#scribbling
Find me
Cold in a corner
Scribbling over my tears
Exposed toes and clammy hands
Scribbling my inner demands
Find me
Lost in my own home
Head towards the ground
Making a cowering sound
Find me
Holding my head between my palms
Two elbows on the countertop
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 8:04 PM UTC
Serene love of one but for all,
Light of sacred thoughts enroute to places unknown,
Winds unleashing sweet memories in winter,
Like trees mind may appear,
Mountains we may call our imagination,
Words are random and so do our thoughts,
Nothing is permanent, love of all seasons is different like these lines,
Complete yet not eternal.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
oft times as a child crayola crayons
occupied concentration
to color, with a hue and a cry
would erupt if the merest and faintest mark
trespassed violating
some shade dee rule, i'd decry
cuz even as a boy,
a peaceful nonconformist/
nonestablishmentarian streak
now finds this guy
proud to be among
the minority removed
from the madding crowd,
though blurt out a friendly "hi"
when within of the vast lines of humanity
entropy vies to get
the upper hand until ban ky
moon: secretary - (at time of this writing)
general of the United Nations
doth raise an hand gesticulating with lie
sense to subdue
the crowded housed planet fitness
even if his magic doth manage to ply
a temporary truce among
scrabbling mobs of hoodlums,
some regurgitating spoon fed
pablum patois bred from an era quois
wanton vengeful retaliation,
whence faux recapitulation
initially evidenced
from hooligans who try
to wrest control
with mortal kombat full commando
from elected officials,
who abhorring violence must vie
trump petting for state military
don protective gear
bound by parochial training
to counteract mutiny why
hill chaos runs amuck law man
dating rubric with force of arms
and crack of firearms,
which forced quiet riot doth aim
to don the mantle of government control,
whereby foot soldiers
i.e. boots on the ground -
operate asia single blame
less force to be reckoned with,
cuz the supreme arbiter of power -
who thru a coup d'etat did claim
sear of power forces opposition
to sing condescending swan song
toward ruler de jure,
which includes a price tag i.e.
at least one vestal ****** dame
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 12:49 AM UTC
Life is a mirror:
one side of it
is crystal clear
like the blue sky
in the Summer.
The other side of it
is dark grey,
which the shadows are
hidden in the back,
like the Sun, behind clouds
in the Winter.
@jobiranyc (11/16/2017)
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 2:22 AM UTC
Poets are the watchers in the tower
Scribbling, watching, waiting, hour after hour
They watch the depravity of man
They see their sinful plans
They watch the planet breath
They mourn as it bleeds
They watch the changing of the seasons
Connect the dots, make it all rhyme with reason
They watch the winged things fly
Shot down, plummet from the sky
They watch the good and the bad play out
From the paper the poets scream out and shout
They write about beauty and about what makes one cower
For they have endless combinations of words, endless power
They can drain you of hope, or make you flower
They are the watchers in the tower
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 3:09 PM UTC
Poets are the watchers in the tower
Scribbling, watching, waiting, hour after hour
They watch the depravity of man
They see their sinful plans
They watch the plant breath
They mourn as it bleeds
They watch the changing of the seasons
Connect the dots, make it all rhyme with reason
They watch the winged things fly
Shot down, plummet from the sky
They watch the good and the bad play out
From the paper the poets scream out and shout
They write about beauty and about what makes one cower
For the have endless combinations of words, endless power
They can drain you of hope, or make you flower
They are the watchers in the tower
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 12:00 PM UTC
Trying to make me miserable
fails as it fails to make my
fellow poets feeling sorry for me;
Few other poets are splendid at that: they whine a bit
and you can see immediately
almost everybody swiftly offering some stupid silken handkerchiefs
and golden particles floating at the edges of every teardrop they spill for the aching poor poet. How strange!
It's like an unatempted deer hunt with the accompany
of the invisible fast running grey hound dog, barking aloud through the void of the woods. Noone hears! The heroes...
Sycamore seeds°
I am no poet. Noone feels with me;
I'm the impeccable warrior! Writing for the benefit of Humanness, Human~heartkindness
Scribbling on the high Sparkling ideals - on Humanity's behalf!
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 8:21 AM UTC
Random scribblings
Sometimes
Makes much more sense
Than
Well thought out,
Planned & refined writings.
Because,
Randomness is
What our nature is,
What occurs to us ...
What we normally are,
What we do by instinct,
and
How we react
.
..
...
naturally...
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 5:13 AM UTC
I can finally recall the exact moment I lost myself.
It all began when I started placing your opinion higher on the scale than what I believed of myself.
All this time I've been a deer caught in the headlights,
it's funny how you can grow used to pretty much anything.
Everything has changed now,
You no longer make me feel proud about myself, but ashamed.
I feel like my own self is starting to fade away into this new type of girls you're hitting on day by day.
You've changed your standards and so you changed me as well.
You replaced my vans and mess, with a girl in a pink dress.
And though you are the one, who left me behind,
the shock of my evolving has got you judging me all over.
Forgive me for I'm not the girl you put your faith on last summer,
a broken promise and a stare of disappointment is all thats left of us.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 1:52 AM UTC
there is no feeling equivalent to that of scribbling your thoughts down in a crowded public train.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC