Author. Nothing his radar
Escapes. All things he knows,
Even the wind that blows.
All gods ere him stoop, bowing
Together to the majesty in
Heaven's realm. Great his manifold
Wonders. Excellent every craft
And work of his hand. The world
Whole waltz upon his golden cart.
Man, the opus of his creation:
The only in his image cast.
Unequalled in form and fashion--
From his first to his last.
Nought exits that was uncreated;
Nonfictional be the Genesis' account.
Scores of theories scientists great invented--
All, Scripture and faith, does discount.
In awe stand: the Alpha hail; laud the Omega.
Things have taken a turn and there is salt in my wounds
I am all teeth;
As I listen to a chorus of cicadas sing along with the wind
I am young and invincible with nothing to lose
I smell the rain coming this afternoon
A wood dock in front of the pond
I stand barefoot on
I remember this pond because an alligator once got in
And Ate all the blue gill
I have pin marks in my flesh
Teeth marks on my heart
Claw marks in the small of my back
I cannot reach them
When they ache
I wished to be like the old ones
To live with the river
And stand barefoot
At the door of my hut
I watch the sun come up
I will hunt like the old gods did
Taking on the form of the Panther or the Spider
I learned patience
Waiting for my web to vibrate
Waiting for the rain to stop
I grew quick learning the paths through the trees
The world is a sea of sight and smell and sound
I was be a great fish
Living in a rock shelf
Where small bugs would land
But I feared leaving the safety of the walls
Because I once bit a hook
I had eaten with my sons
And drank with my sons
I fell to sleep
Dreaming of youth
Her bath in the river by moon
Suddenly I wrestling with the tale of a great viper
Its fangs bared and scales pitch black
She sees me watching her bath from the bank
And she calls me: Coward
The serpent laughs
You are weak
Then the snake changed
And she stands nude before me
You will die when the river floods next
And your sons will put your body
In my belly
on nights like these we forgot the work of love
and loosed the chains that tied our hands to our hearts
we jumped and groaned in the rough outline of satire
that left us rolling among the sweet aftermath of our decadence
on nights like these I found my brothers
because no one is closer than troops before battle
and afterwards we were each other's father and son
because we fought like our hand was forced and maybe it was
on nights like these it was all for the boys
for the past we invented and the future we never believed
the world had died and we toasted it with cheap wine
we laughed like animals at jokes beyond men
It all began as an observation,
a mere innocent study,
to watch people in cars,
First, the tired workers,
who glared and stared in the road in front,
who slumped in their seats,
who held the steering wheels in a glum manner,
who had dark circles in their eyes,
who had cans of beers at the back seat,
tired, weary, drained, exhausted,spent.
The cheeky children,
who yelled at their siblings,
who wrestled with siblings,
who sat listening to lectures,
who texted with their phones,
who went tippy tappy with their laptops,
who ignored the world; reading,
innocent, busy adolescents.
Of course, there are mothers,
who glance at their sleepy children every few minutes,
who smile at their babies dotingly,
who gave loud lectures to kids,
who smoked cigars,
who was on the phone,o was just driving ahead,
loving, fussy, unleisured.
There were the out-going,
who head-banged furiously to booming music,
who sang aloud to radio,
who chatted enthusiasticly with passengers,
who smiled the whole way through the journey,
who stuck their hands out to feel the wind,
who had nothing to worry about,
free, wonderful, liberated, loose.
Also, some were fretful,
who needed to visit hospitals,
who had their heart broken,
who got rejected at interviews,
who lost someone,
who is obviously in anxiety, who were simply drunk,
worrysome, tired, sad.
And then there's me,
who had nothing better to do,
than to watch and observe,
and felt many things should be changed,
On the Outside Looking In
How sad it is when brave heart meets mad assassin!
On day lit street,
How cruel it is,
When daylight spreads her stunning wrap as shroud,
Tragic life lost!
Let hell have no mercy on their vile souls,
Fire fed incubus,
Community relations busted,
As two rampaged alone,
Dancing with devils,
Religion whirls in chaos,
Solution zero, not grounded,
Crucify others with tongue alone,
Here I sit and ask that all this evil ends,
I know that it's impossible to have a world of friends!
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
(I think I've lost the ability to start things, so please forgive this poem for not having an attention grabbing genesis)
I've been twiddling my thumbs for almost eight months now
Putting off all that I care about
(And especially everything that I don't. Here's lookin' at you, AP World History)
Sitting around amassing a booklet of words to use in the future for novels and whatnot
But only using them in essays so I seem smarter than I am
(For example, susurrus means 'a whispering or rustling sound; a murmur')
Hording anything affiliated with Ben Folds because he makes me feel things on occasion
(I currently have 189 songs of his on my iTunes library; No one understands me.)
Making dick jokes at lunch while masking the thoughts of substance ricocheting around in my head
(Also your mom jokes because no one would think that you're crying internally about the uncertainty of the afterlife whilst making lewd stabs at their mother's integrity(and vagina. Ba dum tss.))
Apparently craving the lingering feel of another's touch
As illustrated by my subconscious through the medium of dreams
(I had a dream a few weeks back that Ben Folds licked my hand; My stomach folded (hahahah, folded) in on itself.)
Thinking that my feelings of misanthropy and apathy and everything else I can't find the words for yet are mine alone because everyone else is too stupid to have thought them themselves
(Even though I know that I'm not particularly special and I should stop being so elitist and stupid)
But I've finally found a light at the end of the table in the last place I'd expect--
(I meant to say tunnel, but hey, the source of said light does sit at my lunch table.)
A cherubic Presbyterian boy with an aversion to all things perverse,
(Which includes my sailor's tongue and occasional tendencies to want to put it on a member of my own sex, thought he doesn't know about that)
A spec on cleanliness on the grimy waistcoat of humanity who makes me want to be the best I can be
(Today when I saw him, I only swore once; I was very proud of myself)
But maybe I'm just jumping the gun
Because what would a good Christian boy want with a heathen like me who isn't even sure she believes in God?
Maybe his prolonged contingencies were merely contingent and I'm just overreacting because of my few and far between incidences of human contact.
(Seriously. Don't touch me.)
Maybe I just want someone to talk to for hours about everything and nothing at all.
(What with me being relatively antisocial, it's hard to find people with similar mindsets.)
Maybe it's just because the way the Bible quote on the back of his t-shirt conflicted so humorously with the way he shook his hips to a J-Lo song on "Just Dance."
(Seriously, though, it was hilarious. I was dying.)
Or the way our fingers brushed when we were catching frogs
Or the way he blushed when I stepped out in my bikini
(I went to a pool party today.)
Or the way he held me momentarily in the delirious confusion of the flashing strobe lights
Or the way he got one point higher on his research paper than me a month ago
(He was excited; I was upset.)
Or the way that he does everything nearly to perfection.
I could go on..
But I don't know.
Maybe I'll get over him in a week and slip back into myself.
Because, like I said, what would a good Christian boy want with a heathen like me?
how is it that life goes on?
the sun keeps rising and setting,
people continue their busy routines
nothing has happened.
but today you have stopped loving me,
how can strangers not see it is the end!
how is the sorrow in my eyes not enough to make the world stop turning?
how is the immense hole in my stomach not big enough to make the waves stop crashing against the shore?
how can I go on, if no one has even noticed my heart is so completely broken.
how do I eat or sleep, knowing you no longer want me?
how can i go on if no one has even noticed something's wrong.
the first second of seven
as the white light of day
through my bedroom blinds.
dust dances in the daylight,
like fossilized snowflakes,
or sad notes sung
by seven seventeen.
the morning makes music,
a perverted prelude
to an angry alarm clock.
the world’s worst chorus.
at seven thirty seven?
redheaded sex, sex
silenced by the siren
of seven fifty six,
forces me to pull out
too soon. too soon. too soon.
archangels of eight
and carry me to a world where
my sweet snooze
is just a dream.
3 o'clock and not about to fall asleep with my eyes open.
It's gotten easier and easier to stay up as long as possible to live in another world
better then the one awaiting in the morning