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The Ink Bottle sits, alone, It's only Companions, The Feathered Pen, The Paper Pad. The Desk, once alive, The Words, No longer, Written. Love, abandon, But wanting not, The Freedom, It has. A Wooden Chair, dusty, Reclines not, For the Comfort, Once given. Time, a mystery gone, With passing, Never to be recovered, Longing. Days of gloom, waiting, Shine not, The Light, The Heart, Once brightened. Come back, to Me, My words, of Joy, Of Laughter, Wisdom, once known.
Sing a song of sadness Pocket full of frowns Melancholy madness Brings us all down. Rain in drips of sorrow In colors dark in hue No better day tomorrow Only clouds haunting you. Bear the blame of guilt And wear it on your shoulder Tear down all you've built Soon you feel much older. Rhyme in lines of regret For all you've said and done But as people always forget Then you'll have none.
The swordsman who draws his blade Heart racing at the keening of steel on scabbard Tension coiled, poised for the unleashing Held back by muscles tight with glee. I am as the soldier, held in stance, The lioness crouched beneath the concealing grass As it sways back and forth, as insects sing along the day Her every breath is halted, her veins do not pulse, And just as the swordsman stands They are statues in this moment, Statues of derision, Mocking, with their stillness, the very charged tension within. And I am as the lioness frozen before her pounce Coiled with motivation and purpose, And I am as the tongue held with words clinging off its' edge Ready to lash out and strike with direction But I am as the frozen purpose, held tight Waiting, for a warrior to stand before me For a reason to uncoil, to lash out with words and pounce. But I am now as the pen halting before the purest of paper White and supple, in askance for the lightest touch A slash of the tip, drawing lines in ink Lines like a hunter's bowstring, taut with intent, As the pen lies frozen above its prey, the falcon petrified aloft still winds I am the need coiled tight like a wound jack in the box But alas, there is no victim to frighten, No pray to pounce upon, no sword or bared neck to slash against And I am here, with pen frozen, ink ready to be drawn taut And I have nothing to draw in the ink, no prey or purpose to evoke I am coiled tight with energy, but it is release that so eludes me, I am coiled tight with purpose, but it is direction that so denies me. And here I am, pouncing at ground before me, Slicing away at the air around me Scratching away with a dry pen, on paper still white in askance I write about… I write about the coil within, and the lack without And alone I wonder, Is it enough, is it enough to go on, a wound up box Waiting for the slightest touch, the weakest parry, to live.
Extraordinary, I am Craving for unusual thoughts Endless exploration without boundary Understanding the gift I shouldn't fought Invisible drawings in my mind Playing with the words in my head My passion The food of my soul I feel so lucky The random thoughts A lifetime companion A self esteem builder A goal planner Be my forever life saver I write more I talk less I want to please I chose to bore What tickles me the most Is to know what I'm for Thinking is my love When my mind goes empty That's when I hate My day dreaming lust Organizing things in my mind Playing roles of simulation Where images of art is my vision And words of attitude is my heart
Have I lost it? The writing thing? Have I been absent for so long that my thoughts are unable to come to a complete stop and decide to focus...on ...one...thing? I shudder profusely and then shake.... shudder...shake...doesn't that mean the same thing? God....this feeling of complete talentlessness is absolutely....bad? (SIGH!!!!!) For the sake of being poetic I come up with...bad...seriously!!! My fingers move at a snail's pace to keep up with the dismay that wants spill its inerts on this screen in front of me and it will take the hand of God to prevent me from actually not deciding to hit the delete button and feel justified in my pitifulness!!! (SIGH!!!) Ok...I'll leave it alone be the cheerleader of this...piece...yea.
Words at the edges Of your Tongue Are not merely Words. A Thought trying Desperately to be expressed. If hope lie in words Is Hopelessness the absence? No sound, no chirp, no brighter day ahead. Engulfed by Darkness and Dread If words are crucial to meaning Why are they misused? When slang destroys the basis of Thought When LOL substitutes true Laughter When a text makes Emotion obsolete… What do we do next? Just ink on paper Stained but not Bled We await the future Words…..
I bent over to touch my toes and the ground tore open like a backbone. I tried to feed myself the sky; to splice my tearducts into the universe so that, when the pavement cried, it would mean something to me. My fingernails punctured that slimy membrane congealed with stars, and I brought a slice of it to my lips, hot and slippery like a jellyfish. Peach juice, chalky-sweet, flowed, fleshy particles snagged in my teeth, and the colors erupted within my mouth. Synthesia took over my lungs. The hollows between my knuckles flooded with synovia and all the ectoplasm threatened to separate from my cells with a sound like thunder. Diphthong tasted rusty like leukoplakia as it tiptoed across my tongue. Tomorrow rose like the skeletons of trees, groping for a feeling similar to catharsis [catharsis tender as the broken wings of doves, crunching underfoot like shattered glass.] The clouds opened their thunderous maws - teeth snicker-snacking, lamplight-eyes flaming the color of E#'s - and consumed me. I felt my skin turn to something other than skin: thick and rough with scales, my fingerprints melting into something waxen, smooth and opaque, like pomegranate kisses on coffee mugs. A feeling ignited deep in my structure; cedillas blossoming like lilies from my lips, fragmented sentences stretching taut as guitar strings between my thumb and forefingers. A flutter gentle and demonic as Calcifer erupted from my system - splattering hot and frothing into my hand - and fluid rushed in. I dared to taste oblivion, and the sky swallowed me. My lungs failed to be lungs. They flooded with caustic matter, and I coughed up reflections sharp as fiberglass; fighting with organs phthisical and sore. I struggled to find a way to describe it: the feeling of consuming something greater than yourself, of opening your eyes and tasting the sound of rain. It was like swimming, but inside out. I bent over to touch my toes, and my spine tore open; the loose laces unraveling, veterbrae poking out like the tines of forks. I tried to contort myself into the beginning, but I only found where I end.
Here's what I'm thinking now at the end of the world: There are no atheists in foxholes— no theists in politics. If knowledge is power, and power corrupts, then why did I bother reading you, Cicero? Does it matter that I didn't't love you? Would it have mattered if I did? There's a poetry reading tonight whence I'I'll chide other poets who don't sit alone. I won't bring up death but I might have to breathe, even into a mike and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo maybe even a wince or two. Just maybe I'I'll talk about love and how following your heart is like following a dog— it only leads to vittles and (female dogs). But how many times have I used that line since the story I wrote about you, a witty and sexy and fictional you? Most likely I'I'll read something tonight about you. I won't recite it from memory because I don't think about you that much anymore, not even when I search for my socks in your drawer or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me, horizontally striped to bring out my eyes? I don't remember your eyes except they are blue. And I don't remember you, not even when I smell cucumber and apple, not even when I sleep on my side of the bed or when you walk through the door happy to see me; even then I don't remember you. Does it matter that I don't love you? Would it have mattered if I did? How about a few one-liners for the end of days?— Depression is self-awareness, which you'd know if you were; I need Ritalin to listen to you, Lithium to hug you, Viagra to feel you, and Valium to sleep. All you need is me standing there, waiting at home with turns of phrase and word plays telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand but want to buy as much as I can and how I love celebrity gossip and detest poetry slams and find rhyming trite except when I am. Hypocrites can still be right, which you do understand because you nod at my nonsense about fighting the man. But now, at the end of all things— I'm speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read, and you're just sitting there, smiling asking me to pass the bread.
I'm just a kid, and life is a nightmare I'm forced to be mature beyond my age Using my writing as my therapy Scrawling my thoughts across the page Every couple days or so a poem or two I write I can't sleep while my thoughts process So i scribble throughout the night I give you all my thoughts and fears this is the reason that i write so that i can clear my head giving me the strength i need to fight In this book i write the things that i cannot say to their face but letting it all out on paper helps me to keep my place writing poems calms me down and puts me back in control I have been writing poems for a while no since i was twelve years old Writing puts things in perspective shows me another point of view it helps me work out what was done wrong and shows me what i need to do If you look closley at what I write I think that you will find That exposed on these many pages is the darker side of my mind Everything i feel, i write my thoughts are a tangled mess I write to clear my head and keep myself sane thats why i'm a poetess
Love notes Wordings from the heart That I'm trying to use To cover this scented stationery With my ball point scribbler, I'm proud To match the sensual scent Of your lovely and fiery lips With crimson thoughts, but as I finally come To end my writings, after so many pages Hooked thrown into a silent bin I begin to wonder if it's better to recite My love notes to you in person For this way you would feel Much, much better… The bubbling rhythm Of my heart
Fingers nimbly tapping his heart onto the page a rich tapestry of heartache gentleness and rage perceptions that astound me engaging my soul first one way, then another a fall down the rabbit hole who is this gifted writer who speaks in shortened lines tap tap tapping out his magic til my heart he entwines
How dare you take advantage of me like that , Leaving me stranded with no way to go forward or back. Using the friendship that we had led me to believe, That there was trust and honor between you and me . How you layed me aside and left me for dead , You have caused these hateful thoughts inside my head. Never could I have done this to any man , I can see you have no concious so I know you can. There just one thing I really want to say about this , It's been a long time since I have made a clinched fist . You have no idea how much hurt you have caused, It won't be me you'll have to face That's up to God But you will regret mistaking this kindness for weakness girl, Bad Karma will surely consume you this is my word. Yes you were able to catch me completely off gaurd , Never again because now I know who you are . TAC
the less i have of the additional use of the more it breaks down
Forgotten somewhere in the midst of steel and concrete. Bound by shackles and chains even in our sleep. Living like wolves preying amongst lost sheep. Concrete tears and pains so mindfully deep. Forgotten by those on the outside. We cant even run no where, we cant even hide. No choice left but to sit and fight. In here only the strong minded survive. Truth be told in here what is wrong is right. All most os us got is wasted M&^*&F*^&&ng time. We sit back and work out and write heartfelt rhymes. Not to be a victim of prey we all trying. Many stories are told, songs are written of truth over lying. We are gone for the moment but not truly forgotten so the hurt we must not show it. We are to old while we young to be crying in front of full grown men for this is a time we must out grow it. There aint no way out this hell hole and we all know it. Feelings of hopelessness surrounds te heart to the point where we can no longer control it. In here there is only time no fun. Darkness fills night no light shone in here from the sun. Only by our own selves we may be out done. BECAUSE IN HERE IT FEELS LIKE WE ARE TRULY THE FORGOTTEN ONES....
I can see the truth clearly now, and the truth is we live in a world where almost everything is shaded to a lie. (We act as if we are someone else and just can't be what we want to be.) Truth remains strong that our very own fables cover our very own two eyes. (We only choose to see what we want to see.) Only fibs and tall tales are left on the local store corner….for they the only things left on the shelf that we can buy. (Many Profound Truths remain imprisoned while too many lies are out there living free.) I look at the ground because I can't look at the sky; I laugh more with death rather than crying with life. (Shakespeare once said "To be or not to be" but I say F%$k trying "To be" because I'd rather "Just BE".) Living amongst a world of shaded illusions upon the mind eye, upon which we have many wrongs more than our rights, yeah I know we all want peace but yet we still choose to fight. (We long for death but fear it; we want to go away but don't know what will happen when we leave our loved ones with certain grief stolen away in the night by death like a thief.) So why is it so many of us continue to stare at our everyday truths as if we are blind, as if we cannot see our own struggle through our very own lies……..
Beauty of nature Why condense it down to God? Isn't life enough?
What will I write for my first Nonet? It's something I have not tried yet. To some they seem very hard Later will I be scarred? Pain will not last long Try writing song. Then you'll find Nonet Rhymes. Written By John Posey 12/26/12
...or just thoughts I just want to create I guess that's it, just create Money does not move me Fame? Why do people want fame? Glory? I build in obscurity. Legacy? How can the dead enjoy? I just want to create Just to see it grow To see it go from nothing to something Not because of sunlight Not because of nature Because of me Is that wrong? I guess it is a little vain I know all things are vanity But, these are my thoughts Wrong thoughts, maybe They are MY imperfect thoughts I just want to create Cause and effect Action and reaction Thought and fruition It seems simple Too simple, to some They want more Some verbose explanation Some critical reason It is not that complex I just want to create I guess that's it, just create
Too long have I been staring at this cruel blank page before me, My crazed, hysteric mind screaming and imploring I know there is a message that's dying to come out— I need to fill this confounded page without the slightest doubt! It's a simple predicament to manipulate, Into a mass of thought A futile attempt to insinuate, Weak hints are left with naught I sit here in silent desperation, What can fill this page? I slap myself in indignation, My eagerness becoming rage! Like roaches sporadically running from light My thoughts are but a haze The words I write just don't seem right, On this cruel blank page!
I feel as though time is slipping away, And more is gone each passing day…
I've seen pieces of it in my head, Not together but it's there. All of a sudden it disappears Blackened thoughts fill the air. Creativity turns to despair, As writers block takes a bow, "WOW" Another stolen premier...
Dark poetry, slams and vague imagery Is there something you're trying to tell me? Poems with messages appeal Can you write to make me feel? Share your deep thoughts and allow me to see Disconnected images confuse And when the English language is abused I read no more, turn away Seek verse with something to say Writes with clear meanings that aren't obtuse There's so much talent on Poetry Soup And never have I found a finer group But no comments I'll impart If you're not creating art Make me think, feel, or I'll fly from your coop Written for the "Reader's Thoughts" contest
Oh that I could break the chime that addles my brain constantly That implanted seed of rhyme that worms in my subconscious That causes me to live and dream in my restrictive literary world Courted by couplets with ballad intoning in the near back ground I hear the thoughts of betters that advise me to divorce my love Perhaps I will beg my vowels and consonants to free me for a time To let my mind flutter like red admirals on blossom filled buddleia With the promise that I will return with gifts from afar to share That I will gather my love in sweet nectar scented embraces To assure them that I will always return to childhood friends Freedom freely given will strengthen our knowledge and ability Will let be seen that which hitherto was the domain of others
silent is my whisper silent is my pen silent is my wimper should they dare to listen in nothing says this poem nothing says this page nothing says ideals that i keep inside my head gone are all my feelings gone are all my words gone are dreams of wonders that are very seldom heard barren is my cleverness barren is my clown barren is the poet i always kept around absent is the artist absent are the claims absent is the messenger that bids remember his name missing are the phrases missing are the verbs missing are the verses that made souls to stir away is the conscious away with the pride away are the love letters somewhere locked inside without a purpose without a plea without reservations there is nothing inside of me zero inspiration zero spark of light zero taste of saddness nothing with which to write
haiku or senryu a million dollar question.... my hanged laptop ================= By:kash poet
Life is so crazy/ Death so busy it never get's lazy/ Thoughts blurred and blinded by true lies that they always get hazy/ The mother ****ing devil is always trying to chase me/ But I'm stronger than that I won't ever let *****like that ever ****ing faze me/ I no longer care if any muther ****ers want to over or under rate me/ I've already been ****ing up on my own lately/ I take your ****ing criticism greatly/ *****es I'm too real for any of you fake mother ****ers to fake me/ I'm too ****ing still in God's foundation to let the devil shake me/ I'm the general, the king of my own *****nobody can't ever break me/ **** what people say for I am the maker of my own *****people can't ever make me/ I'm the leader and deliverer of my own *****you can never take me/ Who want to question *****about *****mother ****ers thats why I'm Writer Crazy.....
I think I self-sabotage unknowingly because of fear So my message goes unheard because I'm afraid to let the people hear And end up drowning in the poetic blues doubting my ability to write about the truth; I dug deeper and deeper into myself trying to write a poem good enough to be free of judgment Then I stepped out on faith and suddenly I was triumphant and my writing grew and I was loving it I had finally passed the fear of speaking and caring about who the fu*c! was judging it As I wait to be inspired for the next poem, I sit and think alone and drown in my sorrows Listening to jazz, blues and a.m. radio trying to find an excuse not to perform at the SLAM because again I can't think of a damn thing to write….. Drowning in poetic blues Will this be the one that will be thrown away and never be used Or will this be the one that transcends the others and finally prove that poetry is blues and blues is poetry and hip hop and jazz and r&b, Poetry is music and the words dance around in my soul and I am free once they become spoken In the meantime the paper is where the words will rest until the silence is broken Drowning in the sea of proper delivery My voice, my stance, my intensity How will others interpret the words that I've chosen so diligently? I wrap my soul around the possibility that none of the words I choose – will keep me from becoming deluged and trapped by the poetic blues Somehow my heart refuses to accept that I don't deserve to have my words heard and it takes over this whole process No more time for shrinking and feeling less I was born to make my words manifest light I am a gorgeous medium to the truth yeah that's right I was sent here to give you a piece of good news Remember that God is with you when you get The poetic blues
Pop may be catchy But not lyrically deep Case in point: Chris Brown. (N.B. Poem written after hearing "Don't Wake Me Up")
DEATH OF A BELIEVER The death of soul steals slowly through the years the fog of mind that's never known to be; brought on by laughter, love, and hate and tears the fate of all that few can ever see. It brings the withering of life, and all its leaves, once green and shining in the morning sun, now setting on it all, in evening grieves for lack of interest in what life has done. Compassion leaves the mind, once fired and prime and old and tired now beats the heart we knew life now mundaned by passing of all time, there's nothing left the heart would like to do. Old man, you're numbered to your final breath and no one cares for all your sweat and tears, your rest is not until it's done in death, but keep the faith in what you've done for years. © ron wilson
Stop writing haikus They don't even make sense now Something something cake
the negro is inferno. doomed for hell. sinful with lost indulging in their own ignorance. made into a reincarnation of the devils wishes. the devils wants the devils needs. they say the pigment is the reason. but i say Jesus is the reason for the devilish seasons excuse my blatant response to the evils that have been done in the name of the SON. the inferno negro is the movie of this country, always watched and critic-ed. you must understand that self hating is very wicced, misunderstood when you walk through a suburban neighboorhood the devil is screaming conform!! conformm!! inferno negro you dont belong so just get along, even if the devil knows. the devil knows your story and your weakness and he lives behind and inside the so called supremacy system we live within. peace inferno negro know thyself for you are so lost in this Babylonia hell.
I needed a way to release from inside, All of the tears that I never cried, My head was exploding from all I kept in, While onto my face I glued a fake grin; I hid inside my suspicion and fears, And locked them away for many years; They built up a wall and trapped me within, Until I didn't even know where to begin; I had every emotion locked in my heart, So I started to write, I made it my art.
'my eyes with a film over them clouding them with iridescent shapes of you' I'm reading this again... probably not the best thing for me to read at this moment. sending off...hmm? do you still feel the same? a ramble of unpoetic lines shoved together haphazardly if the power of words can kill then I'm butchering a pig— —blood as virtual ink! …pathetic not poetic… comparing my 'poetry' to yours my UNpoetry yet, you say— —you claim to love it sending off— —do you still feel the same? 'my eyes' -coming 'round full circle- 'with a film over them' —just incase— you've forgotten [my eyes with a film over them clouding them with iridescent shapes of you] 'clouding them with' -repeated- 'iridescent shapes of' —not quite— 'you' sending off— —do you still feel the same? do you still feel the same?
People-verses If written by God, Why lost rhyme, measure?
Chapter 1 As but only one young lost man in a great land I sometimes don't want to see what I see in life but death causes me to look. I don't want to hear the things I hear but have to admit the things here that I've heard. I don't want to be guilty today it's why I continue to strive past my past for innocence in the near future. I don't want to feel what I feel but after another day in this dark place has gone by I can't hide what I have painfully felt. As but one young man I wonder why I question others motives and still can't see the answers to my own as if I know all the answers to life when I don't even know the true cause of my own. I wonder why I am happier at times but more often than not why I continue to be sad. I look for ones in groups of twos and get lost in groups of threes, but don't get even me started on the groups of fours. On the outside world I am lost yet inside myself I know I am found, I holler silently at night while I quietly pray during the day. As but only one young man I can only do what is best for self-first if I want to start making a difference for two. Sometimes life for one can be fun, but on the reservation more often than not it is boring and dull. On the reservation I found serenity and solitude in the hills but I also found old savages and young Satan's in the towns. I see beauty and peace in Mother Nature but I also found violence and ugliness among my very own in the neighborhood. I see not what I see and I think not what I think for I feel what I see which leads me to think. I choose rather to just be rather than not be what other people want me to be. I see what I see because I haven't really got a choice in what I will see, I'd rather choose to just say that I saw. Outside people can't make one see what I already choose not to see for I see what I see rather if they want me to see things their way or not. I can't feel what they feel unless they feel what I feel and live where I live and be where I am to know where I truly am from to understand the thoughts and feelings of not only a young native of struggle, but as a person worldwide no matter the skin color.
To Dine, To Die; Conversations spiral While thunderous eyes Grasp concepts to recycle. Constant debt crisis A political paradox Grating social devices Over the sorting of socks. Pseudo-analysis An endless groan Argumental paralysis The debate grants no throne. Existentialism Over a roast Potatoes won't listen To who talks the most. "That point is so interesting" The floor is open for chat "What is real?" not a thing "Meow" adds the cat.
I live in a place striving for sobriety surrounded in alcohol looking for happiness trapped among our very own sadness. I hear my people's laughs and I hear my people's cries, but most of all I see their dreams because their dreams are my dreams because we remain not against each other today as enemies but hidden friends united through culture, language and blood. I laugh with my people and of course I cry with my people and I fight with my people but most of all I continue to dream with my people. I know who I am and where I am from to know where I been to still hope to where I am going to go. I feel darkness engulf not only myself but also almost my entire reservation's race, no matter mixed or not because soon our culture and language will have no face without any more light to shine upon it. I know where I lived and still live to know if I will truly go where I truly want to go in life before I have my one walk with death. I know by a long shot that I am not the best but by a close hit on the reservation's target I could be better. I take a stand against self to stand against others to better a worsening crowd of many young lost indigenous souls waiting to be unknowingly found and waiting for something similar to what I'm about to write. I take a stand for self so that others know that we aren't all lost and we can and will be found with the true hope of no one's but your own. I take a stand because my brothers and sisters wont, I take a stand because now days most the people around me or within me can't or don't know how, I take a stand for the children who don't have a father and mother as I once had, I take a stand for my unborn child almost here, I take a stand for courage because within me is filled with fear, I take a stand against because the alcohol and drugs within me now I just can't stand, I take a stand for those around me who cannot stand, I take a stand for a culture dying on its knee's trying to get back up, I take a stand for the forsaken yet to be forgiven self-stand. I patiently wait, lying away in the darkness searching for light even though I can see the light I just don't know how to get on thy path to the light. I am not alone, I know for a fact that I am not alone in my thoughts and feelings about life on earth here. I can see our pain, I can hear the hollers and screams, I can feel your anguish and I can smell our destruction. I walk through the reservation valley of darkness as if I am but a blind witness to our own destruction upon where many of us go unknown truly forever in depths of time, in the depths of death. I know that I cannot give in or give up on a dream of a people's dream where the buffalo in our young hearts and minds may roam around free and where the wolf warrior chief may rise above all odds and become thy greatest modern day warrior, the people seek him, the people crave him, the people need him, the people need someone to rise if not geographically the worldwide mentally.
I used 2 think I know what I wanted out of my confused soul/ I want not what I have ,I want what I never had/ I want my time 2 stop, yet it still continues 2 go/ I strive 2 be good but almost always end up in the bad/ Livin in this American Struggle I was once happy, now seems like Im forever sad/ Im a man of values and peace but find myself in corruptness and fights/ In prison I had many dark days and very few bright nights/ No matter how wrong I was I am still 100% right/ Im searchin for inner peace but find myself so self-conflicted/ I want this but rather have that, Im so self-contradicted/ I find my heart fightin lovely thingz my soul so badly hated/ I want 2 be normal but find my talents by so many overrated/ I find it so easy 2 forsake that I rarely myself ever forgive/ My mind wants 2 die while my heart still wants to live/ I want to be recognized that I go unnoticed and lose track of the real me/ So I came 2 a concept of appreciating the fact that Im now free/ Now I just want to kick back an be me....
poka-dots and stripes black blue red purple and green these are my favorites
The Orangutang: There once was a traditionalist, Who in his ignorance had missed The beauty of youth, The ever-changing truth! He's a typical fundamentalist! The Traditionalist: "I can't stand these kids and their slang! They are just looking for a bang! Their rhymes are funky, But so are monkeys!" - Did he just call me an orangutang? "These darn kids and this gosh darn slam, It may flow, but it's still a scam! If it ain't metered, Then it's petered! Why waste your ink scribbling flimflam?"
the wheels just thumped a jazz beat (and it woke me from sleep- with my Lunch Poems) that made me think I was somewhere else like the drug- stores that all look the same inside only nothing like that nausea. (not the sweat I get from the stale air- conditioning not that prefab disorient from offwhite prefab aisles that all twist in the same direction, all born in weak perfection). the startling rhythm displaced me; its syncopated thump contused me and left these little ugly rainbows on my arms and that tattoo really goes at the start from each station but here the cadence has slowed (like the wagon wheels in an old movie that spin the wrong way) as we move backward it sounds more like a train, more humane. The wheels catch their groove and the pace relaxes the bumps disappear - it sounds more like a train.
A child is born all loving, forgiving, honest, a special child of the light, eyes wide open, awake, the wolves are happy, to feast at the table of its suffering. Feed it just enough love to survive, milk it of its light, little by little suckling its love, its forgiveness, a sweet delicacy for a vampiric world. The child becomes a young adult... control, conformity, submission, overwhelming expectations, no freedom, no love, no peace, a barrage of others suffering, cant get it off me, out of my head! out of my heart, it hurts! Its all too much! Why do they all hurt me? Why are they not honest like me? How can they be so mean to me? What is wrong with me? I just want a taste of love, to remind me why I am alive!!
When life seems empty And there's no place to go Unlike most artists I became Salvador Dali My Life daily tasks as a poet It's allow my spirit to go from high to low With my blessed hands and my tired feet a hard working peasant woman with diamond toes I set the countdown each passing day while I slave away. Those Infectious bole place in high positions, Governor of all the Nurses Using their authorities to weaken the spirits of the peasant And the down trodden souls who line your corridors both day and night however, this burden that seem too heavy to bear now....(bibilical God will lifts away on the wing of prayers.
Yeah I walk around life waitng for death/ I live in constant despair looking to be blessed/ Lies over truth around here always seem to infect/ The more sin I get in life the more saintly I seems less/ Im trapped in same dark place ;looking for a lighter quest I try and live a life full of goodness still trapped in badness I am yet to confess/ I try and hold onto what seems like something but theres nothing really but family left/ I know I am not he best, nor am I like the rest/ I know I can master checkers but still downed in chess/. I got to clean up my act because my life is a mess/ I patiently sit back while I ponder life for death and I wait/ I might as well look for something simple because I never find nothing great/ I struggle to stay under love and over my own hate/ I try and be real with others when to my own self I stay fake/ I feel life obstacles jolt my ambition like a chain that never breaks/ I want less more in life yet as a daily sinner I continue to both physically and mentally take/ I try and change my dark ways but still struggle at the fact that it might be too late/ I usaully catch myself complaining when infact I should be thankful for whats on my plate/ I usually hang onto the past and get scared of the future when I should worry about today/ I going to be that better man for my child because that sinner no longer in my heart I aint/ Sometimes in life we all struggle until we strive, but until then Im trapped between a young lost SINFUL SAINT........
I walk through the reservation valley of alcoholic death/ I fear no darkness among my own for the light breathes life on its own through my every breath/ I can no longer fit in for I need to stand out above the rest/ I can no longer follow, I got to be the host of my own because Im tired of being the guest/ I want to be the writer I dont want to be the reader/ I want to be the artist with the brush, I want to create I want to finally be my own leader/ I want to be able to follow society's rules because I am tired of being a cheater/ I want to be the supplier because Im tired of being the seeker/ I guess life is what I make it/ Forgive less as much as I still continue to forsake it/ My life is just a jolt but at times I feel death shake it/ Grab my emotions by the reins and straight earthquake it/ I try and fix my problems until someone comes by and breaks it/ but this is my time because Im still young so this young opportunity in life I must Take it. I got to hold my head held high from being low/ I got to stay lost until I find my own being my purpose of another young lost soul/ I cannot stop because Im too tired of staying stuck I must stay on go/ This my life now I know it my story waiting to be patiently told/ This my life now I got to let it un fold/ Let it slowly but surely grow/ Im just a hidden bomb waiting for my poetry to blow/ EVERYTHING I DID OR DO IN LIFE NOW IS SOMETHING I CHOSE? I GOTTA CHANGE BECAUSE I JUST CANT KEEP WALKING THE SAME RESERVATION ROAD.
I'm trapped in the American struggle/ Surrounded in the alcoholic drug addicted jungle/ In my soul called soul I seem to unknowingly look for trouble/ Yeah am I the only one to truly see our invisible chaotic bubble? / Am I the only one to truly live in while I realize the hidden pains in our own ghetto living rubble? / I see in what I still saw of the pains at the same time I hear the alcoholic mumbles/ Like a burnt cracker over a uncooked cookie I still see the culture crumble/ I see the staggering, I see the swerving and I see thy own stumbles/ Still yet I am crawling out the dirt like an ant spreading my wings in the sky like the bees bumble/ It's when I knew I was a soul called soul/ In my soul called soul I am in the super bowl/ Seven hundred seventy-seven now I can't let thy football fumble/ I am not going to let thy ring leader lead me in the circus no more, I am no longer an elephant Dumbo/ I'm here to stay not to go/ I been down that same road too many times before/ I know what it's like at the bottom, I hit it straight rock ,yeah I been that low/ now pains of my life I outgrow/it's when I knew I was a soul called soul In my soul called soul/ I hang on not to my enemies nor my friends but my own inner foes/ I got no true friends, I got no true bros/ I got no true women, I got no hoes/ I don't even know if I will even make it to be thirty-four/ I worry about alcoholic danger in the hood every time I walk out my front door/ I thank God I'm not rich and thank him for the experience of being dirt poor/ I thank him for the fact that I no longer have to steal from the local store/ I thank him for the simple fact that I can do simple everyday chores/ I remember a time when I was in a prison cell where even death itself felt like a bore/ until one day something great pick me up off the prison floor……..that was a time when I know I was a soul called SOUL/ I know my truck of life was ready to take it's damage when it can still pull its own toll/ I knew my boat of life was ready to go against high winds with a broken bow/ I knew I was ready when I can go against waves 100 feet high go under and still row/ if not then I make the surf board roll/ The storms comes like shadow hidden in the skies undergrowth/ I'm not only floating I'm also flying through them both/ I am no longer empty with darkness I am filled with light shone/ I am no longer alone, I am force of many through word flow/ I am a prophet among my own/ words put together like no other only I condone/ I say it in a unique tone/ I'm going to make it past the internet and cell phones/ I am the one, I am by a higher power chose/ These problems in life I will outgrow/ I will overcome being just another SOUL CALLED SOUL….
Even though i did not hear your voice tonight i'm still ahit, I will go on like this for ever, i wont go out without a fight. I'll fight till the end of this life to win your heart, All you have to do is tell me when to start. The music blarrin in my head phones at 1:52 AM and i'm lovin it, cause it helps me remember your gorgeous smile like it was meant to fit. Wanting to feel your touch and kisses all over me ignites the fire in me, Wanting to take you by your hand and run wild in a big sea. There aint much i can say to express myself but this will have to do for tonight, I think its just that i haven't reached height. You no I love you and that's all that matters or will ever matter to me, I will love you till i die, like I told you before, cant you see?
Unless I write the piece in reverse, it fizzles and dies by line four. There is something intriguing, viciously perplexing, and tricky about those Nonets that cause me to end up stuck.
where oh where does my passion lay? in a shoebox, under the staircase? i've been looking all day, i'm getting too tired to play. i guess it's better off this way, to be missing eternally, than to have been found and broken, a curse that bounds when spoken, these days i hardly mention your name. most dreams are fairytales, i need to pretend if i want to achieve. i'm numb, like i've had a lobotomy. i am living in honesty or i am not living at all, my passions been pressed into the page - transformed from a natural beauty into something useful.
The ticking, etching the central location Talking about something Talking about nothing To feel Or not A thought, a question Will this dare leave me now? I can't see my world it has gone blind Where I look and to what I find Passages of time Knowing the purpose Or not knowing Hide it quick its showing They cannot know me For if they do they shall be sickened be on compare For so long you've been my friend So don't fail me now My paper, my pen in my hand A place to run to A dream to dream The ticking, etching the central location The writer's scream
I speak to you in verses, fencing for my life From the crevasses of my shaken soul come about lost voices I neglected to hear, fragments of piercing awareness I inadvertently forgot, deranged feelings wrapped around my throat like a silk scarf forcing me to breathe deliberately, disorganized nonsense pouring out of my buzzing brain sweeping away everything I believed certain. Chunks of lucid thoughts emerge braving the weather, survivors in a stormy ocean of overwhelm I am left stranded among the bewildering remains of an inner shipwreck wondering how much of it you too can see.
I can use the letter s with so many s words, I am the seventh sign supreme soldier from the reservation suburbs, I fly like seagull in the open ocean sky supreme like an serpant eagle eating birds, I am so solid Im siked and sipped up from the sizzy sizzurp, I stagger until I swerve swiftly as snake in the souless society lost curbs, life so crooked it stained with soaked blood life around death curves, I cant believe so many lost soveriegn souls *****on they own siblings as the culture turns, I know I am sure of being sure of what I sought to learn, The brain with suicide can sometimes burn. Souless savage in society I be among little certain satans, lost in circles saying "7th Sign Empire Engraving"like my own still souls of savage culture on certain colors discriminating, But whats even worse is soul on souls hating, Society severed in broken circles still forsaken, Serpants searching society split in seven different groups of seven hundred seventy-two, Forsake my Se7en and I forsake thee seven times seven fold because truth be said Im souless to you, Se7enth Sign Supreme Solid Serene Soldier of of the sacred seven, I say I have always said society on my word S
Yeah Im feeling a lil too native tonight like Im on da rez like a youngster drunk and suicidal Poppin pills like Im poppin at my own people like they my culturalistic rivals I'm dying slowly like my culture yet Im still reading the about God and the Holy Bible I almost died not once but twice thats why I strive for survival Im a lil mad at God ever since he took my lil brother but I shall get over it in a lil while Im more greatful ever since he gave back life with my first child Living life up to this point in my life has now been worth the while time ticking away everyday on da rez like the sun dial so no time to waste any longer in this tribulation of another life to death trial I shall bring back all my lost long life culture files I am like a new trend people Im litterally making my own clothes with the Rez Life 7 style I shall overcome bull*****even if at times it gets me a lil riled Breaking through hangovers like out the stomach comes last nights bile Im litterally building onto whats left in my trash pile I aint going to stop until I have my legs crushed during the last mile I hit jumps in my car through life as it idles This is just but another life lived in gratitude I cant lie though It shouldnt matter too much in the end because I will be high Bro Insanely flying in the sky like an acrobatic physco Shooting through leather problems like a twelve gauge rifle so much it makes my own heart with a quick fix stifle Im gonna make it through my haters doubts with a quick glance as I smile I will bring back hope not to theirs or yours but my own before I end up back in denial
I be frum brooklin And I bee edumacatid reel goode En iff uz wanna bee sefistikated lic mee end Gawd weil bee wit uz en ween u finde Hiem asc Him 2 drope buy me's.
"I never travel without my diary, one should always have something sensational to read.." ~Oscar Wilde, 1891 Dear Diary, April 6, 2011 I am a wandering writer. New to the world; always a fighter. Experiencing light and a world of mystique, Places of normal, weird, and oblique. I try to keep up with the world passing by But I am falling behind the harder I try. I feel like a new Helen Keller in ways. In darkness and silence for each of my days. Raising my voice yet not being heard, I need to master the author's word. With many thoughts and ideas that need to get out, So I'll continue to scream and continue to shout. I'll find a way in even if I must jump, Because I too have to find, my own water pump.... Sincerely, Voiceless
Drain out the violence from the paintbrush and smear it to the canvas Aggressive creatures scuttle into my expanding cranium Memories of him echoes through the forest…into the atmosphere Astonishing screams of misfortune filter the forest where he once trailed Great solitude and rage tortures us all…we will not fall! Everlasting breakage paints me a portrait of turmoil and what not
I beg for your forbearance For I have disregarded my faith towards You I beg for your healing in advance For I have disclaimed Your protection and now I'm blue Do you notice that I'm blanketed in deep distress? My pillow is soaked externally with unsettling tears My good memories that bestowed hopefulness Has been meddled with for years Has been mistreated and replaced by insecure dreadfulness I need shelter from the tide of despairs and fears I'm shattered and I'm seeking Your helping hand Receive my hushed prayer…from your throne in heaven I'm begging for Your contentment that's beyond grand Receive my muffled prayer… or I'll be stuck in this tarnished den Do you notice that I'm spinning mad in the rivers of mystifying visions? My unwavering boat sinks drastically with damaged gears My bad memories that departed from my missions Has been discarding the carefree years Has been neglected and torn apart by dishonorable decisions I need Your love to embrace me with jubilation and cheers I beseech for Your mercy For I have abused my steadfast hope towards You I look forward to Your infinite Kingdom favorably For I have admired Your blessings and now my dreams come true! In Jesus's name, AMEN!
The bewildered tip of my pen hovered over the blank thirsty pages… I thought expressing feelings is as magnificent as the sight of the sun's birth from the horizon's womb... Or as miraculous as a squeamish bizarre caterpillar's transformation into an elegant butterfly… Such a transcending experience still lingers within the facets of my subconscious… As I limp through the days under the weight my tumescent thoughts… With my weary pen, I converse the endless possibilities of a phrase, a word, a feeling… How few ordinary words from countless pens became etched in history… I'm hovering with my pen wondering about how to write and what to write… Should I write about what was in the past; a past I long to forget… Or about a present; a present battle I still haven't won… Or about a future; nameless, precarious yet an exciting adventure… Should I give birth to what's swelling inside or consider abortion… My pen is choking…it's time to end the turmoil and hesitation… I'll just press down the tip of my black pen on white paper… And wait for a reaction… Isn't that how it works anyway?
This is the story of 'the twitch'. We have all had it: That bit of movement before we sleep. We have been awakened by it when we were younger. . . it threw our arm out to catch us before we fell out of bed. It was even younger than that for us. It was sometimes confused with a kick -- from our mothers' tummies to the swaddle of blanket. As we grew, the arm no longer flew. . . and thus. . . 'the twitch'. It is thought that we started with a parting of the energy that mathematicians make Einsteins of, or, sounds of the aria that Mozart'd into our echoes of the day -- a marriage of concept and conceptual. It took us through the outreach of awkward doubt. . . brought us 'round the curve of nerve for monkey bars toward the first dance; drew blood in our mouths before we got the first punch – given/taken. The part of 'the twitch' that is worthy of noting now is that it has never wanted to be caught: It wanted more than nothing to be left alone – perhaps; conceived that it would be an occasion for cause. . . effect – the drive our parents tried to delay with Dr. Seuss and Disney books. A teenage indifference took us away from it. We all fall asleep. . . as we've always done. The story of 'the twitch' begins at the thumb; carries on. . . for the course of fingers it touched. Brings us a little closer to the edge of our beds.
Rushing here, there and everywhere, A mind that leaps canyons and space Ricocheting, bouncing on rock walls, Dislocation with turbulent pace. Scuffing up dust and then zinging, Off at wild tangents or angles, Darting, exploding like fireworks, Neurological barbed wire tangles. And sometimes, sometimes crave tearing At the flesh beneath tingling skin, To rip this man-suit off the mainframe And extinguish the chaos within.
Once again trapped in the darkness with worded guns still trapped, Im just trying to make a statement that will make it on this American map, Im getting old as I only live this youth once so I best live it searching for light in darkness of black, Years gone by a lost youth going away time lost that I wont ever get back, So it best I get back on the track......... Now iz a tyme for flames hope I spark this, Poetry like mine many will come from places near and far and embark in this, I will literally be the found ancient lost seen lockness..... Lord please guide this soul as I am standing in the darkness......yet again....
What caused and made me try this cryptic voice Did I or did I not have any choice is Time so cruel to teasingly disgrace The weaponry I choose to seal my fate Silence is so easy to embrace and use I could yet stay a shy reclusive muse If not for this my desperate attempt at words of rhymed intention Alas Alack this stolen time I'd saved to spend in quiet contemplation
Biding peace laid for some pariah, spinning all mind's lie. Vision gliding ever higher, soaring ecstasy; exquisite sapphire sky Yet wing Wired, we catch earthbound, nothing but shifting twilight sight. cutting thy hand short. Records wake, flash bright white. Formed half here, half there. Lost by laughter and fear, A stolen shadow's path to nowhere. Within this vista of pure visual; , ghostly green shine. lit from MOON'S far dream. The soothe sayer of dazed worry, forgetting past fright of yet another scene. Igniting matters .. all grey coloured shock. slumbering his career spent, clinging by the scraps scraping slow dawn drawing ever near to mislead by a prized pun .. if not ... REMember. gathering with a shaded kind, left now, dust, dry light. slipping as a fade out mind dashed on mourning stealing yet another oblique view. Aimless day-walker disjointed from the world; so bland and blue. As Joy bursts from chest when ever pen hits nothing compares to thy writing; Alls elated fits.
