A reader comes upon a Poem,
their interest already Piqued.
It may be a seldom Pleasure,
or their millionth Poem this week.
But regardless of their Past,
Present or future reading,
the reader will note a Pattern
and seek the promised meaning.
... Previous verse was false?
Perhaps it rings true now,
for the reader cannot Pass off
the constant rhythmic Pow.
As it flows into first Person,
I Pray your interest stays,
for you might find a Pleasant answer
and go about your day.
On your second Poem reading,
(for I've Predicted your return),
your smile is far Prettier
than I could Possibly discern.
And why is that, you Ponder?
The title Provides an answer.
But if you never read this Part,
then you will have to read much further.
Each word is perfectly Placed
for the Purpose of the end.
8 lines in every Piece
save the Puzzle's final 10.
So Press on, my dear reader;
may your Patience never fail.
Whether Pages or real life,
you will certainly Prevail.
Many will get to this Point,
and many... Perhaps not
But you, my dear Pilgrim,
are the Prudent of the lot.
You never bought my Ps
with a cent from your Purse,
for you know the answer is
the first letter of each verse!
(And now, since it's the end,
you will gladly read again. )
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 1:32 AM UTC
A word to begin
the singing of my lines
A word to end
this sentence of rhymes
But the middle is lost and
undefined.
So the poem is unfinished until
due time.
Nov 10, 2019
Nov 10, 2019 at 7:51 PM UTC
you see those numbers
big and ugly, on crumpled paper
and you feel them on your skin
like a stain on yourself, on
who you are, who you'll ever be
shame
it wraps its hot hands around you
its whispers harsh and sharp
in your ear:
"stupid. stupid. stupid"
your new heart beat, pumping
hot blood around your body
burning you on the inside
and you scream,
desperately wanting
to come out and be
someone else, someone smart
someone that just isn't you
you failed. this is it. you're done.
they were right about you.
you're just a stupid, ugly,
worthless. hopeless...
....Beautiful, brilliant
wonderful girl.
Your daughter looks away,
burning with embarrassment.
"You'll do well", you say,
"Just try your best.
And even if you don't
do as well as you'd like,
you'll still be my smart little girl"
"Thank you" she says, and disappears again
into her room, to study
You sigh, hope, pray, beg
That she believed you
More than you ever believed yourself
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 11:22 PM UTC
Tuesday
It’s 2 pm, she guessed
curtains drawn, like a mask covering the
fresh, new, pretty face of the day, sunlight an enemy
the noise of birds breaking through the silk
she’s been half-sleeping since about 7 am
in and out, she dips herself into dreams
and their drowsy paint
drunk with the lethargy
thoughts running smooth like water
and crashing into each other like waves
the phone rings with sudden expectancy
her daughter again, she’s been calling since 9
it’s strange how her ring sounds different
from those of her friends
and the rest of her family
it’s more annoying, a bit louder
and it makes her a bit angry
she feels older than she is
too old to worry about herself
needing a million phone calls just to feel safe
pitied like a toddler
stumbling, using everything to pull herself
through the world
the preparation age
for the years she endured
she’s back to stage one, then?
maybe that’s why God decided
to put the full stop around 90.
So people wouldn’t have to relive
years of tumbling through the world
like a clumsy giant, even though you’re tinier
than you’d ever know, so small in this universe
you feel so young and powerful
your parents think you’re cute
then, later on, they wonder where they went wrong
and you tell them “in bed ”
and your dad slaps you
and you walk out the door
and you tumble, stumble, fumble
through people and places
and boys that never called back
and best friends that never existed
and jobs that paid to **** you dry
and weddings and funerals
and your mom crying in your arms
then you crying by yourself
after she’s gone
we’re all toddlers
each and every one of us
even those of us who got their heads ******* on tight
sometimes that light switch in your heart
doesn’t generate light in your head
and you can’t see to get through this dark world
sometimes you gotta cry
scream
bash your head against something
and cry harder because it hurts
then laugh like you’re crazy
you are crazy
just a crazy old lady
sitting in a dark room
crying as if something’s wrong
when you’re actually happy
happy, because you aren’t at the full stop
happy, because God’s still reading
happy, because your stupid daughter still loves you
after all the times you went wrong
happy because your parents forgave you
and you still have your best friend from 16
and you were employed when you retired
and you fell in love a million times
and you could fall in love a million times more
it’s about 3 pm
she feels like it’s been forever
she reaches over for that phone
a shaky finger swiping
30 missed calls
120 messages
“mom, im coming over”
“mom, answer the phone!”
“pls im worried”
“mom, answer”
a smile breaks her stiff skin
pale eyes watering to the bright light
illuminating the darkness
she sits alone with this digital candle
she knows she should be grateful
so many mothers are disowned
nine months, no,
20 years of pregnancy
their babies tight under their hearts
fed on blood and tears and sweat
only to abandon them
on the doorstep of some retirement ‘home’
aborted
forgotten
but she’s the one
under her daughter’s heart
God, she loves that girl
it’s.....she doesn’t know the time.
maybe centuries went by while she was in her room
thinking
someone’s knocking on the door
the phone’s ringing again
the birds are still singing
she smiles
“Coming!”
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 9:19 PM UTC
This is my sanctuary
a sylvan of serenity
(soothing my sanity)
my stellar solace of sanctity
my strange & soaring Fantasies
superior to Realities
(with all its sick Enormities)
I’d stay asleep for Eternities
Stray from society
with a sudden spontaneity
To the sweet sensuality
Of a night’s serendipity
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 2:11 PM UTC
Haggard heavens,
pale white in their dormancy,
weary wind,
sweeping through the trees,
sleeping sun,
warm in her blanket of clouds.
Over the waiting earth,
the storm watches with a single eye,
a cold Cyclops.
Dank darkness,
bathes the waiting world,
the still static of cheap radios,
adds to the deafening silence,
short candles sit, covered,
in their own hot wax.
At the end
of their
dormancy,
the heavens shriek, their sharp tears,
tearing through the air, clashing with the ground,
cold bullets shooting the world,
white flashes
jagged white swords slashing through the horizon,
stabbing the wet earth,
the heavens groan,
sonorous rumbles,
as if they’re stabbing themselves.
Howling screams of vicious gale,
as it tears the world apart,
ripping through trees,crashing them to the ground,
flinging the world around in whirling anger.
The world sits, huddled
whispered prayers fighting through the air
to reach the heavens
and pass the storm along the way.
Now
finally
satisfied,
the cyclops moves on
a warrior wandering to
his next country
still strong
with its pale skin,
bleeding rain to wash away
the remaining carcasses
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 11:08 PM UTC
After sipping the wine of ******
Numb to the vigour of the liquor
I wandered drunk among the living
The moon watching with her deadened stare
I saw the black waters washing the pale
Grainy flesh of the beach
And wondered,oh, wandering close
To the darkness, wondered
Then decided, with melancholy deeper
Than fear, walked forward
And yielded to the water’s seize
Over me(and within me), the days had washed
Dragged my remains along
And slipped, the gory water had
Into my garments and flesh and being
And splashing still within my soul
Like the pure blood of innocent hearts
Pumping sounds in eager necks
Warm to my caress, cold to my tongue
I awoke on the shore
And wept , as even the pitiless waves
With its vengeful force and vigour
Rejects me
Oh, true death, I have known life
To be nothing but watered-down death
Give me the strength of thy inevitability
And take my eternity
Thy bitter kiss
Is kiss nevertheless
Oh, true death, I implore thee not
In vain or melancholy
But, oh, desperation.
Murderer!Murderer!
The people have cried.
None cared for my own ****** my own death
A curse! A curse!
To live this life
While dead.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 10:32 PM UTC
Slip out of your resplendence and magnificence
and break yourself into my suffocating skin
walk around, feel the demon eyes
carving out your back
searching for your heart
to crunch it in their pretty teeth
look through these tired eyes
let them rest on everything you’ve never seen before
heavy darkness choking this illuminated world
you don’t know what to do
because you feel like the world’s just going to go on
dragging your carcass along
sleep walking while everyone’s dancing
on your body, on your grave
because they don’t know that you’re dead
you’re okay, don’t worry
tell everyone that because
you’re hiding nothing
you’re happy on the inside too
but you know no one’s okay
because the truth can’t help us
until you’re paying money
for people to just listen
you’re trying to break out
because you hate being me
tear off your mind and throw it away
you don’t care if you can’t find it later
watch them move and follow them
because they don’t like how you do it
they’re doing it the right way
walk in their line, wait for nothing
have their praises as appetizers
and gag at their curses like aftertaste
and you’re not them, not like them
but you’re just like them
because everyone cries when they’re alone
and no one’s ever okay unless they try hard
and force it into their souls
wanna throw myself away
so someone can come and fix me
because i broke myself trying
trying to transform into you
fitting squares into little round holes
and breaking the whole to make it hold it
you’re tired.
you’ve had enough.
push yourself out
slip back into your own skin
fit your own head back on
and you still won’t know me.
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 5:15 PM UTC
Consulting with my Sculptor
I critiqued His use of clay
To create my well carved features
In such a careful way:
My eyes are held in hollowed
Holes of hardened clay
Though the hue be not hallowed
They’re heavenly all the same.
This nose be a beautiful bridge
Baked by bronze- brown clay
Unbroken by blows for blood
Breeze brings sweet bouquets
Mighty words are measured
From a mouth made of clay
I mix at my leisure
My mouth is untamed
While my hips are not the widest
Of Wonders won with clay
While my waist is not the finest
Wand whittled for display
My frame is flawless and free
Formed by flowing clay
Flimsy words find their way to me
And fall on futile way
As I am an amazing art piece
And I am allowed to say
I acknowledge that my Artist
Has a way with clay
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 8:21 PM UTC
Dawn breaks through clouds of black
To find our waters blue
Look up, my child, and feel the light
Blessed, shining on you
The tears of monsters up above
Grant our waters life eternal
The moon shall slumber in sheets of black
The stars shall giggle and sing
Quiet songs with dancing tunes
Like little happy kings
And you my dear, a princess true
Your own stars sing so beautifully
Let them shine when times are dim
And a light is needed to see
Your eyes alone are little suns
Your dawns too brilliant for me
And a million stars within your heart
Will burn under this sea
The shadow of light may seem darker
Than the worst of heartaches true
But there are linings in the clouds
And the shadow looks like you
So let your light shine like the star of our days
And may the moon rest
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC