#thursday
Thursday evenings spent with you
Each Growing more repetitive than the last
I see that you still recognise my face
But can tell from the dullness in your eyes that you cannot make much sense of it
You feel the memories
But your search for their meanings have long since reached bitter ends
Leaving you Cast aside in the sterile loony bin
Oh, What such a bitter enemy is the clock on the wall
How badly the passing of time can damage us
How our greatest gift can turn so rouge
rotting us away from our core
Turning even the strongest of love
Into a cascade of dust and insanity
How unjust but fearfully true
That our greatest of pains
In the real world would not even be strong enough to cut butter
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
Last day of my week
I feel lucky—I'll be free
And party tonight.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 12:47 PM UTC
I thought of how it seems like,
Oh let's make Chloe feel crap day.
Then I remembered that it's Thursday.
So yeah,
It really is.
It's always Thursdays.
Sometimes Thursdays have been fine.
But when a day of the week hasn't been fine,
It's been a Thursday.
I don't know why.
Thursdays should be good.
I have good lessons that day.
It just seems like,
Everything's against me then.
No, not people.
It's just feelings.
They appear from nowhere,
With no reason to be here.
No it's not very extreme,
But it's my less good days.
It's a Thursday.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
someone called to say you died
his voice was soft
but urgent
I’m sorry
but I’m happy for you.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
I miss you more than ever. Your chords on Saturday afternoons, your hugs on Sunday morning, your smiles on Monday chats, your kisses on Thursday nights.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 10:47 AM UTC
After many working days of giving of myself in love patience and endurance There are joys in the mist and I'm Thankful
The days past have had their struggles and blessings.. I have been facing the challenges ..
The mentals cares and the growing pains that comes with time experience and rough edges..
I know Sleep has been a thing I have chased, and tried my hardest to pin down.. by accidental falls..
Sleep where are you my heart calls.
But yet my days catch her sometimes..lolzz I mean really..
I crave for certain events on days.. its absence quite chilly.
Yet there are many delays..
But this Wednesday I needed Wednesday the rains fell and poured me replenishment to my thirst, and dear love Wednesday loved me.. dearly gave me the rest I needed.
Wednesday fell upon me, and gave love, like cloud nine times eleven sent.
I tried to hold on to Wednesday and pouted as it had to carry on...
Now its Thursday and as I labor my eyes cry for rest to sleep as I'm pushing and working strong.
This day has been long..
My off days are Thursday and Friday..
Sunday and Monday may bring, rest and love, flowers, and kisses and sweet misses
of sweet napping's I'll say..
ahh don't delay..
@ selinasharday_rose H.E.R #POETRY 2023 S.A.M Published.
Sep 8, 2023
Sep 8, 2023 at 2:26 AM UTC
Original:
*Monday's child is fair of face
Tuesday's child is full of grace
Wednesday's child is full of woe
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.*
Our version:
Monday’s child will be a superhero – ABIGAIL
Tuesday’s child never gets a zero – JULIA
Wednesday’s child loves to smile – ASHLEY
Thursday’s child is kinda wild –
Friday’s child is so nice and likes to play –
Saturday’s child is true and won’t betray –
And the child born on Sunday, so happy, –
Is an angel with a great personality. –
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 4:57 PM UTC
Thursday Night
Body-blood
wafers-wine,
praises turned crucifixion,
a mother's milk gone sour
to boil its lamb son alive.
We lament, and remember
(upon this Thursday night)
the actual retail price paid,
the victory won from defeat.
James E. Roethlein ©2021
Apr 1, 2021
Apr 1, 2021 at 9:38 PM UTC
It's Thursday
If it were Wednesday
It would be the same
again, you are not here
So,
I think to call someone else
and have regrettable ***
and forget you for a night
but I don't
I'm tired of it
I'll be alone
So,
I think I'll sit by myself
drink
and talk to the gods
they don't exist
but they are nearer than you
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 6:02 AM UTC
If
There is
Anything
Worth dying for
It's to go back in time
On that fateful Thursday
The day we went up that hill
Me and you on top of the world
All our problems were right below us
Nothing could stop us, nothing could go wrong
When I felt, for once, a bit of forever
Now every time I see you, my heart aches
You walk past me like I don't exist
Like nothing's happened, nothing's changed
All my efforts, blown away
I would go back in time
To undo the things
Undo the pain
To unlove
Unlove
You
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 9:57 AM UTC
I will surely feel lonely again
I might die inside too
But if it makes you happy,
I'll celebrate my death with you.
Don't look over your shoulder
And wonder how I've been
You already did enough for me,
You've given me your best.
But if we ever meet again
Ask me how Im doing,
I'll give you a sudden smile
And say "I'm fine" again
Feb 11, 2021
Feb 11, 2021 at 6:23 AM UTC
They meet every Thursday
They're a worship team
They meet every Thursday
To develop a worship scheme
To show how the Lord leans
Through musical means
They meet every Thursday
That's not quite church day
But it's their rehearse day
So they don't play the first way
Which would be the worst way
When worshipping on the church stage
They meet every Thursday
To rehearse their music
They've got the Holy Spirit
And there's no way they'll lose it
They'll continue to use it
To save brothers from bruises
They know what the truth is
And they want to exude it
They meet every Thursday
So surely I even heard they
Come in on their birthday
They say it's worth praise
Not of their own ways
But of the Lord's grace
Glorifying Him is first place
So they meet every Thursday
Jan 22, 2021
Jan 22, 2021 at 6:03 AM UTC
Does God Love Me?
By Harry Toye
He suffered and He died for you,
An agonising death on a rugged cross;
Tortured and crucified for you,
To save the sick, the lonely and the lost.
Black hearted Pilate washed his hands in a dish of delph,
It could have been in blood as much as in water.
He may as well have nailed Jesus to the cross himself,
For it was he who gave the fatal order.
They surrounded Him in the dark of night,
Armed guards with torches aglow;
The crowds milled expecting a fight,
But Jesus said, “It is I you seek, let the others go”.
On His Head a crown of black thorns they did add,
Their tips dipped in a deadly poison;
A practice that could drive ordinary men mad,
As the Blood of Christ turned those tips to crimson.
The mass of bleeding tissue was revealed,
As ruthless Romans scourged again and again;
Strips of skin were torn and peeled,
But not even once did Jesus complain.
They mocked and insulted,
They ripped the cloak from blood congealed;
They pierced His Hands and His feet,
His back was like a furrowed field.
When they nailed Him to that cross,
They nailed our sickness and our sin;
They nailed your pain and your loss,
So you would learn the Kingdom of God is within.
His friends who loved Him looked up and cried,
The sky darkened and clouds gathered as if nightfall;
When Jesus looked down at the mob, just before He died,
His Heart of Love still forgave them all.
He had created the very wood and also the nails,
And even the merciless men who drove them through;
Despite the leather whip with it’s leaded tails,
He pleaded, “Forgive them Father; they know not what they do”.
They took Him from the cross and gave Him to His Mother,
She cradled and she held this Blessed Fruit of her womb;
She cried for her baby that once she lay in a manger,
But now she prepared to lay her baby in a tomb.
However three days later the impossible happened,
And Mary’s pierced heart was healed;
She screamed with Joy as the tomb was opened,
Jesus had defeated death, to all it was revealed.
He had endured and He had triumphed, this story is true,
How He dispelled darkness with the light of love that day;
And He would suffer it all over again, even if for only you,
So that you too can live again in a most abundant way.
Who is this faithful man who now holds out His Hand?
This man who is always honest, always true.
Who speaks to pain and misery and it’s forever banned,
He is the one who will never leave or forsake you.
You may not know Him yet but He knew you before you were born,
He knows everything about you, your strength and your frailties;
He loved you in the womb, before you were even formed,
And He will love you forever, and through all eternities.
For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
John 3:16
©Harry Toye 2014. http://www.fivefoldministryireland.com
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 9:36 AM UTC
I once wrote poems
spilling my darkness
onto paper
now
I wish to write poems
spilling the light
I have found within myself
however
I seem to have lost my touch
-Kejtil
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 1:32 PM UTC
Thursday you've finally arrived
Work is over and I'm ready to imbibe
You've become my favorite day of week
Most of my jobs done and giving Saturday a wink
Late enough in the week to relax a little more
While Friday's shadow lurks closely under the door
Early enough to fantasize about Sunday
Yet still so far away from Monday
Pour me a glass, or two or three
Unplug my brain and help me let it be
Since I only have one more day of work
Will one more hour really hurt?
So sweet Thursday you may not be part of the weekend
But since the quarantine, it's upon you I've come to depend
Jun 18, 2020
Jun 18, 2020 at 9:01 PM UTC
looking
through my gallery
to find the epitome of throwbacks
to be posted on social media
the struggle
i’m tired
thinking out loud
on what’s really important
the memories gone
or
the present ?
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 12:18 PM UTC
“The conflict at the moment,
Is you're literally,
One tweet away,
From the market being down,
5 per cent.”
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 7:18 PM UTC
Wretched voice
Boxed so thin
Rubbed-raw noise
Sandpaper skin
Beaten crest
Lasts for years
Naked nest
November tears
The season’s stall
Before the laughs
The worst of all
The ugly path
A sun burned green
I waste away
While they all wait
For bright Friday.
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 11:41 PM UTC
English
I wake up
I bath
I work
I finish
I go home
I sleep
I repeat
French
je me réveille
je prends un bain
je travaille
je termine
je rentre à la maison
je dors
je répète
Yoruba
Mo ji
Mo wẹ
Mo sise
Mo pari
Mo lọ si ile
Mo sun
Mo tun ṣe
Arabic
استيقظت
أنا حمام
أعمل
أنهيت
أنا أذهب للمنزل
انام
أكرر
Japanese
Watashi wa
mewosamasu
watashi no basu
watashi wa hataraku
watashi wa oeru
watashi wa ienikaeru neru
watashi wa kurikaesu
Latin
Ego surgere
et bath
laboro
ego consummare
i Vade in domum tuam
ego dormio
ego iterare
Lithuanian
aš atsikeliu
Aš maudytis
Aš dirbu
aš baigiu
aš einu namo
aš miegu
aš kartoju
Rex Verum Regem
TFK
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 4:07 AM UTC
Bright Eyes
I know you stare at me while I sleep
Try making me close my eyes by kissing
my eyelids when i awake,
Bright Golden eyes,
Telling me more when you steal glances at me,
Bright Golden eyes,
To my heart you bring pure surrender
Bright Golden eyes,
Though your lips remind me everytime,
That you love me all the time,
Bright Golden eyes,
Tell me more,
Bright Golden eyes,
Tommorow the sun will rise and I will come back,
I miss you and I love you
Bright dark blue eyes mine
Bright golden eyes yours
Till tomorrow. I love you
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 5:41 AM UTC
Fill your heart, fill it as full as you can.
Fill it with memories most warmly hued
and remember them well
in all their glorious, sweaty,
kindly brutal
minutiae.
Remember each drop,
each bite,
each individual dust
mote dancing
the still, hot, sunlit
February
Thursday.
Remember how different
places all have their own
unique elusive
smell and how
it is impossible to describe this to anyone
who has never lived
anywhere else.
Fill your heart with all those memories
of the best kind
of home grown hell.
Fill it until its tears are forced out.
Fill it against the long, cold dark of parking lost.
Fill it against mysterious hate.
Fill it against misery and mud and hard
frozen
bottle
glass
lies.
Fill it so full it can't ever sink far down.
Burden it with buoyant stories
and weigh it with
hypnotic winter flame.
These are the things of which
the cold terror to
victory apocalyptic will be born.
There are no second prizes here.
Fill it with the certainty of the worn places
where the chairs met
the table
each night.
Fill it with the truth of
the gnarled and sun-warm roots and
the indisputability of a Beetle motor accelerating and
the violent pirouette of each spring
and the ozone smell and
the way wet wood screams at the sky and
the way the sound
hits all ears the same
regardless of
their color or
what side of Line Avenue they’re from.
Remember what line you’re from
and to hell with the rest.
You must mind your own.
There’ll be water
if God wills it.
You are never too far lost if you still know
your father’s face and can still remember
getting milk from the tubes
in the
silver metal cooler
and the red cookie jar
lid as the
adults smoked at the green kids’ table
and everyone mostly had blue eyes
and red hair and there was always a phantom killer
lurking
right beyond the only hope door
before you were ****** into the mirror
world and
******* but
kids sure do have to make some
rough choices
before nine o’clock.
Keep remembering and when you remember,
remember even deeper
remember in yet greater detail and
practice that remembering until
you
ARE
the dust motes
the milk tube
Thursday
roots
sun
until you ARE each drop of sweat
until you ARE the phantom killer
and the red cookie jar lid
the straight line of smoke rising out
of the ashtray and
the motor and the
scream and the
ears and
you ARE all these things
and you ARE
and you can’t really say where these things begin or where
you end because you’re not sure that
anything really does end or
begin
anymore.
Beginnings and endings
haven’t much meaning after
everyone has
shown their cards and the worn places on the chairs have
met the table
one
last
time.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 4:14 AM UTC
*Did not know who you were
Your name or your birthday
Voice of yours was all i heard
We dint even spend a day
Three hours of chatting
Two hours of play
One hour of clarity
And another hour of day,
Lips smelling like cigarettes
Body so husky and light
In an aura of musk
Bodies touching like night
Stars kissing the sky
I heard your voice
You felt mine
I touched your heart
You blew my mind
We saw light coming in
Through the curtains
It was night yesterday
Today everything's uncertain
Maybe it was new
So it attracted me
Maybe it was me
That attracted you
Like a cannibal
We ate up our sorrows
Into a shadow of lustre
And no tomorrow
What happened this time
I cheated perhaps
It was one time thing
Its time to relax
Maybe I forgot how much someone loves me
Maybe it was infatuation that caught me
Love or lust
It no longer matters
As my thoughts include
You as all that matters
Lust for you
Maybe love for me
But these 6 hours were
Enough for me
One night of regret
One day of lust
One time of sorrow
One game of mistrust
Maybe I am sorry
Maybe it was meant
A six day love story
That never came to an end..*
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
I loved you before I knew your name.
Even though now you're gone I still love you the same.
No one could ever replace those feelings you gave me.
Three years later, My love for you remains the same..
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC