"wavers" poems
Hope surges upward from your core and to the heart. It warms your blood as your heart crushes into itself twice every second and unbelievably, your mind starts to think of a million and one possibilities. Your hand tingles and finally, after what seemed like eons, you think you are feeling hope again. You start suppressing it out of reflex- an unconscious, uncontrollable action. You push it down, right back to the void it came from but its too late and your lips are curving upwards into a gentle smile. You anticipate euphoria -almost can feel it at the top of your fingertips and you finally let yourself believe and hope.
It comes crashing down without warning. For a second, you still smile because your mind could not process the disappointment yet. Then - hurt, sadness, shock - flits through your mind. You still hold on to your hope like a child who refuses to let go of candy. Your smile wavers. But just like grabbing onto handfuls of sand, hope will fall out through your tightly clasped fingers. You realised that your hold on hope is no longer and instead, it is replaced by cold, unforgiving reality.
Like an icy slap to your face, like an unexpected kick to the stomach, like a bite from a dog you have always love- that is how disappointment feels like.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
She is a warm gentle sunflower, whose roots have dug deep, whose stem never wavers.
She looks up to the sun, admiring the bright glorious rays shining down upon her
She feels freedom blowing through her like the wind and feels life pour into her like the rain.
She marvels at the brilliance of the sunset and admires the warm glow it brings to the world.
But silently she cries in the night, for what would she have without the sunlight?
Then she simply looks up to the gleaming luminousness of the stars, and knows she's not alone.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 9:46 PM UTC
Teresa climbs on the bus
before the sun, if she has
the fare
to get there, where she
makes the bread; she's been at this
two of her nineteen years
yet she has fears, they will
come for her--green card or not;
though they like her rolls
she kneads the big ***** pulls,
pinches, a sculpting of dough, a laying
of trays, one after another
then, from the Iglesias,
they come, decked in their finery
though she does not see
she only hears the litany
of language she can't comprehend,
a clanging of trays, laughter
the urging of the jefe to work
faster, bake the bread; the communion
wafers did not fill them
now they are here, breaking fast,
forgetting the words they just heard
the songs they sang
Teresa does not complain; she
is glad to feed the worshipers, though
they will never know her name
nor will they stop for
her in the pouring rain,
the blistering sun
Teresa never wavers
next Sabbath will be the same:
dawn, the dough, the oven
it is the work--her hands
which make the bread others break,
the grace granted to serve
holy, holy, holy...
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 8:49 PM UTC
Between going and staying the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.
All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can't be touched.
Paper, book, pencil, glass,
rest in the shade of their names.
Time throbbing in my temples repeats
the same unchanging syllable of blood.
The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.
I find myself in the middle of an eye,
watching myself in its blank stare.
The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause.
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Sweating on my mat, I curse!
As the light dimly flickers
Off and on it wavers
Like a torch amidst a storm.
For the ten thousandth time I wonder
What is wrong with mother?
My aggrieved home and country
Her pain is mine to bear.
She has many a tale to tell
Troubled much from deep her belly
Wonder how much she can endure
Till body and soul give in.
She was blessed by the heavens
Much to the envy of all
Yet! Alas, she mourns
And weeps in pain untold.
Time and again she follows
Sheepishly trusting her shepherds
She has had a quite a number
With tongues unknown and known
Her plight is not their vision
As she inevitably learns
Her wool and meat and milk
Are all they dare to care.
She breeds enough to share
And feed her dying lambs
But much is lost to thieves
Who lurk in shadows of shepherds.
Destined for royalty she was
But penury has robbed her glory
Awake! Oh mother Nigeria!
And reclaim your lost birthright.
© Raphael Uzor
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
But, when you keep saying "I'm stronger than this"
and your voice wavers
and tears
threaten
it is very hard to believe
that
you are stronger
than anything.
Because when you look up
at a great big mountain
and its peak kisses god's lips
but you can't even
mumble his name.
