Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
COVER me over
In dusk and dust and dreams.

Cover me over
And leave me alone.

Cover me over,
You tireless, great.

Hear me and cover me,
Bringers of dusk and dust and dreams.
I see so much Light-bringers here , bless you all.
I see true Hope through you my friends thank you.
For it shines so much brighter coming from you.
Ordinary people with such an extraordinary gift.
Drawing me into true Hope and True light from Christ.
This is his gift to each of us, to see the Light in others.
Thus giving us each true Hope through you , he uses.
To reveal life and the Light to others drawing them in.
So I may say thank you to each of you for this gift to others.
Alaina Moore Jul 2018
[Hashtag]MeToo
Here it goes again,
trending on Insta and Facebook.
Where real awareness stems.
Mind the sarcasm,
social media’s a powerful tool
not knockin’ that.
I wonder though,
does the mind of the follower
understand the context of the hash?
Do they get it should be a call to action?
Not necessarily at the keyboard.
More like on the couch with their children,
Giving the conversation of consent.  
Most people do not even understand it by definition .
The meaning of yes and no convoluted by scenario.  
Bias boils over like milk and water over full flame.
The posts bubble out and stick to the side of the pan,
quickly drying; leaving their mark.
Until the soap and warm water flows over them,
and the steam evaporates the confessions.
Until they are again whispers we all hear and know.
It’s whispers from the alley ways,
and from married couples bedroom doors.
The woman is the property,  
the man is the proprietor.  
We refuse to address the real problems,
the failures of our up-bringers.
We point fingers and slay names
yet the statistics provide the truth.  
One in four for females, one in sixteen for males.
We all have been violated, slandered, and forced to say
[Hashtag]MeToo
Not going to say I did not share it,
I know the touch of unwanted hands,
the invasive *******.
All for the sake of the insanity,  
in repeating a useless gesture.
The only difference is
My hashtag went to my Senator.
Just found this, needs editing and punctuation but I liked it so I figured I would share it even as a draft.
Pen Lux Feb 2015
hip-hop
split my mind open,
hear me flip-flop
happily irritated
watching your
constipated
face break
heavy tears
you shake
you ache
so take
a break
and take
a breath

digging holes
taking pills
sliding down
murderin'
fillin' hills
the chills
my thrills
no bills
countin' kills
ten fingers
smell lingers
hell bringers
not singers

give me that...
bring me there...



shovels
the troubles
my doubles
be bubbles
black moths
white veins
no money
hopping trains
you blame
the rain
for pain
insane
to think
a drink
of water
taught her
brought her
to the edge
nothing left
to take

so...

give me that...
underground....


hip-hop
split my mind open,
hear me flip-flop
happily irritated
watching your
constipated
face break
heavy tears
you shake
you ache
so take

a breath
ahhhhhhh

give me that...
bring me there...  

we're going underground


your games
my flames
the names
we tame
the light
breaks night
we slide
we hide
in
the
dark
so take
a breath

Underground...


hip-hop
split my mind open,
hear me flip-flop
happily irritated
watching your
constipated
face break
heavy tears
you shake
you ache
so take

take me
bake me
shake the dirt
from my bones
love's
no longer
got me
in a
choke hold
feeling bold
stories told
so grab
a hold
as we unfold

underground
no longer bound
by fear
my dear
the present is clear
growing and sprouting
underground


these are lyrics I wrote for a rap to some beats and the track name was "the heist"
Betty Ponder Oct 2013
Up early as usually but this time with a mission to complete Halloween Costumes.
Not a pain free day most definitely, but have kids who rely on me to be a good mom.

Everyone has haters; the two faced, "your girls" wanting your guy or envy clothes style,
or randoms you never met, desiring your life, home or new car bought with hard work.

Most days what's posted on sites about me makes not a bit of difference in my world,
I ignore and move on with my life, know haters have nothing better to do than gossip.

No news is good news and nothing from my usual "Town Criers" saying "Guess What?"
One day got messages in text, "You have been labeled Babylon's ***** by Craiglisters!"

Not a "lol" nor "Roflmao" situation. Thinking, What in the world? and How in the world?
Me, Ms. Abstaining and they, who love assuming and posting drama without thought.

Their world; small town America and believers of truth in "all" internet rumors and media,
not willing to give benefit of doubt, once minds, so limited in thought, have been made up.

E-mail inquiries from potential employers I never met from destinations far far away,
asking and informing that person with such low morals shall never be part of their world.

Drama finds me and neither welcome nor do I seek it out, way too emotionally draining,
believer in live and let live, authored "Celibacy" poem to stop jokes made to my kids.

Who knew that trying for your dreams could bring forth bringers or illogical pure hatred?
Who knew that emotions of my children whom I love, would be affected by narrow minds?

After family conference and with full support, by the way, had to explain "*****" to son,
this mom carries on and still on second journey pursuing dreams and making realities.

If I give up dreams it will never be because someone posted bold faced lies on open forum,
it will be because I choose to do it with good reasons and those reasons are mine alone.

Pitfalls? Have been numerous. Will? Strong and still determined to see this through to end.
Tomorrow isn't promised and hear my dad say, "Daughter, go forth and let haters be fuel!"
JP Goss Mar 2014
Please, let us be
The bringers of Light
Under one banner
Of those befallen of night
Though the way may be blinded
Locked by our fear
Our apprehension telling us “Please, do not go”
And suffer more comfort full of past woe.
Bringers of light,
What you have will pass
And change being the only
Thing to last.
So love it, know it
And advocate change
Since the in vogue attitude
IS to keep it all the same.
Never suffice, oh,
Bringers of Light, all of you,
With things as they are.
Yes, you go, necks out for change,
Change everything, since there is
Need for change,
And change that change
So the change is changing
And every changing change changed
Is best
Don’t settle (so change!)
For what’s better than change
But change, changer, and changest.
So raise high your banner
And herald in the change!
But before we step first,
We pause for mantra
“It seems so stupid
To risk your life for a cause.”
Andrew Rueter Aug 2018
There are two kinds of lives
Examined and unexamined
So we see two kinds of drives
One of grace the other famine

Two lives
Intertwined
In the line
We call time
In a bind
Of the blind
Versus kind

We needed an example
Of how to be nice
Though those were ample
We found Jesus Christ
To lead the way
Through the fray
Until the day
He was slain
And died for our sins
Because the bad guy wins

Now when
Holy men
Goal tend
We bend
To their end
As they send
Us to mend
A devil's den
That is of their apocryphal creation
Of which they deny any relation

There are no angels and demons
Only people who are the reason
For this devilish season
And those who are not
Are caught
In the empire crossfire
Until they retire

Floating through life peacefully
Treating everyone equally
The people at the steeple see
Ways to help through deep beliefs
But others pervert it
To divert it
And insert it
Into hateful ideology
That falls onto me
Ominously

The imposition of their will
Is how they get their fill
Becoming jaded predators
Not caring who must be killed
Our pain doesn't register
Once we're billed
Cash in till
Their heart goes still

Pain lingers
From bane stingers
Of shame singers
And grave bringers
Using slave fingers
As blame flingers

The righteous save brothers
The wicked blame others
The two became lovers
To hide pain under covers
Because the righteous
Want to be like Jesus
Once the wicked fight us
The righteous leave us
To turn the other cheek
Until we're up **** creek

Plenty of people act like Jesus unintentionally
And live life exceptionally
Others study religion fervently
Yet continue hurting me
This dichotomy
Is odd to me
Do we need God to see
A way to be?

The real dichotomy is net negatives versus net positives
Though we may never conceive
A measurement I still believe
This battle exists
Our actions persist
But the only judgement we'll receive
Is in the way we're perceived
Yet society's goals aren't the same as humanity's
I know it sounds like insanity
But we act counterintuitively
Like the lawyers suing me
So they can get theirs
While saying life isn't fair
Which may be true
But only because of them
So my frustration grew
Once I saw the problem's stem

I wanted to be a good person
But then I got headaches
And bad breaks
From high stake
Mistakes
Growing jaded
After society graded
My endeavors slated
As failures awaited
I became one of them
A broken gem
Can someone please save me
From remaining the same me?
Or will I spend my time
As part of the grime
Not reading the signs
Until the day I die?
Can be found in my self published poetry book “Icy”.
https://www.amazon.com/Icy-Andrew-Rueter-ebook/dp/B07VDLZT9Y/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Icy+Andrew+Rueter&qid=1572980151&sr=8-1
The fallen, bringers of light who died and became angels of the night, they are the air that man breaths; chaos.

So fourth, I was light born in darkness with the healing of the light and the desires of evil. I roam the night in search of withered souls; hearts once made of gold tainted by dark tar. I feed off their darkness, I crave it like a child craves a mothers love.

And so I consume their very darkness, as I removed their demons and make them my own I free them of the suffering and shed light upon their eyes, the shackles now removed they realize their full potential. While I lay here battling their demons and my own; forgotten. As they went on to greatness I was left in the shadows; no one ever bothered to save me.
Vladimir Pavlov Nov 2014
The first great war took many people
But it was just a start for worse
It took the best of us, the livers
To revolution's ****** horse

This war erased aristocracy
This war had eat my own home land
Kurmysh was town at Sura river
Untill they came, soviet's undead

A part of us was pushed from home lands
Another part had shot in head
They called themselves a freedom bringers
But that was thing old Lenin said

While winners write the history
The truth becomes a mystery
Then bandits become heroes
And heroes gone to dust

And now, the robbers, killers
Are called a freedom givers
In part of lost empire
Ukraine, which now are sold
vea vents Sep 2016
I love you to the moon and back, yet on earth, I hate you back and forth.

I am happy with a suppressed sense of agony. So ecstatically vibrant, yet miserably tormented.

I live day to day, walking and “maturing”, yet move no further than beyond the grave of a past, long dead and gone.

I’m awake, don’t you see?

When I wake, I open my eyes in a helpless sleep. Outside my tiny being, I see nothing but me.

I call myself a mother, or a father, but never gave birth to a daughter.

We call ourselves a “family”, but exist so disconnected — wavering and dislodged, apart and separated. Smiling resentfully, painfully, excruciatingly.

All for the cameras of course.

I am respectful — to be respected! I shower in lies, and cover you too, so I need not see any offensive residue.

I am a strong person, cowering and contracted to the slightest sight of error.

No vulnerability.

I’m brave, don’t you see? A plastic rock, standing impervious to the sea.

I love you, I love you, I love you. But I don’t see you, nor hear you, don’t know you.

I understand you, of course, “I understand everything!!!!” But I don’t see you, nor hear you, don’t know you.

I know you, I know you, I know you. Yet I don’t see you, nor hear you, don’t know you.

You’re crazy, poor child! Why can’t you lie like we do!?

Why can’t you NOT feel like we do!?

Why can’t you NOT see as we do!?

Why can’t you just “forgive” and “accept”? Take it all, all our objects in their entirety and forget the emptiness of your soul. Sacrifice yourself, for you need not forget, we gave it ALL.

Don’t you know yet? This world is OURS to own. A “truth” to be known.

Your perception; a mere fallacy to be shown.

Don’t you know yet?

Everyone agrees.

We stand before an army of validation, against your small speck of reality.

All memory, all harmony, all said and done -- buried beneath.

We are the bringers of truth, the proclaimers of wisdom and sound guidance. And you, our poor child, just a little voice to be silenced.

A lost soul, drifting outside the “right” path.

Reach for our direction.

You’ll travel upon a dusty, well-trodden track, and with feet now imprinted with scars. Rest assured though, for we travelled there too; feet too ***** to bear and too numb to care.

Take our confident hands, our dearest child. We’ll lead you through a clear path with tainted feet.

You’ll fall and we’ll rise in disbelief.

You’ll scream and it’ll only echo our fears.
...But Really About You.
Ken Pepiton Jan 2023
-------------
Time's were hard, we see,
as we look back and wonder, asking
actually,
wondering
is asking who knew, or knows,
at the ha,
a breath acclaiming exhaled, huff.
I know. It acts as if, I am the prey, in quest…

Of course, in slow, out burst… ah wit' ha a aitch
witches silence, 'ear ye, 'ear ye,
order in the court,
the open court before the temple,

gather, all ye hinderers and holder-backs, rally
round the banner over us,
which is love of duty to God and Country,

¿Eh, little man, dis tinctual intel, confi, semper set,
semper fi, do or die, or do and die, why
is not a factor,
or luck is not a factor, time and chance, dance…

dance with this wondering mind, wishing to be
of some significance, when plopped
on the scale,
for what it is worth,
for the cost
to fit the three strand thread
from Delphi riddles writ
in Greek et Ebersprachen Proverbs
from the very early days,
collected fragments
of ever ago, cetera

as far as ships had sailed, we know, now
we have sailed farther,
we have flown, as far as our perception may
hold the experience,
as power we may use, if we choose, buy a ticket,
wait in line…

read one hundred and forty seven maxims,
think three missing, for I was told to find
one hundred and fifty pre-positioning
glyphs, single sign, single signal, taken

as given, one will to wonder, one to wonder why.

I am at the moment Qwerty Guy, qwertying code,
in clear text,
through sieves witches were known, to use,
by King James, the first, of England,
who wrote the book on sorting
witches from his loyal servants,

all sworn to alliegiance,
to the king of two kingdoms, all stand,

Come to order, let the judgement begin…
in this worlds interpretation,
of ἐγγύα πάρα δ'ἄτα
- Swear not at all… Certainty makes madness
after we recall, there needs be order, must be
in the court,
where each man, wombed or un, and possibly,
old or young, or, better said,
old from young, must judge the angels
we each trust to always see things our way
- draw the right vectors, from my POV
- Graphic communication demo
Cartesian, belling thing, seen on two dimensions,
to and from, but here
the point
the readers perceptivity
to the precept set in ifery was,
so quite long ago we lost our grip,

holding, holding, holding that thought,
we thought, a chapter or so ago, you know
we thought,
ever
was a thinkable thing, and we thought it.

------------- Proud of it, too.
Dis, take it
Easy, you are privileged, legated privacy
for knowing what may be known,
in the realm of all you may ever know.

Gnostic mystic alien ties
religamental truth coded moral worth,
stores of stories studied in hope,
choking on the dust, those missing,
layers,
the bringers of peace,
the releasers of the knowing to the chosen,
those selected by childish preferences,
to become the model image
of good done right,
as natural as
sneezing whole armys into being,
after sowing dragon's teeth for years.
All we agree, we may imagine, making up

Messengers from former days,
telling us to mend our ways,
no, telling us, to get a grip.
Oracles or angels, or mass hysteria,
none portrayed as boogermen and witches,
wrinkled hags and fatphag priests in shades.
At you, we see the dust blown.
Celebrate.
A series of sneezes axon-triggering,
deep anti-histamine relief reaction, coming on,

must be something in the wind,
must be my body, reacting, doing what must
be done,
or I shall die, or I shall die, each sneeze,
from within me cries,
no, from inside,
we whisper, prepare, to not spray snot,
in civilized mindspacetime patterning arrays.
Ah, this feels fine, okeh, let life work wonders in the dark.
SG Holter Feb 2015
We have a thousand poems for
Every one of your bombs.
With each act of bloodthirst
And slaughter, we respond with
The force of volumes on peace.

Heaven; a holier word than Hell.
One birth overshines a
Hundred deaths.
Cowards wound.
Heroes heal.

Poets create. You cause
A thousand tears with every bullet.
Well, we compose oceans of comfort
In your wake.
Our ink overpowers your lead.

We have a thousand poems
For every one of your bombs.
You are the bringers of death to
The flesh. We are the armour
Of the soul.
My sympathies to the people of Denmark after the terrorist acts this weekend.
Simon Soane Nov 2013
I miss you like maps miss fingers,
Like mikes miss singers,
Like hells bells miss ringers,
Like bringers miss takers,
Like ******* miss fakers,
Like cakes miss bakers,
Like lakes miss boats,
Like bad swimmers miss floats,
Like politicians miss votes,
Like doting parents miss school plays,
Like nymphomaniacs miss lays,
Like hypochondriacs miss prescriptions,
Like ****** misses addictions,
Like carpets miss friction,
Like Billy Bunter misses midnight feasts,
Like the grim reaper misses grief,
Like Henry misses the good fellas,
Like sand sculptures miss umbrellas,
Like Rubix cube devotees miss puzzles,
Like rabid dogs miss muzzles,
Like Van Gough missed his brushes,
Like speed freaks miss rushes,
Like pens miss paper,
Like the Mona Lisa missed Pater,
Like the canvas misses the creator,
Like  the thirsty miss water,
Like the hungry miss food,
Like ***** miss the lewd,
Like the mind misses mood,
Like the tides miss the moon,
Like the sane miss the loons,
Like the dark misses the light,
Like the brave miss the fright,
Like the kite misses the wind.
I miss everything.
Sam Temple Jan 2016
flashes of the past crash into my mass
blasted and scratched, hide chapped,
I clap and shout at the memory
I approve of myself –
Old images of self-worth re-birth
And my fading girth is better for the earth
Large ***** pass gasses collapsing the greenhouse, but
I approve of myself –
Internal health and immeasurable wealth
As if the Delphi oracle imparted me
with love for self
growing stealth
with approval of myself –
affirmation nation retaliating against
infatuation with concentration camp
regurgitation
my patience wears thin and yet still
I approve of myself –
Granting panic stricken epidemic victims
Injections of insulin and bicarbonate soda
So the right wing harm bringers
Will no longer harbinger orangutans
Oh! the will of man…
Planning to land a dodge ram on the spam factory
Rectally cramming grandfather clock hands
Scamming bands of Ayn Rand fans
I approve of myself –
Derailed writings without direction
Making up things like “latterly”
…..better to just end it----
I approve of myself
And much of this message
I rarely delete so sometimes trash finds its way to all of you :)
brandon nagley Nov 2015
I traveled seeking otherworldly unknown spiritual erudition,
Twilight was approaching, the village was illuminated; by lit face's and fiery pit's.

Shamanic foot pounding dug into the ancient soil, visages were daubed by psychedelic mirages; as embers flew from the state of consciousness matched.  As tis these wild child's wore feather's as   celestial hat's.

Chant's of healing echoed the earth, an old man with a map drawn on his countenance, and in the palm of his hand's. Stood crooked, spine shifted; with a feather inked with wisdom as the quill's were year's of time's past.

His peeper's as Sunshined glass, aged and freed, he was around the birth age of at least eighty-three; he's lived many form's back before time, before me and thee, he told me " Brandon, I've been waiting for thyself to be seen.

As tis I kneweth a messenger hadst guided me there, I was standing in the shaman's presence, as the plume's covered his hair; he kneweth I needed soul-retrieval, his grin bounced the air.

He brought me into his Wigwam, as tis I felt the demon's inside me, his singing smoked under his breath; verily a man of astral tithing, I passed out from the beastly being's biting.

Mine apparition hadst left me, I was aloft weightless over mine body, I felt as if I died, none more pride or lifes prizing. The medicine man tranced, none need for him to digest any elixers, he's been doing this for centuries, he was a past angel and spirit mixture.

I hath seen mine life's picture, just up high in the cloud's, mine aura climbed atop the great mountain, I didst not want to cometh down; I was watching this tan-skinned tribal just below mine sight; he danced, tranced, danced throughout the night.

Then at the ending before I awoketh, I stared the demon's coming out of me, as tis their infectious breathing got me choking, I pushed out all the thing's trying to latch onto mine burning light inside me, the hellion loveth good soul's, to Satan that's control: anything good is open to their inviting.

I opened mine vision, when the death-bringers left, a holy Bible was placed upon mine chest; as tis the shaman told me his Secretive gift and holiness: he told me Christ he turned to many kingdom's ago, once back when, when he was working as God's angel.

As when I left that small earthly hut of his, he started singing Christian proverb's; reciting Christian hymn's, he wasn't thy average medicine man, he kneweth truth, not fable's nor myth's; before I left he painted mine head with a cross for protective bliss. As whilst at that moment in time, the devil stayed away from mine mind, Satan's chain's wouldst be waiting for him in the brimstone abyss.




©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
Laokos Mar 2021
a shake weight table steak
powdered sugar cigarette
break burning in alcohol
and corn flakes

a big ******* cluster-****
of broken noses and carefully
crafted poses posting pictures
of processed hipster's and blisters,
****-stirrers and culture twisters
jockeying for a spot
all melting in the ***

quiz show **** beads and
fleshlight teenage dreams
soaking through entitled
suburban screens choking
on plastic screams

chocolate dipped cancer fingers

city bus exhaust lingers

prescription bottle salvation bringers

and underneath it all the bible
belt girdles the gurgling masses
of glazed diabetes and frosted
faith pooling in the belly of
America

a fat flabby mess of
snake oil boiling
in stomach acid
and pesticide

"welcome, honey! grab a seat
anywhere you'd like --I'll be
right with you!"
Edward Coles Jan 2014
Distant as the far-off maritime state,
undeniable as the endless mismatch
of rock turmoil in the centre of the Earth,
and as vital as the pound of flesh, pulp
and lung, tired bronchiole, wasted lyric,
and cancer's ever-present weight
upon your mind.

Familiar as your lover's intonation,
as she asks of the breadth of your love,
attractive as the modest celebrity,
with legs splayed in bronzed celebration
of this, her life's affirmation.

Bound as the pages of your old journal,
full of misdirected sorrow and old, old love.
Curtailed as the dance floors abandoned
at request of the lights, sugared, spilt drinks
to rot the wooden boarding, now devoted
to misery-cleaners and the bringers
of tomorrow.

Firewalled as the world is to debt.
Cardboard shop-fronts, straw-men hippies
and bent products, cash out at Christmas,
then a haemorrhage in the New Year of
old floods and foreclosures. Covered up
as is the rusted kettle to stifle flame.

Lost as flavour is to ketchup, as winter
is to hope of heat, to desire of spring
and the end of forever-night. Thin as
my wrists, as hands hold the banister,
gaining small balance in life's rare incline,
long stripped of exercise, of enterprise.

Unutterable as the soul-sounds
I feel when I pick up the guitar,
as unattainable in this life,
as is beauty once my knotted fingers
press consciously upon the strings.

A truth legacy found in blood and
distortion, found in intuitive drives,
warped by consumption. Dismissed
theory of Atlantean ties,
of old Babylon
and Reptilian lullabies.

Luring, luring, luring to distraction,
into the night and the plight,
into the absence of Arcturian light!

Keep close to me, please,
oh, feeble recollection,
please take me to truth,
in this, my meditation.
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
Dust lies on piano, its lust to play a tune
Powder upon ballet slippers, in  mansion ruin
Come light through weathered window
On chair, on table, on letter marooned

Contents never read, her fear what it reads
Years it sits unopened, as felt  be no need
Come  light through weathered window
Causing illumination, on doubts, indeed

Music echoes through  its musty lingers
Memories enchanted; his long dancing fingers
Come  light through weathered window
Onto keys, sprinklings particle bringers

All this sifting silt, effervescent in the air
As her heart was so jilt, and left without a care
Come  light through weathered window
Untouched slippers, feet dancing bare

Turning up  dust, each and every day
Lady of this mansion, dancing her cares away
Come  light through weathered window
Forever in swirls of doubts, she stays
Imagine

Imagine a world where we all live as one
Where people walk hand in hand and don’t live by the gun
Where a man can be a man because racism is gone
And the evil deception of politicians are done
And the freedom from freeing my soul is met by the rays of the sun
And I stand on Mount Sinai
And wait for people to come
As they turn they back on corruption and start to run
And the power is handed from the words
And we can once again have fun

Imagine a world where we all live for today
Where yesterday is faded in time and in space
Where every gender, color, creed and race
Announces to the world
That peace is here to stay
And then the Messiah no longer has a reason to wait
Because we’ve destroyed power, corruption, greed and hate
And we stand here united along the same fate
Bringers of words to articulate

Imagine a world where we do not run from our ways
And we pound and we pray that we don’t stray from our days
And we show them what we know
Because knowledge can reign
And the point of the main game
Is not to be vain
So I strain and I drain till all the blood from my veins
Show you my love and the reason I’m praying
And my shoulders no longer feel the heaviness weighing
And we tell evil it no longer has a reason for staying
Because we no longer have a reason for waiting

Imagine a world where hope is the word
And the beauty of men
Is destroyed by the herds
And evil and hate can no longer learn
And men aren’t shot for the use of their words
Imagine all this without all the verbs
In sight of your own eyes
Soaring like birds
United by the heavens, clouds, skies and earth
To live in peace without concern

Imagine-
Thank you JL
brandon nagley Jun 2015
Precipice hanging
Red rock dwellings
Hiding under the sandpine desert
Freeing me in the process
Tribal seeking
Falcon knowledge to leadeth me down road highway
Noones way
But the freeway
Riding the cool gypsie wave
Moral decay hath abounded me
With the naysayer's and no bringers
Wolves cometh by swarms
Mastered by scorn
They scorn another with boiling hot heat....
Trampling feet..
Dance to their own tune,
No rhythm and blues
But jazz gone punk!!!!
Raccoon turned skunks
On lonesome highway to hell...
Nadine Caruana Aug 2010
Stomach Churning Mankind, Dizzy spells over the Human Race.
I question and turn, "the top of the food chain."
Creators of technology, bringers of pain.
Yet I see small weakening cracks all over their face.

Attention seekers, stalkers and unwanted love,
psychologically misguided, socially excluded.
small secrets and whispers, where one always intruded;
gossip carried into the skies, like feathers light, above.

Ripping at one's defined thought, ruining it with paranoia,
Pushing one's life aside, focusing on obsession,
Wishing nothing but a pair of eyes, some sort of detection;
a heart leading nowhere, lips quivering with question.

Women are 'weak' men are 'pathetic'
children barely bear name aside ignorance.
teenagers with morality that is of absence.
And the old are useless, eyes bearing something synthetic.

I sit here and give myself every insult; I belong to the Genus.
I feel feebleness grip my heart, that is when purpose diminishes.
I question if old power was real; Caesar, and Dominus!
And I realize, "Every story can be made," And that is where thought finishes.



**- N.C
*Most of these poems appear on my art gallery http://greatwhitey.deviantart.com.  If you suspect copyright or anything 'stolen', you may message me there for confirmation.*
Gabriel Dec 2014
Looking deeply into the densest black, no light to be found save a tiny little crack. The fracture that harbors a minimal piece of light, holding a tinge of fear as a battle rages in the night. Champions of the bright stand battered and bruised, a war against the dark we cannot afford to lose. Many tactics has the dark to destroy leaving broken shining beams, yet the light holds tight inside us as we strive towards our dream. Of a world that will only ever live in the light, and the only darkness we see is that of night. A war that eternally wages on, so no matter the victor...the tiniest crack of the dark...lives on, in us. We are the bringers of both side of illumination, one without the other, never balances the equation. For oneness is all that we seek, the inner battle of the strong and the weak. A source to which we are forever tied, we merely live to choose a side.
Sierra Blasko Sep 2018
Don’t write me poetry

It’s never worked before
Vanity, all of it, vanity
And I don’t want any
More-words, just-words, nothing-but words

I don’t care for
The structure
The way
It is so easy to steal
Phrases
lines
Automatic sigh-bringers
Used a thousand times
By history’s pen and
Those more worthy to hold it
than you

All you did
Was take the bag
Of scrabble tiles
Rattling and clacking together
And shake
Once
Twice
Thrice
Forced
Farce
Until you were satisfied with what it gave

And you threw away the rest

That’s not art
That’s strategy

It’s too neat
Neat like summer
Neat like children’s books
(not the good ones)
Formula following
Empty and hollow-ringing

Give me something real
Instead
Give me the ramblings, twisting
wanderings of your mind
give me the dark places
the secrets
the mysteries that lurk in the depths
like sea dragons
like the ocean itself
there is so much more
so much wilder and deeper

so
grab my hand and pull me in with you
don’t flatter me while dipping our toes
because why
why would we choose the ship
the safe little dingy
bleached wood, branded logo on the side
when underneath
lies atlantis
and
the depths
(so
don’t write me poetry
don’t write poetry
for me.
write the poetry of you
instead
and trust me enough
to share it)
Solaces Feb 2017
The darkness spread fast..
The fading glow made me sad a little..
But from the darkness I heard new sounds and tones..
Sounds of something that was hidden in the light..
The more darkness there was the clearer the sounds became..
They reminded me of whale songs back at home..
We were all walking toward the light mountains..

The light storm had passed. We continiued our dark journey through the light forest toward these majestic and beautiful light mountains.  There were many mountains the ranged in the same size all except for one.  It stood higher than my eyes could see.  I dare say it stuck out of the planet.  At times it looked like a pillar of light..   We were a group of dark walkers, shadow touchers, dusk bringers, I tried to come up with a cool name to call our group as my mind wonders about in my head.   We then come upon a pond of light water.  It shined with green light rather than blue like the river..  I then heard the voice speak to me.. " They keep her here, we cannot enter these waters, but you can.. Go and free her please."  Without hesitation I stepped into the green light water. The water is deep as I am completly submerged.  But to my suprise I do not see light. I see complete darkness.   For the moment I begin to panic.  But then I see a small speak of light at the center of all the darkness.  It begins to grow and spin about itself.  I then realize that it was a heartbeat.  What I was seeing was a beating heart in the darkness.  I cannot begin to tell you how beautiful it was. It grew brighter and brighter with my presence.  Then a body started to take shape around it.  Only in darkness could I have seen this...
In darkness we are created.
The Dedpoet Nov 2016
Harvester of words gathered in the
Trenches of life between
The dawns early fire
And the dusk of our gathering,
A reminiscent corridor that takes
A reader and places them in
The belly of your understanding,
Digestive reading.

And we become all things
All at once
To find a meaning to the wonderful
Chaos,
The stubbornness
Of the human condition
Gazing at broken things and finding
Light in the void of humanity.

You poet
Armed with a language unique
To the written word of your being,
The benevolent ruins of time
Assaulting the moments
Gazing into melancholic skies
Bringing them to read our hearts.
Bringer of wisdom from our own
Stupidity,
Spinning the compass to one another,
Bringing closer the faceless
Soul breathing in words,
Syllables like embers raining
On the angels watching us suffer,
We compact the understanding
Into a small requiem of experiences,
Ripping the face off of the world
And giving it our own touch:

I, you, We,
Poetry the birth of ruins
And dissolves into forever,
Poets, bringers of languages
Never spoken like dictation of spirits,
Time before time,
After and before collide
Birthing the momentous inkling.

Take it,
Its yours,
Poets living in the dream
Suffering the expense
Of the reality,
Constellation of our suffering....

Poets, living martyrs.
Society in peril,
Morality on the fringes,
The sound of a bullet leaving its barrel,
The sound of a casket’s lid closing at its hinges,
Oh, somewhere our better half cringes.

For every person looking to preserve life,
There are four others looking to destroy it.
Though compassion is our signature tool,
Oh, only a handful of us ever employ it.
There is no neutrality when our conscious hearts fail.
If our better angels remain silent, our darker halves prevail.

Everyone has one ounce mercy,
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace,
Godly uniqueness,
Divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine.

Everyone has a two-ton war machine.

Festering in heat,
Moral fabric unweaves.
Desecration,
Denigration,
Desiccation,
The remains of a sacred bond left tattered by deceit.
The sound of a stained glass window shattered by thieves.
Oh, somewhere our better half grieves.

The enigmatic future inches nearer,
An ambiguous choice becomes clearer,
The sound of rattling, an empty heart,
Battling, an empty mind.
The sound of hurried footsteps…
And there are others not far behind.
The blind guiding and seeking the blind,
Oh, somewhere our better half searches to find…
A shelter from all of these two-ton war machines.

Everyone has a two-ton war machine.

Everyone has one ounce mercy,
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace,
Godly uniqueness,
Divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine.

The pain lingers,
Morality rests in tatters,
Miniature death-bringers,
The sound of a bigot’s daggers,
The sound of a depressed man’s gun facing backwards…
After he decides that nothing else matters.
Oh, somewhere our better half staggers.

Everyone has one ounce mercy,
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace,
Godly uniqueness,
Divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine.

Everyone has a two-ton war machine.

The temperature escalates,
Morality thrown out with the spoils,
The sound of tension as it elevates,
The sound of blood as it boils,
Oh, somewhere our better half recoils.
Because everyone has a two-ton war machine.

A guilty conscience, a burdened soul, a heavy heart,
And a two-ton war machine.

Society in peril,
Morality on the fringes,
The sound of a bullet leaving its barrel,
The sound of a casket lid closing at its hinges,
Oh, somewhere our better half cringes.

