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Sunlight, sunlight, you are my eternal sunlight,
whilst all but tender and benign is the night.
And you shine on me like the collapsing moon
but lurk away as morn greets our humanity too soon.
You can sometimes be obscure but real;
and your soul is the ring my poet's heart wants to steal.
Your love is too frequently demanded
Yet as you gaze into me it might just be finally authenticated.
Run, run, as I did once from your thin figure
with flashes of anger and loath but unsure.
How when you are mad you look but tiresome and timid
Odd as it is, as to your very liveliness and inborn wit.
But you are simply too genuine and weak and true
and with your smile you often touch my heart
just like our nature's undying morning dew.

Oh, my secret love-just as it is now and again,
tell me now how to cure this deafening pain.
I might have never told you I love you,
but inside am sure that you love me too.
Probably it is just my longing that is too shy
but how it can ever be please never ask me why.
For in your name I wish never to tell a lie
But whenever dusk comes my secret will be gone
as to truly embrace only the meaning of your sun.
In my dear heart you are somehow mine,
just like I might already be within thine
But how the world will blacken and wrong us
if we give way and surrender to this lust.
Look, my love, at how the trees and birds sing!
With peace at heart they form one loyal lavish string
On this country's honest farms and soil
So that their own joy they shall never spoil.
Hark, darling, hark how they dance throughout the foliage!
Ah! Just like the melodies buried far down in your cleavage
You are now and again my very own vivid shadow,
that trusts my poems and be with me
as I overcome the bleeding tomorrow.

And be with me and the chorus in my dear heart
Although this world seems cruel and is but to tear us apart
As at only your breath my womanhood raves;
and for only your veins my delight and soliloquy craves.
In your manliness my whole solitude shall rejoice
meanwhile my dimmed heart brightens at your grand voice.
Oh! How I want to leave you not-to my destined sphere!
How my blood is stained by and reeks of fear,
and as mischievous like springs are towards bitter snow,
whenst they are to warm off its whining skin
and so scornfully send away whose glow.

O my love, my love! Then tell me just fervently once more
before I needst to leave and walk outside the door.
Release me from this sinister unloved hell
and free me from my single nutshell.
Tell me how you love me, and long to age with me
within the rustic village behind the maple tree.
Amongst the loveliness of the old church and parish
Next to the brown grass and green pond of fish.
And at night, how shall we sit amidst those witty bushes
with two cups of tea and due pairs of romantic torches.
But please, please be with me, and be mine-mine, only-
o my love, thus leave me not within this dire uncertainty
as long as I breathe still and my heart beats within me
but make me stay here and forever crave for thee,
as far as love can go, and as deep as eyes can see.
Smoke Scribe Mar 2018
all poems write themselves, following plans that are drawn only
as the poem goes along, neither leading or following, but
carrying the writer along as first violin, a VIP passenger,
the first viewer, a consultant but not a conductor

a poem is written based on what has happened
a poem is written based on what was hoped to happen
a poem was written based on what could never happen
but is so well imagined that it is more real than if it happened


I willingly tell you I will not tell you which is what, for there is no difference between them for the writer, the first passenger,
though undeniably fully aware of the quality of the ware
that is proffered, plottered or just perchanced

perhaps you are thinking, but of course,
this is the way,
the way of all of us,
the way it has and will be and no
disclaimer needed for no believable claims are made

perhaps
for the weave is oft tight, tight as near-truth, and so well imagined, it wraps the first passenger in a cloak of skin
that actually feels, though cloaks cannot feel,
but belief is easily eased

there are no lines or lies in my writings
there are no definitions and
perception is only your truth


Therefore,
my poems are splats and drips.
you make them into paintings that hang
in your own private museum
but authenticated by me as
first viewer,

3/13/18
1:09am
Richard B Shick Sep 2018
HERE GOSE NOTHING  HOPE YOU LIKE I WORKED ALL DAY ON IT....im sure there will be changes....LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK



Class is in session.
Time to grab your
NoteBooks.
And get,
educated.

Think My words
May Have been forgotten.
Or have they,
just  been
miscommunicated

Can you hear what I'm  saying.
Probably not,
 I'm  Too sophisticated.

Don’t take words I say
And twist them and around.
Til They become
exaggerated.

Or I’ll grab my strap
And ****  it back
take aim
Clack clack
Assassinated.

Watch what you saying,
I don't think your  listening.
Better get to running
Or end up,,,,,,
annihilated.

My mouth has no Limit,
It's automated.
I don't have a filter
To keep me,
regulated.

As you get incarcerated,
I get celebrated
For  every thing I've done.
This I created

So Say Good Bye
to what you
Thought were friends,
We're way gone,
Alienated.

Your Words will get you
Eliminated,
Like a effin cockroach
Just Call me
Mrrrr Orrrrrkin,
Exterminated.


Better watch your back.
I can get real spinal,
Don't get,
  disintegrated.

My words  are truthful
Just like the
Guinness Book of records.
Im authenticated.

I write my own words
Im Never collaborated,
Unless it’s me myself and
I.

Will never be manipulated.
By your abbreviated
Stories,
They're fabricated.

Don’t make me
Hunt you
  I will effin ****** you
Its all ready planned out,
Premeditated.

So Let me make things simple
For you,
Like you are  a caveman.
Uncomplicated.

My  moves they seem so cat like,
Very Quick and nimble.
Im Articulated.

I’ll will destroy you
Don’t get blown away
Like a hurricane,
Decimated.

Can't you see me frozen
I’m cold as ice,
And need.
refrigerated.

Do you see my spot lights
Can you see me
glowing,
While up on stage.
I'm Illuminated.

As you sit here
With an old pass,
Done  expired and no where to go,
invalidated.

You can’t even do math,
Always 3 steps behind,
You know what i Call that.
miscalculated.

Me as being stupid.
Don't try be sneaky
I know Your  every move,
I Anticipated.

Don’t  choke on your words
To where you can’t breath,
With A rope around your neck,
Asphyxiated.

Why must  you be so
opinionated
Are you **** hurt.
Or is your mouth
just.
constipated.

Quick,
give him a trophy
Cause He thinks he won.
But you never,
participated.

How’s it feel to be
Hated,irritated
And,  outdated.
Cause you have no *****.
You've  been Castrated,
Dominated
And, infiltrated
Just Like a waterfall
You've been.

Liquidated.

I Think  you over medicated
Here  come the white coats,
Eyes are dialated
Cause your brain
Has become
Contaminated
Intoxicated and,
Deteriorated.


Think you daddy
Should have just
Masturbated
Then
*******
On
The bed sheets

As he Put a pillow on
Your mom’s face
and she,
Suffocated.

Cause she never
Reciprocated
Or consummated.
Was so stupid and didn't
Swallow.
Got inseminated.

Now
Its time that we end
This.
What I initiated,
Hopefully
I communicated
All these words
That
Have  accumulated.

I tried to be illustrated
And innovated.
Just like
A bomb
That had to be detonated.
I’m out
And cool like a fan
I’m  so oscillated.

To be continued
.........

WRITTEN BY
Richard Shick
Attributed To Concerned parents
of Traumatized Refugee
Dear Fred and Mary Anne MacLeod Trump...

Posthumous belated tattered letter fragment
recently discovered (liberally sprinkled with
hyperbole (presumed for greater audacious
zealousness), sans accidentally acquired
by yours truly.

Miscellaneous personal item highly valued
when thwarted from auctioneer, whose gently
persuasion collectible merchandise requisitioned,
thence keepsake property perfunctory mandatorily forfeited.

Due compensation from sole male heir (me),
whose long since (resting in eternal
peace) papa suffered degradation,
humiliation and understandable lamentation
as a kid living in Flatbush.

Authorities and expert legal scholars
pieced together what probably comprised
a lengthy epistle rivaling the Epic of
Gilgamesh).

Recollection recounted torturous,
malicious, and flagitious mean spiritedness
visited upon the ambitious, cadaverous, and
timorous body electric high-jinxed introverted male,
whose abstemious, conscientious, and nutritious
dietary regime, could not forestall rigor mortis.

A postscript (purportedly penned prior to
once philosophical pensive poet's papa's passing)
stated that said personage felt bitterness,
disharmonious envious self loathing.

That grownup man known as mine father,
though once upon a time, said recently
anonymous deceased old fogey ironically
registered as an atrocious, cantankerous,
and egregious deplorable high school student.

Also, the author of what constitutes partial
opprobrious litany attests during his
idolatrous, notorious, and semiconscious
Arab zombie school daze.

He ranked as de facto semiprecious,
tremulous and unanimous scapegoat
bullied by a bumptious, callous,
disputatious hippopotamus of a brat
infamous bruiser later in his life to become
forty fifth president of UnIted States.

Though documentation incomplete, the un
named subject referred within torn shred
recovered included signatory couching
ambiguous references to a tenebrous,
unscrupulous, and vicious ******* initials.

Dee Tee quickly intuitively assessed
as one inhumane specimen, whose pugnacious,
pretentious, and pestiferous, persona characterized
impetuous, adulterous apprenticeship appetite
for erecting ******* skyscrapers.

This once pacific pilloried pupil, whose grown
son (myself), now recalls father's misty eyed
anecdotes dripping with acrimonious, curmudgeonly
grouchy, grizzly and crotchety old sorries,
viz refashioned abominable kamikaze
psychological sorties.

I can vividly recall (how painful unto his old age)
oft daddy's repeated quotidian taunts, whereby
that bad ***, acidulous, avaricious, contemptuous,
enormous, and grievous big boy trumpeting
bruiser exuded devious, heinous, libelous, and
parsimonious tightwad, though born into wealth.
It is a fallacy we all believe.
As we vehemently exclaim six words
to prove the chastity of our thoughts,
to fill our pride with self-validation,
to ratify our existence with falsehoods.
"The Devil made me do it!"

"The Devil made me do it!"
I bitterly laugh at your blundering gaucherie,
as you lay blame on an eons old transgression,
as you smote the sinnerman flying with flames,
as you called him out for your own actions
impassioned by heresy.

Impassioned by heresy
You sought to relieve yourself from perdition;
brought upon by perjury declared,
brought upon by authenticated truths,
brought upon by the duplicity,
of your favored reverent ideologies.

Of your favored reverent ideologies
which is to laud your skirmish against evil
in order to remove yourself from auburn eternity,
in order to induct you as a citizen of argent fields,
in order to orchestrate contempt towards another?
Is there no truth to you?

Is there no truth to you
now that perfidy imputes your entirety?
as you declaim in front of paradise lost,
as you coerce to regain what is rightfully deprived,
as you throng duress by intoning your delusion:
"The Devil made me do it!"

"The Devil made me do it!"
Its recurrence is maddening to Him
while you, in all your sentience, chose to act unbecoming,
while the celestials perched on your shoulder bawl,
while He that you blame does absolutely nothing.
It is a fallacy we all believe.
Why do we blame the Devil for our own mistakes?

Read more of my works on brixartanart.tumblr.com
Arcassin B Jun 2015
By Arcassin Burnham

Scowl up my face for the moves you make,
You Are the definition to finding a word in the Webster's dictionary,
I'm so Appalled!!!!!
No better way to punish someone you want to destroy in an office full of documents and papers for charitable organizations,
That can be dealt with later,
He enjoys the oral way too often,
And shes never been penetrated,
masterful until he's in his coffin,
Virginity will get authenticated,
Escalated,
Elevated,
Rejuvenated,
Just be glad that your face is straightened.
Lol I like the title
Arcassin B Mar 2017
by Arcassin Burnham


I feel like..i feel like,
i feel like being close to you is not gonna hurt...
if i run..if i run,
if i run out of time,this won't be good to you...
bet you noticed..bet you noticed,
bet you noticed all the times i was there for you...
i was saddened..i was saddened,
I was saddened by how you would react..
The miles of love we've ran for days has never came to pass and,
And each time we sacrifice something that never caved in,
Too many feelings we embark,
I've only loved you from the start , then it faded away in the dark.

/

Swearing this piece of cloth on this floor would remind me of all the playful times,
there is no secret that i use to love you more than you assumed i did when i was out of line,

And saying things i didn't mean,
it did not seem like it was a dream,
from kissing you in all the various forms in your possession when i bleed,
new blood,
of forgotten love making we created ,
i was thinking maybe it would be something more authenticated,
you mistake it,
for an open relation,
that wasn't so,
but you moved on like a central station,
and i..
Started from the bottom,
just add some rocks in..
Dealing with my problems,
containing my sins..

/

Mysterious Girl,
you don't have to owe the world a proven doubt at all,
when the only thing you do is fall,

like the leaves that posses gravity like we all do,
its not your fault but we all deserve to have a helping when
we have no way out of this hell we call a world in its weakened state as
when they relate to a common goal and a familiar phase,

Mysterious Girl,
Don't cry,
please dry those eyes cause the man himself will join us shortly.
©abpoetry2017
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2017/03/connection-just-as-playful-mysterious.html
Martin Narrod Nov 2017
Take my fetus and go
Through and through the mighty seas,
Cleft of stubborn knocks and the bayonets
Rocking through and through the eves. Whose pirouettes and epilepsy crooked, Asunder, blessing the attenuated biology of Say, a field mouse or the hummingbird. What nuisance it transcends itself into. How It has marred even the plight to lock oneself In that windowless box of time. The Atemporal box featuring those curious amaranthine engravings about its sides, upon its top. Though the blood may not spill from side to side, and while the nellypot may collywaddle, there is an immense sincerity akin, fused afore to the intimacy of an authenticated orphic boketto.
Nica Monet  Mar 2018
Being Myself
Nica Monet Mar 2018
I am the moon one side’s shown, the other hidden
I am the stars, scattered decisions with a vision
I am a rollercoaster, unexpectedly spontaneous
I am the rain I fall, hard unconscious
I am the storm, I come back strong and ambitious
I am the sweet song of acoustic, a spectrum of quality
I am the sweet love song, cliche with a personality
I am the sea calm never steady
I am a hummingbird flying here to there
I am the trees that sway, I am a leaf in the air
Yet I am a wolf leader of its pack, never rests
I am the train that leaves and comes back
I am the dedicated worker, never stop till a heart attack
I am a child who passionately believe
I am an old soul, authenticated and wise
I am your hair, unique and stubborn
I am a judge willing to listen and compromise
I am a trampoline once you fall, I bounce you back up
I am a slime molded into anything, still the same
I am a human being, complex and alive
I am a living thing, I break, I live, I matter, I thrive
This poem has many metaphors and each one describes me as a person:)
TOD HOWARD HAWKS May 2020
Kristallnacht in now every day in America.

**** Trump is now America's full blown ******.

Goebbles was ******'s minister of propaganda. Goebbles said if you tell the people a lie big enough and often enough, they will begin to believe it.

The Washington Post has authenticated over 15,000 **** Trump lies in the past 3 1/2 years.

**** Trump's evil, egregious acts of irresponsibility, his gross incompetence, his de facto criminal decisions not to act at all to protect his 350,000,000 fellow citizens from the death-dealing coronavirus is akin to ******'s hatred of Jews and other groups he also detested and killed.

At the end of WW II, there were estimated to be 15,000 death camps across Europe.

Now **** Trump has his own death camps in America: nursing homes, huge meat-packing plants, prisons and jails, VA hospitals, the homeless, the poor, and especially the Blacks.

Among **** Trump's first statements about the pandemic reaching America included that all this was a "Democratic hoax," that there were only 15 cases in America, and by the end of that week, there would be zero, and so on.

And like the vast majority of the German people under ******, way too many Americans are afraid, I think, to speak out against **** Trump who wants to be, and is becoming, America's dictartor.

Those Americans who still remain rabid supporters of **** Trump are at best simply deluded, and what is even worse, those who support **** Trump, but choose to remain silent, wear cowards' clothes.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks.
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet, anovelist, and a human-rights advocate his entire adult life.
A rhetorical question finds me ask
king (to no one in particular) why I bask
with recollection the names of blank
exclamatory staid grade school crank

key teachers approximately
     42,0480,000 breaths aye drank
fifty years ago (most whose names frank
lee listed below),

     when the need to access
and retrieve
     immediate necessary information
     analogously interleaved

     among coaxial bracts
during examinations relegated
     as hopelessly lost
     into interstitial invisible cranial cracks

irretrievably buried
     during examinations, which age
(feels like a million years ago)
     often found me seized and caged
with sudden inability to remember

     any vital answers as gauged
evidenced by nothing writ
ten on paper (even including my name),
     thus loosely similar as aye sit
to compose poetry,
     and/or prose tempted to quit

asper defeated by resignation,
     and sinking sensation in the pit
of my stomach (more so regarding orbit
ting like an unsound garden  

     black hole son around cold (mit
ten necessary) awful days grudgingly
     handing over like a lit
till insignificant being,
     a test paper devoid of academic grit

analogously surrendering
     (while feeling fit
tubby tied, sense internally emit
ting abnegation sans chafing at the bit,

yet no sooner did buzzer indicated test
time over, then (of course),
     an instantaneous pest
that blocked chunk dramatically
     flowered gloriously invoking nest

head treasured mother lode
     of learned information invest
ment accounting for principle ball lanced
     formerly figuratively barricaded facts
     suddenly at my behest

ironically retaining to this day
dogged details amazingly,
     now gracing lix spittle fist size gray
dictating academic failure

     forcing laying down pen hay
for ma forgotten requisite thoughts may
king skepticism about self thrive, ray
zing mailer demons impossible to slay,

when into scaly claws, sans first
to sixth grade Precambrian relic
(Missus Batson, Missus Rittenhouse,
Missus Wells, Mister Stout, Missus Shaner,
or Miss Rinderle).

Invariably the majority
     of elementary grades didst accord
accredited ancient authenticated creatures bored
(with exception of sixth)

     freely exercised diabolical chord
churlish ******* animalistic
     zealous yakking, wickedly,
     aye (a basket case) deplored

unprintable (epithets) this then
     (unprincipled urchin) puny pupil felt lord
did over whacked, sans receiving end,
     viz fiendishly gruesome
     hellish instructions mean teacher scored.

Assignments buttressed with ultimatums
harkening back to Jurassic period earlier
in the dawning primate consciousness.

Lesson material kindled justifiable license
in league garnered insignia heft brought pupils
to heal predicated, via warped weft woven
wonderfully wrought writs welcomed whips
with warranty whenever recalcitrant ruffian
refused respecting reptilian rubric representative
saber rattling, where...

(The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than the Driver
of the ***** and Whipping Cords Will
Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do),
which loosely rendered regularly warbled

wishy washy verse curmudgeons freedom
granted to interpret as one decrepit, hawkish
insignia certified one beaming Eve and/or
stud deed brute soffit.

Education often relied on the weekly reader,
and letters to or from Aunt Emma to this Jack,
oh napeswho never wrote back
sheesh, alas and alack.

Nefarious mean linkedin kickstarter jawboning
torturous treatment tolerated, asper imps
of pervert, mutant Ninja Turtles duty bound
antsy youthful yokel yodelers weathering ululating
sing-song quintessential precepts.

adieu:
math a hew
scott harris a gentile Jew
all ways felt like new
kid on the block isolated

     in his hermetically sealed queue
pay perm ash shay watched per view
whew
at last in conk clew shun to you
from one primate within the human zoo.
Carson Jul 2020
Sahara Dust
Ally & Foe
By
Carson OTP Alexander
Potassium, Calcium, Iron,
Nitrogen, Phosphorus
Are food for Phytoplanktons n Amazon Trees,
Still loads of it is a Blanket that makes me sneeze ,
Hurt you n me medically,
Via its nourishments n Blows,
Is D Sahara Dust
Ally & Foe,
Transported By Easternly Trade Winds,
Depositing tons
On The Atlantic Ocean n various land falls,
Decreasing Strength of Hurricanes,
Unknown to us all?
Authenticated By Various Scientists,
A food source chain & Mental Bliss,
Similar in Color to Clouds Of Rain,
Viewed from my Naked eye,
Upon The coastal turrain,
Natures Happiness & Pain,
Via Its Nourishments & Blows,
The Sahara Dust
Ally & Foe!
Seher Seven  Dec 2015
survival
Seher Seven Dec 2015
circumstances, misunderstandings
its these delicacies I mishandle.
not much space to be my self.
the water rushes in, my lungs fill.
these pesky circumstances,
wishing telepathics was our shared interest
knowing the path of least reistance.
it is clear and known.
the ram within,
her courage pulls to charge,
born again, shifting of the stars.
where these **** circumstances start.
cause I know what they are,
the objective sensed. senses need fine tunning.
nervous system, tunning. feeling tuned in.
the wind brings the faintest of messages,
listening closely.
zipping out Zs and As, connecting strings
centuries in length.
worlds deep, together receiving the sweetest melody.
in that breeze, where the circumstances pause, briefly, as they sometimes do.
sometimes you just misunderstand me.
a lot of people do.
and I know I just dont get you, either.
circumstamces of the stars, the dance
of the ages. minds infinite expansion.
I just want to span it, crack my set of code.
pay forward, encourage growth.

so much to know, well for the moment you know it.
after that its history, past, authenticated through
your mind, your slice.
oh what it is to be alive! to survive these
circumstances

— The End —