The tryer
in short bursts, the quiet expresses
a need to communicate about work
done but not published
Self-critical, raked with doubts
with no connection to the world
of publishing
Offer from publishers is that he will pay
them, is like paying for sex; it leaves
behind self-disgust, this unbecoming
need to see one's words in print
The hard part is to admit to the lack
of talent, what else is there to do
other than collecting old stamps
self disgust
and disappointment
for the slip-up
but I need to know
what cheapens intimacy
devaluing myself
devalues anyone
with whom I
would share something
valuable
it's why
I'm detoxing from
all these dopamine pumps
and anesthestics
(gambling and alcohol)
how could online "intimacy"
not be included in
the mix that
keeps me from
feeling
all must go
until this backlog
can be managed
The dread
He had slept too long hours lost
in a dream of deep dissatisfaction down a well of evil failure.
The depth had a silt of regrets and self- disgust.
Getting back up was slow progress
like an eagle flying in a vacuum.
Reluctant awakening as visiting death.
This time of the year makes him nervous it is called the festive season.
Christmas lunch.
Fake friendship from the nearest table by people who hated one another.
There was the beginning of an argument by a guest in his cups.
He had hoped it would last, truth even when not welcome, is delicious.
Dreaming by the log fire sounds romantic,
but he could only afford two bars on his electric heater.
Sitting in a restaurant eating third rate food was worse.
The Failure
When I was bored with sea life
and walked ashore in Santiago
I could find no work except in house of ill repute
throwing out the rebellious and for some reason
became a father confessor to the women, not a good start
No one wanted a book- learned man who had read Nietzsche
so when the money was gone it was back to sea.
any ship would do as long as I was paid so I could leave and
try my luck. I got a job on a Liberia type ship that looks as
it was ready to sink – it did after I left- for some reason
the ship was going to Norway it is a mystery we got there.
After years of self-disgust, I had a heart attack and the state
gave me a sick benefit which was not enough to live on
in Norway so I want to Portugal and stayed, there deep in
the interior and spent my time walking or writing
alternative poetry with little success, which disappointed me
that not being knows, until I realized it didn`t matter
I had found my Shangri La and that in the end is my goal in life.
I wasn't ready for it when it hit.
Pathetic, self-absorbed, wallowing in grief,
plaiting the threads of self-disgust and wit,
I toyed with tragic sonnets for relief.
The night was hot. The cleft of Guadalin
crammed air, weighed down with jasmine, hard to breathe,
like musk in tall clay jars. I heard a skein
of song. It rose. It swirled. It dipped and writhed.
There, at my window, I was held, transfixed.
It was the ancient song of blood and soil.
That wailing voice was stinging, bitter - but was mixed
with darker tremelos which fizzed and boiled,
then sank again. It almost seemed the shock
of that shrill voice, embodiment of pain,
had stunned guitarist's hand. His rhythmic knock
reminded me of coffins in the rain.
Voluptuous and frightening at one time,
mellifluous and jarring, fresh yet rotten,
the music was both guttural and sublime:
my puerile self-obsession was forgotten!
I know I've let my body go and grow so spare me of your incantations,
The slither betwixt your pretty lips saying thoughts of thy own fascination.
Sinew may seep from neath thy skin,
And beauty is abundant in thy face,
But your olive tincture of unknown kin,
Ensures you're not of my Irish race.
My abhorrence for my very self,
Stems from the beauty atop your bones,
Yet I am a handsome Celtic elf,
So in grace I know you're not alone.
I suppose my unrequited love for you,
Is the root of my self-contempt,
I must learn to love myself as I do,
Love you without my intent exempt.
The Long Sleep
I had been sleeping too long hours lost
in a dream of deep dissatisfaction down a well
lined with failures
Its depth had silt of regrets and self- disgust
getting back up was a slow progress an eagle flying
In a vacuum, reluctant awakening like visiting death
and finding it hard to leave.
This time of the year makes me nervous it is called
the festive season, where to eat Christmas lunch,
will there be a hotel that will take us in
this fake friendship with people at the next table
cheers for the New Year that begin with arguments
at the taxi-rank.
Dreaming would be so easier with a log fire at home
something to eat and a glass of wine and the believe
next year will truly be a better place
Three neighbors litter on our street
buzzing along as I stroll past their gates;
and they jiggle like vicious wasps
while a silent howl drills on my head.
Yeah…all that drama, women of farce,
greeting me coyly with pretentious smiles…
I hear them cussing behind my back
those verbal bacteria infecting my night.
