"uprooting" poems
there's a fisherman down by the sea
sitting on the wharf
watching the sun sink into the western sky
a frown frames his house
he looks out the window
at his pole, gear
and especially that of his net
emptiness
metaphors that weigh on him
uprooting his garden
a garden of no delight
one lonely row of forget me not
and regret
all wilting
his foundation
lost
never found or realized
he pauses
runs his hand over his pole
like a belt without any notches
his grip slipping into the abyss
as the last of the orange
sinks
bleeds also
at where the sea meets the sky
where his day slowly turns to night
somewhere out there he sees his image
in nature's mirror
at his crossroads
for deeply
and some may say shallowly
he looks onto the sea one last time
and he means what he says
and throws his fishing gear in
tears welling in his eye
as he watches his teddybear sink
lips gurgling
seemingly asking why
... why
he answers back
there were no fish or bites
in his lonely sea
or wind at his back
... there
his window opens wider
the sea not singing or dancing
he sees the ambient light
correlations
... here
Logan Robertson
7/06/2018
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 8:20 PM UTC
She seems pretty queer
Yes she does
Something odd
Something peculiar
Is it in her insouciance
Is it in her audacity
Is it in her pirouettes
Spun with such vivacity
Is it in her defiance
Is it in her nonrepentance
Is it in her reveling so free
A form full of glee
Sometimes impetuous
All times ingenuous
Aflame with passion
An immersive intoxication
Cracking down on this mystery
A perplexing dichotomy
Let's remove the misfitting pieces
In sync with commonplace notions
Alas what dismantling of a girl
at peace with her pieces
What uprooting of a girl
at home in her body
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
"Found poem", all the text lifted from a tourist pamphlet picked up in Crete, only very slightly edited.
There are daily buses starting from Chania
to the head of the gorge,
which is called Xyloskalo.
Buses say on the front "Omalos" and depart
from the central bus station.
By taking any of the morning buses you get to Xyloskalo
after one and a half hours.
At Xyloskalo there is a tourist pavilion
where you can get meals, drinks,
and which has only seven beds for staying overnight.
For those wishing to spend the night
on the Omalos plateau
there is another possibility, that of staying
at Omalos village itself, five kilometres before Xyloskalo,
where are two cafés providing several beds. From there
you get any of the morning buses starting from Chania
to the head of the gorge.
The length of the gorge is sixteen kilometres, and you need
five to six hours to walk through it. There is plenty
of drinking water all along the gorge. Tennis shoes
or walking boots are recommended. Camping,
overnight staying, smoking, hunting,
cutting and uprooting plants
are forbidden.
At the mouth of the gorge is Aghia Rouméli village,
which provides restaurants and accommodation.
From there you take boats
either to Sfakía (duration: one hour) or to Soughia
and Paleochora.
Remember that the last boat to Sfakía is at 17 hours,
which connects with the last bus to Chania at 18 hours.
Duration of the bus trip: two hours.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 10:40 AM UTC
Above my home where the dark clouds
curl into the sky clinging for a home to
rest their sleepy depiction, shadowed
trees hum sweet lullabies, lonely leaves
breathe in the sad song of fallen dimensions,
letting its lifeless view roll upon their frame,
the chilled breeze sailing in the skyline,
as I scramble my way out of a filthy dumpster,
a mountain of disintegrating mess covering
my broken body, hovering flies surrounding
sticky strips of spaghetti, moldy mashed potatoes,
and moldy chicken *** pies, while my mind sunk
into traveled thoughts, bruised hands pressed against
the creases in my forehead, allowing my existence
to feel the stranded scars streaming in various mazes,
dull eyes flushed with a burning disorder, aching cheeks
and chests nestled in darkening chamber corners, buried
hips and thighs uprooting in somber blades of grass,
thorned, torn, and destroyed in different worlds. As I stood
on the slippery pavement staring at the ruffled scenery
in my sight, spinning streetlights thickening into slouched
positions, screaming sidewalks spilling sadness and madness
in the drenched air, razor-edged buildings inching into crushed
centimeters, jumbled meters, ****** yards. I replayed the sober
images in my head, the way my young brown-skinned mom said
I would never amount to anything, how I could hear the raged
noun ****** sift into the distance, its flaming mechanics
accelerating into screeching sounds, the way she hurled
her fists at my smashed face, every vibrant language
breaking apart, slamming shut into closed infinites,
snagged contractions and gerunds diverging into
shuddering double spaced negatives, the way she threw
my lingering body inside the trash dumpster, her sharp
scarlet words, You are no son of mine, ricocheting off
savage surfaces, sparking my soul in a calamity
of choking diction.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 1:04 PM UTC
i'm not sure
who planted this seed
inside all of our heads
whispering quietly
_”stop feeling so much"_
who made the assumption
that feelings = weakness?
because those two terms
have never been seamless
to dip into your depths
with no feelings oppressed
takes the kind of courage
most fear cant be fed
weakness evolves
from putting all of
your energy into
building up
the walls
that block
the flow of life
that was meant
_to move you_
further into the
depths of the you
you didn’t know
you never knew
to feel
and i mean,
to really _feeeel_
every ounce of this
human experience
comes with a bravery
that most resist
it breaks you apart
shakes you down
uprooting all
that’s been
to guide you
from within
to let this life
overcome you
with whatever
emotions
it may,
while being
proud of it too?
now, _that_
is strength
that is the
_weakness
pouring
out of
you_
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 1:34 AM UTC
What an honor
It would be
To inspire someone
Lost and suffering
Trapped in their own mind
Of relentless criticism
Who would have guessed the semicolon
Would hold such symbolism
This desire I have
To change just one life
May not affect the world
But it would ease their strife
Because I know what it’s like to be exhausted
At the end of every day
With no other reason than the constant war
Of keeping my demons at bay
How incredible it would be
To stop measuring my self worth
By judgments and comparisons
With everyone else on earth
To stop unearthing past mistakes
Then uprooting the pleasant memories
And throwing them aside
As a gardener does with vexatious weeds
Constantly tortured by little things
Until it's miserable to survive
Sweetheart don't you realize
It's a privilege to be alive
Why is it we search for happiness
Like its something waiting to be found
When it is only from the inside
That we can turn our thoughts around
My dear, please don't give in
You don't have to feel this way
The demons may be frightening
But you have the final say
No matter what they say to you
It's you who has control
Don't let them turn your soft, kind heart
Into a numb black hole
The numb black hole
I know it well
Then waves of pain
Like an ocean swell
Just as tides come and go
Your darkness will too
As long as you keep fighting
The whole way through
Keep your thoughts positive
It is your mind you must transform
For there are always blue skies
After every storm
Your sorrows may not be gone for good
But you have a bright future ahead
Inspire others to change their thoughts
And dry the tears they’ve shed
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 3:25 AM UTC
*you have wandered into my heart
without wiping your feet,
and have planted your garden
with some peregrine seed,
uprooting suspicion to feed the roots you know i need.
not the slightest premonition
hinting at this fires ignition,
with harmonies conspicuous,
it brought me to a full fruition.
you make me become me,
scraping tar from ancient condition
a reassessment of the needs,
a very natural division.
and though many of my deeds,
however morbid they may be
fade from your conscious recognition;
oh my true soul, you've made free.
so you may walk upon my heart.
tread heavily, with boots of lead,
for you have become the reason
for it to even bother to beat.*
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 11:53 AM UTC
Dear Poet Friends, Delhi is well known for its Dust Storms during the hot and humid month of May & June, and the absence of rain! This poem was composed in the Month of May 2008, and posted on ‘Poetfreak.com'. Hope you like the same. Thanks, - Raj
DUST STORM
All through the sultry and humid day,
The sky had grown angry and reddish grey!
And the evening suddenly became very still,
As an eerie silence crept there in!
When suddenly from the sky came rushing out,
Making a prolonged whistling and gushing sound,
As if some beastly hounds have been let out, -
There came the raging, ravaging, Dust Storm!
Lashing the tree tops and smashing window
panes ,
Uprooting old trees by road side and lanes!
Ravaging and railing with its destructive force,
Blew the angry and relentless dust storm!
As papers and packets and old withered leaves,
Flew around like thread-less kites on this hot
Summer's eve!
All my collected thoughts, desires, and dreams,
Flew helter-skelter with the winds up high,
Like rudderless ships without direction,
With the whirlwind in its maddening motion.
With dust in my hair, in my eyes and mouth,
As the sand storm raged all around and about!
When after some time like a spent out force,
The storm abated as night drew close.
With dust in my hair, in my eyes and mouth,
But a pleasant coolness prevailed all around!
Dust Am I, And To Dust I Shall Return, **
Once I wake up from my Earthly trance!
And with the raging dust storm I shall rage
one day,
To join up in its maddening dance in the month
of May!
---Raj Nandy, New Delhi.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
You’re all over me
Soaking me
Like hard rain
Steady
Cleansing
Removing the scars
From my heart
One by one
You’re revitalizing
And fun
Full of surprise
Grounding me
Then uprooting me
Rooting for me
Moving me
Making me think
And think
A little wink
**** smile
And I’m putty
To play with awhile
completely content
A puppy on his back
Begging for more
Not a care in the world
Just a girl
And her eyes
The goddess of the butterflies
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 7:22 PM UTC
there is something
about the way they leave
with hands still deep in
the heart of me
but what hurts the most
is how easy it seems, like
the effortless act of
wind uprooting seeds
i guess some storms
are born just for shaking
away what’s not deep
but the blames not on me
for seasons change and
soon spring came to
wash the blame
i bloomed
away all
due to
pain
and light
shined too
through parts i knew
you took the moment i met you
and from these holes my branches
grew resilient to the heat of june and
now they reach up to the moon
and harbor light to shine and
swoon the ones who come
to love me new but leave
me wild when they're
through i smile every
time they do as it's
your shadow
dancing
too
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 5:16 AM UTC
__|small gee for god; big bee for byron|__
Strikes a chord with you, does it?
This shambling poverty of thought,
Insta-rated and underwhelming;
Thank god for Byron.
__|keats versus shelley|__
Sparing no injury to his phthisicky frame,
Keats lies atop a make-believe of cherry trees
Searching among the clouds
For wealth, health and a Grecian urn,
While Shelley does Venice
And blows himself a hookah.
__|o poesy! for thee I grasp my pen|__
Panning the wayward sky for inspiration,
A hope, a word, a beginning;
A versification so ecstatic as to transfix the senses and pierce the heart,
A lightning phrase capable of uprooting all commonality,
As outrageous a miracle in the minds of men as crucified immortality.
__|requiem|__
Unlike the wilting rose which has no higher calling
Than to bloom and die upon the stem,
And having relinquished its last perfumed petal
Retreat from memory again,
I fear that I shall linger,
Tethered to this eternal moment
By shudd’ring will and breath combined,
A brighter shade of myself than what of me I have left behind.
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 4:21 PM UTC
*This dream is a sloppy forest
and you are the bird
who broods in a labyrinth of trees.
Time revolts,
the cage of sleep fractures
with the flutters of my eyelids.
I feel mortified
for uprooting trees one by one
from navels of the earth
only to see you safe at home.
Now the greens lay under my feet
and the sun looks blue
with your screaming feathers
scattered across the sky.*
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 1:13 PM UTC
The mountains are silent
serene
solid in their poise.
Birds laugh in the branches
over those living each day
spirits borrowed
at the prelude to all creation.
Take heart,
love will hold us together
uprooting discontent from the soil of our dreams,
a diligent gardener
devoted to maintaining all
which is beautiful,
all that is ugly
yet magnificent.
And
We with tangled souls
are deemed the unlucky ones,
who've arrived at the revelation
of our own insignifcance
in the greater scheme.
This unknown plan
(This is but the beggining)
(a cosmic comedy).
In the afterbirth of your re-emergence
You are cleansed and pure
but this is not the cause
of this unending cycle.
Hope exists inside you
a lighthouse of levity
no force can deconstruct.
It is part of your humanity,
much in the same way
you are a part of me
and
I
You.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 9:46 AM UTC
Sun of love is shining
Blinding the face of hate
Uprooting evil trees
Planting rainbows in the sky
It's time to worship
To adore at the shrine of love
To bury hate in infernal grave.
It takes an orchestra
To make a symphony
It takes efforts to love
When love flows in rivers
Banks of life are flooded with glory
All is covered by and thrilled in beauty.
What compares to thee O Love?
Nothing and nothing
Let your music flows O Love
And'll dance to the Nirvana!
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 1:46 AM UTC
We’re under a vast illusion.
Somewhere along the line we
came under this impression and
somehow we think that
we’ll always have it all together.
Always have all of our
strings wrapped
perfectly around one finger.
That the earth will always
spin the right way.
That the weight of the
metaphorical world won’t tip our
planet’s axis .2 centimeters to the right,
uprooting the ground from
underneath of all of us
suddenly and all at once
the balances shift,
Kristallnacht.
A German word.
It means, simply,
Crystal night.
The night of broken glass.
The night of broken people and
shards of lives.
The night everything fell
apart, suddenly and
all at once
the scales re-arranged themselves,
Kristallnacht.
Mid-way into a thousand year
reign of 12 years.
The end of the beginning and the
beginning of the end.
The definition of destruction and the
physical representation of a
bubbling and spontaneous
hatred.
You see, we’re under a vast illusion.
We think that the world will
always look this way,
That we’ll always be
young forever.
You see, she used to run through
meadows, picking
wildflowers and daisies,
blowing dandelions and making
carefree wishes.
Running barefoot,
arms splayed out,
heart all akimbo through
fields of forget-me-nots,
singing about how he loves her,
loves her not.
Not a care in the world.
Then the riots started and
she couldn’t explain why
the meadow she used to
run in was suddenly full of
stones with names tattooed on the
front with a date.
Overnight, the balances
shifted and that 6 year old
girl seemed to age 10 years.
She saw it all.
Beautiful faces, beautiful minds.
She saw the world fall apart like
fluttering hearts and
butterfly wings at midnight.
People coming back together
in a huddle of broken
promises and forgotten hallelujahs.
A 1000 year reign cut short.
She saw the end of the
world as she knew it.
Saw the careless hatred
decimate her carefree meadow
of daisies.
She began to sing a new song.
Picked a handful of
forget-me-nots and
chose to love
like she did
before the night the world ended.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 4:59 PM UTC
We are Mother Earth
We are the soil into which
ideas grow their roots
These dendritic webs of words reach for nutritious extrapolations,
anchored answers that ground, keeping the rain from washing them away and the wind from uprooting them from the dirt.
They sprout out of us
as we nurture them
until they blossom
into another.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
Of terrible storms that broke through the town
Strangling, uprooting trees, slicing away
Homes, a gurgling pulsating fury of air and rain
That lasted four days. Unremitting,
It brought huge waves in its wake
From the tormented sea. All along the assaulted
Coast people choked and drowned,
Their corpses tipped
Onto beaches huddled between ravaged furniture
And drying plastic shopping bags,
Swollen limbs nibbled at by fish and *****
And scattered throughout the streets
Picked at by dogs,
A feast that set them up
For the coming cold weather. Fleeing birds
Squalling overhead in clamorous flocks, plucked
From the sky and shattered on rocks;
The cats had a field day until
Becoming engulfed too in marauding waves
Deluging the land. Foxes screamed from the hopeless
Shelter of water saturated dens;
Only jagged ruins remained,
Futile gestures to a once-only god.
Towns inland were wrecked by the hurricane bursts
And all fell silent as the storm
Fled like a Viking raider back into the sea, dragging its
Spoils.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 5:31 AM UTC
I pour myself out
becoming a water to drench this land
and the fields beyond.
My words dig--
tilling the soil, the moments,
uprooting what threatens the growth,
bestowing the change
to the fields beyond.
Autumn will tinge the world
I once viewed as green and new.
But as the green grows
in a familiarity tainted by ennui,
we hold our breath against the cold
promise of harvest
and wish to grow, as well.
October is for waiting.
As a foreigner transplanted in this flatland,
I ponder any small, crucial detail
I've forgotten
and wait for our joy
to grow
gold.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
The sun beams down lighting up my face and warming my skin
Coaxing my eyes shut to leave the physical world
Letting the natural world fill my veins
The wild wind refreshes my lungs
Replenishing my whole inner being
My mind goes to a wonderful place to take a break from the ever crazy reality
My body begins to weigh down sinking into earths comforting ground
Natures lullaby soothes me to drift off into unconsciousness
The land of dreams and wonderful things, hopefully
With nature surrounding me and cloaking me in divine bliss
Only allowing the subconscious to bring to life beautiful scenes
Flowered trees, fields of green, skies painted picture perfect blue, the air smells and tastes of honeydew, birds sing along to natures tune, the rivers move to the beat of Mother Nature’s heart
A natural awakening brings back my soul from its deep sleep
Slowly uprooting my body from Mother Natures’ loving grasp
She infused me with her energy to help me through the unnatural world we live in
I can't wait for the sun to coax me again to close my eyes and appreciate her beautiful essence once more
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 12:54 AM UTC
I'm sitting in the library before school,
talking and laughing like any other day
when you reach over and pick up
a book on overcoming anorexia.
You hold the nonthreatening orange-and-purple cover in your hands
that I once thought were gentle
and scoff, saying, "People with anorexia are so stupid."
Our friends sitting around us agree
and laugh and joke about it
while I sit in mute horror and suppressed panic
and dig my fingernails into my skin
until someone asks
why I'm not laughing.
Why am I not laughing?
I am not laughing at the disease
that consumed my life for nearly a year,
that ripped and clawed its way into my mind
and through my veins
like an addiction,
like a freight train gone off the tracks,
out of control and spinning
and uprooting everything crucial and meaningful
and burying it it flames,
turning it to ashes.
I am not laughing
at the nights I spent crying
and hating myself
while I felt the lining of my stomach
try to consume itself
in a poor replacement of the
sustenance I was denying myself
while I again dug my fingernails into my skin,
pins holding a dead butterfly
to its morbid display.
I am not laughing
at the thoughts that constantly filled my head
of death and disaster and pain
of wishing them upon myself
of making them happen
of letting myself shrink
and shed the space
that I believed I did not deserve to occupy.
I am not laughing at the thoughts
that after two years still plague me-
is my stomach sticking out?
do you really deserve breakfast?
your thighs are too big
your hips too wide
I count fewer ribs each day
you are fat
fatfatfatfatfatfat
worthless fat useless fat pathetic fat
you deserve to die
fat.
I am not laughing
at my choice
of slow suicide
that I made the
agonizing choice
to save myself from.
I am not laughing
at the book that I myself read
at every torturous bite of food I took
at every painful step of recovery.
I am not laughing
because I will not take away
every moment I felt strong for not relapsing,
every prayer I pled
every tear I shed,
every time I decided that I did not want to die
anymore.
I am not laughing.
I am leaving.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
hearts unhinge
shutter, shattered
words swiftly bitter
twisted, uprooting love
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 9:16 PM UTC
Been a while sorry I am behind on reads,
overly buzzed busier reading these;
~Hearts Of All~~
*I Try Might...
With much mightly...*
In My Own
Sorting of
Trance!!!
Dancing In LOVE's
Joyly Fun Seeking
Thine Rightfully
Divined Kiss's
Thine Divine
All Willing
Alrighty
Got
\/
.
.
And
Out of
*Ode Baseless
Fearful Trances
Hypnotic Spell's*
Broken Freed
~Of IT ALL~
Abusively
Already
Leave's
If You
Let It
Be!!
\/
S
o
.
.
\/
.
.
.
This is my remedy need too;
~~Solutions Want Need Of Their Remedies As Much,
As A True Remedy Wants Their Need Of Solutions.~~
More Right Better
Than needing selfishly sought wants any day,
Who How!!!
~One by for one by two of each others just for starters.~
~~Love seeks need always as need is calling of Love too truly!!!~~
Is this not then for each others better of the seeding,
growing than shoving else of each other's else's
~Thine Divine Bliss's off!!!~~
Uprooting and or smothering one way or any other!!
Overly too close to call home to or,
From when more too eerily at all!!!
Nice though so well thee,
WRITE OF ALL!!!
Very Touching Real Deep!!
So well you All Do Speak!!
Now too I am remembering as much as Eye
Try ever to believe how ever tender forgiving,
And understanding can be, be endlessly!!!!!
*It's offensive defensive covering,
Of self hate to hard to conceive,*
That can will to go on in such like ways,
Death walking till blood stops pumping,
~Does not sound like the plan,
That We Inwardly Receive!!~~
*Too many lies from to many partners,
In preference-ing of ganging together,
In our latest smash successes so oft,
Momentary and addictive pleasures.
So shallow freaky speaky creepy as,
Much is dead just above ground!!!*
Oooh ouch!!!
Please!!!
~SELF,
OTHER~~
~FORGIVENESS
BREATHE ~~
\ /
<3<3<3
#&#
:):)
!!!
!!
!
.
.
.
Ty ALL,
\ /
.
.
L
O
V
E
.
.
R
\/
.
.
~Sa Sa~
~Ra~
:):)
:)
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 8:01 PM UTC
You were never the kind
Of person
Who could
Get comfortable, who could settle down.
I felt the uprooting.
You set fire to this house
You let the smoke rise,
Before you warned me of danger.
Only when you were safe,
Could I be warned.
By then it was too late.
I had already suffocated.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
Breaking waves, folding in river bends (meandering)
with an effortless grace
Cupids mouth, foaming to return -
broken and filling up the landscape.
Cracked horseshoes
waltzing across a vibrating brain,
all the worlds night
quartz, cutting drunk into
your Green city.
Banishing a sense of self
uprooting positivity, displacing our discontempt -
boil out the water from the soup of human condition.
Boredoms grace.
We're rotting, lizards tongues
wearing the past, skin deep
Imbued.
a morbid relocation of entrance
authority, a fee
Reflecting light off your face
always leading back,
back towards a tabletop nausea.
Caked in powder,
i make my way over -
licking my finger and rubbing away
at the cracks formed years ago
wandering in and out of Escher's wet dream,
hoping to settle mind and body
numbed and lethargic,
medicine doesn't help.
An open patio door,
grooming in the whisped brown dawn -
7.34am
God's rags, crisp
displacing particles against the mountain lip
red light brewing in the observers mind.
Cubes of water
pushing through into tomorrows wake
all unwrapping like 1,000 words
diluted into one second.
I'm tired
appetite gone
graven, knowledge of the inside of my mouth
encyclopedic and (almost) boring.
It's closed again
at the crux of abandon,
the skies youthful,
built from wood, holding up the trees.
Excess - child's play for Atlas.
Rogue, electric Blue.
Mollusc in hand
living, lipless
just outside the geopolitical borders
heading back towards maturity.
Nihil,
projects objectivity, sycamore due, borders
as happiness combed our soft necks.
A situation is only what you make of it,
we're all in on this
living together in leaves -
by roadsides
making homes where we sleep.
The sky is on fire
exploding into fruition
as hot chlorine licks against unwashed belly buttons and hair
going blind and stripping back
it breaks you.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC