"uptake" poems
the rain sifts through my attempts
to grasp it with mere hands:
one cannot understand
without going through its constant
shift and change of faces.
As to another, one learns
to ask the right questions,
naturally, at the opportune time.
Like in all things
Every conversation
Which pass through us
Were never truly there.
Those that do stay are bereft
of meaning.
What remains often
is the damp, moistness
of the late -ber month showers:
regret, loss, a tactless remark.
They share the same fate in all
of this, the slow, uptake for words:
closure, a second chance, a bad joke
like the heavy traffic we always have
to endure - a cartload heavy
-laden with stockpiled souvenirs
with no particular use except
for reminiscing, a flickering hope
for the last bus ride home.
One day, you will
miss all of this.
And the only thing
that is left to endure,
is memory.
14 October 2017
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 6:00 AM UTC
Grinding....
Leaving it silenced, drawn and quartered
Clawing for the scraps left over
Predicament I found myself in
Or, towards the end of it
Slipping from the edges
Forager focused on finding any way back home
Sidetracked by some apparition left crying
Alone, in the corner
Grinding...
Paused, with rain drops weighted, heavy sense in the air
I can feel my lips turning blue and
Twitching
It's more literal than I would dare dream in a waking nightmare
The smell of every molecule tantamount to another realm
Hangs motionless in the air
The stone transposed becomes a rooftop asylum, overlooking such uncouth misanthropic parcels, self absorbed in this grotesque imagery, a veritable wall of self hate puzzle pieces
Grinding...
Low, on an almost ominous note, still grows colder in my ears
Blowing on winds filled with the spite and righteous
Anti holy
Fully rupturing sound of far off laughter of the
New root
My lips still moving
No sound produced
And my mind
Grinding...
I still pray to god for you
Beset on all sides by the same wickedness
Still afflicted by myself
Argue for arguments sake
****** up on the uptake
I thought that you might want it
I guess I forgot all the subtle ways
The fires spring to life at night
Arguably the wrong choice is
Looking at him
I try not to
Catch that glimpse in his eye
Already my mind races
And my bones are shivering
At the thought alone
Brickwork backing
Still swells maggots
And filing paperwork
For entrapment habits
Grinding
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
In purple checked dresses we are confronted
Behind a piano sits ‘Miss Creak’ head of house
She has one bad eye, unfixable from childhood
But plays beautifully perched on an oakwood
And fabric stool. This is our secondary school.
On the wall above the piano is a framed print
‘Madonna of the Meadows’ by the artist Bellini
I pushed a drawing of a couple intertwining
Under ‘her’ door knowing she never would have
But a boy may have felt affection for ‘that’ affliction.
Here we all ate meals, did fashion shows and sang
I was glad my dress was purple not orange or red
Went better with my blue eyes and blonde hair
The rest of the school diveded into coloured checks
To represent Shakespearean female characters.
Just opened in Wandsworth a new comprehensive
Serving all abilities, behaviours and nationalities
Cordelia, Beatrice, Juliet, Katharine,
Portia, Rosalind, Olivia, Viola a rather unsuitable
Vision for such an uptake of adolescent froth.
Miss Creak was, kindly, I wish I had always been.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 10:59 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, what I wrote before comes back with a lot in store:>?
drowned in the traps of the atlantic
drawn scars so deep so dark so pathetic
dried the river made the wounds stitched them fast
why is this the billionth time that I've sworn the last?
shut my heart and silenced the beats erasing the bullet's shot
for the mind to mock me with a twist of the plot
like a sweet candy
brought the purples out of the fancy
the recurring reoccurs
the sixth written on a stone of hers
risk the whole day on one wish
slowing your life is a crime of selfish
its like I'm begging the tick of the night
with the devil a reunite
for the love for the sake
no space left much in me to uptake
for the love for the sake
I plead an another no matter the hurt it makes
drum roll before
I give up and close that door
because that would be the day
I **** the only thing that makes me stay
these illusions trapped on the pillow
are not for the living alone future to burrow
-----ravenfeels
Jul 29, 2021
Jul 29, 2021 at 1:18 PM UTC
The drugs need me only
slightly less than
i, them.
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 2:26 AM UTC
I obsess compulsively
in and out of continual focus
absorbing without effects
selective serotonin re-uptake
inhibitors, wearing out a path in my floor
as i go back and forth to the bathroom,
again again again
staring at a caricature of me
fixated on this one unruly hair
perpetually sticking up,
neither Brylcreem nor plucking can tame
all this irrational behavior.
I know all these years i have devoted are
in some psychotic haze.
I am bald.
But I still have
eyebrows.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
There's something brutally honest about
A dog in heat ******* your leg.
I'd like to explore this theme with you,
But I can't right now.
I just got home from my
Nightly walk inside the gates
Of my over-55 lunatic asylum,
And I gotta get this down on paper,
VERBATIM.
I'm wearing sandals tonight, unlike
This morning's power walk in Skechers.
I'm strolling around the turn
At the corner of Don January & Lee Trevino,
And look clearly into a curtain-less,
Shade-free living room. BAM!
Poleaxed, gobsmacked, am I.
She's sitting in a Barcalounger,
Spotlighted by a pole lamp.
Naked, her legs spread &
********* herself.
Stunned dead in my tracks, am I.
By this time she's standing in her
Open doorway, calling to me:
"Hello Dere!"
She is a silver-haired sireen,
A granny Marty Allen.
"Take me," she demands.
Sometimes I'm a little slow on the uptake,
But there was no mistaking that invitation.
"Wait right here," I say.
"I want to go home, shower &
Brush my teeth."
"No , you idiot," she answers.
*"Take me now."
"I want to be ravished by a brute,
***** by a savage,
A mountain man from Boulder."*
I assume she means Boulder, Colorado.
Now, I can't promise that this is a
Daily occurrence at Del Webb Alegria,
"For Active Adults"
But it happened to me.
Walking home I see a crowd.
Some neighbors admiring the
Asian couple's landscaping prowess.
For weeks they've been pulling off a
Green grass to drought-tolerant
Xeriscape switcheroo.
"Bravo!" I yell. "Nicely done!"
Finally, I am home.
Exhausted, I flop down in
My over-stuffed leather armchair.
Pen in hand. Notebook open.
From across the room,
My dog sidles over
A glazed look in his eyes.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 12:11 AM UTC
I'm the reclusive wreck-loose
Who's about to let loose
And instigate and substantiate the fact that society's narrow mindedness is there for us to instantiate that we ourselves have to promote understanding and antiquate hate
Accidents happened and mistakes were made
They take a sardonic look at the schematics of a systematic syncopated symmetry
They say we dare not deviate from the Fibonacci Sequence
But to matriculate
And be quick on the uptake
Then add ourselves to the division of labour
I make empirical claims to disarm ephemeral things
Fashion
Technology
Music
Life as a whole
But then I'm the *******
They salt the songbird's tail
Clipping the properties of personality
"Bide your time so you don't do anything foolish and bite your tongue so you don't say anything you may regret"
But this is this part of the cocoon effect
Waiting to see all the failed racists
After this metaphysical metamorphosis
So modern
So contemporary
It's classic
Soon to be ancient
The adages and aesthetic aphrodisiacs
'Who do you want to be when you grow up?"
"What do you want to be when you grow up"
"I want to be civilization as you know it..or as you like it"
Peradam- Something that shows itself to those who truly seek it.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 12:33 AM UTC
All language needs to be learned
to communicate
what truth lives in your heart
A new born baby is quick on the uptake
having meditated on your world
for up to the nine months previous
How do I express the need to know
with all those competing personal agendas
held in silence, and unleashed from lips.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC
where it seemed like i’d pick a
flower for every
worry
every anxiety
every flaw i saw
but didnt have.
The few succulents
would
soothe my nine and a half year old
mind.
the cool wind
that would uptake
my body when i was
flying
in the local park swings.
i swore i was soaring.
i’d close my eyes
and if i could just lean
to touch the blossoming tree over the gate
and at least pull a little flower bud off-
id look like a real angel.
tudor park,
where id run
sweat beading all over,
stopping at moments
panting like a big dog to cool off and then
I’d start all over again.
forgetting about how sick i felt
forgetting the big news i heard
about my mom
forgetting i’d have to be a
big sister for the third time.
just running.
not thinking.
getting lost at times
and being fully content with it.
i want to go back to these days
at tudor park
tudor park,
when my dad was done
playing basketball
i remember,
he’d asked me what i’d been doing
by the bed of flowers
I’d stay silent,
gathering a flower out of the soil
one by one
and he’d say i’d turn out to be just
like my mother.
I have her eyes.
He didnt know how right he was.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 8:49 PM UTC
Spit it out. Let it go. I am screaming, pleading, wishing the words would come. Yet they don’t. The page sits empty. Blaring white into my eyes as if to say “you’re not creative.” I want to say I am creative. I am supposed to be creative. However, when I thought I was creative it was chemically induced. So where the chemicals creative? I think about those old mixes of Carbon, Hydrogen, Nitrogen, Chlorine, and Oxygen.
C16H13ClN2O was my writing partner and my best friend. We went through so much together, though I’ll admit I was a bit clingy. These chemicals blended like warm water through my veins. Like a cool breeze on a spring day. My chest fills with Helium and I could float away. Milligrams pass through time; the words just fell onto the paper. The letters rained down with tears and blood until the sun was rising and I was no more found than before. The venting was relentless and filled no more voids than it created. The rhymes were so easy, the stanzas formed into beautiful verses of a lost soul with too much weight of the world crashing down. I wasn’t spiting it out, I was throwing it up.
C17H13ClN4 was the voice I never had. It was the confidence to tell anyone to **** off, and that meant everyone. When this chemical melody was carried throughout my bloodstream. The only creative thing it brought out of me was my creative ways of finding food in an empty kitchen. This re-uptake inhibitor was just the pill to get me through the day in a world that I hated. It was the personification of my hate. I literally was spitting my words into the universe. No paper could withstand.
C11H15NO2 was the lover you wanted to cook you breakfast, but ***** on you instead. And C18H21NO4 was the catalyst to the end. All these blends changed my mind in many different ways. At times they made me feel like an author, at other times they made me feel worthless.
Years later now and the sober me enjoys the absences of these chemicals for I like the natural mix that is me. Though, I do crave the words. I lust for the flow. Creativity is a luxury of the depressed. Because now that my life is happy and settled I can’t find anything prolific to say. I have much to say but no way to spit it out.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC
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Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
There heated up
The sight,
A pit lures, drags, with thoughts
beautifully by elegance perverted,
The rain my own furnace,
That I make it do of it itself,
That I make it be then of myself.
I choose to dance without body
Yet to make steps in dark in negation,
Observation, a true rascal-ification,
In other words: notes of silence resounding.
Moment the floor,
Heartbeats for the feet.
Air-tight bubbles for the breath.
Minstrel of Utopias I’ll become,
Standing as Ellipsis I’ll be intact,
And I’ll see as the end shall come
Through tears burning from
Nothingness of clouds.
I choose to gleam in
Eyes of half-liddance
And what is done of their feverish?
Sweat’s going out from the fascinating,
The chest is being opened to feel
how hot is the cardiac muscle
And love is made to its battles,
In the dark of the Day,
As you wish,
Or in the lightness of the Night.
You don’t tell reason, the right,
There is sound in feather’s flight
Aug 7, 2020
Aug 7, 2020 at 12:16 PM UTC
I need a ***** and coke,I need to chill have a smoke and relax
it's Saturday and Friday has drifted away in a toxic black cloud,
I'm allowed to get drunk now,oh how I have worked like a dog,like a cog going round I've been ground into dirt,there's sweat on my brow,on my lips and my shirt and I've had my fill of employment this week.
So now I shall seek out the wisdom of spirits that pour into me as I sit comfortably on the edge of the bed,and when my head starts to smoke,I'll have another ***** and coke and light another cigar.
So far,so good,touch paper,cut wood and as you can see,the spirits I'm drinking have affected me.
I don't care,I'm not wearing my heart on my sleeve,what heart? that departed a long time ago,leaving me slow on the uptake unless it's to partake in one for the road,one before sleep,one which will keep me comatose, in deep counting sheep,
Oh christ dear brother pour me another and smother me with one more,just one double that I could adore,it's no good,knock on wood I am pissed,I think that I missed my calling,how galling when I think that I'm falling I'm not,it's who I am and what I've got and what I've got is one more tot with one more spot of coke.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC
I thought I was.
Sure, the separated interactions remain.
Merely a work in progress.
Outside my own actions remain quiet
Courteous.
No more feelings of nonexistence.
Stepped outside of the fence
Prematurely erected out of anxiety.
Nevertheless my steps are as careful
As they have ever been.
Regardless of what strides made
My face carries the same expression.
My eyes carry on intently at a distance.
The end of the day sees
The Same. Rhythmic. Insanity.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 1:49 PM UTC
On the hinge of the pin, of reality,trapped
neither out and not in
and the safety is off.
The jumping off point is stuck in my craw,there's no parachute here and what's abundantly clear is,the balancing act is next on the stage,I can gauge a reaction in the reduction of sound where the audience waits and I wish that the ground would open and swallow me whole,like some Jonah, in the gnashing of teeth and the rushing of air,I'm all at sea and wish I wasn't there.
Then I leap
everything's fast,cast away from the pin and the point is I'm in and I stay,
there is a day and it comes when the hourglass,once full of sand runs clear,the day we walk to the end of all contemplation,
the day reality shifts and life's constant abrasions are at last sanded flat and
the day when the rag and bone men come home,only then do I know,how the action of balancing,balanced me,invariably I get lost in these words which I write and the pen seemed so stable,like the pin when the safety is off I'm unable to close or to hold,be brave or be bold and I'm told,
'spit it all out,invective directed and those I suspected were laughing at me and the struggle I'm in are pinned on the wall'
If I fall they go with me,
we all drown as one or we all live to go on.
This battle I'm in on the hinge of the pin is a theme that has run through the slow of my life,quick enough on the uptake but the break if it came,broke away and the game played anew is game two on the show, where the contestants don't know how to play,any day now when the rules become the why and the how that we live,I'll give notice,an intention to quit,
but until then
I shall sit,
balancing,acting a measure while life takes some bit of leisure time out.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
All my friend's lost the faith as rivers of untapped
Ichor potential drain from what could be
Still in a bad way, but learning to cope with
The constant pressure that's building behind my eyes
We lived for a pipe dream
But it seems fate had us occupied
Everything that life did entail
And predestination
With every other missed intro
And work that falls by my wayside
Finite we fight for empty tales
No longer a fail safe
Bloviating on and on about how it used to be
Ignoring the misery that plagues us to the day
With iron in hand, a blood spattered mistery
I eye up the crime scene of all of your dashed dreams
But tomorrow
We'll still wake up
And somewhere on the uptake, I'm sure you'll find the way
Into the path
I chose to take
You'll see I never gave up on what you threw away
There's no such thing as second takes, the reel got thrown away
Stop searching in the shadow, for a risk you'll never take
As time winds up around you, and brings you from your state
Why fight the intuition
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 1:28 AM UTC
WHAT the heck is going on with you, not able to make use of yourself of others, just totally hollow, you are off your rocker, not even knowing what to do with YOURSELF, that's foolish!
So? What do you want to do now? To get angry with yourself, to swallow down, to kick into the air, the usual stuff?
Somehow despicable, don't you think? Ridiculous, by no means at all as you want to be, right?
You know what? Its up to YOU!
Exactly.... a bit slow on the uptake?
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
Time’s up, end of the road
Nowhere to turn, carrying a heavy load
Burden to bear, no returns
Beginning of the end, nothing to learn
Uphill struggle, Downhill all the way
Taking a stance, having your say
Moving heaven and earth, not budging at all
Taking a break, having a ball
Onwards and upwards, down to the wire
Less is more, playing with fire
Dilly dallying, dog’s dinner
All washed up, everyone’s a winner
Chancing your arm, hair on your chest
Not giving a hoot, being the best
Out in the cold, hot on his tail
Do not disturb, it’s in the mail
The final countdown, the top of the heap
Down the garden path, following like sheep
Journey’s end, tomorrow’s another day
Time waits for no man, living for today
Johnny come lately, larger than life
Slow on the uptake, trouble and strife
From the get-go, the cold light of day
In the lap of the gods, nothing to say
A window of opportunity, an also-ran
Flying high, topping up my tan
Guest of honour, tickets at the door
Taking a dip, ship to shore
Losing the will, taking the ****
Giving evidence, class dismissed
No confidence vote, majority rules
Something out of nothing, only fools
By the skin of your teeth, not a hair out of place
Wind swept, not in the race
The devil you do, wrong end of the stick
Missing the point, in the thick of it
Going nowhere, driving me mad
This way out, both good and bad
All washed up, rocky road to ruin
Rites of passage, something is brewing
Lest we forget, taking a break
Clear as mud, for goodness sake
Testing times, more than your fair share
Top of the ladder, the rightful heir.
Master of your destiny, captain of your ship,
At the helm, Shooting from the hip
Hell on earth, best of a bad bunch
Back in a while, out to lunch
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 5:53 PM UTC
She opened the prayer rug
During one of those ragged nights
Where everything was in order
And universe was breathing at normal pace!
The quickeness of her pulse rate
Soon after the depth of night uptake
She hurringly closed her swollen eyes
And her heart was not in her hands anymore!!
This stigma of bewilderness, heapness of bundle of grieves
Its not so easy, to handle all these
When u are so downtrodden and weary oh deep
Wish those hands you could see, and every night darkness dnt freak!
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 3:36 PM UTC
Stupid, awful tears
Won't stop threatening to fall.
Out of fear that either I ****** up
Or I'm just not being quick enough on the uptake.
Not like that ******* matters.
There's this weird feeling of being
Disappointed with myself.
I should have quarantined myself
For the day
No food
No sleep
Leaves me sad and angry,
Touchy and easily upset.
I want to sleep
So maybe I can dream of you instead of
Experiencing the cold that is in my bones.
But I love you,
And I'm sorry
Because my eye lids feel like lead
And I miss you.
You asked what you're going to do with me,
I said keep me around,
You jokingly said "I don't know..." I think.
But my heart suddenly panicked,
Please don't take it back. Don't put me back.
And I'm not doubting you, but boy, do I doubt me.
**** sleeping tonight,
I'm going to sleep now.
I hope you're sleeping well,
And know that I love you and I'm sorry.
I know you'll tell me not to apologize,
But I have to because I want to be in your arms rather than shivering on this couch.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 3:43 PM UTC
You will only stay down deep in that hole
If you fail to take steps to get out.
The pain that is pressing down on your heart
Can be lighter as you play your part.
Determine that others can't hurt you
And move to make a new start.
See rainbows, not clouds, and dance in the sun,
And soon you will see you have won!
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 11:11 AM UTC
But look where the ocean meets the skyline,
And we're not so different,
Because as long as we're under the same sky,
I think we'll be okay.
Take up the orange-red of the sunset,
And soak in the sun drenched yellow
That makes up the sidewalks I used to wait around on,
And the colors of a sea and sky I've never known,
And together,
Almost overwhelmingly so,
It'll make something beyond compare.
I have been told bravery has nothing to do with
A lack of fear.
Bravery is being afraid,
Acknowledging the potential for danger,
And going in headlong anyway.
So I guess it makes me brave,
Getting back up,
Moving forward,
And holding your hand.
Do not rely on patterns,
Or mathematical probability,
Or scientific fact.
Patterns **** up.
Mathematical probability can be miscalculated,
And scientific fact can be proven wrong,
Upon another finding.
I close my eyes and I see storms rolling in,
And ignore the smell of rain on the wind,
Because I could be struck by lightening a thousand times,
And I'd still rather that than
Losing
You.
And suddenly there's a song in the background
(Thanks, autoplay.)
That makes me realize
(Ever so slowly, as my fingers slow in pace on the keyboard)
This isn't just my being lucky enough
To have you.
A life without you
Seems a lot less vibrant
As I struggle to picture
The juxtaposition
Of a life by your side
And a life without.
And maybe the fear
Of becoming yours
And becoming attached
Is more like my fear of heights
Than my fear of the dark.
It isn't heights I'm afraid of.
It's falling from them.
I'm not afraid of being part of your life,
Of living a life with you by my side,
I'm frightened by a life without you there.
I'm a whole person,
Don't get me wrong.
But there's a part of me
That's easier to show to you
Than for me to see,
And I like who I am
With you,
Better than the person I am
Without you.
I am a better me,
Because of my Bluebird.
I know I'm a little disjointed,
A little matter-of-fact,
Not too swift on the uptake.
Part of it could be repressing the good parts of life for so long,
The other part could be being blind to them,
For so very long.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 3:17 PM UTC
It's come to my attention
That the **** has hit the fan.
I should've seen it coming
When everyone else ran.
Now I'm in the thick of it,
This mess that isn't mine.
I'm so slow on the uptake,
It happens every time.
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 5:04 AM UTC