MOTHER~~Not just a word
More than a word
I understand
Gonna talk about my pains
Fully filled up in my veins
I express
The time when i was a child
She had not care about me
In other words...she cared
But not like *a Mother
The time when i grew up
She had not changed then
She used to treat me as
Not like* a Mother
I remember...when i was of 7
Then ..one day i was at crucial stage
The reason behind that
Was my mother
She scolded me too much then
Hence ...it resulted in that way
and i don't understandthe word Mother
Time changed...and i grew up
On every matter about Mother
I used to ask myself..."Why not me?"
Why I haven't that
Which other's have
Always the result was same there---
"Not a single answer is here"
Hence...i don't understandthe word Mother
I've noticed
There are a few types of music
Music when you're happy
Music when you're sad
Music that makes you think of someone
And music that doesn't mean anything to you
Until certain things happen In your life
And it just moves you, speaks to you.
Heals you
Pushes you through the through
Glides you through the smooth
Music that I listen to when I'm only thinking of you.
But I never tried poetry
And now I realize
Poetry can be used
To explain love in great detail
An image in a readers mind
But love can mean many things
To the writer.
So the reader has to relate to it in someway
Dig deep within the lines
It's like finding a diamond in the rubble
But when they do their eyes come alive.
See a poem has to flow
Tell a story in someway
Poems that only make sense to me
Lust
Anger
Passion
And Rage
My mind is thinking of new
Lines every, single, day
See I never wrote poetry before I came here.
I see it as a land of peoples
Story's and Dreams
A land of people who
Get heat-broken and Shattered
And write about the things they've seen
People that write about the dark valleys in their mind
People who write poems about their lovers,
as you see their words come alive.
People who write about their struggles and addiction
A place where everything in their mind is in one place
and most of it is non-fiction.
But poetry for me
Are my Demons scrawled
Across these pages
And my story's to tell
This place is where I drown them
They lay there in that thing
The thing I used to call the Wishing Well.
If they're here, they're not in my mind
Emotion in my lines
But the reader has to Look, Imagine and Relate
But when they do, their minds come alive.
Now I know this
Poem may not be the best
And It's not meant to be
Because this is a poem that will only make sense to me
Just another Demon
I have thousands and this is just one less.
But now I come here everyday
In the hope I can feel something and relate to somebody else in some sort of way
People who I don't know but I can read and read
Pages upon pages and for a moment my mind becomes less tense and I start to believe.
I didn't mention the Angels
Because they're quiet
They only come when I rest
I think a lot
But I know they're always silent
During the Test.
twist on the woven fabric of her
vision within the the broken phrase she just
spoke softly into the darkness
it spreads along the pattern of her days
like tears spreading thru her years
she never seems to escape them fully
they are allways a moment away
from her delicate smile
from her soft butterfly of a laugh
break at the waters edge
and draw in a last gasp of the wave and wind tainted air
her voice comes to you
slowly in thick accented phrases
a passion play filled and ready
for sweating hard erotica
in the shade of this palm tree
tattered edges bring me sorrow
but its the untainted heart of her hearts tapestry
is where i attempt to find a secret home for my
embittered soul
a quiet place from which to shout my poems
down to thouse who would listen
to thouse who could hear
in the morning draw the curtains
shut out the light
Dear sweetheart
I woke up this morning slumped in a chair
Needed you more than ever but you weren’t there
Where did you go?
I could smell you on my sweater
I woke up expecting us to be together
You left no letter, so I’m writing you this one
I feel all alone, can’t reach you on the phone
Was it something I done? Something I said?
I’m crawling to the kitchen now, need pills for my head
I’m confused as to why you’re treating me badly
This is far from the first time, so this letter sadly
Is the last I’ll send you, in the past I’ve defended you
You defended me too, or at least pretended to
You’ve broke more than you mended
Lost count of friends of mine you’ve offended,
You ruined family gatherings, so why should it be
I find myself missing you, am I crazy?
You’re no good for me,
Good god my head is pounding
Maybe it’s just coz I feel so groggy I need grounding
A good cup of coffee should do the trick
Already late for work, I’ll call in sick
Or did I ring last night? Come to think of it
Have I been to work at all this week? What day is it?
It’s coming back to me, I spoke to someone,
My manager actually told me I’ve broken my contract
Don’t come back she said, this is worse than I thought
Did you know about this? Is that why you’ve walked?
After all it was your fault I lost the damn job
Too much time together
That’s what my friends keep telling me
My neighbour came round last night, he was yelling at me
If I ruined his flowers again he’d call the police
Huh! What a joke, drunk and disorderly
I never feel drunk anymore, it’s just ordinary
As I take a seat back in the chair I woke up in this morning
Head in my hands breathing deep, thoughts forming
All the tell-tale clear cut signs I’ve been ignoring
The pains in my belly, the headaches are a warning
Now I realise
I’m looking at things through new eyes
My wife left months ago, for another guy
It was weeks ago my manager fired me
I haven’t looked for work, who would hire me?
My best friends don’t come by no more, never call me
There was a time when they would’ve gone to war for me
I took no heed, they told me my life is shambolic
Without realising, I’ve become an alcoholic
I’ll never change, I take a can and pull the tab
Hear the tsssk and bring it up to my lips
Drink fast and sink into oblivion, my destructive bliss.
The first thing went through my mind when I
saw a beautiful woman was.
1. what does she taste like. Her skin. her mouth. that spot right behind her ear. just inside her ear.
The soft curve of her neck. Her shoulders. The junction where breasts meet her arm. That long expanse of her soft belly. Her sweet lips as they parted to allow access. Tart,salty, sweet all combined. I could see myself eating all courses slowly savoring.
2. What does she smell like. Not her shampoo or lotion or perfume or body oils. I mean her pheromones.
that deep unique essence of her.That smell at the base of her neck. under her chin her armpits,the hollows of her elbows. her belly button,her beautiful mound, that simmering potion be it ever so slight or close to overstated as I gradually slid down to Taste. To nibble at her taint and stab gently with my tongue. Her ass. That never- never land of sensual convergence.
3. What does she sound like in various modes. Her voice lilting, high pitched, throaty, nasal. he cadence of her speech. her laugh nervous, content, sing-song. early upon waking.so many undulations and coloration's.
4. What does she think like. concise open, flowing restricted, guarded,untrusting, fair, fearful,provocative, sensual, sexual,cold, shallow, deep,intelligent, smart,vengeful,hurt,
carefree,calculating,ditsy,unsettled, divided, loving,caring,nurturing.
5. Is she Clit or Vag or a combo of both. And what other erogenous hot spots. Which one gets her out of her head and free falling in unabashed ecstasy. Which hollow or crevasse or soft expanse is a fuse. Another ingredient to her potion. how many stimuli could I apply and keep in her sensual Calliope until a thrashing conclusion or a cessation of movement, breathing or sound that will bring her release tumbling down in near syncope.
6. If she had on no lipstick I would imagine her breasts/aereolas/nipples. brown, wide, smooth , bumpy, pink,caramel thick long endless.
7. what comes through her eyes. my god her eyes. That is another universe worth of endless research and
books.
Now I don't do the subconscious speed of light hound dog amalgam.
Now I just see the woman and see the woman again.
All is still applicable but is casual thing. third nature even.
God. Thank you for your gifts.
Amen.
Greed! Greed! Greed!
The hammer cracks down his back
like a gavel. Spilling his metal guts-
shrapnel of silvery money
lighting up a boy's face
with consumerist gluttony.
At dream's end he is made whole again.
Returning in one piece on the straw floor.
The day is made
to fatten to grunt to situate the mud
with this drooling nose.
These devilish feet propping
my pink-tumored body,
my poor head, it thinks
and thinks and thinks...
What incantations
at midnight
will rise above
my sizzling blood,
churning in a witch’s mix-
a cauldron full-up
with animal carcasses?
With severed eyes and tongues
to curse and rot the world?
It is no more comforting
appearing in the morning,
crackling in a pan!
The corpulent preacher
muttering the Lord's Prayer
over my greasy, meaty slivers.
Brewing me
in stomach acids
alongside eggs, and a cup of orange juice.
These eulogies will not do.
What of my ancestors?
When demons stole their shape,
herding them towards a cliff?
What of the powdered whore,
who's cheeks appear with the pinks
behind my jeweled nose ring?
What are these pearls doing here?
Are they food?
Am I to snort them?
I already feel cultish.
When they picture just my face,
I feel it impaled upon their imaginations.
Wings-
the mocking things.
Behold!
Me leading the flock
on the air of the impossible,
migrating lies around mens' heads!
Why do I not possess the lullaby of sheep?
There there.
There there now pig.
For here you are,
On a chaise longue-
the poet's song.
Let your heavy head rest,
Remembering:
A woman pours love, sweeter than perfume,
on the feet of her son.
The smallest of his holy toes bring him the most joy,
all the way home.
kids only see txt
they don't have any feelings
only the screens
of their smartphones
they only talk via tweets
RTs & "comments"
low poly skinhead cyberpunks
living in HD premium worlds
it's only diodes
that iphone ain't got no soul -
not like it used to be
it used to be real
they don't have feelings
it's just txts on screens
they dnt have feelings
they dnt hv any feelng
her love - her love drifts like - winter breeze
softly caressing my - my softly colored cheeks
as I- I slowly find reasons to stay beneath her
her love
see when seasons change
Her love - yes her love - makes me hotter -
than the summer nights of June
has my- my body wanting her kisses
as I - I slowly enter the room in search of air
to breathe - oxygen - again
thinking that I will be set free from - her love
yet- it is again- her love
when seasons changed
It is her love -sitting their as I - FALL to the ground
as my knees trembled
but my knees - hadn't gained the strength I needed to gain -gain the strength I had before -
before I even - reached out for her hand
and her touch
when seasons change
but yet again it is her love - yes I said again - her love
her love - has me sitting here - as the days change - twenty-four/seven - doesn't mean a thing
because her love - has me - has me slowly drifting past spring
the way I have - drifted into her body
the way it makes me fill - fill when - I am left alone
I feel - I am NO ONE but I regain the sense to smile again - just to realize
that it is her love
You shop in Hollister,
a store targeted to popular teens,
but I stop by Hot Topic
made for fangirls, nerds, and scenes.
Inside of Hollister it is dark,
and you can't see what you're buying,
an overwhelming aroma of cologne and perfume
will make my eyes start crying.
The store is built to look like
it belongs in California-
and every piece of clothing
(and here is logic for ya)-
every piece is decorated
with surf boards and gulls and bikinis
cos everyone apparently forgot
where we live it's only 60 degrees.
The bags you take out with you
are covered with pictures of teens
with sagging bottoms and rippling muscles
and fake tans and bikinis obscene.
They play bad music
at a super fast pace,
and the girls inside
act like they own the place.
Now Hot Topic is a different story,
I feel that I must mention,
almost like an escape for losers,
a We Love Nerds convention.
Here you can get a size
that is bigger than zero,
and instead of cool surfboards
are screened with bacon and superheroes.
T-Shirts and suspenders
ties, belts, and wristbands,
with smart-aleck sayings
and merchandise for fans
of just about every
popular fandon,
like Hetalia, Doctor Who,
or even just random
things like bacon or
My Little Pony,
(I'm getting a wristband that says
"I'm a Brony")
Funny little quotes
on buttons and pins,
crazy designs
on little odds'n'ends.
They people inside
are hipsters through and through
with hanging-off-the-frame Beatles shirts
MissMayI, Doctor Who.
This is where I feel safest,
among a million people like me,
instead of that stupid Hollister store
filled up with people I have no desire to be.
Carving
statues
out of sand
wearing
construction
paper
shoes
retreating
from
feeling
too
comfortable
in your
own
skin
Eating apples
next to
a
river
avoiding
the right
thing
at
the
right
time
forgetting
a
perfect
order of words
because
you
hate
writing
on paper
You are a series
of
chain
reactions
piled
against
in
fin
ity
and I am
just
like
you
+
