Best Inattention Poems
Exhaustion drips its weary head
Shrouding me with desolate apparel
A forlorn wardrobe of melancholy blues
Colors of emotional peril.
Indifference holds my body still
Unconcerned with the cold
Distant journeys in my thoughts
Apathy strong in its hold.
Nonchalance a steady companion
Detaching me from reality
Unaroused by what’s in front of me
I’ve lost all sense of vitality.
Inattention stands unyielding
Unwilling to make way for diligence
Insensitivity plants a seed
Growing strong in its militance.
Numbness gnaws away at my spirit
Paralyzed from its greed
Dulled by life’s anesthesia
I lack the passion to be freed.
time and distance unwind
unmindful of a ticking clock
as
commitment tumbles through constant years
with ne’er a thought
that
there exists another dimension
where all possibilities exist
Many people spend their days
With total inattention
To any music, which to me
Defies my comprehension.
The radio’s flipped on as soon
As I get out of bed
And plays all day except for times
The TV’s on instead.
From classical to blues to rock
My world is filled with song
And only when there’s music
Do I feel that I belong.
Without some melody, a home
Is quiet as a tomb
But with those notes surrounding me,
My spirits start to bloom.
“By Design”
By design
other dimensions
astonishing alien fields
different shades
of dark and light
intradimensional beings
strange lives
surround us
we are oblivious
to their invisible kingdoms
their unique opinions
their different addictions
their mysterious freedoms
part of ours, under cover
in our infected delirium
dissolving over-rated
control and power
dissolving
food for thought
dissolving
seconds in minutes
in hours
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“I divide
In the sky
In the seams
Between the beams
All the loving
And separating
All the turning
To face each other …”
delirium.
“The CAM diagnostic algorithm evaluates four key features of delirium: 1) Acute Change in Mental Status with Fluctuating Course, 2) Inattention, 3) Disorganised Thinking, and 4) Altered Level of Consciousness.”
intradimensional -v- interdimensional
I’m stealing through a twilit realm, the ancient pale of Whereis,
passing chambers of an Heiress
(though no need to feel embarrassed)
through a magic mystic mirror hanging curtainless.
A glimpse near naked alleyways (denuded by the moon) ex-
poses Ghosts in gauzy tunics
carving symbols, round and runic,
in distended dingy dungeons of uncertainness.
Down misty streets of cobblestone – ancestral avenues –
patchwork paths consume my shoes
(chasing foggy curlicues
twisting, twirling by in twos,
floating anywhere they choose),
leaving footprints that confuse
vagrant wispy retinues
of the threaded wooden sticks that stalk a Puppet wandering.
Condensed in drops of fantasy, distilled in evening dew,
shifting Shadows I pursue
(wearing faces I once knew,
slipping slowly from my view)
turn their backs to bid adieu
leaving stars to tempt me through
Awful Tower residues
mocking treasures time outgrew
in the birth of old from new
framing pageants in review
midst the visions of the painted past I can’t help pondering.
Contorted candelabra claw the skyline’s walled suspension
caught in twilight’s intervention
– still unlit (in stark dissension),
therefore seething with a tension
in the quiet apprehension
of the Watchman’s inattention
to the night-time’s bold pretension
to her power, not to mention,
to her hyperspace extension
(far beyond my comprehension
of the sundown’s bleak dimension) –
on exhausted beaten boulevards of foolish fretfulness.
Oblivion depletes me, voiding haste and hurried hassles,
me, a simple abject vassal,
trailing moonlit floating castles,
– fickle feet, but fingers facile
grasping straws and pendant tassels –
as I stumble through the rubble of forgetfulness.
I think I must be dreaming as I seem to see these things,
neath a sky alive with wings
(hear the Nightingale, she sings),
midst the whispered murmurings
soughed by Phantoms clad as Kings
pacing palaces in rings,
while their hapless footfall clings
to the sagging sinking sands of midnight’s splintered splattered ruins.
Entangled in the swirling leaves that spin in dizzy flurries,
(while the wind beside me scurries
as an ermined hermit hurries)
lurk my sleepy woes and worries
(glowing faint’ but growing blurry)
which, when plundered by the demon dusk, I’d left behind me strewn.
Continued in Part 2
Running cracks of lead flaked paint, spiders across the front door like a grandfather's
forehead.
Its hinges squeal from years of inattention and forgotten maintenance
Floor boards moan a song of dismemberment and forgotten age
While musty gloom thickens the air – inhibiting, restricting, compressing breaths
Entrance ways lead to hallways which culminate and connect enclosed spaces,
hovering in an atmosphere of haunt and mourn
Conversations linger, echoing within walls of dine and feast
settings arranged from ritual –
two plates,
two bowls,
two cups,
two knives,
two spoons,
two forks,
two napkins,
two chairs,
with only voice and ephemeral trace.