Everyone has one ounce mercy,
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace,
Godly uniqueness,
Divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine.
© Thorne J. McFarlane
Prossnip42 Jul 2020
Warning of an attack
The people scream out loud
Warnings in the sky
Of what's coming

Appearing on the horizon
a threat on a planetary level
Demons in the sky, cast shadows on the ground

Bringers of destruction, are ravaging the land
Fury of Khorne's servants, a force to reckon with
They set the world on fire, the turn to **** again
Flames are burning higher, the bodies keep falling

Khorne's servants on a rampage as the sky is turning red
Better run for cover, you'll be quick or be dead

Burn, Burn!
Rage of the Blood God
Burn, Burn!
Blood for his throne
Die, die!
Merciless killing
Burn, burn!
Skulls for his throne!
Hunter J Feb 2013
All i knew came crashing around me
My life as i saw it
Was just a man slowly drowning
He fought and he struggled
But did not survive
Which leads me to question the meanings in life

Our motives are deadly
Were top of the chain
We go through this hell hole
Like its just a game
Striving for fame
Or to give ourselves a name

In that we have succeeded
To give ourselves a name much needed
Humans will forever be known
As the apocalypse bringers
Who destroyed their own home
brandon nagley May 2015
Such unreasonable false treaties bypass these gated bricks,
Wherein cats roam,
Unseen mobile phones turn everyday fighters to mothers *****!!!

Cross/tempered alleys lighten the communistic terrace where every buehler to every faris antagonizes the badged bringers of fear!!!!

Stignitized stipends are exposed to logged whittled suspense!!!
Weirdness is accompanied by thy ebony tops,
Wherein freedoms lost,
In places unsatisfied by man!!!!

Fire and water are trend,
Visionaries cometh from friends made from newspaper stands!!!!

****** theocratic, overhead sensationally leaks to moderned society!!!
Where choosing priority currupts our fatal flaws!!!

Art thou better or worse after all!??!

Accessing emotions,
Acclaimers fight explosion,
Befuddlers make merry their richeous belated stay!!!!

Tenaciously we compile thine world sent knowledge,
Where cargo is astounding with thou junk we all keep!!!

Clean thy face,
Wipe thy feet,
For you are generation number one!!!!

You liberated statue ,
You image to gods son!!!!!!!!!
All of space, all of time, all of man;
Inevitably doomed to find,
All will end in utter darkness, condemned and ****.
Thrusting forth is a new mankind,
May these be our guide to the source;
Like oil separated water, these spirits cut the darkness.
The Torch Bearer's light pierces through, like a blinding force;
May these be the souls of our brothers and sisters bless.
May this be the marking of a new beginning, a revolution!
May the taught question their institution,
Let them seek what is truth, what is real.
These are the Torch Bearers,
Their souls hidden, their faces they conceal.
I will join this order of peacemakers: bringers of hope,
Not bringers of terrors;

Though, I have but one reservation:
To let my light shine the brightest.
I wish not the be the one to act as perfection in example,
Better yet still, an example, this light reveals all my lowest.
Lower still would I be if I hid, never to confront that which so simple;
Denial of my wrong, of the falsehood of man, of my ego.
Come forthwith, follow me.
Hand me your eyes and I will change all you see.
Lend me your mind, as I will challenge it presently.
Your heart is yours to choose: for me I may fail you,
Or for you to rot solitarily.
Sam Temple Apr 2016
tattered memories
of flattery
splash against the backdrop
of pastel coated youthful visions
soft blended colors fade and blend
swirl and collide
embrace and recoil
forever interpreting
the dreams of my childhood –
faces take shape  
staring blankly into space
I shake my fist
and race to place
the case at the law bringers feet
bowing at the stone alter
sacrificing time
desperate and forlorn
I say, I say, I say,
boy,
feeling like foghorn leghorn –
cartoon falling down the hallway tunnel
funneling idealism
into tiny glass cups
roughly stumping speeches
at penniless preaches
beseeching those reaching
for free handouts and doubting
the ones touting freedom of thought….


sometimes I get caught up,
lose my train of conscious ideas
this is what that looks like –
Keith Wilson Feb 2016
Trees  have  been  with  us
right  through  time.
Giving  us  shade,  shelter,
and  privacy.

Their  wood  builds  houses
and  boats.
They  are  the  air  cleaners,
  rain  bringers,  and  prevent  erosion.

We  must  speak  out
and  replace  trees.
Damage  as  already
been  done  to  our  soil.

Please  plant  a  tree
and  save  the  world.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.
Jenn Gardner May 2011
The culmination of the poet’s desire was an
Overwhelming yearning for mutual adoration.
In desperate pursuit of this arbitrary satisfaction,
She abandoned the miniscule red slivers she possessed.

She placed the bricks upon her own chest.
Lo and behold, they deteriorated quite rapidly.
The poet fabricated the conditions responsible
For her own glorious, life draining asphyxiation.

Too many jovial blurs had graced her now black eyes.
Bringers of the curve to her face grew frustrated.
Desperately, the poet reached to reclaim her light,
It had already been eclipsed by the ink in her pen.

Her messiah brought hope; tiny white specks.
Strategically placed throughout her conscious wakings.
Ever present in her unconscious imaginings; intrusive.
The speckled brightness only brought life to sinister creatures.

Creatures which would feed on her fragile soul.
Until all that remained was skin and bone.
Little Bear Apr 2016
When I was young I believed that fairy tales were real.
The fairy stories my Dad told me were the truth,
and I believed.
I believed that fairies,
elves and pixies were all real.
My Dad never lied to me so,
why would I not believe him.?
He was a good man
and he loved me with all his heart.
When I grew up I stopped believing such things.
And then I met a Monster
First he was Prince Charming and then..
he became a Monster.
I still believe to this day
he was a Monster all along,
under his mask.
All it did was slip,
and I saw him for what he was.
I now believe in Monsters too.
But I have met other Monsters so,
I know he is not the only one.
I have met Dragons.
Big ones..
They are fierce and usually drunk.
And breathe fire.
These are frightening and damage you.
I have also met Vampires
They are the ones who **** the life from you,
they take and take until you are spent.
And they really don't sparkle..
I have met Trolls.
They are the ones that take your happiness
and make you sad.
They think they are gardeners
sewing their seeds of doubt,
but they are not.
They are sewers of sadness.
And they can only grow weeds.
And I have met Angels.
They have the kindest hearts.
They make you feel safe,
giving back all the happiness
that the Trolls take.
They are the good guys.
But they sneeze a lot.
I think it's the feathers...
And I have met Elves and Pixies too.
They are beautiful and kind and wise.
Their hearts over flow with love
and you can't help but love them right back.
And I have met Princes
in the form of Eagles, Crows and Owls.
They are majestic and glorious.
They fight for those who cannot fight.
They are bringers of wisdom
and can see far into the future.
They are the cavalry and come
when you think all hope is lost.
I have met Ghosts too.
Those are the saddest ones I have met.
They were once real but now they are not.
They are right there before you
but now they are not.
You just have to look
and you will see them.
They need our love
more than anything in the world.
I have seen these all with my own eyes.
Every single one.
My Dad was a good man and he didn't lie..
he was warning me.
So, it begs the question.
If I have met Monsters, Ghosts..
and all the others I have told you about..
What else is out there?
And what does that make me?
softcomponent Sep 2014
the wind was like a sidewinder
missile. desert below kept itself
cratered and ancient, 'fraid of
some explosion from a Greater
Deity of Temporal Landlock.
Where the lesser of us saw death,
the better of us saw livers. Where
the lesser of us saw loss, the better
of us felt drunk. The learn-ed belief
in the existence of the Human Race
kept calling itself back to base with
tinnitus raging in its ear-drums:
"the dreams of the elder chiropractic
surgeon are the same as the dreams
of the youthful architect: design; that's
it. design."


melded, eaten, forgotten, and left to the
bunchy blood of 'ask,' the marauder saw
herself as complete. flawed within bound,
angry within reason, there was a little angel
on her shoulder, asking: 'sundown? this is a
time for bringers. never those who forget.'
brandon nagley May 2015
Sardonic savory armors against midnight shift,
Scrapbooks made from scrawny writings,
Wherein science is religion,
Some are hit and miss!!

Scowling, surely overcrowds happy intentions,
Noone mentions the fetal positions overthrow!!

Window peepers gaze between one another,
Serpent sermons drumline strong to song's of shipment sufferance,
Where thine utterance is grieved more than thou has ever felt!!!

More than the fall membrane beneathe your feet you shall blow!

Doth thou roll amongst forge stone?
Amongst the shows that made thou the mime thou art today../

A smile upon your cloak,
Yet thy finest of coats is in all disarray...

Perforaters try harshly to subdue our mother like peons,
Formulaic bringons,
Or turn one to sickened ones alike!!!!

Chasers of cognizant, bringers of fatality,
For doth thou chooseth to have life?
Abhijit Patil Jun 2016
In deep forests a devil lurks;

The depths of your mind, find the urge.

doing what everyone does,

Isn't there a joy, bigger than money's worth?

Go do what you always dreamt of

cut loose from society's shackles;

Scared of heights you might scale?

Betraying yourself, you're your own judas

mediocrity, the bane of your existence.

Listen to your bringers, listen to your maker,

listen when, to yourself?

Take the road less travelled by,

ain't no grass to be found on a beaten path

So go unleash your devil, dance with it

No more half measures,

Every inch yours, take it.
Nat Lipstadt Mar 2016
Upon closer examination,
my hands, my history.

Irregular sized summaries, slightly worn,
like gloves, marked down for the discount table,
my creases covered up underneath genesis survivors,
a 'handful' of youthful blonde hairs,  
failures to depart as requested.

Refuseniks to time's ravages,
mockery makers,
yet, cohorts of, in cahoots with,
wave machines, breaker bringers of tidal decay,  
gray color content providers,
to the balance of my body.

Nicks and grooves, crisscross stitches,
vanity repairs to counting down lifelines,
one million billion cells,  
wreckage of death stars, jails for membranes,  
forgetful fabric memorizers, crumbled fractures,
patches designed by an unknown haute couturier,
failed revisionist of the original conception.

All our hands.

Upon closer examination,
Jubilee finale, arrival day of the  
mythical Halcyonian,
the date, initialized,^
even DVR future recorded,
visible, right there, upon
on all our hands, all our history.

Source coded in a language for which 
a Rosetta stone, yet undiscovered,
but visible, right there,  
on all our hands, all our history.

Halcyon bird,
comes when it comes,
though we, always, surprised,
oblivious to the obvious.

Halcyon bird,
coming, to calm, and to lament loss,
coming, to still wind and wave within
the heart, repair the deepest rent.

So these words, caresses,
coming, to calm and to lament,
from my hands to yours,
asking modestly, for acceptance.


--------------------------------------------------------------­----

^http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/halcyonian

(Halcyonian, a mythical bird, said to have the power of charming winds and waves into calmness, associated with death)

— The End —