When you look at an ocean
and see
how it's waves keep reaching
the sand
and you can't even reach out.
When you see a bird
find the way back to
it's hidden nest,
but some days
you can't even
find your way back
to
yourself
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 12:52 AM UTC
Marching, Marching on.
That Broken Soldier
Unfix-able, Never to be intact again.
After to many years of fighting.
And yet still fighting,
That Broken Soldier.
Fighting the never ending fight.
Slowly falling, still, ever fighting.
But he is crumbling,
That Broken Soldier.
Falling apart by the day.
Left in an eternity of frailness.
Becoming less human everyday,
That Broken Soldier.
Solemnly stewing on his personal madness.
But that Soldier fights on.
Still fighting,
That Broken Soldier.
Fighting the never ending fight.
Slowly falling, still, ever fighting.
But his will wavers,
That Broken Soldier.
Is the fight worth fighting?
Worth the deathly blows thrown every day.
Soon none will be left,
of That Broken Soldier.
Soon the fight will be done.
Soon the last hurrah will sound.
The last Hurrah,
from That Broken Soldier.
Giving up the fight.
While letting go, his life.
For his life,
That Broken Solder,
Is his fight.
His fight soon lost.
But still fighting,
That Broken Soldier.
Fighting the ending fight.
Slowly falling, still, Not Ever Fighting.
Not Ever Fighting,
That Broken Soldier.
Not ever more.
The Fight is lost.
Lost is The Broken Soldier
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 9:20 AM UTC
Between going and staying the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.
All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can't be touched.
Paper, book, pencil, glass,
rest in the shade of their names.
Time throbbing in my temples repeats
the same unchanging syllable of blood.
The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.
I find myself in the middle of an eye,
watching myself in its blank stare.
The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause.
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mind stands solemnly in the middle,
with logic and emotion on either side
like devoted sentinels guarding a queen.
"don't think about it,"
emotion says, batting her long lashes.
"just do what feels right
and follow your heart."
"but sometimes,"
logic interjects with his sharp eyebrow cocked,
"what feels right will
hurt us in the long run."
"do you want to try, and know, and fail?"
emotion asks with suprisingly honest conviction.
"or do you want to spend the rest of your
life wondering what could have been?"
"would you rather open your heart,"
logic counters thoughtfully and quickly,
"and have a part of it stolen?
or would you rather protect it all?"
as mind wavers in the middle,
she feels herself rip in two.
half of herself stands upright,
stiffly held under logic's watchful eye.
the other half melts into emotion's warm embrace.
her heart aches and she feels sick.
the idea of following logic's advice
would mean to ignore emotion's advice--
and to follow emotion's advice would
mean ignoring the advice of logic.
she looks back and forth pleadingly.
logic's cadaverous stare seems to tell
mind that only logic will solve this problem.
but emotion smiles softly, and her eyes say
that this way, though it may cause pain,
will be the most rewarding.
"neither choice is the right one,"
mind says finally,
with a little bit of logic and
a little bit of emotion.
"but i must choose now, for soon i will
not be able to make a choice at all.
"then whose advice will you follow?"
emotion questions carefully.
"will you open your heart to love?"
"or will you listen to me and protect
yourself from unnecessary pain?"
logic asks, eyebrow cocked again.
"perhaps you are correct, logic,
and i would do well to seal off my
heart and never let anybody in."
at these words, logic smirks knowingly,
but mind continues anyway.
"as for me, i think i would rather
feel true, burning love and have to
live with the scars than to be
lonely, bitter, angry, and old
and die without ever knowing
how to love myself and somebody else."
emotion does not gloat;
she simply nods softly,
encouraging mind to continue.
"after all, is life not a journey of risks?
how could we ever find peace and
contentment without enduring a
few bad decisions and learning from them?"