So why not face me , confront your self-disgust
thrown at my now distorted eye-to-eye stare?
Maggots! Low-life drones who thrive
on cheap thrills weaving vile intrigues
just to get some flipped attention…
I close my eyes for a moment to grab
some air, but the noise yells without restraint.
Well, it’s my time to get back ,after I let a blade
of screech hit the asphalt ground.
Under a reddened sky, a fuse explodes,
“Hey, get off my cloud or you all will be squashed!”
SKAT's Get Off Of My Cloud
6/17/2015
I'm covered in dirt
that i can't scrub off
no matter how hard i try
A film of pure filth
of self disgust
still see that look in your eye
You did that to me
and you cant take it back
no matter what measure of time
Will feel your mark
in my skin and my soul
right till the day that I die
Marriage
is being stuck in the elevator with that hot flirty associate
Clive Christian lux on him invigorating your senses
inviting muscles clearly designed on the twill tight shirt
his butt narrating all there is to know bout "his good loving."
he is the 'baller and the club manager'
and everything about him screams come get me baby
and everything in you screams "All ready for you papi!"
BUT
Finding the strength and courage to suppress all that want
closing eyes and recalling that ugly fight with your spouse this morning
and knowing too well you would rather go home to him/her even though you might not be getting none tonight.
Marriage is knowing the betray,the guilt,and the self-disgust that comes after the deed on temptation is not worth it!
Gladly Coming home to you baby after five!!!
I’m sorry I left so abruptly.
I knew it would end premature.
Wasn't strong enough you see.
Didn't really tell anybody.
Hidden from most
Exposed to few
Not even fully.
Masked by comedy.
The little things poked
Poked so much between my temples
Too many thoughts I suppose
Led to this manifestation
Self-pity
Self-disgust
Much love.
I am crying tears of loneliness, frustration and contempt
for a life that I know has not been too well spent;
for time here on earth that was wasted and for naught;
for battles that I waged in that never should be fought.
I am crying tears of emptiness, pain and heartfelt sorrow
for the guilt of yesterdays and the hopeless of tomorrows;
for taking away much more than I ever gave away;
for putting off forever those things I could do today.
I am crying tears of destitute, isolation and chagrin
for the ending of a good life that never did begin;
for taking for granted the advantages of my youth;
for letting my ego distort the moral truth.
I should have cried for my fellow man and the injustices I saw,
Instead of seeking my fortune and turning a blind eye to it all;
I should have long ago found causes for which to shed these tears,
Instead of saving them for self-disgust in my autumn years.
Maybe...
it was not meant to be
The death of a heart...
Oh, was I really just too blind to see?
Maybe...
My heart is doomed
Forever failing...
Whenever love has bloomed
Maybe…
it wasn't enough just to feel
Should have done more...
Shouldn't have let my spirit kneel
Maybe...
You were really just a fantasy
That I'd built in my head...
Now it seems such a huge fallacy
Maybe…
By Ur actions, I was just too crushed
Utter chaos rampant inside...
Burning rage, grief, misery, humiliation and self-disgust
Maybe...
I never truly loved you
But then, even after all this while...
Why does it hurt me so, why does it cut so true?
Maybe…
My heart is now dead
Detached, stony, frigid, barren, untouchable...
Legacy, of heartbreak…Emotions all spent, fled
Snow's
whisper.
Soft Slippers,
Kittens playing.
Husbands face when caught before meal snacking.
Having a silent phone on my Birthday.
Hurtful words said.
Self disgust,
Lost trust.
Crime.
Paula Swanson
7/17/2011
For the contest: Smiles And Frowns
Sponsored by, Michael J. Falotico
I do not recognise my own face.
I have stared at this mirror too long.
Features blurred beyond understanding:
My eyes, nose and mouth seem to be wrong.
Eyes
filled with uncertainty;
glazed with world-weary despair;
no longer conscious of suffering;
unwilling and unable to care.
Nose
wrinkled in self-disgust;
helpless against the world’s stink;
ignorant of all the sweet smells;
oh whatever would my Grandma think.
Mouth
no longer expressive;
sneering even to my Mum;
filled with universal distaste;
twisted by logic which has gone numb.
Mind
battle of good and evil;
just playing out in my head;
withdrawing from reality;
wishing for religion to be dead.
My intention is not to ridicule,
For platitudes so easily sent.
Empty ideology and rhetoric
Means I feel compelled to vent.
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