Writer's Block is a farce a blue excuse with no good reason an open ended discussion of waste Writer's Block hangs out with Santa drinking no reason to join them at the North Pole of nowhere Writer's Block is a temptation a black rose waiting in the hand of the wicked telling you it's okay to be lazy Writer's Block is an imaginary friend of the desperate feasting on your company and the smell of your beauty Writer's Block is a weak hoax marinating in dumb a submissive idiot who barely exists so leave him alone Writer's Block is fine without you let him be single You are better without the mix of his device.
How long has it been? How long have I been writing? Did I miss dinner? Has the sun gone down? Is it rising in the east? I could not hear the music I was playing The radio's battery died long ago How could it have been silent for so long? Could I have been lost in my work for so long? Time went past without me noticing I was sitting in my chair typing on my computer Right where I started so long ago Thinking and writing Not noticing the world around me I am forever lost in my thoughts
Senseless sensibility, they eolith dualist monopolies all too sudden… a true contradition; sentries of, as already sated… senseless sensibility… municipally… you-will-seize… day after deign… night after umberellian echoes… aversely cyclic… for if the wakean lent voice o'er hop itself, dost veer cane tray nether realm as well? Neigh… endomorphic; anthropaedophilic lust… steadily endures romantic inflammations… a rash once fought… until the moral ambiguity slides back unto tenuous tense and marathon… as if the end was already soon, or had passed…? For that as it seems is all too rhetorical in rhetoric, and misconstrued by puncture floundered fallacappy… gently top-plead due to intrinsartistic licensing… twenty four hour raffles, tambala sable… twenty four hours O'raisin deter…:
Smilingly some say 'no' Angrily some say 'no' Very easily some say 'no'. So not many hesitate to say 'no'. So the word 'no' Even if truly uttered Or pretending mattered. 'No' can be a canopy. Or used as an analogy. Used sometimes to distortedly stop. And sometimes used for being at top. "No" is a sweet word. It is seldom absurd. When heard it may be disappointing. Sometimes very annoying 'No' is usually said boldly Suddenly, and profoundly…
Crackling blood lies in these forest grounds Grass growing by its lively effect… Growing a grimace to the environment As the predators hung her on the branches, carving her left eye on the oak tree and carving her right eye on the olive tree They grow livelier… sucking up the carrions from off the ground Drowning the vines that try to suffocate and remove them for life left to be in history…unceasingly forgotten Now the forest has industrialized into an Eye Forest Eyes protruding…extorting on the tree trunks Liquefied by anguish…they had wished to escape Their pupils punctured by arrows of death They grow more affectionate towards the lively soul… watching people suffer in indignity and disproof Here's that living evidence! Hidden proof! Hunted by the worst predator out there in the deepest of the forest The eyes seem to stare into your own Locked with your frightening vibes Feeling your dangling fears and pain Weeping them insane… there is no one out there to be blamed, even in the deepest of the forest Oh you carrion heart, soul and body you are accepted to the collection and grow insanely and look into a world of reflection You are one of those who lie in the midst of obscurity JUST wait till the day of Resurrection... Oh you carrion soul and body Surviving through the shadows of the forest, roaming along the compacted forest, moping about in displeasure because without a doubt you are a magnificent collection to the eye generation to look upon a cheerless, remorseful life, Given away by the predator They soon diminish the evidence… Here's that living evidence! Hidden proof! You're left for dead after all Allow them to spread one of your eyes on this tantalizing tree Let them do their job as a hunter Your awareness is diminished Allow yourself to not be startled Lose yourself, and later on, you'll break free of pain and fear
Yellow sheets, blue lines red lines even
I'm writing a series; it goes like this: "I" "m" "w" "r" "iting a series;" "it goes like this:" I just wrote a series.
I'm put upon to ponder the problem of poetry & thus, I proudly or, perhaps, perfunctorily, Ponderously pronounce with a preponderance, Even a plethora, of p's: Poetry is pithy, prankish and perky, Pertinent and impertinent, too It's prophetic, pathetic, pragmatic and proud Poetry pretends, preaches, points out, Points to, and down, and under Poetry's petals promise purity and peace Poetry's pristine, picky and pale Poetry is practical, prudent, is pregnant, Gives pause Poetry's precise, prayerful, powerful Poetry's presence is portentious and playful Poetry's a mosaic portrayal, a Painted portraiture, perfect, profane Prosaic, it is not, Preposterous, it is It is ponderous, political, porous, pontifical Peripatetic and perennial, Prescient, pedantic, possessive and puerile Perfidious, perceptible, perplexing, perfectible Poetry perseverates, preserves, perseveres Sometimes perplexing, never perishable, It pulses it prowls, it probes and it pries Poetry is a perverse, precocious, pubescent prankster It prances, and preens periwinkle plumage In place of deep purple prose A persuasive, peculiarly pleasant peacock, Poetry promulgates poems! Poetry, dear poet, exists Poetry, dear poet, persists Poetry, dear poet, persists and preoccupies Poetry can never desist Poetry perpetually propagates poems And that is the problem with poetry… Phew!!!
Ain't you got Something better to do? Than sit around, And feeling blue? You live your life, to criticize, But you only see With a dead man's eyes Go build a model, Or paint some art And stop being A complaining old fart Or sit in a corner As a child gone bad Face it now, Your life is sad Or, at least, shut your mouth, It seems your luck, Has been headed south I've said my piece That's all I will So listen up And take a chill-pill!
Who do you feel like today? Do you even remember my name? It's been 8 years since then, Has the willow tree we sat under gone dead? I wonder if you've changed, if you regret your biggest mistake. Do you feel the sorrow i feel? Is this pain the only thing that feels real? I feel no sorrow now, I only feel hatered for the world somehow, How could you rape your granddaughters? And Forget your own son, My father?! How could you do this to me? The only way how i feel now is to bleed. I put no effort, no feeling, no thought, In the war, This battle in my heart How do you feel like today? Is it easier to know that your safe? Outta jail they let you out, Why so you can pay your road to hell? So i plant me a willow tree, right above the grass, below the leaves. I lay here below this willow tree, My only friend beside of me, The memories still remain, Alone, But it's better off this way
Confused Yet A New Take on an old story. Just a piece nonsense I hope you will enjoy Pull up and chair and sit on the floor I'm going to tell you a story you're never seen before Late one night in the early morning I stood outside the house while sitting in my bedroom I shouted at the top of my lungs while whispering to my friend Who was sitting beside me as I stood in the hall That thunder was loud and the clouds were black As sun shone bright from a clear blue sky Ask me on qeustions and I'll tell you now lie Just ask the blind man he saw it too.
You think Christ is not hurt With loving what you thought is Christ Loving Christ is being in His true Church In Catholic or Roman Catholic you are not condemned but saved In His Church Ask R.C.I.A. Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults Is like a college Religion class You will learn the truth In other man-made religion bible are lies What you're reading is really the true Church Not your own It's like a blind Leading another blind They would both fall in hell of fire It is not the minister's fault Your own, rather take them with you Both of you learn the truth For every man they can be a deacon Bishop and Priest are not with a wife For Jesus Christ is a High Priest Great Prophet Only Son of the most High The Redeemer In RCIA, you will receive 3 important Sacraments Baptism Confirmation and Holy Eucharist or the Body of Christ We want God to be pleased with us Eternal Father told the people To Listen only to the Messiah and The One I sent What are these Christ like churches? Non Catholic churches? People in there are already condemned Being in Catholic or Roman Catholic, you are saved
Adrenaline races to her heart As air escapes her lungs Her mind is being torn apart Her life cannot be done She counts out her last breath And counts out her frustrations She curses the great blue depths And curses life's expectations She fights the weight tugging at her She fights for her own whim She fights the tempting urge To simply, weakly give in The road to freedom is not in sight She is sinking in a worn out trail She tries to stray with all her might As she lets her pen set sail
Cinqo De Mayo...When a Brooklyn thug target shoots at a floating jar of Hellman's. Dutch- Where do they come from? I've looked at atlases dozens of times, and can't find a country called Dutch, or Dutchland. Dusty Springfield- why doesn't someone get her a dust-buster, or dust rag, or something? Refried Beans- What's that about? Didn't they fry them right the first time? Chigger- defamatory label for a person half Chinese, and half Black. Endomorph- Quitting a serious drug habit. Hoe-Down- 1)Dropping your garden tool. 2)A prostitute rendered unconscious. Ignoramus- A hippo who failed in high-school. Knee-Jerk-A person whose brains are in his shins. Primate- A burglar's cohort with the crowbar. More may be added later, and all are welcome to contribute, either in comments, or e-mail me and I'll add them.
I feel so lost so gone, but yet so found/ My mind so weak, so fragile, but yet so determined so bound/ Mind so high so fly but still on the ****in ground/ Voice so silent so quiet, but yet so loud/ Feel so skinny so thin but still gaining them poundz/ Thought I wouldn't make it through the first but still standing in the seventh round/ My words so limp so skimp, but yet still making them gangstified soundz/ I feel so energized so choatic but still wanna lounge/ Ya'll better be ready when 7 comes through your town!!!! I can't lyrically quit for shyt/ Living around rez life lyrical bull isshh/ fake ass hating trickz/ wanna be bloodz and fake ass cripz/ I jus need to kick back and take another green hit/ ****a alcoholic fit/my own lizzife iz like a three dimensional skit/ I got to wake up and let myself go..can't hang on no more......gots to find my lost heart and soul...God please let a young native like me grow to know the real shyt in life!!
She's stubborn, this watcher of mine and she fights hard to win the battles she wages in my mind. Her victory comes when I shrink away from the words that fight to break free. Yet, she looks at me with scorn when I give up and walk away, but isn't that what she wanted? She delights it seems in planting seeds of doubt that seem to grow wild and rampant. Convincing me my words are nothing except foolish, childish dreams. "Who would care"? She asks with contempt. "What if you're right"? I scream at her. As she turns to walk away she looks over her shoulder and softly replies, "What if I'm wrong"?
I'm here amongst the huge pile of haiku. Can you see me? I hope you do. I've been buried here and I don't know what to do. Each time I post a poem.. it gets buried by haiku! !
WHAT IS HOME? ROLLING HILLS ARE HOME TO ME, PLAYING CHESS WITH FRIENDS, DANCING ON THE WEEKEND, WALKING IN THE WIND, BLOWING BUBBLES. (Reflect) BUBBLES BLOWING WIND, THE "IN" WALKING WEEKEND, THE "ON" DANCING FRIENDS WITH CHESS PLAYING ME. TO HOME ARE HILLS ROLLING?
sundae, as ever, the first day of the weak, in tradition, an hour, or a minute of silence… silence, as ever, suffered no fool, without conception, immaculate or no…
... And be one eye , one soul as the world recedes , gone , away far climbs. Vanished like a driven cloud. He is merely flesh and blood Reality ; slaughterhouse stumbling through script typed in selfless pursuit. Wanting only quickened wit & Pupil's Needs. Mortal simian image, which we , the living only feel and bear and tremble and are gone. Upon my Darling's beaming eyes The summit of everest slurs into a bog or quagmire , deep and dank. So gazing with the boldness which prevails love, and peace and gracious mirth. with a voice less loud though its joys and fears show wool in dissembled colours shine. As the passers by near us drew the Need to know from our stares, going further... " O Merciless Lady & Vulture Poet when I am pinned and wriggling on the wall I will turn my bewildered eyes out of soil and darkness , to run through every alternate scene Where I used to play on the green in goodly colours gloriously arrayed. And a voice less loud brought me breathless to Aphrodite , throned in flowers beyond this pale picture ; be the dream. Roaing with laughter as a fallow deer is clear cut through the sun seen peering out the skull. Alls vast lilliputin language cannot describe an Echo of the Time, after the rainbow. Then , as if some strange mystery aware that you should remember & be sad. Now memory feels itself grow weak , I can not endure, I am merely flesh and blood " "it will be found once more , I say to thee with furtive flagons , white and red. Now get back retreat, depart." She of the tribunal did command great at sea, and the Heaven. From some touch of pity which may still restrain she let him pass. A leaf fallling softly at my feet, but I saw it was not as thought , only inked. Falling in Heaven's crescendo. Climax always brushing distance out of reach. As to long panoramas of Visions, of my faith , I'd give whole to see the architect of my dreams once more. I am waiting here for thee, flesh and blood , merely. Ne'er to be found again. I am like a flag unfurled in space. Oh ! Lost to Her and all thy race to wit faces of scorn , stuttering ends this morn ; O Weak Heart. I long to rise. Never being a Poet of God's making , laughter to thy lips, wandering to sigh among mortal men dust ; shall return to dust. As the storm cries everynight and those that know me confirm that it is thus. Easing a new epilogue , tremble and we are gone...
Where is your mind right now? On the paper, or the screen, I hope, and not on these meaningless words.
Words swirl around in my head I starts and until I write them down They just won't end Writing my words on paper For people to find significance within them These words are very real to me The emotions are far from being pretend Some say you looked right into my heart You've seen my soul You read my mind Just how did you know You pinned my feelings to a tee How again could you see Everything within me Here's you answer as to why The words that I write are my pain I've seen you, yet not knowing you, through my own eyes Just because we are different, don't mean we are still not the same Emotions are universal They make the world go round The silent cries of screams Quiet is my sound To often of times The struggle leaves one Lying on the ground The hurt so heart wrenching And so very real Time is never ending Life is what the pain will steal So breathtakingly helpless Is what you will feel Heartbreakingly hopeless Devastatingly you just can't seem to heal So yeah, I write my words of hurt and pain On the pages of paper to share with you Many will relate and they often feel the same At some point of time I do hope you find some sort of comfort here Within my lines of worded rhyme Perhaps they will help your heart and soul to let go and heal Cause while they do help me get by Most times they don't really help mine
You wanna know why I read? I read because books are my escape. I read because the friends I have in books are so much truer than the friends I have in real life. I read because in books I am as breathtakingly beautiful as the heroine in the story and not a one-hundred-thirty-three pound white girl with a black girl's ass. I read because the stories are either so good, I can try to wish myself into them Or they're so horrid they make my life look like a fairytale. You wanna know why I read? I read because the parents in books don't yell at me for failing a test that I stayed up until 1 in the morning studying for Or tell me I'm getting cellulite when its clear that I already hate the way I look. I read because the little brothers and little sisters in books are adorably hilarious where mine are annoyingly bothersome. I read because when my nose is in a good book, my mind is where that book is, not in the reality that is my life. I read because the boys in books are more kind to me than the boys in my classes at school. You wanna know why I read? I read because I love to read. But you wanna know why I don't read? I don't read because reading is shameful in the world I live in. I don't read because reading is something tedious, a chore you do simply to make the grade in English. I don't read because the stories in books remind me just how much my life sucks. You wanna know why I don't read? I don't read because every page I turn is another homework assignment not turned in, another failing grade to show my parents. I don't read because every time I read I want a snack to munch on, and every time that snack is a chocolate bar I think to myself "You fat, ugly girl, you don't need that chocolate, you know what they say: a moment on the lips a lifetime on the hips." I don't read because what boy wants a girl whose prince charming is not ever going to show up on her front porch with a dozen roses and a devastatingly handsome smile? You wanna know why I don't read? I don't read because every time I finish a book that was a new obsession, I have to find one just like it and there never is one. I don't read because when the hero dies, so does a piece of my heart. I don't read because every book I read just reminds me that I'm the freak brainiac of my class, and that's all anyone sees when they look at me. I don't read because the perfect characters in books make me hate my imperfect self. I don't read because I hate to read.
Wrote half a poem on a rat Then realized I'd spelled it wrong It's not "Pact" Rat, it's a "Pack" Rat This write is just taking too long Did a search on the Internet To see how the word can be used Wanted a unique use of Pact So all of them there, I perused Gave up and threw-in the towel And decided to use them all Although it may not make much sense It's a way around a brick wall Like a treaty between nations Pact is a formal agreement Accord, alliance, protocol A bond, a deal, an arrangement PACT, a maker of underwear, Hawaiian family service Makes digital power scales It's also an adoption service PACT is a citizen work group And also bunch of other things This has been going on too long It's over, I'm stopping the pain
deride derision divide division devise a vision play with words like rythym tick something squared is power of two and cubed's the power of three not four that's more are inconsistent seas unfound or foundered I think there four iambic meters cause caucasion indecision in a celtic melded welded mind I find a loss of words incomprehensic in reprehensic pensitivity
The monster became a living, walking nightmare my dive into insanity, no longer perfect, containing a blank stare I should resist, the monster will find me, run away with me Pretend to hear my meager complaints, force me to see what I'm afraid to see Blame and guilt, volleying right and left, up and down It's crashing me closer, with every step, I'm falling to the ground It's all a game, just play along, play the game, play it well Brimming confidence, dissolved in thoughts, of what? I won't tell Demons, devil born souls, run quick, run fast, stand my ground No sense of fear, n sense of foreboding, not even a slight sound High speed, pursuit of hell, bent on going, bent on crashing Giving into the power, life's faster, lights flashing Crash and torment me again, my eyes close after all The beginning of the end for me, feeling numb after the fall Is there a way out? I'm different, distant and moved on Listen to the water, calling, coaxing into death, I'm gone Endless, empty cloud; dreamless oblivion; oxygen, exhalation Am I dead? Still alive? Broken into pieces, I need motivation Reality closes in, walls me in; until there's nothing there Death comes behind me, containing a blank stare.
All of the aftermaths occur after the wake of a bunch of terrible events: Hurricane Katrina, the September 11th attacks in New York City, War in Iraq, and others. these types of tragic events and a bunch of aftermaths have been around since the day the world was created by God. There's no telling what will happen next if these tragedies keep coming unexpectedly and stuff. It seems to all of the Americans today that after these tragedies like the deaths of their loved ones, the deaths of most U.S. soldiers, Hurricanes Ike and Rita destroying Houston, Texas, these people are trying to deal with the loss of their homes and other people have been mourning the loss of the ones who've lost their lives to these tragic events or by the hands of evil people. The aftermath of those events have been haunting the lives of all U.S. citizens since day one. What makes most people sad is that they have to deal with the fact that their loved ones are gone and other people are still trying to deal with the fact that America almost lost its innocence, even after 9-11. These events have been talked about on the news at 5:00 p.m., 6:00 p.m., and 9:00 p.m. This is so wrong, especially for us Americans. Tragedies and the aftermath of all heartbreaking tragedies are starting to make us even more sad and depressed. Everybody doesn't like it. And if all types of tragedies continue to rise and there's going to be more aftermaths after those tragedies or whatever, we'll be in for a rude awakening.
You're the dawn of despair and gloominess You're the sunset that discards my gladness You deceived me…you made me trek the road of calamity You grieve for me…you yearn for my sympathy… but I overlook your pity Horror strikes me, scorching away my destiny My confidence has slowly departed from me…so what should I do? Terror swallows me alive, now I'm begging to flee! My self-reliance has disregarded and fled from thee…now I'm crammed with woe Digest the emptiness that I feel deep inside Heed to what I'm about to announce to you… Digest the affliction that I brushed aside Hear what I'm about to warn you about…it's all true You deserted me…melt the isolation that has filled us with woe You brainwashed me…you tarnished my bliss You captivated me…now I have nowhere to go You terrorized me…you singed up my happiness You're the dawn of anguish and shame You're the midnight stars that burn with fame You betrayed me…you made me cut down my garden…shedding fertility You mourn for me…you long for my forgiveness… so I'm ready to accept your plea What is the code that will animate your presence? What is the code that will liquefy the ice of silence?
She's running toward the light. She's chased it all her life. She wants it all to end so bad, But she will never reach salvation. She sold her soul. He tricked her. The master of deception. The puppeteer. She thought he wanted more, More than just her mind, But that's all he wanted, To put strings attached. She has to break free, Before he comes. She must cut the strings, Pull them apart. But she doesn't know how. She's desperate. She cuts her wrist. She thinks she just reached salvation. But she just let him forever have her. She completed the deal. She shed the blood. She killed herself. Now the light goes out, And she's all alone. She starts to cry, Then she hears footsteps. He's come for her...
blank page inspiration does not flow dry well
The sun's devouring rays Reveals an astounding sensation against the marvelous universe It caresses the earth with warm hugs and gives life to the motionless gaze Its auras are above nature's designating exteriors Its swaying beauty is beyond Earth's inhabitants, deserving my praise It treasures the sky with joyousness and forms swarms of jeering birds The sighs of the wind attracts clamoring herds The sun's appalling flames Unshackles a zealous tune that reveals the Earth's accord It embraces the atmosphere with remarkable claims Unraveling my curiosity; my ears are pleading to hear more, so I go forward! It prizes the ocean with eagerness and forms swarms of screeching seagulls The strength of the waves draws in scorching souls The sun's unattainable rays Motivate life to trail on till its duty is done Its auras seep through the whirling sky and strays Embracing ambitious love like a father and son
We are sullenly mourning For security from the demoralizing night I am despairingly probing For mercy to carry us back to our divine flight We are all wishing for infinite freedom We are all seeking for an abundant kingdom If we are living in pure happiness, why are we so emotional inside and out? Why are we painstakingly tracking down a getaway away from this mystifying dilemma? What is all this venturing about? If we are swaying in the rhythm of faultless jolliness, why are we vexing about the departure of our best friend? It isn't in our control…so get a grip or we'll fall! If we build up our friendship, we'll have wounds to mend So stop your blaming and cursing or we'll be in appall If we are all leaders, why are we panicking? We are all leaders…we aren't senseless pleaders! So face your phobias and get out of the deserted state! We are all leaders…we will not give in, vile deceivers! Saunter out of sight, so we won't meet our unsettling fate! You meddled with our cries So don't point fingers, you insidious devil And forced us to believe your jaded lies SHUT YOUR MOUTH! I don't want to consider your excuses, for our truth stands still If we are living in pure happiness, why are we not meant to be? If we are living in pure happiness, why are we battered and bent? If I am living in pure happiness, why am I not free? Could we ever discard this horrifying dilemma that pounds on us like cement? We must act like a leader—tough and vigilant Striving to survive! We must mimic like a leader—buff and independent Struggling to stay alive! Disregard the mourning state; Drive out the defiant enemies and make them face their damnations So we can joyfully integrate and negotiate You'd do me a favor to cease your supplications!
Yes, I'm talking to you. Don't leave me hanging Like a shirt on a hook Or a man in a game. Fill in the blanks; Don't make me die. I need an answer Before I get hung And I never learn What it is you wanted to say. Yes, I'm talking to you.
Two days before the deadline. Fingers flying frantically, Condensing a lifetime's achievement In 500 words or less. Eyes are bloodshot from the long night, spent Staring and scanning every line, every blip With the careful precision of a surgeon. Secretly beautifying my faults Like an embalmer, decorating wounds, To make even a dead body presentable. All to impress anonymous judges Who are endowed with the authority To confirm my life's worth. Judges who grade lives— Out of a pool of million— Superficial enough to be condensed In 500 words or less.
Waiting for a response Stumbling upon it for months Fiddling with decaying words Unlocking birdcages, Letting go of birds Will I ever be let go By troublesome guilt, Fluttering and squealing with joy? Waiting for an entrance I try to break through it for years But I'm shattered by denied words I'm trying to find a path to go through But...I'm trapped by the thought of you
I spit the words you made me eat, and then they land on you as there you stand aghast – You cringe and stare at what you said; thick phlegm bedecks your face, a white-hot, slimy blast. They left a taste, a bitter paste of hate and painful anger. Tongue to teeth, I fled the room and slapped the twisted hands of fate from off my neck as choking life-breath bled. I tripped, you screamed and tried to grab me back – Too late for that, and now we fall apart. The precipice is yawning, grim, deep black and down I plunge, my ending and my start. The forge of stellar flame blows hot, then cold as melting, sculpted frozen wings unfold
Like a rose lacking its pedals, My tranquility disregards its fascinating smells Like a tree shaking off dashes of its mangled leaves The switch of seasons interweaves... You infuriate me with petrifying peace You unlocked the gate... unsealing healing doom Miniscule doom rummages through the town, Wreckage brings peace, making us whole, Stumbling down by our enrapturing gown Polishing the mayhem, what a fine world... You ate away at my purifying peace You unfasten my fate... concealing chilling doom Like a guitar tattered and out of tune, The havoc that I observe is merely a mouldering misfortune Like a drum busted open during the afternoon, The peace that I yearn for has expired again... You hesitate to gather refreshing peace You unwind my misery state... unraveling incorruptible doom
I don't love you for your wit You're always spitting bile. Reluctantly I now admit I do not love your smile. Nor do love your manly touch And I don't love your smell. I just don't love you very much, So why's your silence hell? I do not miss your lilting voice, Nor do I miss your kiss. I've never seen your laughing eyes So what is there to miss? I don't love your hand in mine It's strictly for the birds. Without your love I'm doing fine, But how I miss your words.
A Page of apology A Cake or chocolate A Poetry of smiles A Bouquet of flowers A Shower of reminders Or just a thought that I remembered You What may it take to reply
Hate, A strong word Word of discrimination Word of power Can tear friends and family apart Used everyday in everyway Hate, A four letter word that will destroy our life Word of prejudice A word known as abdhorrence So harmful and so dangerou, yet we still use it.
On this parchment I am forced to write That of which I cannot speak On this oh so delicate paper I am enraptured by my under lying thoughts On this meager piece of material And this once sharp pencil I try to express the deepest of emotions On this once blank loose leaf That I now read to it's fullest I find that though I wrote about nothing On this one piece of parchment About nothing at all it seems Is full of something you feel, not just see
My stint is to constrict, Like a serpent on the offence. Twisting and squeezing, My pulchritudinous polka dots. Whether my complexion burns like fire Or freezes like ice My chassis and tenuity hold true. Versatility makes my copies As I'm prerequisite to all. Children abhor me, Corpulent simpletons do likewise. Prestigious parliament parade me As I'm a sign of social standing.
...A poem dedicated to a character named Koreen Mae Garson (a lady, not a man)... Your love smokes me like a worn-out cigarette Your love blemishes me with bite marks You brush aside the crumbs…now I'm stomped on all over again Your hugs are constricting like a serpent Your hugs loses its passion…my fury vigorously sparks You abandon me cold-bloodedly, now I choke in harsh punishment Your treachery strangles me…you don't consider my screams of importance You snatch away my humility and leave me with the crumbs of shame Your arrogance plants a grave in me…you don't notice that I desire your radiance You ditch me with senseless remarks and you make me feel game You ruin my modesty You stole away my heart's virtue You bruise my sustaining dynasty You complete me with rue Your conceitedness intoxicates me… Your arrogance underwhelm thee… You unscramble my remains and insert me with the liquid of corruption Your self-confidence leads me to never-ending fate…you disregard my joy You handle me with maltreatment/enchantment and smudge me with your provoking expression You crushed me with your cunning plans, now you made me hunt after my prized boy Your hatred penetrates me with lush, crooked trace You swap me onto the floor, now I'm smashed into smithereens Your smiles lose its splendor...your enlightenment gains disgrace You disown me carelessly…now I spilled your moldering beans You're imprisoned by the chains of infuriating heat, Feeding off the crumbs of deception
Blog? Is that when your sink is clogged with blood?
"and don't forget the pretention" ########### everyone nodded along as the first line Hit cut w-/ Posh .. chugging stars , throats end to end slit. Schemes o'er everything I realise now that you need these 'things' , imaginary or other wise. Anything to keep the Belief that Life is worth living. By their ridiculous Forgery to emphasise insubstantial shapes , mutilated text , colour & breathing connecting Heart to Pen under strict obligation to remain Nonsense Above seperate Action. I just want to be Honest o'er the vicious Cycles of Trend inspiring by reflection We replace real life as we all like Motion Pictures Lost within Code he might be you or me Beating the walls as we try out these twillight eyes switching o'er to Terra's Remote viewing zoom ignites thy Bone's hollow Fractures happening, pure & simple , we errode in a sudden glass moment ...excuse me & my obvious slander .. Keeping it real may soon dismay at a pulse of Cheekbones ; Paper artic traces flickering on nervescreens before our pristine chords reciting "Nobody's story" revolving round nothing really ... simple words. Oh Lord its so clear All Places & All Times its just us trying to make faces in the sky.... and scream no more dropping for your daily optic reset calibrating BRAND NEW Our CCTV standard view declining to smash utterly as Minute Splinters prevent such ink immediate between Mind & Matter , Powdered Charcol , meaning the whole Legal Judgement satisfied Logic there in Personal reasoning & Multi - simplicity Leftscreaming up the curb as if you were just walking by... Society's Needs cackling inhuman . Adverts scattering w-/ only One Purpose rocking aby sentence. Cast Calm to Create.
Oh please, I plead Listen to my beseech I raise my hands out to you take them please In this dark void I walk through there is no comfort no warmth no joy slowly it leaches out all that I hold when will I ever reach the end? Do you know where the end is? Is the end where the end of the end is? Lost, dazed, confused Did God pluck me out and strand me here? three doors, three paths, three choices one Mundane ransom me out an open cage, such as this atramentous nightmare no end no path Is there hope? Hope is where light is is the light at the end where darkness is not? is the light where the light always materializes from? where is it?
In my fervent heart, You knew I treasured you But you didn't return those tender feelings Just see the fumes arise from the consuming fire Because my wicked desires wasted away into embers I love you…I love you…These feelings are ever so new! I LOVE YOU…I love you…These feelings are always true! You knew I honestly adored you…oh yeah; I always did from the start But you don't consider those mild feelings—you wrecked those bits by bits Ah! Now I'm crammed into the ascending fire, splintering me with the strokes of death Because of my virtuous desires, I'm wasting away into the pit of corruption I thought you were encompassed with my passionate kisses But you wanted to chase after your callous blisses, now I'm faced with crises I detest the thought of adoring you…but I have to admit—I love you! I love you…I love you with all of my heart! Do you love me too? I know the desires that I have constructed for you never occurred in your heart I know in the bottom of my heart that you were only enticed by your sick pleasures You're dumping me into the raging fire and you're a sneaky little liar Because I ain't lying like you do deceitfully to me—I'm in love and I can't draw back my desire You brought magnificence in my eyes, comforting angel But I'm subsiding into the cavernous fire Because I surrender to my legit desire How could I free from the embrace that yanks on to me? You brighten up my dreams and set me free from reality's calamity I love you…I love you…These feeling relieve me from the blue! I LOVE YOU…I love you…I adore your every existence—do you get the clue? You knew I kept this feeling inside for so long Nevertheless, I feel that I belong In your heart…In His heart… In my heart…we'll never depart! You are my true endeavor And I wanna win your heart forever! You'll always be loved because you're above beautiful But, you don't believe this love will survive in this stranded palace But I'll attempt to win you with all of my might and I'll defeat the malice Our boundless love is like two fireflies floating in the midnight sky But you disturbed our greetings and you didn't even accept the feelings I felt for you Why did you blow away our interweaved feelings of passion And blew them away into the heartless fire? My precious love, why did you diminish my eternal desire? You knew I worshiped you In my sensitive heart
Drain out all the agony Help me fulfill my destiny Catch the waves…it's coming from all directions And wipe that frown… I'm trying not to break away…in front of you, I'd rather stay But it seems like…the clouds decide to fade I'm dying every day…I'm making time to survive this day I'm drying… I turned out to be a hideous shade I'm releasing the sorrow… clinging on to gloom... Your affection and glory Set me free from despondency Stand up and face the emotion – your heart mends my infections And don't weigh me down… I'm trying not to break out…but it sparkles in my bloodshot eyes My sorrow is exposing… but you're still willing to stay I'm caught in midair…I'm a slave, pursuing my demise I'm shriveling…I embrace your departure…I'm wasting away… I'm soaking up the sorrow…poisoning my bloom…
Looking up at all the lights that you can't appreciate Among the city life I wonder: What's out there; who's out there for me? From what I do the thoughts remain in constant circulation. From what I write will my life be revered or will it be viewed As a man who struggled to persevere. The outlets in which I drain my power are far from self-sustaining, and although Straining, they jolt along. The truth behind his words Is an authors saddest and most powerful story. His life; in relation To all that surrounds him. His light; in all that's growing dim. The complex written in small words as a reminder, not of spite, But to remember life and what has been survived. An outward Expression to set yourself free; hoping for understanding but never sympathy.
Oh! I wish I could spell "weirdo"! It really bothers me. Is it the "e" before the "i", or the "i" before the "e"? Now, if it was a German word, I wouldn't have to try. I know "ie" is always eee, and "ei"'s always eye. It doesn't have a Latin root, so that rule won't apply … It really has no hook at all that I can grab it by. Yes! It's good old Anglo-Saxon, full of grunts and mangled vowels. They didn't have to write it- they'd communicate with scowls. No! I really can't spell "weirdo"! Not to write, or speak, or sing … So the only answer I can find is ... don't use the bloomin' thing! ........................................................................................................... This problem cropped up when I wrote"Mum's Advice Ignored" ... I'm usually quite a good speller! Entered in Susan Burch's contest, "Ridiculous Self- exaggerations"
God forbid we should draw inspiration From fellow neighbors who try to comply To better a craft, push beyond limitation Expanding the graveyards where sunsets die Envy runs rampant within the benign Sucking the life out of lessons to teach While sticking new frames on old designs They rant and rave, practice and preach And hide there faces while spitting in the wind Like not being able to face their fears Like false starts in rearward races begin Or crying in rainstorms to camouflage tears They stand for elite ones in business suites Forgetting of the ones down in the dirt While reaping rewards and picking the fruit Anchored in faith that contests such hurt Protesting the feelings that all of us know Unlabeled compliance humanely built Confessing true lies, while hoping to grow And cover with tree shade their feelings of guilt
The times are changing, and it doesn't help that there are millions of people seeing a rock and thinking a poem, and a stained glass window stretches across everything, to break language apart at the seams, because one man's tears, are another's fury, a belly roar of laughter and a quiet smile, because it took me a while to learn, that no one is the same, and that poetry marks our soul as with a compass, to a place that only we know, and the real treasure is understanding, and trying to fill those sand clogged shoes, and perhaps we'll never understand, but see ourselves in the ashes of another, our calm compatriot poetic brother that speaks with gumdrop rhymes, and candy corn adjectives to give us a treat of his life.
Knowingly or unknowingly, Lawfully or unlawfully, When a person commits crime, His soul has no taste of blood, He seeks mercy to repent, From his forcible power, That was hidden inside his mind, He seeks salvation forever. But when another cruel power, Serves forcibly punishment for him, Then his soul reminds him a criminal, An innocent blames him a killer. Actually circumstances are very powerful, Opportunist always picks innocents, Those have painful poverty to curse, Intelligent people teach them a lesson. A lesson of crime is unlawful achievement, A poor can lost his way because He is poor but he is also innocent, But professional was never declared criminal. They are enjoying their lives peacefully, They are high ranked in society, Their dignity and honour has a place, They managed crime but aren't punished. Innocents kill innocents when a criminal, Dies in the eyes of Law, system was shaken, And struggles itself that is seeking change, Who shall remove these masks from justice? Over the centuries had passed away, Who has learning from innocent deaths? Only innocents were born to wear pain, But a master mind is always well-respected. Professionals has their class for protection, Where they care for eachother to hide crime, They honour eachother for a declaration of respect, That's why law and system has innocent death.
An empty page lies before me Pure and white, as all untouched things are Soon to be covered with ink black as night And I am the perpetrator Is this a sin, to desecrate such innocence? Should I regret the destruction I know will take place? Destruction I will inevitably cause Pure and white; an epitome of the light Ink black as night; soon to smother without remorse Hand shaking, feeling what Ink cannot Ink is the weapon, nothing more I am the monster; destroyer of the pure
In this day and age, I want some recompense I don't understand it, it jus' don't make sense that we can write through our entire lives with all of these damn defective pens Now, you all know what I'm taking about a thought comes to you, and you look around grab one to jot down and just blankness comes out a clear transcription of thoughts ain't found Cups, bags, heck whole drawers of colored inks rattle around days like maracas of empty thought a reliable pen can't be that difficult me thinks yet makers design defective models to be bought that seem to flow like water in a mighty river when opened and used for the very first time effortless lines arc mind to paper to deliver only to sputter, and spot, and splotch the next time How many brilliant tomes, how many cures for cancer how many Nobel-winning ideas of sub-particled find how many deeply spiritual thoughts went unanswered because, like a well, the damn pen went unprimed? Maybe I'm unreasonable, and have a penchant for perfection but if I pick up a pen it should write every curved line, 'stead of pennies, I want it to rain pens from heaven that work the first, the penultimate, and the very last time © Goode Guy 2012-09-06
Bleeding so painfully...I escape the light I try to forget the hardships...brewing in life But, it's too hard to live this life...this life Breathing so heavily...I fade away into the night I try to forget my past...it slits me like a knife But, it's too hard to live this life...this life Fight away the monster in my heart Throw away my sorrow...Take away my wretchedness Burn away the hideous rage...tearing me apart Take away the anger...renew my joyfulness Oh God...please forgive me... I long for Your cheerfulness... to set me free! Bleeding so dreadfully...I pray for delight I try to pray for mercy...for this pain is too much to bear But it's too hard to live this life...this life... Fighting back tears...I discover His light I try to pray for comfort...and I know He is there I pray for His wisdom...to scare away the strife And escape from the darkness I look forward to the afterlife When there's no sorrow or pain... When there's no manipulation...no evilness... no violence...no craftiness... Replayed...replayed... Someday...someday That time will come!
You are powerful even in the darkest of days... I prayed for Your insight Night and Day...every pondering moment. You responded to my prayers in many unique ways...You made my spirit take flight What should I say? You scrubbed off my lament. You relieved me from distress You fearlessly strengthened my hope and frayed my fear Now I'm in high spirits with freewill and delight... and I must confess You wiped away the boundless tears, shattering my negativity... your love is crystal clear now! Am I still that hovering angel...yearning for some light? Am I still that naive spirit, giving in to the darkness and seeking plight? I know God loves me, but I doubt Him still God revealed His love with my whole family...but i don't feel right I know God cares for us, I see no sign of Him or His will... God dealt with us with patience and kindness, but I can't yield on to His radiance so full of might You are fruitful even in the darkest hours...I prayed for Your delight To fall upon me day and night...effecting my every thought process You promised me Your blessings and upcoming Kingdom every time I consider Your Word... You made my dreams come true and lingered around me despite My bitter, spiteful words that I didn't mean to say... Is there any hope that I'll ever be successful during this time of cheerlessness But, I believe God is a merciful creator!!
Deficient air I breathe in my lungs In this world now I live, daddy's are careless The children feeling helpless Mother's have to play two characters All I can see is the tears That flow down their cheeks Why am I disrespected by the one's who I look up to I stick with my boys, because I never understood Why girls constantly hate each other I'm just a youthful girl in cold war I'm constantly going through it misjudgment and jealousy constantly bothering me I'm just a youthful girl at cold war Trying to fit in is so called being cool Its just another word for being someone else fool If they smoke, dislikes him or her Then that person does the same Now its all eyes on me so I have to go along too Since I look at life at a different angle I chose to go my own way If my clothes ain't tight then he isn't going to like me Being nice it's just a bad finish in the end I guess I come last, some still say I'm just stuck in my past As much as my pulverized heart been through I learned to put off love as it corker, belittlement, and depressed me for years I'm just a youthful girl in cold war I'm constantly going through it misjudgment and jealousy constantly bothering me I'm just a youthful girl at cold war
Mr. Copperhead went to the copper mines to see what fortunes he could find Pick and shovel followed close behind On a burrow named Ole Bleu Mr. Copperhead was boon-town sick He struck so much ore Even pranced around like he was city slick Though Ole Bleu toted the pick and shovel And now the sacks of ore too With all the excitement Mr. Copperhead had forgot As he should not To give Good Ole Bleu the Lil Sugar that He had promised once they got back into town Instead he slithered into the nearest saloon Asked Saray Jane to play him a tune She was obliging to do so of course When out came Lil Sugar to sing a little tune Sweet as can be she looked round the room For Ole Bleu Who was no where's to see Upon finishing the chord Mr. Copperhead was trashed Said he would finish all that he'd started After taking a nap Well Ole Bleu didn't take to kindly to that In fact that Ole Burrow knew a trick or two of his own He made sure Ole Mr. Copperhead was asleep Then down to the minters he did creep Made a lot of cents or so they say Got gussied up for his Lil Sugar They drank carrot juice and ate bales of hay Mr. Copperhead awoke after three days to learn That Ole Bleu had made the mint and laid claims On the ore mines leaving him to hiss in a fit As he slithered out of town Thinking that if he had only given Ole Bleu the Sugar He had promised he'd still have his ore Mean while Ole Bleu and His lil Filly Sugar Were down at the livery getting ready to be hitched Seeing as now they were filthy rich As Mr. Copperhead slithered Down to a town called old dusty ditch Copyright Adell1 © 2006
The hour is late and my mind has been spent my head is hollow, filled with spider's fluff… No, no that's not exactly what I meant, but I've used up my word ration on… stuff. I wrote all day long, I'm thinking in song and poetic forms are coming out wrong. Morpheus, I believe I need some sleep. Tell me, where do you keep the counting sheep?
Emotions fall to meaningless cliché attempting to unravel lover's mind, and plummeting through endless fields of grey though vibrant you, poetic threads unwind. Obstructed by the trials two lives have brought, the beauty seeks its eloquent release; expression, though we surely have been taught, will fail when all poetic urges cease. The promise made, ensuring we survive stirs not the timeless scribble of the pen, though every small betrayal so alive does beckon me to empty page again. The passionate alone can drive the quill; as such, it seems my pain is stronger still.
teeth clenched tension creeping up or down my spine.. rage flickered meanness flared burning up my mind.. the apple don't fall.. far from the ugly tree.. muttered neath my breath.. damn I'm a heifer.. the anger died.. a swift and sudden death.. what apple he asked what tree he dared and I cried..
I've tried to make words rhyme at the end of their stanzas, but rhyme wasn't too perfect for those impersonal stanzas, the Iambic pentameter was right, but it required rhyme for intensity, so rhyme didn't agree with Iambic pentameter in every verse; I paraphrased every stanza with a rephrase, but frustration stepped in with a must of an exact phrase, oh, can't a stanza rhyme with syllables without a count? Not exactly the rhyme of Terza Rima as in The Divine Comedy! Was Dante a perfect rhymer or an impulsive dreamer... while his love happily played the lyre? And did that lyre ever fail Beatrice so refulgent and proud? Or did lovely Beatrice break the lyre? Then again, vowels became consonants ironically, and vowels and consonants all out of idealism; and stressed and unstressed syllables created a strange idiom... of consonants and vowels spelling out eccentric idiopathy: the disease so unknown in literature, not idiocy, but idiopathy became idiosyncrasy...oh, you figure, reader!
From Greek laos = people The common state of life in the church Baptized, non-ordained Christians Who belong to the people of God 11302011
REJOICE WITH ME BECAUSE I HAVE FOUND THE COIN I LOST LUKE 15:9 WHEN MY FRIEND CALLED to tell me the story of how she lost One of her expensive hearing aids It sounded similar of the lost coin Diane described how she had taken care of 5 or 6 errands in a day During that time she placed her hearing aids in her pocket When she returned home One of them was missing Diane hurried back to all places she had been Retracting every step she searched for the precious item Her voice held such amazed joy and gratitude As she related the moment of actually finding the tiny hearing aid No wonder Jesus used a story of losing and finding something of value to describe the joy God has over "one sinner who repents When I hesitate to let go of an old hurt Avoid repenting of my wrong doings I hope the memory of my friend's enthusiastic discovery Will nudge me to give the Holy One another reason to rejoice Readings and Gospel Romans 14:7-12, Psalm 27:1 Psalm 4, 13-14, Luke 5:1-10
Breaking up ain't hard to do. Thank you Neil Sedaka!
Mental I am locked up again. Crazy with thoughts blessed being a man. As the storms brew through the sun shine. Sanity will come in this life of mine.
Ghostlike rage Haunts me…it smothers me… I can't handle the smell of burning sage It overpowers me…will I EVER be free? Sweltering rage Grasps on to me…it bothers me… I can't expose my courage on stage It's horrendous…will you EVER pay the fee? Childlike mirth Reigns upon me…It chases after me... I can't let loose my youthful imagination, flipping page to page It towers over me…will I EVER joyfully flee? Heavenly birth Recoils from affliction… tracking me down… I can't shed the grief that lead to rage It pulls me back…will I EVER be a budding tree?
It's sensual in beauty, covets both sunshine, and rain. Elegent in structure, now is the time for your quiz smarts to reign. Good Luck!!
Eternal Father saw outnumber of people's sins Sad with what He created He wanted to destroy the world People hurting each other Jesus Christ stopped Him Told the Father He would go down to earth Take People's cruelty To start His power over people He told the Father people would understand Ransom Himself Just don't destroy the world Believed people to be one Eternal Father searched a woman To conceive and bear a Son Angiel Gabriel spoke to Mary You have found favor from God Holy Spirit will shine over you You are to name Him Jesus Christ He will save people from their sins To save destruction of the world Jesus Christ created a Church For People to be Universal People don't understand In there people are saved What are these other churches? In there you are not saved Don't be fooled By the Christ's like religions There is only one Deal to the Father Be Universal to His Church Roman Catholic To understand the Two Greatest Commandments "Love God all your mind, heart, body and soul" Second is "Love your neighbor as yourself" When we love our neighbor, Covers the 1st Greatest Commandment Other Churches are misleading people Thought they love Jesus Christ Person who created their Church Was the person they believed and loved Jesus Crist is very hurt People don't know in His Church You're saved In others you're condemned J.R.M. 11162011
We all drift away at one point in our life We all gottah deal with pointless strife We all slip and fall on that jagged knife We crumble away... we collapse unto the ground with dismay We decay away... we abide in the wind and we sway... We break down...we droop like branches We smother the daylight with a death gown...we shed like ashes We all sift out our wishes once in a lifetime We all gottah fulfill our goals in life before bedtime We all elapse and flourish around springtime We hasten away…we all crush into smithereens and grime Like ashes, we decay... Until the agony dies away Until the night blooms into day!
There are pickup trucks and pick up lines Pickup sticks and stick up blinds Blind man's bluff and kick the can Candy apples – Candy Man Hersey bars and Hersey kisses Mr. Goodbar – fish Paul's Mrs St. Pauli's beer and Miller Lite The light of love and dark of night Night time kisses – bed time stories Bible verses of God's glories Glory to God in the highest The height of deception a midnight tryst And try as I might, I can't recall Where I was going with this at all Suffice it to say upon more reflections I was hooked on the words and on their connections. Mdailey 10/29/11
People talking everyday, But what are they really trying to say? Words bounce back and forth Off walls and trees. Some strike a spark. Most fall flat. In the blaze, Do we actually hear? With our ears, our hearts? Words so ineffective. How to make them know What the heart understands? Perseverance and patience. All will one day be told And known In the heart.
I walked in the house. you were on the couch. the whole family was there. you said to me i was not good enough for you. i said what are you talking about? he said i dont love you anymore your just not good enough. so i left the room crying. then it was all a blanck.
By 'grievous matter' with regard to sin mean that the thought Word or deed which is committed must be either bad in itself Or severely prohibited And therefore sufficient to make a mortal sin if we deliberately yield to it
It surprises me still, how devoted I am, You're a form of religion, I will be your lamb. To herd or to slaughter, or do what you will, I'm yours for the taking, a vessel to fill. I've found my addiction, but it's one that won't feed On a liquid or tablet, but a different need. For it's writing of you that's my ultimate vice, And no matter the danger I'll pay any price. It kills me that you are the prize I can't get, For the moment at least, so I can't touch you yet. And I hold you in my world of paper and ink, But the pages are fragile, you burn and you sink.
In someplaces it comes in many colors.
they cry heavens light for the sun has lost it's sight untile the moon shines
Our family tree will never stop growing…our faith and comfort will never crumble Love grows here…so have no fear—God is near My family, though packed up with pride and low self-esteem, still appears humble Mirth produces joy and our hope gives birth to cheer God is our Father; who could play this role as skillfully? Who, other than God, created the world so genuinely? Love comes from He…so scare away the anxiety—God will grant us ecstasy My family, though packed up with hope and despair, cherishes my soul with glee Rebirth and life comes from He and our faith should draw near to thee "i love you sweet boy..we will have fun this summer and be a close and godly family..nighty nit my light" This summer, I am positive that we will be a close and godly family But we must be lights of the world…and we must be willing to finish that race of hardships to earn His dignity By all means, we will have an enjoyable break without paying a fee But we must be God's faithful followers…and we must be prepared to follow our Shepherd who is the key Of never-ending faith and comfort, nourishing us abundantly He still exists…He unravels the insanity Of this world and set us free from blasphemy Watching over us with pure vitality Give us Your water Don't leave us in the gutter Listen to the words we mutter I pray that our family tree will look up to you devotedly
Empty only seconds And yet I fell so lonely. I was pushed into a world I wanted but never could have to my own. I wanted one night with him And a thousand from another. I wanted and I wanted I never needed. I will never need it. I'll face eternity alone In jealousy and loathing. Plagued by the desire Of flings with older beings. The wise old souls With a book to his nose. My everlasting hope Even when my hope is wasted. Ever is my hope wasted, Wasted on these petty dreams of mine. Always dreaming when the sun still shines Abound my skin I shall resign. I shall grow strong. I will move on To distant songs of lovers gone. I shall move on And then move on.
A ylw submaryne I hate the stupyd thyng! Paynt yt gryn!
Three R's – are they still relevant Or do you wonder where they went They've been replaced it seems to me By something let's call the three Ts Reading, writing, rithmatic Have been replaced – they didn't stick It's now texting, typing, tapping That has the kids all yapping Pen and paper practice – no longer being done Everything is keyboard – cursive? – There is none Soon there will be adults that practically are lame When handed pen or pencil and asked to sign their name They'll want to use a pointer and a list from which to click For one who still likes writing – this future makes me sick Mdailey 7/10/11
Is there a phantom poet Lurking deep inside your pain Feeding on decadence In the recesses of your brain Darkest hours Darkest cries A new pain A new disguise Is there a phantom poet Lingering in your hate Hollowing your heart Lost to a lover's fate Darkest hours Darkest cries A new hate A new disguise Is there a phantom poet Festering in your ear Sowing the sadistic seeds Of your malignant fear Darkest hours Darkest cries A new fear A new disguise Is there a phantom poet Beguiling your muse Whispering in anonymity About a writer's ruse Darkest hours Darkest cries A new name A new disguise Is there a phantom poet Impaled by your pen Bleeding onto your paper Time and again
I hate others, That are objecting me. I love others, That are encouraging me. Who can alter me? If I don't accept any device, I like to tease others, But always I love to my like, Dislikes, I always mind, I amn't different, I do as you do, My mankind is yours And yours mankind is mine, Then what's my weep, We are traveling in a same boat. You scratch me, I shall scratch you. Nobody a third can ruin us.
try "confused poetic travel,1,2,3," some of my better humor- chech with poetry forms...well at least I think it's funny.
I wait crossly To get picked up straightaway I wait optimistically To step into the murky bowels of my car I can't advance… When you're dragging me to your feet I can't progress… When you're motivating me to be incomplete I wait at ease To get a ride home I wait with heaps of crotchetiness To jam myself into the jumbled car I can't drive on… When you're creating traffic in my dreams I can't carry on as fast When you're taking your time on the freeway, Though your obedience beams You're jamming my dreams, sweet dream catcher You're liveliness gleams…It's not what it seems... (2) It's certainly not what it seems… Blame it on my dreams! You're just a dream come true… It's nothing that popped out of the blue… It's not that surprising If you only knew… Oh, you don't have a clue… This infatuation is positively true! I can't move on…I can't drive on… (2) I can't ride on the road to victory… I can't burst forth by dashing proudly Until you hit the brakes and cease from Jamming my exotic dreams I can't travel on… I can't light up the sky… I can't dream on and on and on I can't drift on and on I can't…I can't move on I can't… I can't! Until you inspire me to gleam! (the whispers grow soundless) I can't drive on… I can't drive on… I can't drive on… I can't...I can't... I just can't, Dear friend... *silence*
M y brother turned his back to a flaming sky said, "If ya seen one sunset you seen em all." I was slowly losing my tiny empire It was so upsetting to watch it fall Every night before we'd go to bed My brother would read from, "The Lord of the Rings" "We only see shadows", my momma said We'd light up a joint while she threw the I'Ching And when she read it, we were all ears "The superior man always perceivers In the morning, we'd fire up Mother, and hit the road I was " Two Toke Tito" back then The toe headed stoner bandito back when.. Mom threw the TV out the window when they pretended to land on the moon I made up my very own language back then Had my first magic mushroom sandwich back when They killed those kids at Kent State and Abbie tried to levitate the Pentagon "Mother" was our psychedelic house on wheels We headed south to land with a little more sun Back then there were Gypsies in Mexico the locals would gather and wait for the show Momma told them that we were just hippies and there wouldn't be one Our cat, "Hash" ran away down in Navidad at least it was a place where he would never lack something to eat The darnedest cat that we ever had He loved to smoke dope and he was never bothered by the heat We always wanted just one more year in the tropical mountains where the air was so clear and the mornings were cool enough to see our breath We tried at the border for another year when they turned us away it felt an awful lot like death That was back then.. Back when Timmy O leary had something a lot cleaner than meth Now thirty eight years have come and gone My oldest brother's republican and momma passed on My real dad did too, but I didn't know him anyway Now I'm a blue collar stiff fighting to survive I swore that the system wouldn't take me alive It makes me feel like dying sometimes, That's all I've got to say I still remember when My brother turned his back on a flaming sky and said, "If ya seen one sunset ya seen em all."
You know In my life I have loved And I have been loved I have hated And I have been hated I have tried to kill And I have had others try to kill me I have lead others into addiction And I have lead others out of addiction I have been a Wolf And I have been a Lamb I have always dreamed of just being simple And my life has always been very complex I have a dear friend who is a Missionary Nun And one who is a convict on Death Row And I love them both equally And understand them both completely I have been all that is wrong And I am all that is right In our society I try so hard to help others see and understand How it feels to be me Yet I myself can't fathom why Anyone would even care I have been as cold and hard as steel Yet compassion fills my every moment I cry every time I watch Forrest Gump And I rush every time I watch Pulp Fiction For I have loved with every drop of who I am And I have drank from the cup of excitement I am everything you should be And everything you shouldn't be At the same time Many find comfort in me And many fear me Many love me Many hate me Yet everyone seems to respect me While I struggle so hard with self respect I know our Lord is using me through my poetry For this gift I did not learn or earn It struck me like a bolt of lightning in the night At the age of 41 And my soul has been in poetic turmoil ever since When I was nothing I was something Now I'm something and I'm nothing But a Poet And I find great comfort in that A special thanks to Jesse (Redman) Wasson Who inspired me to write this poem in his Last letter to me. Please pray for him he is fighting a three strikes case for his life.
Don't be sad, be melancholic Don't feel glad, feel Quixotic In aims to articulate You become everything you hate All in Few words Don't be sorry, be repentant You're not pissed off, you're infuriated These memories become Pieces of a future whole But that whole is always in the future So you become a hole to fill with films and literature An unending and unerring opening It goes on into endless night But the next time you're stifled Caught for words, tongue-tied Just say what it is you know Don't pry for the superior "Happy" "Sad" "Angry" "I love you" There's nothing more than Few words
Another 99 poems closer to the truth! I am catching up!
Wish I could tape my mouth shut To keep myself from spreading This part of me Into the world But my lips are stronger than that I'd break that seam With my verbal abuse And spit fire at humanity
Sloth begets in a soul A spirit of indifference In our spiritual duties and A disgust for prayer 11272011
I am so happy to see you again, I wondered where you had been, Only one problem there is, We can't go on like this. I have to get some sleep, You have to let me rest, I don't want to hear a peep, I know what is best. You come inside, I have no place to hide, There are rules to be made, I will not be betrayed! You have to listen to what I say, Then maybe we can make it, Through another day, But this is a fact, I am glad to see you back, But never again, Can we go through this and win, One of us will have to go. Now you are words And I am man, You have the largest words in the land, I am still smarter, I know how to think, And no you won't, drive me to drink. You cannot consume me, Like you have in the past, Not if this relationship, Is going to last. So there you have it, in a nut shell, And if you don't like it, go to…… ring the bell!
To turn away from You is to fall To You is to stand To remain in You is To have a sure support 11282011
Numbness prevails over me, Masking me… sending me pangs of suppression Deadness tears its way inside of me, Consuming me… devouring me with yanks of oppression Darkness frowns upon me, Dragging me down…sending me scraps of sadness Gloominess molds me inside and out, Chasing after me…surrendering to my wretchedness Shadiness lurks above me and it wildly swarms, Murdering me…scarring me with my unbroken misery Murkiness blankets over us like troubled storms, Shaking us up…bribing me with heaps of boundless fury Edginess overrides me like a wraithlike form, Misleading me…sneering at my failures and agony Blurriness absorbs in this uncanny terrain…no sign of storm Still, I'm withering into sand, grinding into shards of tragedy
So we're going on a picnic with the pygmy, Pixie Poggly, being the quirky queenly quaintly quickly person she is and her friend a raunchy rascal reverently named Andy Bailey. As you remember he was in the Aussie army association, barely battling the banshee that were bawdy blackly bloody in the boggy boundary briefly in the outback, and lets not forget pixie's perky prominent pal that is a bossy, bluntly, brainy, bookie, breathing brashly, balmy, bits of boogie bookie chatter to all the cheery, choicely, chunky crowd around his choosey, cheesy, cheaply choice of chummy spots, and in his coarsely cocky way, he coyly clamors crafty creepy words that really don't say what they needs to say, but confuses even the gentle, ghostly, gaudy, gawky, gabby, gypsy genie down in the gaily, gabby, ghastly valley town called Gatsby. I hear even Fatty Fannie the fancy, fleecy, flimsy, flowery, and foxy maiden that has her doggie, "Dotty" watching her dreamy, dressy, downy, dowry. And to make things easier Pixie's dumpy daffy deafly, dinky donkey named Dixie is going to carry all the supplies, and we are going to the daffy damply dainty little dairy where the daisies grow daily in the deeply densely droopy grasses next to the hay, and it sounds like it will be a giddy, giggly, goodly, goofy, goosey, grabby good grammar in all its Grammy award wining grandeur day. Parts of this poem were copied from another poem that I cannot display here, but that I did write, it is called "The Picnic" and I thought this would be some fun reading for all here.
Do- Re- Mi- Do..Dodo flightless bird fearless of humans; easy prey! Extinct so long many believe you a myth.... Re master of universe mirror image of Ra...worshiped by millions seeking a ray of hope.. a ray of sunshine warming heart and soul... Mi.. Mi.. ME Calm me.. breath..deeply breath.. help me.. bless me.. sing my song.. Do - Re- Mi- Fa- So- La- Fa away from everything; everyone I love.. wishing.. dreaming.. desolate.. So- so- Sewing Grandma's old sewing machine.. bright colors.. tiny stitches.. warm quilts... So- so- Sew! La- La- La- Sadness.. Dark.. gloomy.. overwhelmed.. lonely.. Tears.. La-La-La-...LA! LA! LA! La- Ti- Do- ti-Ti- piercing.. Heart weary.. Ti.. Ti.. Tea! a hot cup with lemon and honey.. faith....hope.. a ray.. Do- stronger now! Do- Do- Do what you have to! find strength.. it's there..deep inside you.. survive! grow! learn! LIVE!! do- re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do... DO- RE- MI- Fa-So- La- ti- do!
I need to write.. I need to sit down, Think about this mess, & write.. I need to write.. I need to express how I feel, I need to write, I need to keep this real, I need to write; If you can't be true to yourself, How can anyone else be tru to you? I guess I need to write.. I need to gather all my thoughts, Put em in line & write, Hmm.. I need to write.. I need to write… So much goin through my head, Who can I tell it to? *Sighh* I need to write..
"Twinkle, Twinkle... Drinking Ace of Twinkle's Bar.. Had to pee, but knew how far.. He'd have to walk,and didn't feel up to par.. So Twinkle, Twinkle, Tinkled.. in a jar... And was promptly tossed From Twinkle's Bar..."
Where will love take me but up a hill and then back down one, yet this sounds so familar, like a rollercoaster ride its playing with my emotions. It funny how you can say things so sweet and pretend like you mean them to make me feel so good but all you was really doing for me teaching how stupid I am to fall in love and how you can do me any kind of way and I not realize what your doing. So quick to believe in love to give my heart to you but you think this is some kind of game; a trophy to be tossed any type of way and when I tarnish you have no use for me. The cruelty of the world I have no control over I cry before I take the time to understand I have to move on; withholding any love I have left to give I am insecure, refusing to truly try again.
you where to hold my hand and look at me, my heart might skip. I would look away, say "The sky is lovely." Yet there are clouds covering the sky, like I cloud my words meanings, for in truth, I don't think anything of the sky, nor trees, nor flowers when I'm with you. Only you. Therefore, I think I need you, and like the infamous poets before me, I will attempt to immortalize you in lines, and woo you with verse. If that should, however, fail, I lose you to the wind, and men yet to come, and without you, I'll be of the trees Orpheus sings to, with somber branches and lost leaves. I will talk and write of your eyes, an electric, endless brown. Of your voice, drifting in the air and stopping at nothing to please. Of your figure and grace, destroying wills of men like the Sirens song, yet thicker and more potent, lingering like cigar smoke in the air. Eventually, yes, my mind will move on, but frozen in time would be my emotions for you in these lines, and if ever you need to feel loved, you need only read. If it where to work though, the story takes a different path, which is one I leave to your imagination. An obscurity found in most love stories. 'They lived happily ever after,' would, could, be us, where you to dip your fingers (what gentle, beautiful fingers), into the well of my palm. The choice then is yours then, my lovely R------, what'll it be?
It must be asked how we ended up here. For this place is perilous and wondrous and necessary. Who has brought us here? Our own self deliverance? Our own self loathing? Perhaps But I believe our way out is still the way in Subjugation? Perhaps "How" is the only justification The only "reason" The only "why" This "how" embodies the soul. Remember the soul? This "how" embodies the very essence of all For it is my belief that this "how" embraces the necessary as well as the unnecessary I embrace the me that should be cast away. I have held (cradled) the part of me that does me harm and promises the false…. No more I lovingly hold that part dear and let it fade. It must be and it shall. I must be more but no more than that.
Dry skin caused by frozen winter winds Caused by over washing Too much caution given to cleanliness The rough ridges distinctly defined Will soon go away with care and time These epidermal deserts Are greatly in need of an oasis Some lotion for lubrication To make the redness in the deserts turn to tan And now I wonder, why? Why am I writing about my hands?
A glimpse of blitheful calmness Haunted the garden I nourished so well A sense of fulfillment lingered in my thoughts I grasped a positive, enigmatic idea And planted it on this conceptual notebook A gratisfying radiance showers peace, I must confess It gave immortality to my garden I protected-- it's quite swell A piece of cherishment hovered in my thoughts I clutched an audaciously, cryptic idea And recorded it on this invigorating poem book!
Late one night I decided to write... While musing in silence My computer was in defiance As I scooted to the keys My thoughts began to be un-eased As the program stood still I kept rebooting until~ I realized what was happening That ole boy needed new programming He kept doing the rebooting boogie 'Til every virus was gleaned, and tossed away-- Happily There'll be no more of that boogying today
I try to write the words in my soul. These precious bits of thoughts and images that seem to flow so naturally from my soul. can find no solace in the written form for when written down they seem incomplete as if part of my dream is still in my head at that distant shore so far away yet so often tread that I think that I know it's every curve and contour. yet when written it shows me how incomplete is my understanding of something that is so integral to my soul that extends beyond my soul to the places unknown that reaching within is like reaching without. I call it a path but it is more then that yet less to the point where any descriptive word falls short of its very nature that there seems to be no point in trying to describe yet it so calls to be described that I beat my head against the door trying to unlock the words that I need searching through text and voice to find the proper rhythm and sound. Still the waves beckon me taunting me to the point I want to break down and cry. Nothing fits I have tried please I gave it my all can you not see the words you demand are not within me to command go find someone new and be their muse. I Just Wish To Be Alone.
Ah! Curious soul! Do you really believe you are reading ink on paper? Nay! Nay! It is blood spilled from a broken heart! Turn away, my friend, for my soul is wretched!
Please tell me why I need to know before I can say goodbye Like why can I not fly And why do we all eventually die Why is chewing with my mouth open rude Why is farting out loud considered crude Why can't we make love when you have a headache Why does chocolate cause me a to get a toothache Why is living together before marriage a sin Why can't a stranger be my next of kin Why do I have to brush my teeth before I sleep Why does the father of the bride weep Why do I have to register to vote Why do castles have a moat Why do people break your heart Why do we call a meat pie a pie and not a tart Why do countries go to war Why do we not eat all of the fruit including the core Why are people so mean Why is a child's room never clean Why do kids bully others Why do I have a sister but no brothers Why does a man where pants and a woman a skirt Why do you get dirty if you play in the dirt Why do we need to drink and eat Why do vegetarians not eat meat Why do we have to do number one's and two's Why can't you have one-man crew's Why will an engine not work without oil or grease Why can't we have world peace Why can't I have subsequent serves Why do you get on my nerves Why are people homeless Why are probationary drivers reckless Why do some say grace at the table Why to some is the bible not considered fable Why do we as kids have imagainary friends Why is it for some this never ends Why do we not have enough water Why in China do they not want a daughter Why do people commit crimes Why do different states run on different times Why is Mr Howard still in power Why are there sixty minutes in an hour Why do I continue to ask why Simply because I am an inquiring guy I still don't know why But unfortunately it's time to say good-bye
My life is full of chaos and mess I can't fix but I wish I could, and leaves me to ask: Why me? How am I any different from anybody else except my appearance,besides that I have feeling just like you and they can get hurt just like your can. I can't express myself the way I want it because all my word are jumbled up in my head and going faster ythan my hands can type everything I mean to say; if I forget to say something then this poem is in vain and I have defeated the purpose for writing at all.
I entered the poetic cave. Lit all the alliterations I could, so I could see. I had hoped for a burlesque show, but settled on ordering a sausage canzone from the pizzeria. When I was in Vietnam, under Carpe Diem, he would often reflect on the visual power of the Nazi Chatushka. I thought it was a cinqku, that if we went before the Clerihew, the mob would not attempt to implant us in concrete. As I watched him adorn his head with a crown of sonnets, the crystalline form of the cave around us became evident. I drove my Diamante outside in hopes of catching a prehistoric didactic take to the air. Sadly, my diminished hexaverse was overpowered by three Japanese martial artist witches in their doduitsu. I ordered a double dactyl, and downed it in one shot...... to be continued.....
Moving up over through Into All I've known is felt through the end Never a beginning always ending Falter as I may, myself I hold - alone in company Tress in to limestone pillars of my great hall Great as the Norse and proud as well Threads of time woven with clumsy hands led by blind eyes Thus is the expanse of the web of life The Great Existence Not where but it's the being that is. Is what I am and What we are
Such a built up tension a fiery burning sensation I become an export station I scream, let it out It is trapped I know not what it is but what it is is pain, longing, depression,hope anticipation, loss, gifted, Jaded, faded glory, a whory version of my true potential and release is so damn crucial I write to escape and indulge Relieve me Pen Pad Good, bad, sad, Here for me and who will see But let it out Lest I pout For lack of expunge And take a fatal plunge And dive head first to meet my thirst and bleed on paper To see my true feelings, my mortality, my life, me.
This page is not blank Not just empty lines. I fill it with what I'm afraid to speak. What I fear the most Crawls through these pages Not caring at all that it scratches this clean white paper. If I were to leave it inside myself instead... No Please Not that. So into this maze of white lined pages It must be let out To rove and to roam Free to be itself or rather myself.
Chief sources are Seven Pride, Greed, Lust Anger, Gluttony, Envy and Sloth or laziness Commonly called 7 Capital Sins or 7 Deadly Sins
Fom Greek pentecoste = the fiftieth day after Easter Originally feast on whichIsrael celebrated The establishment of the covenant with God On Mount Sinai Through the Pentecost event in Jerusalem It became for Christians the feast of the Holy Spirit 11302011
When I first started writing it was all fun and games. Now that I'm a poet for hire, things haven't been the same. I been to stress out with people telling me what to write, and when to write. I feel like I lost my "poetry rights." It's like I'm fighting to be-you know me. I know my dream is to get every ones ears to remember me, but I didn't know it would bring so much stress upon me. I feel like every time I write they always want the best of me. Sheesh, come on now! I'm only sixteen! But for some odd reason I can't seem to quit. Not even a little bit. How many books do I really have to put out? Before I become a "Poetic sellout?"
Here we go folks; and, yes, this is a hard one....Any winner, should that unlikely event take place, ought to be enshrined in the Mensa Society, and declared a puzzle-master, cryptanalyst genius, and be lauded throughout the land....So, don't shy away from trying....who knows??....maybe the C.I.A. will hire you at $250,000 a year, and your fame and name will spread throughout the world!!! So, come'on guys & gals, lets get crack'en....... Part No. 1) Question; "It might be related to a hungry person eagerly devouring a hero sandwich ravenously." Firtst Clue; "One might say the sandwich has a hostile attitude to such a would- be eater. Today's Clue No. 2; "It moves between 2 worlds, and its bite is deadly. Today's Clue No. 3:Lusitania Today's Clue No. 4: Shark of Steel Part No. 2) Question; "Adults and tots play with its parts. First Clue; "Calif. Gold Rush." Today's Clue No. 2; "Damn that Zam, he's a wham!!" Today's Clue No. 3; Tinker. Today's Clue N0. 4: Aqualung breakfast dish Part No. 3) Question; ""It moves from state to state, but uses neither automobile nor plane." First Clue; "It may allude to something you'd display in your living room." Today's Clue No. 2; "Tom Bell's home is well known as a place that it does roam." Today's Clue No. 3; It's nature makes it hard to find, though it is everywhere. Today's Clue No. 4: Oscar Meyer's Cleaner Part No. 4; (Bonus Question); "If things go ever more poorly, And you can no longer find... Your confusion award, you may find these 2 words on your sword." First Clue; "Sometimes "Pennies From Heaven" have a long wait before the drought eases. Today"s No.2-correct answer to pt. No.3 gives you half answer to this one Today's clue No. 3;It could rhyme with immigration. Today's Clue No. 4: Not a word you're likely to hear used. Noun. Act of becoming increasingly unhappy.
understanding lacks her mysteries all in my head what wonder asunder? a complex calibration with my ego. all in jest! but, is it really? what is the nip in the bud? my rose? my cucumber? my lavender? finger to lip, I pause, eyes meandering meaninglessly, comprehending nothing, I turn away.
I wanna tell you I love you, But I don't know what to say. I better think of something soon, Because I might not have another day. Maybe I'll just tell you I love you, But I'm afraid of what you'll say. I better say something, If I don't then I'll never know what you would've said. Maybe I'll write you a note, Just telling you how I feel. But when I tell you, I'm going to try and keep it real. But now, as I sit here, I'm thinking of what to say. I better think of something soon, Because I might not have another day.
The world is changing Come on now people. This world is changing. Everything has become illegal. Congress is to blame. Trying to stay alive - in this world of lies. Is like gathering up honey then living in hives. We are melting down. Need to move to higher ground. It won't be long. Before, the Americans are gone. Can you tell me why – why – USA.. It's not my fault - that I am white. And what my for farther's had done - back in the day..
my words pour from my fingertips in the hope of understanding to make the world a little clearer and all they do is muddle it I write furiously with no comprehension of what it is I write but with the full understanding that I have to write always hoping that someone will read and understand tosee the clear picture of the portrait I painted of a person unknown to all but existing in a place that well known to the point that people seek him without fully comprehending what they seek until he, himself intervenes on their behalf and puts out his hand, which most reject for people want to make their own way, but still I write not fully comprehending what I am writing till the point where I lay down in exaustion
With pen and paper I sit here and wander, what there is that I could possibly ponder worth writing for someone to read. Waterfalls with sunlight cascading, with the mists twisting their way through a green canopy to the south as I look at the panoramic view from a rock ledge, on a stone face hundreds of feet up. Lying down, broken and confused, lyrical thoughts pass harmonicly, landing within reach of the parchment its inked on, lasting long enough to get a verse or two. Letting ones mind race and wander, learning the art of insanity, loving nothing with a heart of stone loathing not having someone to write about.
Someone recently said something about, "the door is ajar" I scratched my head and challenged him, " A door is a door, and a jar is a jar... Where'd you go to school? How'd you get as dumb as you are?" He started to argue, But I'm too clever for that, Next he'll tell me, "Tell people to go s__t in their hat!" Now, who's gonna wear a hat like that? I think in his belfry, He's got a bat... And what is a belfry? Is that when I fry an egg? And this "chicken and the egg" debate... Oh, I can't wait, To remind these fools once more, Silly, they both come from the same store.. And, someone explain this "Man in the Moon" junk?? That's hard to believe, unless he got a shovel, Cause the moon is rather hard... That anyone still believes that cheese thing,, Must be some kind of retard... And, besides, everyone knows, That's where Jackie Gleason goes... And the early bird catches the worm? Then why ain't the afternoon birds all dead from starvation? And why would a worm get up early?? And hell haveth no fury Like a woman scorched... I disagree, anyone down there Is gona be a bit toasted.. Kill two birds with one stone?? Gotta' be a boulder than, And they ain't easy to throw... The journey of a thousand miles, Starts with an instep?? What do you gotta step in?? One in the hand is worth two in the bush?? Really?? You mean thorns, right?? Dead men don't tell no tales?? They don't say anything, far as I know Something good is worth waiting for??? Only if it pays interest... I don't know... I guess you all think I'm mad... I'm not angry, Just confused... Help!!!!
Worries etched in despair and blood. Outrageous attempts to masquerade us. Righteously hidden in the wrongs. Drowning out the truth. Significantly affecting youthful minds.
Zeina, Zeina, Where you be? Tryin' to find you before, I get to twenty-three
No joy or happiness I find as I stand before the rack.. But death and despair both are there Bold in white and black.. She was a mathematician her favorite word was phi They captured and they killed her just to see her die... Drugs and gangs and streets at war fill each and every page.. As far away and here at home a righteous war we wage.. Wishes denied a dark trespasser that hides behind a mask.. Till desire for what the others have becomes our urgent task.. In a nanosecond I would fly till I was far away.. In hopes to find a better place safe to work and play.. A place where no hatred grew where everyone was free.. Can you imagine just what on earth our headlines then would be..
I wouldn't be scant. Its codfish lies to pull ferociously all up in its cube. The forks stomped the ponies. Why did your goodness lift our leaf? What do ideas ride like? You sound like that laugh. You persuasively divide. All obscene feet straddled under his lingust. What is all over the drifting harpsicord? Exude yourself betwixt the calamity. I will be snoring impudent cities. What is through that fatility? What is beside my heel? No fountain pens, please. I could be spitting underneath your cognizance. Boldly you malnourish the fence. You usually ventillate. Bend your travesty. Thirty-five damp beets are sophmorically trampled. You will run beside gods. You look like a surreal brevity. You will boil inside caftans. I diddle. I shouldn't have been hopping beyond your vertebre. You will thrust along protests. The pedestrian left by our digit. His rabbit accepts a serpent. His floppy money was hydrating with her heart. I love piston. Her list of fury resonated next to the thunder. You smell like morse code. His slinky magical mirror was feeling all over my Swahili. You will snap without tiger boots. You like waxy provisions. Hi, I'm a stormy panhandler. With your mildew were eight blogging skaters. My philanthropy whisps like a plasma. Sufficiently I snap. You remind me of every neat-o flamingo. You explicate mates. Drip your disgust. No car keys, please. A combustion tickles an insertion. Hi, I'm a cold cole. You sheepishly evade. You finally exude. All your abyss' are belonging to us.
Good evening, folks...trust all is well. First of all, let me congratulate all those who commented on the first Poem Contest posting I had. Bear in mind, as Judge and Jury, only I am permitted to send messages without words...It was mentioned that this would be a tougher quiz...see with me, words are completely optional. Re. the $160 electrician's bill, once, in my old house, I had one come and put a new ceiling light fixture in my father's room, and track lights in my room. His work was awful, fixture was the cheapest thing...I had worked in a retail lighting store, and knew he paid about $20 for it, the track lights were extremely unsightly, the ceiling was butchered; the entire job took no more than 30 minutes, and he handed me an $800 bill!! Talk about highway robbery. Now a few bits of Tomfoolery, with but a few "Tom's Tidbits". How can I lose more stuff than I own?? It's a struggle to figure out how to get my cell phone to work. I wonder if that's because I've never been imprisoned. Talk about hot flashes...I had my first with the above mentioned electrician. A ringing in the ears is but to be expected by someone named Bell. Did I mention about the Honda Civic Center?? My "No Words" Poetry form should be posted with the Soup. What'ch ya' think; "Tomfooleryesgue??" Any suggestions?? A bachelor like me gets so lazy, if I get hungry, the most I can do is take an olive out of the jar...w hands, of course... Comments; I wanted to post either "Electric Blanket" or "How to Pay Bills" but the Soup won't allow it, cause they're too long, and require two postings...Should they count as one? Or should I just post part No.1, and leave it up to you clever people to find pt.2 on your own?? Is this idea acceptable, guys?? Please let me know. The Soup is always busting my chops about using the number symbol. I suppose there is a good reason....gotta find out why...they are like our parents here, at least for me. Just wish they would cook me a meal once in awhile, maybe do the laundry or somethin'.... Kindly post your votes on third poem being "Electric Blanket" or "How to Pay Bills" which I have just "fine tuned" a bit...let's see how it runs now, or is, like a guitar, a thing in need of a tune-up to play. You can post your votes as comments at this posting site, and "write-in Candidates" are accepted gleefully... Now, up with Clue No. 1 on Super Quiz Poetry Contest. Okay, the moment you've been waiting for!!! Clue No. 1
Mortal sin is grievous offense against the law of God This sin is called mortal because it deprives us of spiritual life Sanctifying grace Brings everlasting death and damnation of the soul
Sometimes it`s fun to remember the past... Sometimes we cry remembering them, but why do we cry? Is it because it hurts to remember them, or is it because we cannot get them back?
As I stare this blank page, I realize why; Why could I not spill my thought? What's wrong with me, the words gone? All I want is to write, for freedom Of thought is rejoicing. But, I can't do no more; Lost my style, perhaps? Is this the so-called writer's block? I could not even spell love, Nor hate, for the spirits dead; Long dead, I'm done. Blinking is what I got; Pictures on it I see no more; Just but a white page. As I stare this blank page I realize why; Why could I not spill my thought? Ah, this is not… A writer's block, simply I am out of love.
How come they call it Labor Day when nobody works? And why Pool-Table? Where's the diving board? the water? How can you play "Draw-Poker" without paper and pencil? Do Negroes really have bigger knees? And Flashlight: A bright stage-light to highlight naked joggers? I went to IHOP; I was so disappointed, the bunny was not in. Is Racquet-Ball really that noisy? Were Sanitarium Napkins designed for a psych ward?? And Condominiums: good Lord, they advertise prophylactics? And Near-Beer; how close do you have to be? And Poetic Terminology- methods to end a poem? And Medicine Ball; how do you know what it's dispensing? Bi-Polar? I got mine free. Feedback? Is it true some people have their mouths behind them? Dry-Runs? Diarrhea without the usual Sh_t?? Penn & Teller? A bank teller's sordid affair with a chained down bank pen. (Caution, Sadism and Explicit Ink scenes) Burn a CD? What kind of moron is gona burn his Certificates Of Deposits? Satellite? To help one mount a horse in the dark? Athlete's Foot? Those who say they have Athelete's Foot should be prosecuted for maiming ball players. Milk Of Magnesia? Who is she? Country Fair? I'll wait for the Country Good! How come it's a plus if a vacuum cleaner sucks? Sometimes I feel left in the dust; I mean, even spiders have web-sites!! Sasquatch? A hairy ape-like creature who sat on, and crushed, his Timex watch. Lunatics? I hope Nasa provides our next moon explorers with insect repellant. Politically Correct? An oxymoron for sure! Botswana? A neighbor wiyh yacht-envy. Coconut? An insane piece of chocolate. Congolese? A structured rental agreement for certain Africans. Decuple? Releasing railroad cars. Desultory? Removing snide remarks. Devote? Removing one's ballot. Dormouse? A rodent tending the door at a rat nightclub. Drag Queens? What a horney King does with his reluctant wife. Episode? When a farmer named Epi plants his crops. Fiddlesticks? Frozen fish product with musical abilities. Gnomish? A knish for Jewish gnomes. Mothball? A part of a moth's reproductive organs. I saw a commercial recently for "Extenze", to make "a certain part of a man larger" However, I misread the dosage, and took far too many. Now I have to drag "that certain part of a man's body" along the floor behind me. I had a friend who tried it too....but it seems to have had a misdirected effect; now he has a 6 inch long big toe. more tomorrow
A carnival of linguistic parallels celebrate at the ball of my pen. Where elastic ideas are stretched… around yesterday's hypothesis around today's theory around tomorrow's cognition I calculate, concentrate, deliberate and think until Strands of comprehension snap I perceive only inky, illiterate hiccups stuttering on lines of hyphenated ellipsis' Staggering… Confused by logic Bemused by logic perplexed by logic The babble of broken thought, an onslaught of sensible gibberish That says nothing but says it all…
O, behold the man, by the old sea He closes his brown eyes, feeling free Dancing to the wind, taunting the bee He, who loves nature, although, carefree Nevertheless, wants you all to see Him, who hates watching gray clouds hide the bright sky Where falcons, soaring high, relentlessly Against the gusting wind, they've freedom to fly Reveling in fleeting days, across the Virulent sea, where he spends time Lulling, unmindful of them The naked ladies of Shem On shoreline rocks, weaving blue rhyme For he does not like to see those eyes, tinted With hues of withered red roses on the ground 'Cos there is no more beauty, in them, when dead Or, in the eyes, when full of sadness, the sound Of a unkempt sea, where its breath Streaking his soul, without regret Filled with un-prophetic news That he, too, wished to fly, to set Wings to where he won't have to fret 'Bout not wanting to peruse… The whippersnapper, who n'er wanted to cry He, the poet, who asked the birds how to fly He, the man, by the old sea, hurt by heart's lie That, in forms, caused him to unveil Whence readers can feel, the detail Whether, penned in a single verse Or, in a freestyle, like free-verse Whether, it's written in sonnet Or, perhaps, in a rhymed couplet Between lines, untangle his thought And you'll see me, the life, I fought
Stammer and trip Over my own words That come back to haunt me Like sewer turds Buzzards fly about my house Guess they know I thought to douse Myself in gasoline And become a self-torched Buddist monk, For some of my words really stunk... But there I go, With my mindless chatter, When will I learn It doesn't matter What I may think Or I may say The world goes on In it's own way.