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 3:16 AM UTC
a certain morning stiffness
in your joints
you find your face
in the bathroom mirror
and wish you hadn't
the puzzled wisdom
of middle age
wavers from your eyes
deepening wrinkles
of many laughs
many frowns
how many more?
nevermore ?!
the room becomes aflutter
with poesque ravens
the presence of absences
fills the void
your life is on the brink
of deconstructing itself
to the periphery of the universe
a discourse of silence
forever becoming ... becoming ...
what...?
nevermind!
so
you close your eyes
hard
for a minute or two
when you look again
you meet the stare
of a not-so-bad-looking
man in his best years
graying sideburns
receding hairline
20 pounds too many
BUT
a firm decision
to work them off
still a bit sleepy
yet determined
to shave
get dressed
have breakfast
and teach
that wonderful seminar
on 19th century poetry
to eager graduate students
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
Thou tangle the mortality
And seek the mourning of its course,
With an outrageous cloak that falls adrift
To have its custom afloat.
The decorations, thereof flatters this turmoil
That has its doubts and moments,
A longevity beheld upon the chores of the subject,
Never cognizes its everlasting trials,
For those of which handles the elation
Of successive falsification.
I know not of the clumsiness of hymns,
That sighs the mourning of a course,
The chaotic iteration of single pauses
And the faltering of a mere slope.
I know not of the turmoil
That bedecks the frostbitten clavicles,
Onto which no sigh wavers
A petition of no faze and any dome.
I know not of the cloak
That nestles around a haze;
Bringing confusion that betrays every vivid sense.
Let it be the matter, ‘tis a matter of time(!)
Would it morph itself around the mourning mould,
When it dries away with the mud?
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
Merry revellers
cast one glance on me
before your mind wavers
throw me one penny
My eyes are deep in socket
but ears are sharply keen
catch jingles in your pocket
silver's pompous din
Pray not be too aloof
need a lil of your pity
a penny can't buy a roof
can buy a crumb for belly
It wouldn't hurt you much
for one less from too many
merry revellers before you rush
toss my way one penny.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 10:59 AM UTC
Intensity for you wavers not
Your lips pure *******
Love stronger than the drugs
Coursing through my shallow veins
I am searching for a way to repair
That will stop gnawing emptiness
I swear there's no fairness in this world
I am waiting, I only see less and less
Contentment is clearly decreasing
Do not know where it keeps on running to
Am tracking with the tools I have
Navigation here is hard to do
Thoughts and devoted feelings intersect
Wish my mind was a blank slate
Yearn to eject unsavory parts
Pull out of this unhealthy state
I will be addicted to you for life
Inhale the smoke that makes up who you are
Sweet smell of nostalgia and lost intimacy
I face the pain of another scar
Terrible remains will be all that is left
Part of me forever gone and departed
Human weakness flows through my blood
You are a drug I wish I had never started
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC
Thin are the night-skirts left behind
By daybreak hours that onward creep,
And thin, alas! the shred of sleep
That wavers with the spirit’s wind:
But in half-dreams that shift and roll
And still remember and forget,
My soul this hour has drawn your soul
A little nearer yet.
Our lives, most dear, are never near,
Our thoughts are never far apart,
Though all that draws us heart to heart
Seems fainter now and now more clear.
To-night Love claims his full control,
And with desire and with regret
My soul this hour has drawn your soul
A little nearer yet.
Is there a home where heavy earth
Melts to bright air that breathes no pain,
Where water leaves no thirst again
And springing fire is Love’s new birth?
If faith long bound to one true goal
May there at length its hope beget,
My soul that hour shall draw your soul
For ever nearer yet.
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I crave achievement, but my body aches from failure.
From constant wounds to my frail skin, courage is beyond reach.
It is elusive, distant, away from my ***** hands.
I want to fulfill my ambitions, but my mind wavers from success.
From procrastination and the dark holes of depression, my conquest of dreams is fruitless.
It is shameful, humiliating, disappointing to my household.