Twisted unleveled stairs, escalate to second stories
letters to love and hate cover ancient mourning boards.
Segmented space divides the infant from maturation.
Cracked spine, chipped rails, exposing the wooden crib core
Superficial angst and rage characterizing the infant's facade,
yet delicate love exposed in clean white linens pressed and laid in perfection
sets the bedding stage for stuffed bears and embroidered blankies
Toppled bookcase defecates bound knowledge across adult wooden bed frame
disheveling sheets, rugs, and right angles,
its half fallen posture exposes entrance way to hidden passages.
Between walls, moving slow as not to catch thread to exposed nail, pipe, or wire
shoulders grazing support beams, pace entranced by flattening florescence bulbed ceilings
Each step enclosing space tighter and tighter
Climax turns to anticlimax as exit opens to
a hermetic cell of textural paint echoing skin blotched and boiled.
Surrounding walls of tattered gold, ulcer red and puss filled purple,
each based with blotched skin.?Encircles full length mirror exposing views of deceased
discomfort –
Black glass glows within frame of ornate wood
spiking and curling with baroque transcendence
Reflecting back a ghost of future deceased persona.
I reckon I've seen about everything in my nigh four-score years.
Obnoxious teens, obnoxious elders and unpleasant Wall-Mart cashiers,
And those baggy pants with the crotch nearly reaching to the knees,
But folks with a cell phone in their ear compare to none of these!
Some people sport spiked hair dyed orange, red or green.
Others with rings piercing their lips - a weird sight to be seen!
Gorgeous ladies flaunt tacky tattoos that seem mighty *****.
Plus all of that, they have a cell phone glued to the ear!
Vexatious ringtones on some cellular phones cause me to cringe,
'Specially if in a fine bistro or church my serenity they impinge!
The "William Tell Overture" in a concert is mighty fine to hear,
But please spare me that tinny tune from the cell phone in your ear!
Some use their cell phones while driving - to all others oblivious,
Never minding that such inattention could be very injurious!
Seems to me 'twould be tricky trying to concentrate and steer,
With that consarned cellular phone sticking in the ear!
Cell phones are an improvement in communications, I suppose,
With their music, cameras, computers and a dial that glows.
But, alas, for future generations I often wonder and fear:
Will babes be born with a cell phone protruding from the ear?
Entry for Simon Rogerson's "Let's Explore Digital Technology" Contest
(13 Feb 22)
Look at the lines begging your touch, beautifully, aerodynamically sound.
The color and aesthetics call for you to blend and wrap around.
The curves, and lines nurture you, adding layers to what you touch.
Feel the connection between body and road, a car will never do so much.
No isolation to hold you back, you’re one with the road to search.
You start with your feet planted on either side, in charge of this lofty perch.
Standing, balance it beautifully, it’s movements yours to command.
When the power goes on you’ll feel it within, together with the sound.
It’s flexible and vibrates, the likes of which will twist your thoughts around....
As you rev the motor, the power will travel your body lifting you among the clouds.
The control you have will mesmerize, as you control its very breath.
You’ll feel like a chameleon, caressing the road on which you will be blessed...
The vibrations of the road will touch you, as you ride this jewel with flair.
It feels wilder than a car, as your mind embraces it, but beware...
As it engages you heart and mind, powerful fantasies begin flowing through the air.
But pay close attention, for danger is always leering about, inattention can death
impart.
It can be primal, it can be brutal, and it can be heaven beyond compare.
But mostly it is freedom, a commodity seldom found, anywhere.
Raise your face shield. Feel the power of what you’re riding in.
The wind caresses your face with its heavy sigh, against your sensitive skin.
Stretch out your hand. Feel the wind. Allow it between your fingers to flow so rare…
And the wind will answer in return, stroking, your body, clothes, and hair.
The feel of the wind is intoxicating, as your life with it you share.
It makes you feel in control, yes, of even the sensuous air.
The wind, and the power… beckon your sense of freedom forth.
The road goes off to the horizon, your buddies at your side.
Your lady is there snug against you. Are you ready for this ride?
Dedicated to my father Roger French riding across country at 78, my brother
Dale French riding with him, and their friend Jerry Rose.
I wish it could rain without lightning
I do not like it at all
When the night is lit up like the day
I always feel it was a close call
I am convinced the lightning wants to get me
I am convinced it lies in wait
For the one moment of my inattention
So it can make me pay
Why must there be lightning
What purpose does it serve
The way it just comes and does what it wants
Lightning has got a lot of nerve!
There was a lightning storm last night so I wrote a fun little ditty about how much I hated it.
By Elton Camp
An insect we found in a loaf of bread
But, at least, it was very safely dead
How the bug came there, I don’t know
Such things can easily happen, though
Though not very pleasant to mention
The baker had a moment of inattention
Into the batter the critter took a dive
But only for seconds remained alive
The loaf was baked at a high heat
There it was, antennae, body, feet
Any germs were surely destroyed
So the bread can safely be enjoyed
But some might not find it so keen
To have this bit of added protein
Others on the bread will munch
And not mind the extra crunch
i'm a scarecrow in a viridescent field
i observe ideas, yet can't exploit them to yield
unable to move, allocating inattention
i'm filled with concepts and hypothetical intentions
i watch as the dead grass falls from my arms
wildfires don't scare me, but crows trigger my alarm
the crows, they think they are worthy of maize
they live in the clouds, but don't see the haze
they're all the same and they're never afraid
so i watch the field, wishing it was ablaze
i'm a scarecrow in a viridescent field
it's pretty and fertile and sometimes i feel
a flower at my foot, but i realize it's a dream
'cause the air is poison and the crows always scream
i watch the rows form a complicated maze
i'm so lost and confused, but i've never even raised
a foot to walk; i've rarely ever moved
and now the crows are here, so again i'll lose
i see this mystifying place, through this expanding haze
it's pretty, but it would look better in flames
and so would i, 'cause then maybe i'd make
the crows afraid
finally afraid
I guess on that night I learn and gain strength,
Until this moment I am in that spot and completely tense.
Anyone's life can stop in the wink of an eye,
I cant forget that 10 minutes flash that i almost died.
Never had the experience,therefore, never knew how to react.
It was acid in a bottle! That is the plain straight fact.
Could not speak, just had to listen to his convincing crop,
Until he found out he was boring so he got a hold of my chain and just suddenly stop.
A new day over silver I thought was best,
A permanent one room dwelling is not a great place to rest.
I could have stood up and put up a fight,
But I knew it would have ended in a bloody night.
There are moments in life that we have to accept defeat,
I rather to be a sheep and enjoy this life which is sweet.
So I guess on the night I learn that life is short,
Everyday we are open to danger and inattention is a type of tort.
I was a soul born in chaos
my beginnings and consciousness infinitesimal
I have been blasted by forces
outside of my own natures call
and yet I can see the raw beginning
of a mind fluid
with the elements of the cosmos
this "life" has been an experience of
implosions , explosions , explorations
bombardment , impartment , eruption
corruption , inattention , and deliberations
my consciousness is aware of it's implications
my judgments categorize the experiences
such as a minute star is transformed
by the particles and forces
to which it is subjected
So too are we
but cosmological law
is annulled in it's full power
when in contact with chaos
I am fully cognizant of both
moral and cosmological law
I can jump off a cliff
or commit violence upon humans
I can actually pervert
the substance of cosmos where I reside
instead of planting , growing , harmonizing
refining my alignment with nature
I can poison , deform and subject
every participation to destruction
and as long as mankind's children
continue in the predator mentality
of their six thousand year experiments
of every violation of that which they should love
I am in total agreement with nature
that which is destructive to growth
needs removal , only with mankind
removal is "replacement" of ideology
a transformation of perspective and viewpoints
where the mind finds it desirable
to increase the beauty of LIFE
and not to poison it's fluid
the superlative and majestic cosmos
that our tinkering seeks to dissect
manipulate , rearrange it's manifestations
and in reflection this one thought
is of itself an infinitesimal insignificance
when standing before the face of LIFE
but it is my thought , my mind and
created by the most intensive force that
exists among mankind , LOVE of LIFE
HOPE in LIFE , and the seeking of every
manifestation of it's Glory
no man has seen God
but we at great length consider
all that we may perceive that to be ...
COPYRIGHT © 2015
C Michael Miller
PoetryofProvidence
This poem is directed to the victims of the hateful terrorism and extremism
I remember my colorful childhood
Black,white, yellow and red
In one peaceful living painting
We were so perfectly colored
Then,came dark days
In Inattention of colors
A demon hidden in a religious paint
Holding poisoned brushes
And disguised in a costume of a saint
at night,in the absence of all
In our paint he drilled a hole
And a crack happened in the paint
Colors began to seep on the wall
Now,no more colors except dark
I pray to God to bring all colors back
Death and Dying - Poetry Contest
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi
One tear breaks the dam,
And out flows a river of sorrow.
One smile makes a connection,
And a life-long friendship is born.
One second of indiscretion,
And something precious is stolen.
One look that two strangers share,
And love begins to bloom.
One laugh shared among family,
And memories are made.
One moment of inattention,
And so many lives are shattered.
One person speaks up,
And the whole world changes.
One: it's not just the loneliest number.