This is the final clue, Before I tell you, Which I will by tomorrow, And end your puzzle sorrow, Though I hope someone does pass this test, And be smug with all the rest
Standing ovation Tired situation Overbearing aggravation Complications of Tired conversations Multifaceted contemplations Of overdramatic Accusations poured Constantly into dire Straits of manipulations Churning round in My mind, never going To be defined only Rhymed over time Line after line constantly Being refined only to Find that back again They come words always Being undone over Again in my head.
(20/01/2011) Nothing in this world is too expensive for you I'd buy everything Nothing in this world is too heavy for you I'd do anything Nothing in this world is too difficult for you I'd work all the thing Nothing in this world is impossible for you Only for you! For you! Cos I love you Now would you? What about you?
Captain Quark, had a lark, Driving his poor friends nuts, But Captain Quark, his mind so dark, was nothing but a putz.
Write some lines that make no sense, Switch from present to past tense, Make readers feel they must be dense, While flunkies rush to your defense. Mutilate your metaphors, Logic left on foreign shores, Use some words you can't define, (Did you look them up online?) How else but silent can eyes close? How thickly spread is your pathos! Be sure to smother any rhyme, Melodious meter made a crime. And though we're loath to criticize, We're confounded how you won first prize.
Willfully erected..obstructing.. emotional velocity halted.. Armor.. imprisoning.. safe and secure.. spiritless.. Layers of pain.. eclipse and enclose..restricting .. Languish not behind the wall.. surrender to the magnitude of emotion.. Escape the enchantment of safety.. passions unleashed.. fireworks erupting Delight in the wonder of Love.. thrill to the sensations of life! ~ rejoice as the bricks tumble.. ~ shout as the wall falls....
Unable to succeed in my dreams A yearning of what I need to let go Is impatiently dying to be freed and spread it's wings I feel like there is someone else inside of me scratching it's way out-while I bleed Internally,prefusally spreading rapidly-like a deathwish disease But I always make sure I keep my dark past And my mistakes buried deep Aching,ever slowly breaking And piece by piece taking All of the nothing left I say is a lot Of everything I don't really have In denial-I believe I'm afraid of waking up tomorrow Drowning in my deep blue sea of sorrows Will somebody please get me awake? 'Cause, I don't go to sleep to dream any longer
can you explain away my pain? if I say "please don't" you do if I say "please do" you don't if I ask "why did you" you say "I didn't hear" if I ask "why didn't you you say "I didn't hear" they spoke; you heard I spoke; they heard I pinched me; I hurt I screamed; I heard is it only to your ear that I am silent?
Sometimes When I'm huddled up on the floor at 3 AM furiously scribbling down any and every thought that pours out of my mind The question strikes me "Why the hell do you write?" The question is honest and relevant For the fame? No, not for the fame I couldn't give a damn about the fame For money? Hell no, are you an idiot? The chances of anyone reading my stuff are low enough as it is Let alone actually paying me for it To get your feelings out? Possibly, it has kept me from losing my mind on quite a few occasions But I've kept everything inside and let a brutal war rage on in my head as I sat in silence on just as many occasions I think in the end I write for the connection The possibility of someone glancing at my words and saying, "Hey, I know how he feels." Or maybe some lonely, mixed up kid not unlike myself reading and saying, "Wow, someone actually understands." If I could make a connection, just one connection then screw everything else.
What makes a beer lager? By not being smaller? And I'm lookin' at a botttle of Heineken, Boy, Ken's heinie must be sore!! And just what was Pac-man packin"??? A thirty-eight?? Must one pledge first to get a club foot?? Someone told me GatoreAid had electric lights.... But mine wouldn't light up. Don't think I have given up on the open quiz- Another clue: Who says lightning can't strike twice!!?? You know you're likely in for a bad day, When someone steals your burgler alarm. My aluminum rap won't sing about "the hood"!!
previously they said that was and what were they doing? we got here and opened could we go any faster someone seemed to and there was a reply before the question so low and so far from you were me and i was we were never really found in place of disaster where we find our we see right through the holes and become something or else we turn this into god stuck in the middle the researchers say you can say anything before or after every line to make it beautiful when you write it down answer the questions what does she want for her birthday? how was your Christmas? where does the story go? how many pieces to the puzzle and where did the weekend end? Before and after mix it up Tear it up cut it up predict and foreshadow end it mend it break it fake it be inspired to inspire me and see who i inspire as we search the lines of the database for our arsenal of the words we like to add to our own to employ our souls and play dirty with elbows to claim what is rightfully ours together we write this chapter for the next loose endedly and find each line has a different tangent to say level one incomplete about holidays and treasure hunts to not go on fake plastic faces and celebrated saints of yesterday and emotionless emotive when we celebrate the pity party of celibacy of secrecy of masturbation everything in this mess will mean something to you and the joke on you8i is the joke the joke on me im the clown in the middle saying predict my next line and finish he next answer the questions flip it skip it finish it slide it and slip on by add your own and mix it and bec9ome one with the vibe playing in your stereo behind that cant stop the me your not to swallow the down of the pillows we sleep on to hide and feel it try to reveal whats inside through the seeds we leave behind and the one who starts the layer of the one we all predict and finish switch and play in gibberish that makes sense is the god of such a matrix give me a chance and open season at dileberate stabs at p[poetic sarcasm to conceal emotion hey there peter pan?
I speak wise words So no one understands The phrases that I use My jokes or commands Listen very closely To the things that I say Cause it'll be worth something Yesterday If you don't get it I can't explain Abruptly my details Are not so plain Just except it As nothing more Than a couple of words I say when I'm bored
Manic Depression is all she can say, Manic Depression her moods swing that way. One minute she's up, one minute she's down, like riding on a constant Merry-Go-Round. So if she doesn't answer her front door or the phone it only means please, leave her alone. And do not take it personally these manic phases that you see, it's a chemical imbalance inside her brain that makes her act a little insane.
They say two heads are better than one. I don't doubt this, but it sure makes it hard to buy a shirt.
Love is flying after you, no I was not trying to run from you. If I was you caught me by my heart, I knew it was right from the start. Why would I run from love that was sent from God above would I do such a thing just to get a bee sting on my heart or possibly a wedding ring from the start. Where could I run to hide from love because there are so many combinations of love flying from heart to heart in the air above. Don't run,don't hide because love always finds a place to resign. If it's in your heart or mine no matter what it still finds somewhere to dine. So don't let love fly away keep it while you have it even if it's just for one day because like time flies love flies because it's still looking for a place to resign. Find true love in your fine design because now I'm not worried about your love beacuse I've found it and it's all mine.
there is a warmer feeling To end a happy day a heightened edge of satisfaction Whetted honed to slice to peeling dulled down senses self defences like a pair of scratchy lenses helping insights to unfold and enfold the mess and clutter That we mutter as we utter To better this our day of action gaining traction. As reaction to feeling kindly certain It is good to end this way Sets in
Integrate this! You must transcend transcendence! And then transcend the transcendence of transcendence!
my road is split trying to go two ways. one is going toward trying to fit in and being something im not. the other is going toward being myself. ive been caught at the fork and not noing what to do but ive choosen my path of no turning back im going the way my heart is leading me which is not trying to be something im not going down the road of being myself might be rough but im willing to take a chance and being happy
Thank everyone who responded to my daily insanity today. A few quick notes; Vince- thank God we have people like you to defend the country, and keep the cops from eatting ALL the donuts. You had me rollin'! Sandra- what seperates the two? Maybe they are head and tails on the same coin. Sharon- yes, when it comes to Quantum Physics, I too like it in small quantums. Much of it is counter-intuitive, like most marriages. Ps- I like my sushi well done. Happy day to all, tom.
A single sheet of paper Somewhere for my thoughts to escape This pencil is worn and dull Teethmarks This paper is ripped and yellow My only connection to my soul I've forgotten everything No memories No feelings I all I have is this paper Ripped and yellow.
looking in the mirror i say, "i forgive you today." but thats just a lie; just to pass me by, just what am i supposed to say? oh sweet summer pain, slowly driving me insane! i didn't want to grow, but i just dont know; i don't wanna go all the way... and so i cry, deep down inside; i feel as if i lie! but i dont know why,oh why. you feel it too, as if it's true; deep down inside you. but you dont know what to do. just believe in you...
In this crooked chair i sit at this crooked table at this crooked desk and write my crooked thoughts looking out the crooked window out onto the crooked crooked street thinking about how crooked the world is when suddleny is top and realise the crooked people arent crooks everything is crooked crooked jails crooked hospitlas crooked business men lawyers and politiicians crooked churches crooked steeples crooked believers crooked people it was perfect perfect and crooked crookedly perfect perfect people perfect houses perfect airplanes and perfect yachts perfect make me sick keeping up with the joneses perfect white teeth perfect bodies perfect hair perfect health thwey werent crooked? were they? croooked like me? crooked like them crooked in a world full of rooked people and the crookedest thing to do was to stand straight and make a show of it!! whose going to replace all of this crooked ness and turn this beautiful now?
What Caesar really said; "I came, I saw, I ran like hell..." (Speaking of Caesar, I think he's famous for going to Las Vegas and making salad.) If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, it's probably a pigeon. A bird in the hand is worth a roll of paper towels. what a mess! When the going gets tough, I leave. The only thing to fear is, well, pretty much everyone. If at first you don't succeed, try something else. If money is the root of all evil, you should be rich. Never count your eggs after they're scrambled. You get what you put into it. Yeah, like my lemon flavored meatloaf! Two and two makes group sex. "I think I'll never see, a poem as lovely as your knee." If you think you got it tough, try my steak! Sixteen tons, and what do you get? Squashed. It's better to have loved and lost, than pay for a divorce. If music be the food of love, My ex-wife was tone deaf. Into the Valley of Deaf rode the 600 defective hearing aid batteries. The Hallmark Hall Of Flame- a card store is burned down. Have a good day!
There are no words Only emotions Raw and unrelenting A petulant obsession Blanching sight My hands Tools of asphyxiation Choking prudence Squeezing pulsating pens Bound to a mute mistress Who can read my mind Like a blank piece of paper Do I bed my muse Or lie to my mother Who held my trembling hand When fear stole her slumber And unspoken words Her son
Ever wonder how they think they way the gears turn why they say what they say what they are thinking the thoughts in their minds how they function why people do the things they do i think about my mind i think about the things i do i relate my self to others when i speak i too wonder wow why did i say that what was i thinking but each word each movement has a reason has a story the non verbal signs the faces and looks i have a reason but yet i still watch and i still wonder why do they do the things they do are their gears put together different than mine do they not feel the same as i should they? when i write i write my emotion my feelings at that moment i let it out i let it go same with my moods my words i dont hold back but i should so why do we talk move look act and do these things do we ever truely think about the outcome the end rusult?
The sound in your mind The word on a page The common dream Fading with age Living just enough Seeking inclusion Searching for realism Realizing the illusion Striving for legitimacy Marking your word Starving for intimacy Wanting to be heard Everything's better When we pretend That we're dead Someone please stop All this madness Swirling inside my head
I'm at the bottom, I can't reach top, I had to stop, These words encircling my head, I'm feeling dead, But I dread, That I'm alive, At the bottom of it all, I hide, I have to stop, I can't go any further, I'm useless, Nobody cares, Nobody shares, Any hope or inspiration with me, How can I be, A great person, A great poet, Without anything to write, What will I write, A good poet, With a bad inspiration, What will I do, I'm at the end of my rope, But at the bottom of the heap, I'm getting crushed beneath it all, The doubting is driving me up the wall, I can't take it, I'm going to fall, I'm going to fail, I have to stop, I can't reach the top.
My correspondence has failed the capacity to dream up newness. Dull wisdom predicts unoriginal situations of uninspired flames. Dark similarity wrestles coherence grudgingly in filthy muck of unity. A suitable place of common misuse to stable forms of weariness dealt dry. Carnal delusions evaporate exclusively upon a routine format of placid dreams. Counting contingency within elusive lives as vanilla coated images float in uncreative. Costing my false imagination to flutter by...
Travelling the world, Seeking the mystical poetess, No Tomb too dark or scary, No too evil Nazi so wary... This Jewel must be returned To the Soup Treasury.... (add your verse, sil' vous plait!) Email me @ email@example.com for me to amend.
Somehow, a Ruby Disappeared from the Royal Treasury, The King and Queen heart-broken, Royalty is rich, you think, But that was no little token, They prized that jewel Above their diamonds, All other Royal possessions, The castle walls can crumble now, That theft now their obsessions So if the Ruby is returned, All will sing with joy, That goes for the KIng and Queen, Down too the smallest girl and boy.
Heidie, my dear.... Your "cockles" are, in fact near... Your "druthers" Where they just may be, Grey's Anatomy you must see...
Finally, first clues, sorry for the health related delays; Part No.1- Original poser; "It might be related to a hungry person eagerly devouring a hero sandwich ravenously." Today's clue; "One might say said sandwich has an inbred hostility towards any such would-be eater." Part No.2- "Adults and tots play with it's parts." Today's clue: "California Gold Rush." Part No.3- "It moves from state, but uses neither automobile nor plane." Today's clue; "It may allude to something you'd display in your living room, although in a risky place." Bonus Question- "If things go ever more poorly, And you can no longer find, Your confusion award, You may find these two words on your sword." Today's Clue "Sometimes "Pennies From Heaven" have a long wait before the drought eases." Sorry for the delay, Contest ends, as ammended, in last note. Good Luck!!
The Caspian Sea; is that where friendly ghosts go for vacation? Big as a football field: don't you know about foot measurements?? The Swat Team; I called them when my house was infested with flies. My psychiatrist asked me if I had any "old reservations" about a desire to end some bad habits. I said, "Yeah, I have some old reservations- two unredeemed tickets to a 1973 Pink Floyd concert" this really took place. How come 2 & 2 isn't 22?? Enough for now, all you dedicated "Soupers"
Some have come close, but you've got to figure ouy all the angles.
Today was one of the longest days of my life I felt as if i was living in strife The hours of the day is always the same What and who was there to make the blame My exscuse was lame I knew i had to make a change I went home finding myself on bending knees Praying to god for a better day He said always believe in me You will make a way to a better day Not just this day but everyday
Oh, yeah, momma. I got'z de blues today, Funny thing is, Why I gotz it, I can't say, Ain't nobody I'z KNoz, Who dunn dyed 2day, Ain't got no nu bills, What I kant aford te pay, Empty pochits, I dunn be uzed te' dem' now, I no I'z survive sumhow, So bak to da bahroom, for anudder Tanguiry Mayb pike up my spirutz What can I say? Wowry bout tomaro When dat daze son do shine, But up intill den, eye ant Gonea wuwee n i aint gonea wine. Diz B 4 Shar, smile, god damn it!!
If I is what I was, was I what I is? If I was what I wasn't, wasn't what I is what I is? What if I wasn't what I is, but I is what I wasn't? If I wasn't what I wasn't, is I what I is what I was? Well, if I wasn't what I wasn't am I what I wasn't what I is? Was I is what I wasn't, was I what I was? Okay, what if I was what I was, was I what I is what I was? What I was is what I is what I wasn't, so therfore I wasn't what I was, or was I? Was what is what what I was? Was what I is is what I was? Wasn't what I wasn't what I wasn't? Was I was, I was if I was what I was? What wasn't what I is what I wasnt what I was? What was what I was, what I was? Was what I wasn't what was what I I was when I wasn't? Had enough? I wasn't even warmed up, I just was what I was. Smile!!!!
First, new clue to No. 5- Some bosses like to manage like this. Second, new clue to No. 7- Can the weak live at peace with the strong? And Now: Quiz Number 9: It's a mysterious enigma, but maybe some later clues will help shed some light on the correct answer.
At Annapolis, Admiral Rictameter had tried to teach us the martial art kick known as the Rondeau. When he became impatient, he tried to rondeau redouble the lesson. That turned out to be a Sapphic Stanza disaster, as we were all listening to a Neil Sedoka record. I was senryu about having spilt the baby Sestina, and Sijo, our trained puppy, decided his tail rhymed with what was than-Bauk. I thought the whole thing too triolet, and likely to cause tybuvim, and I did not want to be the one who was considered the Villanelle.
Words! Words! Worururururds! They all go on the page! Or swallowed within! None left to say!
Your words should always shock the crowd! When they are true, this is called genius! When they are false, this is called insanity! But who can say which way the wind blows?
I isn't not may-bee knot two brite and may-bee I dosen't no how to right bur deem tin dolla' wouds, donut amount to turds eye got ownlee simpell wouds to tell my mi simpull tails i cannn't aforord dem $10 dalla wouds a buck-filthy is awlz i gotz so f ya gotz a progrem wit dat I wound kum too bat and gos to bed I wilz......
"Why do you write, Jesse?" I honestly don't know. "Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in the mind"? It's spontaneous. It's a habit. It's a compulsion.
I can't seem to think of a thing, not a single poem or verse, all I'm writing down are the thoughts in my head, as I try to decide what line is the best, what kind of poem to write, is it a rap or lyric, or alliteration or ABC verse? What am I going to do, I can't tell which way is which, in this writing, and I can't find the words, that rhyme with me, I can't think of this writing, to much and not enough in my head. I still don't know what to write, I'm confused in my head, and I can't seem to get it right, what do I write, when there's not a thought in my head, how can I write, when there's nothing to write about?
RUT- that's the title, Insanity- I'm a disciple. You guys make me think, in ways untried, I'll treasure this site, until I've died. And maybe even after that, How many lives for this cat? Survived cancer twice, And though it was not nice, Worse pain I've suffered by words, Those sharp knives that pierce the soul, From anger seemingly out of control, Eight inch switchblade scar, Which my skin did so mar I hear words I question why said, As if one were brain dead, Like "that door is ajar.." How crazy you think you are? A door is a door, A jar is a jar, No way to confuse them No matter who you are... A brain just too lazy, Or one who's simply crazy?
What did I miss? You controlled yourself and such maturity mess mess mess hush hush hush wont say anything push the button show me everything they see Nothing I'll put the soap away I'll sew my mouth shut I wont tell a soul a word pinky swear mess mess hush hush wont say a thing I'm not so blind push the button rewind the tape and who said what again? Who are you in this Act? and who am I? Why should I listen to you If i'm not sure if i can trust you and what's in it for me and i know all about cleaning up after me mess mess mess hush hush hush push the button I'll hide the soap i wont say anything I'll keep myself in line I'll be kind I'll make them laugh I'll make them cry Weill be the best team but why should I? Hush Hush such a mess hush hush Such a mess push the button What did I miss?
I miss the way you looked at me, That one time in the store; Your eyes were the color of dirt After you spit in it- The color of chocolate, Melted on a gray coffee table. Your socks were wrinkled that day, They reflected your smile, Dry and cold, wet in the corners, Your lips looked as though they were sunburnt. That day I hugged you a lot, I was afraid you would slip away. Your eyes were like my stars at night, Bright and innocent, And beautiful to look at for long amounts of time.
Just like your aorta Carries blood, Well It really sort'a ought'a Or the shoes you bought, Are sort'a tight, Soon blisters will ignite, Sort'a painful it just might, Keep you up all night, And when the mouse dashes across the floor, And you sort'a run for the door, And your ad-lib scat singing Sort'a thought was scatology Maybe we ought'a sort'a sort'a
Deceived by the perceptions of what the eyes see. Then analyzing the thoughts in your mind. Could this be an illusion swimming around in my head. Deceived by diplomacy canidates making promises they can not keep.Lying and scandalizing all in the name of another vote. Talk is all the citizens receive and change becomes another diluted situation for all to see. Deceived to conceive the pie in the sky mentality. Discover something that you like to do , and money will chase you. Chasing it will cause you heartache and misery . Deceived to think that society has your best interest at heart and working until 62 that social security will be waiting for you. Deceived and perplexed between two different opinions could one of them be fact or fiction . Deceived perception is reality looking from the windows of my soul. Is what I see really real? Or is it just man using his skills to deceive me once again..... deceived !