I wish to express boundless love to the world, but my small mindedness has failed to grow beyond ignorance.
From lack of effort and unapparent care, I am a disgrace to my well wishers.
It is sad, dismal, sorry to see such a being alive.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 10:03 PM UTC
Gently I watch from the dark
Pushing up a thin tissue front
Into the harsh light.
It wavers in the breeze, yes,
But let's through some honeyed light
Enough to twine my fingers through
And pour into me with life
My sheild from the burning,
Men with claws scratch, boring holes
That burn before my tissue can close,
And a sore, stinging soul
But the dark will wash it away
With tears and hope,
Innocence before it opens its eyes
To the light.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
Im the girl that will do two wrongs before she ever does a right
Forever with chipped fingernails and untamable hair
And maybe I talk a little fast and think a little slow,
but I never let my self be embarrassed by my short comings
Yes a little short
But I never let the courage that I carry like a back pack
Rest handedly at my side
I wear my unconditional love like a sleeve
And I'll pick the wrong guy 9 times out of ten
Or maybe 22
But I always bounce back
And I know myself a little to well
Or maybe not at all
And my obsession with the stars wavers on unhealthy
And I love the way the moon looks in the morning
And the way my sisters look at their spouses
And I fake confidence
Like black jack players biggest gamble
And I ramble
And I'm great at awkward moments
Like a 6th graders first open mouth kiss
I cry a little to often
And watch a little too much bad tv
But you won't find me judging your poor choices
Because I've made them too
Like 5000 knives my words can unravel you
But I try to place pressure
On the tiny hurts
Because sometimes that's the only way i know I'm alive
I identify with my gemini traits
Swimming from happy to miserable in 3 seconds flat
And I probably admire you
But would never say
Because rejection is a game I rarely ever play
And I would rather be singing with a 5 yr old
Then dealing with grown up stuff
Because I still see myself at 16
Sometimes insecure but never flat chested
And I'm never satisfied with ordinary
Because this world holds way to much beauty for ordinary to be trusted
And when I laugh I really mean it
And when I cry I mean that too
I hate being late
And the feeling of being left behind
And I surprise myself with internal motivation
Like running in knee deep water
Or lifting 500 lbs
But I always miss the people that mean the most
I almost never have good timing
But when the end is near
When all the songs have been sung
When all my dreams have been reached
When all my failures have been exposed
I will always always always
Stand arms outstretched waiting to embrace life's possibility
Cause that's not just the tight rope I walk on
That's just me.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
A mixture of colours in your eyes, I see
"What colour are your eyes?" I ask thee
Emotions hidden under an unfathomable hue
Colourful orbs that are almost see through
A storm blue stare that pins me in my place
Pierces through my soul, locking me in a haze
Looking deep into your eyes, I lose myself in a maze
Because of thee, I have been hypnotized for days
In harsh winds and cold weather
The beauty of your eyes never wavers
Orange red like falling autumn leaves
Golden specks of sunlight that shines so brilliantly
Pale green like the first of spring
Oh such joy and peace your eyes bring
Dark green that almost looks like blue
How I wish I could see you through
Seasons passed, but you never answered me
"What colour are your eyes?" I asked thee
Emotions still lie beneath an unfathomable hue
Just tell me the colour of your eyes, oh please do
ns
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Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 8:01 AM UTC
I flip the switch
As the electricity flows through the wires
Giving life to my two fluorescent lights that rest above me
The first fluorescent light is full of life and vigor
Emerging from the darkness like a strong warrior after a ****** war
He is tired and old,
But powerful and dominant
He tears the secrecy of the night with his sharp, searing light
The second fluorescent light flickers, blinks, wavers
She is unsure and afraid of showing her light
Her light is impending and hidden, behind her glass face it has not been revealed
Wrinkled and exhausted,
She is stuck in deliberation and reluctance
The fluorescent lights are no different
Therefore as I sit and watch the second fluorescent light as she is stuck in her own self-created inability,
I wonder
Why doesn't she break free from the prison that she has locked herself in?
k.m.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
There is darkness behind the light -- and the pale light drips
Cold on vague shapes and figures, that, half-seen loom
Like the carven prows of proud, far-triumphing ships --
And the firelight wavers and changes about the room,
As the three logs crackle and burn with a small still sound;
Half-blotting with dark the deeper dark of her hair,
Where she lies, head pillowed on arm, and one hand curved round
To shield the white face and neck from the faint thin glare.
Gently she breathes -- and the long limbs lie at ease,
And the rise and fall of the young, slim, virginal breast
Is as certain-sweet as the march of slow wind through trees,
Or the great soft passage of clouds in a sky at rest.
I kneel, and our arms enlace, and we kiss long, long.
I am drowned in her as in sleep. There is no more pain.
Only the rustle of flames like a broken song
That rings half-heard through the dusty halls of the brain.
One shaking and fragile moment of ecstasy,
While the grey gloom flutters and beats like an owl above.
And I would not move or speak for the sea or the sky
Or the flame-bright wings of the miraculous Dove!
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The doctor wavers,
he sighs and looks through me, so --
I already know.
Oct 12, 2022
Oct 12, 2022 at 2:12 AM UTC
The indifference of paper kaleidoscopes
touches the afternoon's stained glass.
Scattered bubbles of blood
repeat the vaporous names of rocks.
The world itself wavers between
straying syllables of books.
A blank moment arrives
staring at secrets made visible.
All day is the stillness of
unchanging light around the temple.
Between 'come' and 'go'
the same motionless theater of rest.
Time gobbles up
the elusively throbbing reflections.
Myself the ghostly transparency
made of circular-turning glass.
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 3:09 PM UTC
drying my eyes with the crumpled plane tickets
that brought me here
as the new ones slowly print, inch by inch
and the ink dries upon my cheeks
and the time has been tattooed into my eyelids
ticking away, ticking closer and closer
to the end
closing my ears to the sound of cars
passing by on an open road
as the sound of wheels on concrete presses
into my memory and suddenly
i am in a taxi, speeding towards the last drop
of this city, and part of me is left behind
among the crashing water of spring
and the wood chips of an abandoned playground
and the puddles that we avoided as we ran
uncontrollably down the street
laughing
i am not laughing now, except to appear
alive as the boy who makes my coffee
makes me a joke too, free of charge
and i don’t want him or anyone to worry about me
so my mouth opens a crack, and my eyes fold inwards
and he smiles, placing my drink on the counter
and i burn my tongue trying to drown
that fake laugh
the tickets are done printing
the zipper has been forced
over the gaps between my fingers
where your hand should be
and the puzzle wavers as i pack it, but
the pieces stay together, at least until
i close the suitcase
and somehow, i am confident
that it will remain intact
i crumple the tickets in my hand
in an effort to make them look old
as if the summer had already passed
and i was on my way back to fill my empty palm
with warm skin, soft words and a hard press
of my mouth to the sound of something akin to home
i can feel the push and pull of two places
that have shaped me and are shaping me still
as my body curves around the ribs
and hips of a new kind of comfort
and the stiff seat in this airplane
reminds me that i am never as comfortable
as when i am with you
and i resign myself to sunny months
and warm music
and the discomfort of a puzzle
that is trying its hardest
to stay together
and i resign myself to dipping my toes in the water each night
pulling out the glue from between them
and keeping the pieces together
pressing my hand into the soft wood of the dock
in an effort to shut out the cold air
and i resign myself to the confidence i feel
knowing time will be on my side
when i need it to be
i throw the old tickets in the trash
and slip the new ones inside my passport
ready
to keep myself together
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
Love is a lot like mist.
It swirls and dances,
Wavers and blinds,
Until it finally dissipates
and fades away
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC