the alpha word-finery awaiting,
the pinpointed pinprick of an eyed glimpse
to release the oxidizing words atmospheric
we are not needed, just proceeders,
*** stirrers? no. *** watchers? oh yes.
all contained within,
this then, the art of the human heart,
where the external stains rest awaiting,
completing, complimenting, coming
to fruition in a reforged new birthing
see how the child looks with adoration,
perceiving the art of the mothers heart,
the spilling of time at the precise moment
when the exchange is as long as an eye wink
and as short as an entire lifetime
We the Muses, not teachers, nor inspirers,
just peddlers, collecting thimbles of words,
polished with hued syllables of tarnish,
experienced watchers discerning the exacting,
the interactive interactions of the cells,
the DNA concoctions of singers and sinners,
priests and the unforgivable, trying to tie
what deserves untying, which is an everlasting
poem that needs, laughing, an original act
of the art of the heart, yours, permission to say
The End*
11:14pm
nyc
Sept. 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 11:22 PM UTC
You say,
"I'm sorry for dragging you
into my life"
and I want to laugh the loudest
laugh possible for my lungs to emit, my
chest heaving with the irony, the
actuality that I was not dragged in forcefully
I stepped in willingly
to a door already closing
-
I hope she loves you as well as
I never got the chance to
I hope she speaks about
how full her heart is and how
easy it is to be with you
I hope this half ton of weight that
is finally off my chest makes
its way on to yours
I hope it's not too much to carry but
then again I do
-
You say,
"I'm sorry, don't hate me"
but my dear,
don't you know that it is myself that
is always the target of disappointment?
-
I hope I'm washed out of your mouth by
the time you kiss hers
the sour, the whiskey, the passionate hatred,
the coming back again,
tonight the neighbors are having a party and
all I can think about is
us at 2 in the morning dancing
to the noise of each other
-
You say,
"I'm sorry, I've tried calling"
but we both know the lack of dial tone in your voice and
the absence of ring in mine says enough
I waited for an answer but
you hung up
-
I am certain that
I will spend the rest of my time in this city
searching for you in other people,
I am convinced that
I will need sleeping pills to forget
the music in your voice, your singing in my ears
has become nothing more than a repeated knocking
-
You say,
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry"
I say nothing but
in my head I say thank for
untying this knot we
got ourselves into
-
this is about a future that does not have you in it
one where I will pick at my food while you
pick at her shirt, pulling off clumps of cotton, laughing,
while I try to fill this empty stomach with anything but
sorrow and morosity
this is a poem about a song that isn't for me
she's a poet too,
how fitting
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
Life is beautiful,
Even in its ********* things.
The small bags of life-
The creases in the paper,
The untying bands of bracelet,
The crinkled edges of the dollar bill,
The thin dark gunk
Collected upon the penny,
The uneven water splashed upon
The bathroom sink,
The droplets upon the toothbrush,
The random foam of the fluoride rinse,
The fraying strands of gray and black
Athletic sock,
The clouded water
Lying below the ivory soap
In its dish-
These are unpleasant, yes,
But they remind us
That we are in this world,
That this is no false world
But a quite real one,
One which we can shape
Or help shape,
One that is worth living in,
Worth loving in,
A good world.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
You throw your lasso around the beating pulse
Of wildness running strong
Attempting to pin and tame freedom’s mate
Then stand wondering what is wrong
Were you not arrested by those piercing eyes
Staring at your knotted rope
While you were swinging on a wing and prayer
On your futile mission without hope
Did you think those feet of yours were strong enough
To stand on the neck of fleeting wind
Or stop the persistent flight of freedom’s wings
From ever taking off again
That ole beating pulse of freedom’s mate
Is flowing molten lava hot
Slipping through those wasted ropes of yours
Untying all your twisted knots
Sep 18, 2010
Sep 18, 2010 at 6:43 PM UTC
The song played-- muffled, hesitant,
As if the tabletop jukebox
Seemed unsure of the tune’s suitability,
As out of place and time as ourselves,
It being Wednesday morning three A.M.
At the all-night diner on the Klondike Road
(The mills, going full-bore down the road in Montmorenci Falls
Making such a place viable, indeed necessary),
But we laughed loudly and nonchalantly
Between bites of nearly adequate cheeseburger,
Ostensibly unaware of all those inevitabilities
Which were tangible but unspoken, indeed unspeakable,
This being the last of the last summer not careworn,
Textbooks to be exchanged for neckties,
Plastic sandals swapped for sensible flats,
Other lives to take flight in other places,
A mere handful of evenings remaining
Before the clumsy process of untying
All that which had been loose ends from the beginning.
Would I go back? In a sense, it does not matter.
There was always a laundry list of reasons
That it could not be, cannot be, will not be:
Irreparably meshed gears of relocations and reconciliations,
Gordian knots of logic and desire.
Still, in my dreams, I often run like a madman,
Chest burning as my sneakers slap the pavement in the darkness,
Back toward the diner, but it has been razed to the ground
(Likely the case, for all I know,
What with the mills silent and padlocked all these years)
And I paw madly, feverishly through the rubble
In search of some remains of those vinyl chanteuses of love songs,
Those epitaphs of our failures,
Those three-minute odes
To our compromised and conditional successes.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 10:07 AM UTC
Silence is golden,
And I am breaking the barriers,
Silence in golden,
And I am coming with the chariots,
Silence is woven,
And I am untying the labyrinth,
Silence is golden
Call me a maverick,
Silence is broken
And I am bleeding the floor,
Silence is golden,
I am like a fly knocking the door,
Silence is olden
I am rewriting the history,
Silence is golden,
I am unfolding a mystery,
Silence is interwoven
The message is subliminal,
Silence is golden,
But keep your words minimal,
Silence is golden
Every night I turn a criminal,
Silence is golden,
Every verse is pivotal,
Silence is golden,
For those willing to prey,
Silence is golden,
Only for those who don't know what to say*
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
I used to be a mover.
I ran, and danced, and climbed trees.
If I saw somethng I wanted, I reached for it, worked for it, or asked an adult to get it for me.
I would fidget and squirm at the dinner table and in Mass.
I did not question, I just did.
I used to say things.
I sang, rhymed and questioned with impunity.
I behaved as though everyone was hanging on my every word.
People were constantly telling me to be quiet. I made them listen.
My voice connected me to the world, it proved I was real.
I used to laugh more.
Giggled, chortled and chuckled with glee.
It was my first reaction to anything new and novel.
It bubbled out of me, tickling my throat as it filled the room.
I measured the worth of a day by how much I had laughed.
I used to get lost in things.
In the fields, in untying knots, in books, especially in books.
I deliberately took wrong turnings just to see what was there,
and hid under my bed with a book and a torch and spoke to no one.
I felt so disheartened when I found my way again.
I used to create.
I crafted, sketched and wrote for hours at a time.
It just poured from my fingertips. It was only completed when the smile came.
A bright, beaming smile, bursting out of me. I would burn with furious pride over 8 lines of mispelled rhymes about a purple monster.
I believed the only things you own, are the things you make.
Now I am uncertain.
Tentative, unsure, and above all; Silent.
Now I only move with a destination in mind.
I am economical and perfunctory with my movements.
I don't know how to use words anymore, the language has changed.
The pen feels uncomfortable in my hand, while I agonise over the exact right words.
Being lost frightens me, and seems like a waste of time.
Creating things (non-edible things) are just extra pieces of baggage you must carry around. Pointless and deflating, they chew their way into every part of your brain to fester and breed.
And people know when you've got poems gnawing your thoughts, and they will instantly distrust you.
But now.
Right now, as I near the end of this train of thought.
The Mover awakens within me. I smile and crave company.
I have a sudden yearning to once again take a wrong turn.
I will not sleep tonight.
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 6:54 PM UTC
In the midst of the excited chatter,
I almost miss her
quiet, lost,
She fades into the background;
The charged environment engulfs her.
This was home to me,
a world she does not understand.
Glinting brass instruments
shoved back into unassuming hard cases;
Black and white uniforms
untying and loosening;
The cackle of finished water bottles
tossed into waiting bins;
This is my home.
Dimly, I hear her call
my name, almost begging
I turn, and she is there.
And then I see a tear
slowly sliding down her face,
one special moment
of actual understanding.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC
My posture is straight and arms on the wheel
but eyes on the rear with a guilt feel.
Imagining it different
where I could have been.
Out came the noise of a gentle breeze ,
leaning behind , I watched my thoughts.
While it tried to distract me
I sit back and observe, untying the knots.
It puts me on auto pilot,
day dreaming what could have been.
Did I imagine it differently ,
same canvas but a random scene ?
It fades with reality but lets us grow,
so make peace with it, just let it go
Man and mistake, like string and twine
it is alright to repeat, do it twice.
Regretting my regrets , I put a smile on my face.
Not anymore, like red rags to a bull.
Througt potholes and traffic , I learned my pace.
I drove this far, so it is at least half full.
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 10:45 AM UTC
**You've come again
delivered by the twisted hands of fate
swirling around my senses
Just the idea of you takes me aflight
I'm on a tilt, the axis feels so right
Heartskips missing beats
Excitement crackles the electricity between us
It's not right
But it's inexplicably addictive
Denial is the only truth
Calm over anxiety
Eyes meet
Heady Confusion
Skin on skin, a pleasant courtesy
A mere brush on the cheek
Stealing so much more
Than the microscopic dermis impaled on Un shorn jaws
Lips that left heated traces
Rushed prickles down newly flushed cheeks and into my cleavage
nestled deep
It's been so long
So giddy but on guard
I forgot the divineness of being swept up in your atmosphere
Deftly, You took that heartstring between us
gathering it into a loving bow
I was so busy untying it I got tangled up in knots
Panic under cool
I washed with thoughts of ice
I combed with logic
I dressed in disregard
I know what comes next
The pain
But we both know it's too late
It's all started again...**
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
Blindfold me with your words;
thick like paint they cover my eyes with lies.
Why must I be oblivious if I cannot see?
I still have my ears,
my touch,
my sense of smell,
my sense of taste.
I don't need my eyes to find the light.
The truth can be found without a steady gaze.
There are so many ways your ignorance will never figure out.
Let me show you when I give you my goodbyes,
untying the knot with my own two hands.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 5:12 PM UTC