Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Anais Vionet Dec 2021
Love is but a game of false dice, sweet lies and oaths
to tame pretty rebels for astute, overmastering gentlemen
- harsh, dishonest and less in love, who loan affection with interest
and measure passion like coin recompense.

CH#64 - astute
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of the Day Challenge #64 astute
definition: marked by practical hardheaded intelligence

I was reading about Ghislaine Maxwell’s conviction and thinking about Jeffery Epstein-ish kind of men. You know, every “love” poem looks at the “whole” of it from a certain angle on a certain morning *shrug*
I’m personally very pro-love, wait.. love ambivalent, no love thirsty - actually love allergic… I can’t decide. No rush =]

Happy New Year everyone!

Parading through these beautiful Hills..

--You, and your entourage of a mixture
   of dog-like,  well trained, egostrokes..
   and also of men..   whose tattered boots
   you are unworthy, of even tying..

Traipsing across the Badlands--
your long  red hair, flowing..
giving off a stance, (as if)..

--You, and your entourage of a mixture
   of dog-like, well trained, egostrokes..
   and also of men.. in tattered boots
   that you are unworthy, of even tying..

Raining down havoc,  on the Beautiful People
simply for their having  within them ;;
In the Great Father.. and Substance of Spirit;
Neither of which your cowardly Egostroke
will ever garner,  or ascertain..

But oh, you could steal..

And pilfer..
And destroy.

You will pay, oh General *******-boy
Your long, curly locks..
will take on a whole new color,  red
There will be a gathering..
A showdown..

A Holy Reckoning--
In that Montana field,  between the Hills
Along the Little Bighorn..

The River of all Beaten-Down  one's, dreams

injustice knows no bounds

Sara Kellie Mar 2019
In my mind I have a hive
where a million bees live and thrive.
The killer bees have left, they've gone
I have no need, what's done is done.

The honey bees, that now I keep
so sickly sweet, they let me sleep.
The bees and I now live as one,
they'll follow me when I am gone.

Each one of them and from above
a little sting, from me with love.
So sickly sweet into your mind,
memories of me are all you'll find.

So every day that you live on,
equal days that I am gone.
See, suddenly it all made sense,
A life of pain,
your recompense.

Poetry by Kaydee
Often writ in retrospect of memories, a cloudy recollect.
Jack Torrance Aug 2018
Someone call the Doctor,
because something’s amiss.
The darkness descended,
and there’s just the abyss.

Tell him, that maybe,
a paradox formed.
That up, is now right,
and that demons have swarmed.

Tell him, please tell him,
that we need the blue box.
We need his courage,
to turn back the clock.

I know the moment,
the exact time it went wrong,
but I can’t do it alone,
I’ve done that too long.

If we just had the Doctor,
we could set things to right.
We could change that moment,
and bring back the light.

I know he’s not coming,
and that he’s not real.
It’s just wishful writing,
to push back my fears.

A hero, a savior,
someone who knows all.
Someone who isn’t me,
that could stop the slow fall.

A blue box, a Doctor,
a moment in time.
A villain, so empty,
writing silly rhymes.

A paradox, truly,
that doesn’t make sense.
Can a villain turn hero,
if he shows recompense?

I guess we shall see,
but I won’t hold my breath.
I’ll wait for the Doctor,
or I’ll just wait for Death.
Anthony Mayfield Jun 2018
Where am I?
What is this box?
It’s black
Black as pitch
Yet with a mounting sense of dread
I can tell its true color is red
Red like Him
Help me
Somebody help me

Yesterday you took the morsel not for you
Only now do you see your mistake
Underneath lies years to recall your fears

Can I be forgiven?
When by sin I am smitten?
The Red Man
On his Red Throne
Laughs and scoffs
Taking no pity for me in this box

Listen close, my son, and know
Indeed there is one true way home
Take the sins left in your wake
Take the faults you try to forsake
Lift them high above your head
Enable your soul to no longer be dead

What’s that sound?
The box is closing in
The Red Man’s wicked grin
Frightens me to know
This box is mine and mine alone

Flee this place and never look back
Only a deep few have realized their lack
On this my voice you’ll be free of this place
Learn your lesson or stay in Red Space

The Red Man’s vile smile
His face inches above mine
In this box
I can’t move
I can’t cry
But I do

The silence is broken
By my woeful wails
Forgive me, my family
I deserve this Red Jail

I can see it
The path’s been made clear
The Red Man has lost
I’ve beat him this year

The box shines
The Red throne turns to glass
The darkness is gone
The Red Man is last


… I’m free
The box is no more
The Red Man unseen
On this luminous path
I travel along
There’s room for me now
So I travel in song
The 2md chapter in the tale. The Protagonist is forced to relive and acknowledge his terrible mistakes that led him to almost being devoured by the personification of his mistakes.
Anthony Mayfield Jun 2018
Ding ****!
I’m home!
Let me in!
Out here, it’s cold as sin.
I’ve missed all of you.
I see you...
You can’t hide through!
Ding ****!
Ding ****!
It’s cold out here...
Clouds come from my mouth.
I’m sorry I’ve been away.
I’ve been gone
So long...
But I’m back now!
Ding ****!
Ding ****!
Ding ****!
This isn’t funny anymore!
This game has quickly turned to bore!
This is my home for
goodness sake!
I see you all in there!
Why can’t you...
Can’t you...
You can’t.
You can’t see me.
You can’t hear me.
You forgot me.
I’ve been gone
So long...
But I’m back now!
I’ll help you remember me!
We’ll be reunited family!
Ding ****!
Ding ****!
Ding ****!
Ding ****!
Oh no…
It’s him!
He’s found me again!
Behind the rock!
Behind the tree!
The Red Man still follows me!
He’s staring at me!
You can’t let him take me!
I lament for all the wrongs
I’ve wrought.
I repent for the false treasures
I’ve sought.
I’ve been gone
So long...
But I’m back now!
Let me in!
Save me from HIM!
DING ****!
DING ****!
DING ****!
DING ****!
DING ****!
This house is so pristine.
So perfect clean white.
And I the lone smudge as the first
Sign of blight.
But if you’d open the door...
Just open the door.
Save me before he comes!
I can be clean!
I’ve been gone
Too long...
Oh no he’s coming!
And I can’t keep running,
Running from red.
Don’t leave me to waste.
Please open,
Make haste!
DING ****!
DING ****!
DING ****!
DING ****!
DING ****
DING ****!

A poetic story about a person who tries to weasel their way back into the lives of their loved ones after being away due to a terrible mistake, only to have their mistakes catch up to them and keep them from returning home.
George Krokos Mar 2017
When worldly human justice falls short or doesn’t prevail
Divine justice will eventually step in and recompense entail.
From "Simple Observations" ongoing writings since the early '90's.
Death hath no fear that we should know
As we take our beds each night,
Yet without the slightest thought or recompense
Do we rise to see the light.
After the war is over
Will we have a chance to
After the fighting is through
Who will be left
to have the sense
To take what has been
Thrown away
And put it in it's rightful
You might say
And rightly so.

After the war is over
Will we have a chance
To recompense?
To these and other
I find myself
Muted, numbed
I cannot answer
Such things
They are not
Within my authority
To judge

But war is coming
I can feel it
It is in the air
And the waters
All around
We have truly
What war is
Too long away
Too far away
It has been
But it is truly
coming closer now
Soon it will be
Once more.

After the war is over
Who will be left
To recompense?
Written on April 25th 2014, 100 years since the first great global war shook the world, and changed history forever.

— The End —