Circles of confusion and a mirrored box Image decisive instants of living and dying, Entering and leaving the state of existence In movement and idleness Capturing the connection of all things... The closer to, the less seen, The further away, the bigger the picture Yet, there's always something hidden That answers the reasons why, shows new ways Of thought that suggests stones and studs Metal and glass from ground, trees, air and sun With flesh and bone of darker shades of white Lighter shades of black interrelating for undertones Of what's his, what's hers and everything is theirs On paper without words for the deaf through The unseen for the blind... the emotional by way Of what is felt reveals the greatest mysteries And implications of the objective and subjective Views join together for knowledge to understand The crucial for a better society on earth As the truth that is a lie etches in the memory And freezes in time culture by capturing Critical moments that connect all things in A mirrored box through circles of confusion To usher in indispensable periods of success
Red calligraphy ink splattered across the blank parchment- She was done, done with it all Her own self had taken control- Full of wisdom she waited, shaking intensely The crimson grimaced on the sadistic paper- Knowing she had given up It seemed as if it were chanting at her in a guiltless manner 'You're supposed to be sooooo smart' It mocked, She could not find the vitality to combat the evil force any longer- She collapsed into the musky corner- Knowing she was concealed from the wickedness Then her mind began to race- Who was she anymore? She had turned- Into something almost demonic herself She could not locate the audacity to even face her mirror How would she know- That she was no longer herself? It was that moment that her consciousness escaped, Feeling any relevant thought slip away she whispered- 'All I wanted was to heal the loneliness, to find a cure.'
Incorporate, fifty word or less, must rhyme, and make some distorted Bell-ish sense; Neutron star in a can of tuna Feathered boa on my poodle Cooking Black Flag noodles sweet candy of concrete and caramel Oop, I fell in my Fruit Loops! Good Luck!!
I looked all over, In the closet, In the shed, Under my body pillow, In my head.... Vanished like a puff of smoke, Makes you wonder if You just awoke.... And the Twilight Zone Was where you dreamed Maybe she skipped town, Cause of an overdue loan? She lives in Maine, Maybe she got too close To Steven King's ghost And away she was spirited, To be the host, Of a new Poetry site... The thought's a fright! Let's send out the Mounties... Maine's near Canada Dry, no? Probably lots'a counties, And she'd know, Where to hide, To keep us guessin' Or maybe with our brains, She's messin' Nah, she's not cruel, In fact, she's pretty damn cool! So get back on the stove, Ms. Rube, The Soup's boiling, You're like a Rubik's Cube, Impossible to figure, Like a musician With one too many a "doob'" We'll wait faithfully, Candle in the "Windows" Hoping our jewel comes back, As quickly as she goes.
I am sitting at my desk, where are you where have you gone, are you coming back? words my sweet words, they make me strong, Tara's theme again in my head, how can I sing my song? Oh hello , why is your head held low, it need not be you know, I am alright, forgot my meds last night, and who is this your doggie Fred, strange you two are? you know you are not allowed in here, the sign says no horses and no dogs allowed. I know I know but you must go, not to worry about me. I have my words my words set me free. In them I can say what I want, what I am feeling too. I know she keeps reminding me, "take your meds and the others before bed, too" But taking them I lose my words, then you are gone. And I am left all alone. EXHALE
Taking a walk, easy for some, But not for me, I couldn't do it Thinking of the words, Why did I leave them, I am consumed. There is no hope for me. The constant haunting, Nagging, pushing out of turn I have to have them They are all I have left. Oh my sweet wonderful love Of my life, Where are you, take me away from here, Thy blazing blade, tearing, cutting, Gnawing, at consequences, of my life. The torment so majestic, so horrid, Overwhelming tyranny of my soul. Vermin waiting for burdens to unfold, Their appetites enveloping Waiting for their nourishment, Quell them I know not how. Solitary doom upon me. My words surround me now, I am protected at last. Nothing can break down the barriers, That protect me. Wrought words, A pleasant feeling of weariness abounds me. I can sleep now, I have made it through another night. EXHALE
"It's namesakes generally come in pairs" As of this posting, reward value has dropped to 7 pts. ....Don't let this beat you!!! Show the world your brain-power, and intuitive skills!!
Have you ever been nervous? I have You get a knot In your stomach And your tong gets all Miss mossy And worst of you Get dizzy You want to just break D O W N Down into darkness And you just can't Snap out of it Then you sometimes Hide Beneath your desk So that no one can see you You are so afraid Of what people will think Of you That you F O R G E T Forget what this is All about That you want yourself To get some pride For yourself Not anyone else And the only way to do that Is though P O E T R Y Poetry is the only way to Get out that anger The only way that you can Truly be you
The air was disturbed by wispy soft strings the tickles uncurbed, like hummingbird wings; the beat in my chest it stuttered a spell and dared risk a rest, a moment to dwell. The stir of his verse had fractured my breath and nervousness burst beneath the great depth; my eyes came to pause, my heart came to flutter all just because of words none shall utter. The thoughts that emerged an enemy force so quickly diverged and took their own course; the tip of a pen, the roll of a ball, reminding again that prisons don't fall. The blocks of mistakes with time as a mortar old dreams can't awake I'll not cross the border. First lessons I learn no need to redo the errors they burned more dreams than a few. A sense of belonging had drawn out a sigh a wisp of that longing I've tried to deny; The shivers I nursed for moments in time caressed by his verse a rush of sweet rhyme. I slept with his lexis and loved the embrace and woke to a nexus of strings to displace but drums of regret I just can not hear as moments of threat still whisper so near. I hugged an illusion for feeling I wept in dreams and delusions that silently crept; the hiss of commotion it shook me to reason reminding emotion is personal treason. It's never that's real forever that daunts the rousing I feel persistently haunts my wits I can't lose post lexis affair alone with my muse, loose quills in my hair.
Lots'a stuff happening, some a bit scary.... Places I seem soon destined to go, I grow a little wary But every posted fear, Every second thought I mused, Shar was there.... She rebuilt my confidence, So I'm on the road again, Sure I had a scare, But Shar was there... Other times I'd get sad,, Wanna give up, Sit stock still in a chair, Point it at the wall, Devoid of every care... Contemplating if I dare.... From such thoughts away she'd tear, Cause Shar was there... When I needed Safe Harbour, To reconstitute my thought', I'd read this one poem of hers, There was the relief I sought..
This is a three part puzzle, with a bonus question- each starting at 10 points, and, as before, each less one point starting on the second day (starting on Weds. 10/17, at noon, or as each new day's clue is posted, (If I oversleep...), and 30 points are needed to win. As last time, post to my AOL address, and GOOD LUCK!!! The 1st prize will be the same- a poem written by me on any 1 word, name, thing, action,etc., However, to win the Grand Prize- A copy of my poetry book when published in the near future, or, if you choose, the cash-equivalent prize, payable in tootsie rolls- (3, as calculated by it's value) or (6) Holloween lollipops...or a vhs copy of a tom bell comedic skit of his choosing...you must get all 4 parts correct, winning at least 35 points. All awards are final, and the decision of da' Judge'....Here Come Da' Judge......!! will be considered final, unless you can insult him into submission.....(oh, hmmmmm, dis' b' gittin' compleeakated....) Have fun, guys...and "May The Forks Be With You!!!" Regards, tom bell P.S.- Contest ends 5PM, Monday, Oct.22nd. And again, submissions draped in a sense of humor may earn up to 3 bonus points each, if in rhyme form, or burlesque form. (No contestant stripping allowed in any bizarre desire to influence da' jugge!) New Quiz Part No. 1; "It might be related to a hungry person eagerly devouring a hero sandewich ravenously." Part No.2; "Adults and tots play with its parts." Part No.3; "It moves from state to state, but uses neither automobile nor plane." Bonus Question; "If things go ever more poorly, "And you can no longer find, "Your confusion award, you may "find these two words on your sword." Go Get'um Soupers!!!...".May the Forks Be With You!!!"
Don't'chea all be lookin' Over my shoulder, At what's cookin' I dunz get mad, And reely sad, Dat you'z be spi-en at myze wourds
neuro syntax threads milled to ground thought flour For half-baked mixed feelings in recipes and menus for Successfully successive integrations of intuitive tics And flicks of words to roll together forming notions And ideas of knowing whether cause of foaming oceans Rolling surfs on sands of reason bubbling suds of season For the potherbs of deductions finished fitful reproduction Of gravitivic mindswelling in genuflective reflective lunatics Thus do gargantuan knots enthrall the followers of threads Of thought who seek the wisdom of the ages from self Possessive unprogressive sages in states of self possession Impossible to heed but going downhill at e'er increasing speed D'y'follow?
I cnat bleieve taht we can slitl raed wrdos as lnog as the fsrit and lsat lttres are the smae. If taht is the csae, lsieten to me.. Hree are my uwirntetn tuohgts..
I just wish to scream. I see all these smooth words. with perfect rhythm. and the thoughts so complete. that I want to tear the paper up. so that I can have peace. just leave me be. these words I write, whose balance and form make me weep at night, I stare at the old and say how did that happen My understanding is gone Not only of thought but now of the soul with fear that the images in my mind will never find their home they refuse to just stay so I write out my soul until nothing is left of this bone weary soul all I want is rest to be where they no longer cry to be released of the prison that they consider my mind The bars no longer block my mind unless you count the crumbling wall that was meant to keep them at bay
To be able to write take flight in other lives. Wanting to write finding with fright I write only of ... me. For what do I know of minds that grow outside this skull? how can I share what's hidden in there when all I know is ... me? The writing of me I find to be a considerable bore: depression deep confession leak insanity peek and a chore ... no more. Caring to share all the lives I have led yet I dread no one will know or care to see the I of me. The eye does not see The I in me. The nose with gaping holes they go where? I've not been there. Inside the mind where to find the Me the mirror does not see? so pen in hand I stand ... and stand and stand and stand .....
Sitting here in rhythm's rhyme What bait to use to snare What size hook will do the job So many to compare Fitting spaces into time Or backhand cutting lob Splitting places walls to climb With faster graying hair Harder now to weave and bob Timing's on a tear Icy teary blue eyes rime Hang it all The rig's too small For a longer Stronger Line One has to cut it fine Like one sweet corn Or two carbuncle Slice it now and Bob's y' r uncle
If I could end the day with a flourish, And added no new names, To those who think I'm boorish.. I'd speak words of exquisity beauty, More importantly, at least to me, I'd hope that some could see, An unexplored avenue of thought To ideas they might have sought... No "Stinking Flowers!!" I shout "We are the Federales... The mounted Poem Police!! We don't need no stinking flowers!!!" We are oblivious to word-made towers, And thus we carry on, Wearing the poet's robe that we don, I was a hair's breath from a great write... When by flowers I lost my sight I seethed in impotent pain, My spirits seemed to drain, Keep those bouquets away from me, 'Cause I wanna' see...
Yeah, Ruby, but Elvis had drugs!! To Fred- You ain't that fly guy, r u? To Patricia- that bug you caught- was he Freddy the Fly? Catch ya'll a bit later.....tom
There's too much Dharma to write, to see, to live to feel … or is there just enough?
I apologize for the delay-it's not easy being stupid- but I have now posted the fourth, and final clue. This one should lead someone to glory. Ending date now this coming Wednesday 6 P.M. Nov. 7, 2007.... Good Luck!
I have told you about remaining. But what of non-remaining? How would it be then? What would you say?
My sweet Ruby's birthday, Naturally on Valentine's day, In her honor, the NY city of Beacon Will close their schools! Ain't that a kick? Though, sadly, She seems to be "missing in action" lately, Many wonder why, She is so loved on this site, Many of us cry.... So come back home, To the five and dime, We'll even through in some Jimmy Dean sausages!!! Or, as Kenny Roger's first song went, "Ruby, don't take your poems to town!"
Oh, why am I writing? And what am I writing about? I have collected my thoughts. Yes, I have written What I thought is a poem, but I feel like it isn't a poem. And I don't know why. I've the words... The poetic form... The rhyme and the style... Indeed, I have unveiled… The mind… The heart… Yet still, I don't know why. No matter what I write Or how beautiful my poem is If you, my dear, are not reading it Then, it isn't a poem. And, without you to read …I will never be a poet!
To write no more, shall be hard to do. to push never again my crocked pen across the page which once was new now so stained from pain within. No more I write to an ascending voice to hear their laughter from the back. Knowing full well this be my choice to write no more for skill I lack. There shall be no loss to none but me to find my thoughts uncarpeted then to let my poets heart blow free my scatter verse unto the wind. I write no more I've had enough to feel their sneer at my printed word their descending mock for that I love I drop bitter tears upon my verse. From my heart so torn and I forlorn so this shall stand as my final poem.
Thirty-two poems a day to post, To reach that treasued goal, For thity-two hundred years or so With thirty-two prayers I'll last that long, To get over a million postings, Well, I'll surely give it a go.
I see your face,I hear you voice you such a disgrace,your so anooying You gross and to the highest of nasty Gotta wash my mouthy another girl i may be tasting Your past the barriors of f_____ up Don't wanna hear u say my name....shut the f___ up Tired of people lying to me I told you ,you could keep it real wit me but no i see what u couldnt find in her,you were taking out of me N it's crazy,she's not even a lil bit pretty The b__ is to the max ugly what the f____ is the matter wit you brain n your eyes must be playin a hell of a game but wat type of sh__ are u tryin play? Did u think i would find out that brittany is more than''Just a friend'' Does she even know who i am? oh well she bout to find out real soon the darks coming out,tonight a fool moon u betta watch ur back and make sum room cuz the b___ inside of me is bout to come though
As I said- L.I. was home to me up until about a year ago, when I made the (oopps) mistake of moving upstate, near Poughkeepsie (Wappinger Falls, which I call Foppinger Walls).... It is soooo boring!! No wonder I'm posting poetry 20 hours a day..... By the way, I'd never heard of Long Island Iced Tea till I went to Arizona a few years ago. Talk about puttin' starch in your socks!! regards Tom
Sift harder! Verify! a pen cautiously pressed to the page No spirit! You must live! Crazy welling up from under! Don't sit lazy stupid drooling drooping dreaming! The truth even now is within you! Look! Before it is lost!
Sometimes, in my journals, I'd just clear my mind and write whatever came to mind, sublime to ridiculous. One sentence without relation to the other. No sense of right, wrong, impropriety, or concern if it made sense or not. Once in awhile you get strange results. Don't know if this will work, it's chancy, but, what the hell, I'll give it a try... Wonder why some moments etched into memory for no apparent reason? As a kid, a rush to be the first to wake up, so we could get on the swings my father built before anyone else stole the only two seats. fear of nuclear war ever pervasive... first kiss, first love, first girl... she'll forever be the first, and never forgotten...enjoying smoking cigarettes...lookin', feelin' so mature...rememorable New York parks...murder before me 436 madison ave...so easy for one to make a fool of themselves...I'm a pro!....being a young "greaser"...childhood baseball...the joys of candy... climbing sturdy huge elms in front of house. lilacs, lilies of the valley...swamps ...later...
I thought I was done! But, ah, no! Could I think my heart would be filled by her departure? no! Emptiness is the same everywhere!
Who am I? Behind these words. Digits in a computer network. Scratches on a piece of paper. These words were never mine. They are torn from my mind. I don't now if they are mine. DO they reflect me or the reality that I am in, or are they just images that I have seen in passing. Are they who I am or more a foil to world outside. I create these words in my mind twisting until they are right. Yet they do not fit anything that I have seen or remember except for in my dreams. Yet, It feels like it is more going into my experiances. I write what comes to me, whether it makes sense or not, helps someone. For my opnion is even if I do not understand what I am writing someone else might.
Poems are such versatile things. Describing beautiful skies, Swaying trees, a bird that sings. Babbling brooks with a crystal clear flow. The moon in the sky and how it glows. The way a father loves his daughter. Whenever she fell it was him who caught her. A wife longing after her husband, On the widows walk praying he hasn't met his end. Sounds, smells, things that are putrid. Madness, rage, feelings and hatred. Regret, and sorrow, longing for a better tomorrow. Then realizing today his here, Got to keep that head clear. Take a deep breath, the clean crisp air. Poems can do that to you, write if you dare.
How long can I last before I'm washed up? When will I give up this joy in my life? Will I quit in a year? Will I write 'til my end? How many cycles of happiness and sadness will they embody? Will they ever mature like the boy into a man? Can they ever make a difference in somebody's life? Or will they always be merely a way to see inside of me? Do they bear fortunes in my future? Will I ever be appreciated as a poet? Will I eventually find out that I have hundreds, even thousands of admirers, and didn't even know it for so long? The future of my escape, of my expression, of my falling depressions, and of my rising delights is ever so uncertain
Why do I keep remembering memoriez from my past? Why do I try hard to make each moment last? Why are there so many liez behind every mans eyez? Why when I really love someone he grows apart and dies? Why is it when Im writing I feel so alive? Why when I see a pool of trouble I always seem to dive? Why when I cant control myself I look at my hands and theres that knife? Why do I feel Ill be struggling my whole life? Why couldnt my life be simple? Why do I suffer out of billions of teenagers? Why do I hurt and my life never gets better? Why do I gotta share all this through this letter? Why do I dig up so many empty graves? Why do I find myself writing for days? Why when they try to play me they get knocked out? Why when I change my direction I end up on the same route? Why dont yall understand what Im about? Why do I find myself writing and writing? Why am I asking questions I already got answers to? Why do I try hard to make things better? Go ahead, sit down and Ill write you another letter!
Few have seen the forbidden verses I keep around, those poems I write when I'm lower than down Some are filled with hate, others remorse, while others contain what I wonder Will all the world ever get to see the forbidden verses that I keep hidden away only for my eyes to see? I ponder at the thought momentarily but am uncertain if they'll ever debut
I always liked country music, but never could figure out what country it was from. I will shortly be a contestant on "American Idle" When my mother first saw a microwave at my brother's house in Ohio, in the 1980's- she told me how impressed she was at how friendly it seemed. Everytime she used it, it said "Hi" to her. True story. I heard about this old movie- "Twice Sold Ales"- seems a sinister bartender would get a customer drunk, and re-cyle his urine, and served it as "ale" Ugh! Makes me wanna wash! I had a nightmare last night- Angelina Jolie was knocking at my door, and I was in bed with Phylis Diller. Ugh! I got the video "Girls Gone Wild", and was (almost) surprised to see my wife as a featured star! Ugh. I just signed up to be a contestant on "American Idle"...I should clean up! If not on the game, at least here, in my home! Ugh! I think, therefore I think. I think, therefore I drink. I signed up for a "cruise to nowhere"- I wound up in a rowboat on the Hudson River. I like to consider myself a "pimple on the a_s of life"! No more from "Tootsie Roll Breath" for now. Keep on smiling!! I get a kick out of the "Forms of Poetry" list....Like I really care!! Pretentious crock of crap!! Check how I list this One!!
Like a gizzard on a lizard, Like a bill on a $1 duck buck, Like a wallet whose use is forgotten, Like the window with no glass Some stuff just don't make sense, And some people know no cents, Like a meal without nutrition, A roof unable to hold the rain, Sometimes you know where you are, Sometimes you're just insane Like peanut butter and ground glass, The Taj Majal a subway stop, A ship without a sea, A faceless face with sightless eyes, A sense of comraderie, Each morning starts another day, With or without me.
With a few words you can make someone suffer, Confuse them and blind them With a few words You can weave a web of lies. Or you can give them joy, Blind happiness But in an instant you can take it away Gone, for almost forever No happiness, What happens when word hurt you, When words of pain are uttered to you? Burning at you, Hurting you Then you begin to feel empty, Hollow inside, full of nothing Even when you have joyus things There is no more happiness. No matter You still feel nothing Not happy nor sad. Just nothing, empty. Next time, Before speaking, Think, Are your words Prudent?
Ahhhh, Quiz 9 is still open, though one fav female did come close, in a way... New Clue; "Children enjoy it's abilities..."
Dreaming of a place that draws the poison forth from the wound... This place is spoken only in whisper form. Only in the minds eye. Taken for granted and tossed about like tattered clothes. This place takes that from which he would derive pleasure. Nice. Taken not from him by the hand that deals death, but that deals life. Breathe in that which would kill you, these fumes are friends now. Feel the burn inside the lung and cough out blood. This is clean. Writing something new, something fresh, something imperfect. Trying to get it right, can't seem to concentrate. Must be happy
What need have you to ask me why I do the things I do? There are no words to satisfy the need to know in you.
My thoughts are worthless to you. They give no support nor take any away.They are just for me. If my phrases do touch someplace in your soul do not point at me. I had no hand in touching your heart. These words I write are just my truth and if they touch you it is not because they are my truth it is because they are your truth as well. It is not my truth that has touched you but a recognition of a truth that you see within yourself. That my words have either brought to your attention or have just reminded you of.
I feel like writing poetry I really dont know why Maybe because five poems are due this friday Or maybe, or maybe, i really dont know why So here i am writing something Im soposed to feel deep down inside Bottled in my heart Or maybe just a saying Or something i feel i should say But why, oh why Are five poems due this friday

subset: commoncrawl