Cin poems on Hello Poetry

Rebecca Jul 2022

Cin Cin

Cin, Cin,
Alla nostra salute!
Grasp the sweet,
Surrender the mold.
Join in company
With open heart.
Dismiss your care.
Dive in,
Not too deep.
Feel the rush of open thought.
Open dreams.
Cin, Cin,
Alla nostra salute.

Roger Turner - Poet Feb 2014

The Man Who Made Sand Castles

It was a hot summer night
Nearly ninety, I'd say
When out back of Giovannis
The Bluesman sat down to play

He pulled up his crate
Took a sip from his flask
"This here's my med-cin"
"In case someone happens to ask"

He started a story
That we'd never heard
We're the folks of the street
And we followed each word

It's a tale of James Withers
A man in need of a hand
But to us on the street
He was the Sand Castle Man

The bluesman strummed gently
He didn't want the words to be lost
For this was a story
That had a hell of a cost

You see, James the sand man
Lost a life to the sea
His grandson, young James
Drowned when he was just three

Each day James went down
With his grandson in tow
They'd make castles together
Some fast and some slow

One day the pair
Were at the end of the pier
When a rogue wave hit hard
And took what James held most dear

His grandson...swept out
Lost at sea, never found
They searched for three weeks
But the poor boy was drowned

James kept a vigil
Every day on the beach
He'd look out on the water
His heart out of reach

He kept making sand castles
As he did with young James
With shells and old driftwood
And he gave them all names

He'd have non-existent armies
Fight non existent wars
In his hard packed sand castles
He carved windows and doors

There was make believe dragons
In pools by the sea
Guarding make believe princesses
Who no one could see

There were turrets and moats
And each day he'd build one
To be lost to the tide
As the days work was done

Each day a new castle
Each day a new war
But, nobody knew
What he was building them for

The tide would come in
And would sweep it away
All that hard work
Gone at the end of the day

But, each morning he'd come
Build one more for the tide
With invisible armies
To flow away for a ride

People would watch him
Make the castles of sand
With imaginary soldiers
In imaginary lands

The bluesman sang soft
Took a sip once again
From the flask on his hip
It's just medi-cin

The crowd didn't stir
We were like moths to the flame
As we heard the bluesman
finish his tale about James

I asked him one morning
If he ever would end
Building castles of sand
He said, Bluesman, my friend

I know that each castle
Will be washed out to see
And I hope that my grandson
Gets a message from me

I make each sand castle
Like we both used to do
I come back every day
And start another anew

It helps with the closure
I send my soul to the sea
And I hope that my grandson
Knows they're for him made by me

He finished and thanked us
And we went on our way
All of us changed some
From what the bluesman did play

Next time I'm out wandering
And see the castles of sand
I'll know what he's building
Now...that I understand

#poem #story #america #street #song #sand #castles #giovanni #bluesman

Pao Jun 2020

these summer days

sweat dripping from my thighs
grey tank glued on me
i still got you on my mind
the world ending right before my eyes
murders crying wolf
my generation getting gassed and kidnapped
in the streets of LA, MIA, NYC, BA, CIN
drowning my days with tyler, the creator
humming to me
hoping to feel something
the way you used to make me feel
when we parted ways until our next life time

politicians hungry to violate civil rights
black, brown, trans
manifesting it in their dreams
they have it written in human blood
without a mask on to shield them
from the disease that is their greed

my perception jaded
my thoughts paralyzed
my body aching
might hit that pen
can’t even pick up a pen
having more time than my 20 years of existence

#world #pen #summer #season #thighs #jaded #thoughts #body #reflection #drowning

Samuel Nov 2017

Cin Kyr'am

There are seven you know.
Seven hues,
Bright with meaning.

Grey and red,
Colors of grief,
Mourning and remembrance both.
A cry and an exaltation.

Black and gold,
Colors of truth.
A blade in hand,
Seeking justice and vengeance.

Green and blue,
Colors of ethic,
Steadfast in one’s work
Mind on responsibility and consistency.

And then there is orange,
Shereshoy, you call it
You Mando’ad
Reveling in life on death’s edge.

There are seven you know
Yet none fit
And so you pick your own
A hue for you and you alone.
You pick white.

Stark, harsh white
Clear, visible, no means to hide
Nor intent.
White of ivory,
Of the gleam of Mando iron,
The white of bones,
Old, picked clean
Reminder of life
White so bright, brilliant
Burning eyes of the dying
Leading them back home
Back to the Manda
Skills in hand.

You pick white.
White for death,
Of death.

You are white.
White for death,
Of death.

Ja’haili, ner Buir.
Ja’haili ner oya’kare.
Kar’tayli ni ijaati gar bajur.

#kencyrath #starwars #jame #au #mandoade

Cross Boundry Oct 2020

sweet

candy is sweet, most of it anyway.
some salted like cara
mel,
some spicy like
cin
na
mon,
my favorite is bit
ter
chocolate.
what does that say about me?

a bit mascohistic when to comes to bitter chocolate.

#bitter #sweet #spicy #salted #candy #chocolate

Aaron Shxaeetί Mullin Nov 2017

Grandeur

Delusions of
Futures untold
Created for
Us, you know: the un-bold

Braying our compulsions
To the big ear in the
Sky
As we seek:

Glor if i ca tion
Being meek likely won’t bring
Gra tif i ca tion
Dulling my senses points to
Stu pif i ca tion
But don’t I deserve it, I am a
Hall u cin a tion

So why put in the work?
I’ll wait

<<<PAUSE>>>

The avalanche will find me in perpetuity
Coming in time cause I been shirking duty
Oh, here it is - time for me to be:
Aggrieved

I should’ve known better but I was:
Deceived

I just wanted to tell my truth, I wanted to be:
Believed

Wish I woulda kept something up my:
Sleeve

So how do you rise above?

Do you got what it takes?
Could you climb your
Kilamanjaro?
With a little training maybe
Gut check: find your bravado
Wouldn’t it be nice to have your own number,
Like Avogadro

And I ask again,
How do you rise above?

You breathe it in
Seethe it in
Find a vessel to
Conceive it in
Now that it’s full
And maybe even overflowing

Let it go

Trying to find answers in a bottle
Could point you toward
A 12 step mis-step

Getting back on the right track:

Use a compass
That’s internal
Realign it, maybe
Through a vernal
Equinox, the universe speaks a language
We are untaught
It’s of the Earth and Sky and
Can’t be bought
Maybe it’s me and
Maybe it’s not
I want to commune with my god
Through thought and
Heartfelt overtures that aren’t constrained
By limitations of my brain
Or systems based on economics
My value is not gleaned from
Gross Domestic Products

Answers are found as you expand past the vessel
You may become part of the trestle
Follow the false path long enough
And you get trod under
The false pathfinder becomes the path,
Did you make a few to many navigational errors
Cause you didn’t do the math
And now, as a part of the foundation of which the unending wayfarers
Can use to go a little further and a little longer in the wrong direction
Your hard work has become a bridge to nowhere
But let’s not dwell, cause

Scrupulosity
Will never guide you to the golden city

Maybe its the meat suit that you’re wearing
The overcomplexity of your eyes
That won’t let you see
The unending nerve endings that make you feel so much
You can’t feel, you won’t feel
You could pay heed to Seneca
Consider giving the suit a slip
Taking a trip
Through the underworld
With everybody’s favourite sidekick: Virgil
Kickin’ it, workin’ it
Trying not to let the lost souls hold you down
Throw you down
Now it’s time, let’s start coming around

On my journey, seems
I can’t shake em’
Me, myself, and my shadow-self
Guess I’ll try and integrate em’

Time for a va ca tion
From thoughts that won’t un-
wind, in breezes

Gonna get around to it, to
Writing my treatise
Maybe I can elucidate this false peace
Via an army of one, en masse
Slipping through the bars of false
Beliefs
As the trees
Lose their leaves

Maybe for the last time

I'm working on the unwind
From a labyrinth that is unkind
So sorry:
Guess I'm playing up the sublime

Ah, never mind - it’s
Navel gazing
Self hazing
I ain’t done razing

Roofs and
Telling truths
Or drinking
Vermouth
Cause at my very root I am
Uncouth

Razing?
Or raising!
Roofs
Finding proofs
Telling truths

Ever listen to Ruf-
Us or Martha
The Wainrights
Canadian brain-trust
Listen too hard make your brain bust

Let’s get back to navels, or
Oranges
But nothing rhymes with oranges
Maybe not
Gotta flip it
Tryna strip it
This noose is so tight
Can I slip it?

It’s geometrical
Said Euclides
We got the Greeks
Or do the Greeks got us
Squeezing us into this euro-centric
Box
Can it be un-wrapped?
Can you un-rap this poem?

Busting brains
And taking names
No one to blame, I
Don’t feel ashamed
When I win
Just means I can take it
In my shin
It’s got nothing to do with my
D N A, eh
Nor the choice piece of geography
I made the conscious choice to arrive on,
genetically

But remembering brevity
It’s time to cut the rambling for the sake of levity
Speaking of sake, I wouldn’t mind some saké

Oh, what’s that:
~~~ boom ~~~
Pulled another one out of my medicine bag

Just sitting here

Shifting gears
Confronting fears
Yesterday I was

Bleak
Er

Meek
Er

Should have been a
Streak
Er

Laying out the facts that are
untold
Thanks for listening to me
Another one of the
un-bold

I've got rambling. I've got rambling on my mind

#euclides #wainwright #seneca #frost #avogadro #kilamanjaro #bravado #gdp

Roger Turner - Poet Apr 2014

The Bluesman cometh

The word was out around the street
Tonight, behind Giannis bar
There would be really something special
From the bluesman and his guitar

For locals not for punters
Just for those upon the street
You'd better bring a lawn chair
If you wanted a good seat

The word spread fast and no one
Would miss this once they heard
New works from the bluesman
You had to take in every word

The bluesman was a legend
In this flawed, dark part of town
He only played back in the alley
That was where his show went down

At precisely eleven seventeen
The bluesman took his place
Upon his beat up orange crate
In his same familiar space

It was just like a cathedral
Underneath the golden moon
Quiet and forboding
As he started his first tune

The alley was the bluesmans church
As he sang to the street people
But this church had no walls or pews
No bells, it had no steeple

The bluesman sang of love and loss
Of dragons, ships and gin
He sang of Shubert, Bach and Liszt
He sang of constant sin

He looked but he saw no one
He was zoning, all alone
He sang songs of faith and hunger
Time to give the dog a bone

He played and drank his med-cin
For sometimes he got dry
The bluesman had the crowd entrapped
Beneath the shining moonlit sky

He talked of how his smoking
Through the years gave him his sound
It only took me fifty years
I'm surprised I'm still around

He sang of love and window panes
Of jealousy and trust
Of walruses and potholes
Of people turned to dust

As people sat in wonder
Of this prophet in disguise
You could see a certain twinkle
Deep in the bluesmans eyes

Gianni, stood off to the side
Timekeeper of the show
He signalled to the bluesman
One more and we must go

He had to close the restaurant
Turn the lights off in the back
So the bluesman took another sip
And grabbed a song from his minds pack

He finished up with something
Singing songs for all who came
He made them feel it was their heartsong
Although he never said a name

He sang of waitresses and barkeeps
Pawn brokers and of guests
of family and train tracks
of watchers and of quests

He finished up and packed away
His crate and his guitar
And he collected appreciation
In a two quart mason jar

The crowd left thirty dollars
almost ninety cents a seat
A fortune to the bluesman
And the folks here on the street

Roger Turner - Poet Mar 2015

Broken Spines (A Street Poem)

Rumours were flying all around
Someone was moving in
They question at the table was
Just how long has it truly been?

Windows boarded, papered over
Not a good sign most times
But, there in the shop window
Coming soon "Broken Spines"

The street folks all were questioned
By other street folks who
knew nothing of the tenant
On the whole, nobody knew

The Bluesman worked the alleys
finding out just what he could
But, in the end, he came up empty
And here, empty was not good

The building had been vacant now
For at least ten years plus four
It was at least the old millenium
Since someone used that door

The building was a shoe store
Selling discount boots and shoes
A new tenant or an owner
Gave the street some cherished news

The bartender told the others
She tried to see in on her way
But, the window was well covered
That was all she had to say

No one knew the agent who
Brokered the deal at all
They were surprised someone was coming
Most new stores went to the mall

Cy, the Pawnbroker ventured
It must be a medics shop
No one understood the name
And the questions wouldn't stop

A young woman in the corner
ordered her breakfast and sat back
she listened closely to the council
and followed them on their mind track

She had coffee from Gianni
He served it up himself
Joe had cooked her breakfast
"Two eggs, bacon, and a shelf"

The Bluesman coughed and ventured
We'll know all we need to know in time
I'm off to have some med-cin
and rest my weary spine

The others laughed at his words
Saw him off and watched him go
He went back out to his alley
Away from where the wind did blow

The Captain followed closely
He was heading to the bar
The others closed the meeting
before he ever got too far

The woman in the corner
Paid her bill, and left a tip
She left ten dollars on the table
With a yellow paper slip

She also left beside it
A small card of olive green
She was gone and on her way
Before the little card was seen

Gianni, read it , looked around
There was now nobody there
So he read it to himself and smiled
No use, just reading to the air

It said "Catherine A. "
Seller of used books
Owner of Broken Spines
Books in need of second looks

Gianni didn't know the name
But the store just fit the street
Everyone here was damaged, flawed
Second hand....to be discreet

There has to be a story
To go with our young Catherine A
I guess we'll find out more
On the street....another day

#book #store

maxx lopez Aug 2013

-R&R and S&R-

they say

relapse

is a part

of

recovery

but

is it really?

what if

its your body

saying

you

can't

do it.

you

can

do

nothing

but

sit

and watch

as you

hal

lu

cin

ate

places

that seem

so

de

so

late.

when really

you are

clearly

there are

people around

you

but all think

what you need

is a good

shrink.

they say

relapse

is just a part

of

recovery.

or maybe

its really

a reminder

that says

you're

a

nobody.

this

reality

gives

me

insanity.

this

society

gives

me

anxiety.

Kayotic Tragedy Feb 2017

Dollhouse

I once was a doll, one who was broken
Assigned to scare those who waltzed into my home
I wasn't alone, but my partner has never spoken
Her figure cold, porcelain and never roamed

I was unlike other dolls, able to move, able to speak
And at times, I only wished to gain a friend who was alive
But humans as I have learned are rude and quite unique
But none wished to remain with me, I wonder why?

At one time I was as sweet as Candy
Until I let out my Cin
Started off playing games, those which I considered handy
Until they never stopped them from leaving, then I could feel my other side kicking in
She was mean, heartless should I say
And she was not one to accept people, she made them go away

Now I sit alongside my frozen friend
Waiting until I too, meet my frozen end

Neville Johnson Jul 2017

Today Is the Day

Today is the day
All over again
A day we remember
When my best friend
Told the world that truth
A new couple was formed
Cin and Nev were joined arm in arm
This day is more than our anniversary
It's another joyous day of her and me
Like so many others sure to occur
As we stand by each other
Steadfast and strong
We are so happy
That says it all
Me and the Baby Doll
We both stand tall

#anniversary #love #relationship

TreadingWater Feb 2018

th{u}rsday*

so,...your: BusinesS CarD
rests. in.   my.   car.
i | stared | at it, today,...
eyes     tr _ a _ cin _g
the   l e t t e r s
ofyourname.
the weight
(of it in my hand).
so >much >heavier>
,... now.
° ° ° time lost
in-these-moments;
€yes full of tears.
& with a heavy sigh,...
[i gently tucK it]
back /in /its / _ place.

Safana Feb 2023

A kakar zaben bana

Na ga al'amari mai yawa
Daga ciki har da na yawa
Masu aikatawa ne wawa
Ba sa yin komai sai wawa
Da kudin masu cin dawa

Nigeria will decide

Safana Oct 2023

Kacici kacici

Na gaza yin bacci
kuma komai na ci
har da abinci na ci
amma rayuwa tayi daci
saboda dangina bacci
A arewaci da kudanci
bomabomai sunyi azanci
sun rusa kasar limanci
saboda tsananin zalunci
lallai wannan shine yahudanci
sun kama wuri sun ci
palasdinawa yayan yanci
ku yi hakuri banda takaici
duniya ta sai cin hanci
kowa so yake sai ya ci
ana fakewa da rigar yanci
to me ne ne **** yanci
a yau ya zama kacici-kacici
a tsakanin yan bakin ciki
ya yammaci da arewaci
har da na gabashi yan kanci

Martin H Samuel Aug 2020

Size Matters

Some say
“The glass is half full”
with accent on the positive
some see
the glass half empty
and focus on the negative
two sides to every story
supposedly that implies
as for me I see
something else entirely
and for size I will apprise
but before I do
I beg of you
allow me one more swig
(cheers salud prost cin cin)

the glass is too **** big!

Safana Jan 27

Hukuncin me sunan kubewa

Duk da cewa an tattara
Duk hujjoji a fili karara
lauyoyin masu kara sun tara
Kishiyoyin su suna ta dara
Duk da sun saka jar dara
A baya sun yi ta bara
Na fada cewa ba a bara
A kotu in an fara
Amma sai da suka yi ta karara
Karshe dai sun yi fara'a

Rashawa da cin hanci sun yi yawa
Har a kotu mai sunan kubewa yayi yawa
Tabbatattun hujjojin ya bawa
Marasa nasara yayan wawa
An kai ruwa rana da yawa
Domin tabbatar da waye wawa
kuma hujjoji sun bayyana wawan
A karshe me sunan kubewa yayi yawa

Dennis Willis Jan 16

Shun

One poet
just wants
to know
the reader

One poet
just wants
to write
the poem

One poet
is a
sheer ha
lu cin eh

KorbydAngyle Jul 2020

Distant Crush

If you make it to another staring Satan slayer, that still confounds me
By the trick punishment, lashing seethes that bad spot, little cin-chee
You've positioned yourself with blades past problems, actually, rather a life
Everyone's creations settle real hammers but want to stop garlic cooking strife
Is letting the flavor definition of receiving killers statements an opening and groove?
****, we're a flat tire, rather than the little maid that's really yourself, that's rather the element to prove
Again, allowed as part of therapy, a wig and a bank and to give pause for attenuation
We're morose as moss, though today, as if in a market finally to be sold, alright, go for a nation
Make sure when you sell that body the serious subject is the mint of forms of people, best of the poor thunder
Though I make it back anyway, there's a property pleased to announce, it's a field, water above and under
Half trying to get scores of time back from lack of prosperity, even a mere better daisy
Obviously, end with the old begin the new, but rations of fake smiles and a face storage box, hazy
What double trouble does for their friend, no one believes is cool, are the matters known?
Proceeding definitions and past stealthy secrets squeal as gravy on rainbow meat off the bone
Talking variations of lame, seeing the old country power flash and loud chili peppers in their speech
Finally in an extremely finite of whose who, kissing their *****, the ***** confesses, stitches her peach
It's one more loss for the glassy, nor free, applicant of wasted irony, done good for nothing and back!
...Why settle on the best, when the better than that, certainly might season the next, forgetting nothing and her crack!

or so to speak angry about it

— The End —