My newest adventure is underway. It has lead me to take up residency in a new blog,
Like the Feathers of an Arrow (affectionately known as LFA).

...don't open...don't throw away... is not disappearing completely (not yet),
but postings here will be limited.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

8 When They Come




When They Come

imagine possessing the ability
to restrain the irrational unstable you
binding the fears
so as to reveal the real you

    when they come to take me away
    will the straightjacket be strong enough
    to protect me from my mind

imagine throwing the switch
on yourself
turning off the internal diatribe
keeping you from being you

    when they come to take me away
    will the current be powerful enough
    to disrupt the flow of thoughts preying on me

imagine locking yourself away
throwing away the key
finally containing the anxiety
coursing through your body

    when they come to take me away
    will the padded cell be firm enough
    to protect my mind from bombarding thoughts

imagine wishing you were one
of multiple personalities
protecting yourself
not from an external threat
but from the one residing within

    I just had a conversation with myself
    the men with the straightjackets
    must be salivating at the mouth



so last week was a fluke (breaking into the double digits).  i suppose stage fright has managed to weasel its way into cyberspace.  so, if i'm lucky i'll make my way into dVerse~Poets Pub for their sixth OpenLinkNight at around 145 joining a vast array of talented poets

the above string of verses is a little odd for me (which is saying a lot considering).  i admit i was originally at a loss for what to write about.  having recently posted a 'batch' of pom seeds (plus ramblings & tweetoetry), i had thought to use the seed, "what will become of me / when I squeeze / the last bit of ink / out of my veins."  i even wrote it down and pondered where it might take me, but strangely i was haunted by three ramblings (the first, third and fourth italicized stanzas above) from my recent last 'batch' post.  somehow they merged to into the above entity.

i must also admit, that i thought to do an accent with when reading the italicized stanzas.  i changed my mind to just reading it a bit softer.  then...i just couldn't help myself...i played with the effects on the four stanzas.

Monday, August 22, 2011

0 Batch #6

Bursting with Pom Seeds
(image by rmp, that's me)
it has been over three months since i last put together a batch of pom seeds.  according to my twitter stream, the last batch left off 107 days ago.  i have found that while the occassional pom seed pops up more tweetoetry seems to be emerging from this social media.  every once in awhile a #ramblings (or what i now deem #random) finds its way into the mix.  i still haven't quite put my finger on what makes a ramblings different from a pom seed, but for now i'll keep them seperate.

for sanity sake, i intend to break these 106 past days into two batches.  so here goes...




Pom Seeds Batch #6
  • I'm tired of living these lies / it's time to rip away my mask / to see beneath my sad disguise [potential octain in the making]  (unmasked itself in reverse order in an octain, beneath the lies)
  • I wish I had the words to heal this hurt / to drive away the stinging pain you feel / the world is stained with many tear-filled shirts / so cry (unfolded itself into an Ottava Rima, tear stained healing)
  • he laughs the bitter taste out past his lips / then turns the remnants over on his tongue / to savor them as if a robust wine (evolved into a sweet tasting poem, devil's laugh)
  • she snuck in / under cover of night / shaking my world / like a spray can  (inspired by OSP this unraveled in a poem called Graffiti'd:  One Night Impression)
  • I walk in a world not my own / but of my own making
  • what will become of me / when I squeeze / the last bit of ink / out of my veins
  • my heart quakes / earth-shattering tremors / only I can feel / course through me / I search for safety / the open embrace / of...


Ramblings (bold = new)
  • silence can be just as profound as the perfectly spoken words (oddly enough the essense of this ramblings found its way into a recent attempt at writing a Ghazal, With Words)
  • I just had a converstaion with myself ~ the men with straightjackets must be salivating at the mouth
  • do I write the poem ~ or does the poem write me?
  • i need a happy though ~ my lips long to feel the contours of a smile
  • the taste of silence was never so sweet ~how many different ways can the above line be twisted?~ (i found two ways...which lead to three poems; Kiss Me Senseless, Sweet Kiss, and The Sweet Taste of Silence)
  • why do I open myself up to a world that does not know me, yet knows me better than those who do
  • my feet despise being confined ~ when the sun shines high in the sky
  • can you see the lie behind my smile?  can you hear the pain hiding in my laugh?  (i'm not sure if this was meant to be a ramblings or a pom seed for i did not mark it appropriately and while i think i might have intended it to be a pom seed i have decided to place it amongst my ramblings)
  • when they come to take me away ~ will the padded cell be firm enough ~ to protect my mind from bombarding thoughts
  • when they come to take me away ~ will the straightjacket be strong enough ~ to protect me from my mind
  • I taste a little bit of sunshine on your lips ~ a whole lot of tomorrows in your kiss
  • fickle tears ~ they pour when sad ~ they pour when happy ~ they thunder when hurt ~ you'd think they'd pick an emotion and stick with it
  • is it wrong that thinking about being happy makes me sad?
  • I wish I had the words ~ to heal this wound ~ but they seem to elude ~ still I try ~ pouring out word after word ~ hoping I'll find the perfect mix (i feel like this could potentially stand on its own as a poem or act as a pom seed...)
  • pathetic really ~ the way anxiety grips my heart ~ as I step outside myself ~ reaching out ~ to those on the inside of the circle ~ I skirt (could technically be classified as a tweetoetry, but...)
  • ~ why do I live like this? one pill...many pills...I need to find an answer (thoughts of a poem lingered in my head upon writing this, With Every Word... In Every Action...)
  • I don't have any thoughts lingering in my head ~ Is that what peace feels like? 
  • ~ her giggles are like candy ~ 
  • anxiety's peace ~ tastes like profanity ~ on virgin lips (thoughts of calling this a poem in its own right still linger)
  • forgive my lack of social graces... (part of a recent ramblings post, social-less soul)

Leftovers
  • Information overload
  • I woke with rose colored glasses and the world was as only I could dream it to be
  • my mom use to day; we're never lost; we're just misplaced
  • i hate days like today; where i'm blindsided; punched in the chest; days when all i want to do is curl up into a little ball and disappear
  • "you're growing."; am I? I don't think I'm growing; maybe just walking outside myself
  • love is pain and sorrow; wrapped in disguise; it laughs at me; with its sweet intoxicating lies
  • I see myself in black & white; brilliant colors surround me; poke at me; eager to caress me with their warmth; but they bounce off of me
  • I will live forever like this; in shadows of who I long to be
  • you put me on a shelf and stare at me/ hold me on a pedestal as though I were a queen (I hear this like a song with a biting sound.)  (this finally founds its voice in conjunction with the lines below to form a song called Shine.)
  • but you don't listen to a word I say/ nor see the tears that stain my face (continuation of "you put me on a shelf...")  (this finally founds its voice in conjunction with the lines below to form a song called Shine.)  
Tweetoetry

#35, 36, 27
~paint me a picture~

touch me with your brush stroke
harsh and loud
smooth and soft
splash me with luscious color
dark and intense
bold and beautiful
transport me with your passion
stained canvas
outside of myself
into a wistful dream


#38 (tanka)
~three little words

words I long to hear
refuse to form on the tongue
a mere I love you
the words should come easily
when I spead about myself


#39 (senryu - ish)
~MO

he speaks forcefully
unaware he's showcasing
his stupidity


#40 (tanka)
~Reflection

he pontificates
pointing out others' failings
where is his mirror?
does he see their shortcomings
reflect on his leadership?


#41
~broken record

I'm a broken record
when will You adjust the needle
so I may finally belt out my true anthem


#42 (tanka)
~uncovering love

I want to love me
why is that so hard to do?
please just show me how
i so long to uncover
beauty buried deep within


#43 (#ospchat on how emotion impacts writing)
~Poison or Drug

two emotions fuel me ~ depression
that threatens to consume ~ longing
for anything but
writing's a letting of poison
or drug to forget


#44
~Masterpiece

I found him there
having poured all of himself
into his masterpiece
his skeleton fingers
still held the tool
used to steal his life


#45 (septolet)
~weeping stars

her eyes
open
to starlit skies

crystalized tears
weeping
their last rays
of light


#46 (septolet)
~Curiosity

curiosity
he said
he wished
to sate

and I
was his seven
course meal


#47
~The Question

silently I sit
watching the stream
pass me by
as does my life
words ebb and flow
endlessly cascading
while I ponder
to tweet or not to tweet


#48 (septolet)
~dandelion dreams

dreams
are like dandelion
wishes

where the wind
takes hold
so you
might soar


#49, 50
~beautiful love

occasionally
there's a moment
a split second
where I think
"I'm beautiful"
no
not think
rather I believe
in that fleeting moment
that split second
I know
how love feels


#51
~constant stream

shh
stop your obsessive tweeting
I'm sleeping

gee
now I'm wide awake
for heaven's sake


#52
~set me free

uncage me of love
give me wings so I might soar
just unlatch the gate
let me go so I might find
with you is where I belong


#53
~internal earthquake

standing in the doorway
waiting for my world to stop shaking
is how I live my life
a hell of my own making
intent on burying me alive


#54
~beneath the mask

removing my mask
is like breaking the surface
and finally breathing


#55 (inspired after watching an episode of The Glades)
~Purgatory and Hell

an orange jumpsuit
is my purgatory
for believing you loved me

for stealing my heart
your punishment is burning in hell
six feet under