Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Chris Chronister Oct 2013
Twenty-six times the bells will chime today
Tragedy lives where apathy is sought
Gazing outside I see no children play
Tears which we shed in a glass are now caught

The tears are now saved and we will have drink
Twenty-six times we have pain to swallow
Tragedy's cup compels fairness to shrink
And fragmented hearts embrace the sorrow

When the cup runs over we start to drown
On the sadness we invited to come
And jewels we place in tragedy's crown
Provide the reason we will mourn for some

As we choke on sorrow with awareness
Ponder the elusiveness of fairness

© Christopher Chronister. All rights reserved
A sonnet written about my feelings after the Newtown shootings.
Elizabeth  Jan 2013
Wooing a Cat
Elizabeth Jan 2013
Wooing you is like wooing a cat.
I walk half way
and wait for you
to meet me in the middle.
Holding out my hand
in a gentle gesture,
I let you sniff me out
to determine whether
or not I’m a threat.
I don’t speak too
I don’t move too
and I certainly
don’t touch you without
your express permission.
You rarely come
when I call,
but instead of
allowing bitterness to
build within me,
I am learning to
enjoy the surprise of
your unexpected presence.
Your elusiveness
challenges my self esteem,
yet your touch
rebukes my insecurity.

I cannot gain your
affection by force.
I would only succeed
in reaping resentment;
but there is beauty to be found
in the tenderness that is
freely given.
For "D"
kirk Oct 2018
Who owns Jack Jones, is he part of your clan?
Does Mr Jones actually exist, is he a real live man
Why does he resemble Boyd, is this part of his plan
Jack is such a manly name, but so is Phil and Stan

Don't use "Boy" within your name, you'll impose an adult ban
Boyish names are not much good, there not like John or Dan
You wouldn't call grandfathers boys, or say girl to your nan
Stop abusing ol' Jack Jones, and avoid Boyd if you can

Boyd is easy to avoid, its easier than we thought
An alteration has took place, but that's what Boyd has sought
Elusiveness is not too smart, because already you've been caught
We've worked out who Jack Jones is, and it accounts to nought

Your lacking iron clad alibis, nothing is set in wrought
It's criminal to own Jack Jones, so please would you abort
No rights to use another name, your being a bad sport
Is Boyd considered as a name, or is it "boy" for short

Intellect is not too strong, that's only what you think
Using an alias is unwise, if you show a photo link
Why bother changing to Jack Jones, how low you gonna sink
Your mother's been kept in the dark, about releasing your white ink

Is Jack Jones the one, who's been sinking in the pink?
Wasn't it Boyd's low ***** count, that went inside the mink?
You are skating on thin ice, when there's cracks in the rink
Just who owns Jack Jones, when Boyd's back from the brink

Identities are broken, just what did you think you'd gain
Your just a ******* imbecile, to think you'd relieve the strain
You can't hide yourself away, you must be quite insane
It's not as though your mother lives, in germany or Spain

Everyone knows who you are, it's in your face and plain
It is just pathetic to make Jack Jones the main
Jack Jones is just too common, you should try a name like shane
Just don't **** about with names, or Jack Jones will be jocks Jane

Your ashamed of what you've done, you try to skulk and hide
You didn't mind the ******, or having your fun ride
Be a man and not a "Boyd", it's time to turn the tide
Come on Boyd you did not avoid, legs that were astride

Morality is in pursuit, but you have no sense of pride
Who's Jack Jones supposed to be, now  sperms slid down the slide
Other aliases may exist, do you have bits on the side
Or are you only interested, when things are open wide

Is Jack Jones the father, or is he born from rubber clones
Boyd is the spitting image, he's been seen on mobile phones
Hostile namesake takeovers, do you have *** slaves and drones
There's no sense in your deception, because this isn't Game of Thrones

We don't want identities stolen, you borrow names like loans
Jack's already being used, it's a name that someone owns
Maybe names can hurt you, as well as sticks and stones
So cease in your activities , you don't know who owns Jack Jones
This poem is dedicated to Mandy who influenced its writing
Nika Cavat  Jul 2012
Nika Cavat Jul 2012

No, not what you think, not needles, not bottles, not too much food or too little, not sleeping 18 hours or running until feet bleed, not *******, not voyeurism, not pole-dancing or jello shots or driving 150 mph down dark streets, not working to exhaustion, not bizarre rituals, not staring into bright lights or ******* on sweet treats until a migraine sets in, not pulling out fingernails or walking with pebbles in shoes, thinking any of this brings God to the door.

                                                          ­                    No, none of these excesses

But, life? Yes. Addicted to breathing, yes. Addicted to sweetness of morning-light, yes. Addicted to aroma of salt water, when the sun swings low and pelicans skim the curling waves in search of dinner, oh yes. And playing hide-n-go-seek with my three year old neighbor, yes. Addicted to not giving up on that African violet in the windowsill, despite its crispy appearance, to watching my child shimmy, yes and yes. To her well-being, her off-key singing, a resounding yes! To letting family be. To the solitude of a hot shower. Addicted to your righteousness, your swagger, the way dimming sunlight cups your body, I’ll admit it, yes.  And anticipation of oysters still in their rough shells. And never, ever worrying about whether these are excesses or not because it’s in the elusiveness of the word (addiction, for example, or desire or want or tenacity), in the lone gesture, the moment before that door opens and the house empties of terror and fills with human breath that the balance is reset.
Mike Hauser Feb 2015
Why is love at times elusive
Why does it feel the need to hide
Why can't it come out in the open
And hold hands with you and I

Why does it claim to be adventurous
Then gets lost out in the world
Why is it when love it is I mention
Your nowhere to be found girl

Why does love take you up so high
Why does love bring you down so low
Why can't love make up it's mind
Those of us in need of love would really love to know
Sasquatch stalking woods
Glimpsed never ensnared

Homonids beauty of elusiveness
Ancestral biped prints

Folklore, hoax , unhindered
ages devoid evidence

Bristly forest devil
Conclusively confirmed
ancient Polar Bear
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2015
for lovejunkie...amidst this parliament of words,
I am selfish,
but not always blind...


from our bed, I see witnesses,
a small stand of trees,
no parliament these,
but a scattering of
oak~men and birch~women,
who shade and defend us,
a few good marines on duty,
standing between us and
our beloved but ever
dangerous tempestuous changeling child,
the one we call,
with well-mixed trepidation and affection,
the sea change

this small stand,
throws all caution to the wind,
remnants of a once great army
upon my forested isle,
these proud stragglers,
refuse to desert their
human worshipers and century renters,
giving them aid and comfort,
from the sum of
sun, wind and the
ever encroachment of waves,
who would and
own all

they look out,
this stand of trees,
facing away,
lookouts for us,
watchmen of the day
and still on duty,
even when the day's nethered nemesis

this stand of trees,
they look back as well, upon me,
even as I catalogue them,
distinct even now in the tomb of midnight dark,
facing me simultaneously,
self-appointed witnesses
to a man's thinking
of his:

binding and unbundling,
the tumult of the fusion
of the pros and cons
at the intersection of
love and memories

where ancient needs and memories
clash to rehash past victories and Waterloo,
all the while, the cries of the
perpetuity of future desires,
incessant demanders of
fresh refreshments of love,
shout out
"more, more,"
ever so softly

perhaps this is why they stay...

to be amused by selfish humans,
denying their very built-in natures,
addicted to the elusiveness of romance,
wearing pretend masques of self-blindness
to the devil-may-care,
unpredictable seasonality of loves
comings and goings

and yet how clear recalled the
unconcealed passion and gleeful gratitude
when we tuck a beloved's locks from
their eyes, to the safety of the
crook of their ears

the stand of trees,
strong tall, plain big,
compare and contrast
to the infinite smallness
of merest seconds
of loving tenderness
etched upon the firmament permanency
of the
mind's eyes

perhaps this is why they stay...

perhaps this is why we cannot renounce
our never wreaking addiction to love
and its cocktail of
torments and fulfillment

trees - perhaps,
they better understand our frailty
than we do,
do trees love humans so much in return
for all this love we give them?

we chop in hurry fury down,
only to repent and replant tenderest of seedlings,
like human love,
we chop in hurry fury down,
only to repent and replant tenderest of seedlings

for are we not all selfish, all blind,
all needy, all defenseless,
all cautiously defensive,
so much
and then again,
not so much
not so blind or selfish,
that we cannot use our word tools
to grant ourselves,
we aching creatures,
grant ourselves
a few small chances,
to pry open both
recollections of our heart's delight
and the seeds
for its

perhaps we are all witnesses?

"but oh if fate threw caution to the wind
this parliament of trees their hearts' delight
how wondrous to these eyes would those boughs be
smashing through that firmament, that light."

"and oh if fate threw caution to the wind
this aching creature just one wish,
i'd be content with much less than your kiss...

for i am selfish, but not always blind;"

**from "wish I may wish I might"
by lovejunkie
You can see my stand,
beside my name,
protecting and surrounding
our little cottage

read lovejunkie on HP!
for he is among the very few who craft and hew their words
with care and great love...and who writes of the
of love in beauteous ways I can only vague recall, and never hope to ever replicate..

amidst this parliament of words,
I am selfish,
but not always blind...

June 21 2015
Oh delicious, warm hearted cup of tea,
No combination of words in my brain,
Can express the immense joy you bring me.
It’s elusiveness, I cannot explain.

The sweet spices and heat touching my lips
Soothes my soul and removes all of my woes.
I hold happiness in my fingertips,
And disappear from my head to my toes,
To the sweet place only you can bring me,
A place where I am nothing but happy.

Oh warm hearted cup of peppermint tea,
Your existence is but a gift for me.
Mason Hollows  Feb 2015
Ello E
Mason Hollows Feb 2015
Ello, Enlightenment.
Yet we meet again,
Your elusiveness is profound.
Because, I haven’t found,
How to hold on to thee.
Shall I sit underneath a tree?
No, I will just be.
In tune with nature,
Like the bees.
In my future,
What changes things? Powerfully,
I think, that it is me.

Self-centeredism is the past,
Forget your sins.
Commit good only, please.
Freeze time. Forward-backward,
Not an option, but now we are here.
Forget time, unleash your nowness.
We are here as sentient beings.
Can you change anything?
Be that which you are,
But don’t be the same as you were.

Growth comes from you,
Inside your mind.
It’s a choice, so choose first;
That which is better.
Don’t settle like the dirt under your feet.
Push forward and see the beautiful
Being that you can be,
that you are to me.

By: GeoEthE
Georges Ethan Eloquin
Good Environmental Ethics
Great Energy Everywhere
Mia  Feb 2013
Playing hard to get
Mia Feb 2013
What is it about the unattainable that makes us want it so much more?

On that rainy day in January,
I saw you standing in line,
Waiting to pay
For the book.
You know the one.
It's been whispering sweet promises
In my ear.
How it will be the best I ever have
It will imprint on me.

I tried to resist the allure
But it's elusiveness pulled me in
Like coiling tendrils
Of immeasurable strength.

I dreamt about that book
Waited for it to come to that store
And there you were
Buying the only available copy.
I knew then
That I wanted you both.
I followed you out
Having a witty dialogue in my head
You would be snared by my charisma
I would get my book.
You stopped at a black car
The passenger door opened.
Out stepped Delilah
the woman that kills dreams.
manicsurvival Dec 2015
They say "you can't go home again"
I dismissed the thought; believed that I could return to the town that I once
rode through on my beach cruiser,
walked through with my friends,
utilized poor construction sites as makeout spots

"I've come home", he sings
but if there is one thing that I believe my mother was right in saying is
that this is all geography

That perhaps is the scariest thought of all;
that I don't yet know where by home is or who will fill rooms with music
and enjoy the elusiveness of life with

I've come home
but not in the way he means it
I have come home to my teenage broken heart--and its perpetrator
I have come home to a house where I was on month-long bed rests
I have come home to a structure that is seemingly not mine

I suppose I wish it wasn't true;
that you can't go home again
and things are ever changing...
that is something we must accept as we grow older

When I truly think about it though, I don't know that I would want to return to my once "home"

I think I just wish I had one.
The Noose Oct 2013
Happiness to me is looking so fragile, so tiny
Hollowed out
Saggy jeans
Sharp protruding hip
bones that make me grin when I peek at my reflection in the mirror
Twig like legs
The visible spine on my back once covered by
flesh that has since disappeared
The glorious collar bones how they symbolise control of the self, superiority, victory
Counting my ribs when I lightly breathe in
The veins on my hands how they encourage me to keep restricting

The voice embedded in my head with her constant whispers - Just a little more and you'll be perfect - she lies It's never enough
The stares, how I love to hate them... the more stares the more sick I look proof that perfection is within my reach

I am forever feeling faint, drained, disoriented and always near collapsing
Hunger gnawing away inside of me
And yet this feels like success

The shackles keep getting tighter  the older I get
Binding me and blinding me with

My disorder beats me into nothing
Sleep is no longer an escape, Even in my dreams it's still there... Tormenting me

This treacherous debilitating
My mind is not my own anymore
It took everything from me to the point where most nights I am unsure if I will wake up in the morning
I'm still here, fighting the
fight and that counts

The elusiveness of recovery
The complication of it
How I never will, recover
I will always be haunted

Warped fleshy perceptions
Dangerous methods
Grave consequences
NvrMnd  Apr 2017
NvrMnd Apr 2017
Standing beyond guards,
twisted bars and shards

With shattered knuckles
and broken ankles

Dilated eyes in the face of elusiveness

Where is freedom in hollowness?

Spinning round in vast emptiness

Conceptions, misconceptions
mixing in wild motions

Surrounded by scented candles
and flowers posing birth or perhaps death

....Fainted in bewilderment....

I'm just confused at the moment but slowly getting my mind in shape again.

— The End —