#sentiment
i feel the sentiment
it tastes like the
sweetest poison
yet hits the deepest
pit of my heart.
sometimes you
need to take your
medicine.
Jan 30
Jan 30, 2026 at 3:03 PM UTC
I have seen that ME
Seeking for a trivial book
Whose sentiments mingled my soul
I have seen that ME
Wandering down the Quay Street
Where harmony was found in chaos
I have seen that ME
Falling in love with a lonely cloud
When the wind lies a paradise
I have seen that ME
Voyaging on waves of blue
Whom the young poet cried with
I have seen that ME
soaring as a kiwi bird
which died in eternity
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 2:34 AM UTC
3 dollar kalimba
from the thrift store
only eight notes
never any more
3 dollar kalimba
plays a little tune
got it as a gift
of plastic hewn
3 dollar kalimba
heart shaped acrylic
lets the light through
of nothing in specific
3 dollar kalimba
that doesn't reverberate
too small a structure
to support sound ornate
3 dollar kalimba
with some added stickers
one of a rainbow
the other a faded picture
3 dollar kalimba
the eighth note is flat
but its melodies continue
in despite of that fact
3 dollar kalimba
how i love you so
your metal teeth ring
from high to low
3 dollar kalimba
forget what time it is
when i hear your sound
don't care what your price is
Dec 26, 2024
Dec 26, 2024 at 12:27 PM UTC
daycare drop off
he sees me cross a sunbeam on the way out
rushes up to stop me
and gets me to crouch so he can give me a 'sunbeam hug’ (his words)
Apr 6, 2024
Apr 6, 2024 at 3:24 PM UTC
You are in heaven, when she loves you.
You are in hell, when she scorn.
Her eyes have the power to shrivel your soul down to an insignificant little raisin.
Her smile melts bodies into congealed mush.
Without her say so, I’m merely anonymous,
A vagabond, some *****
Trotting through the fields, outside of her heart,
Hoping to gain entry past the gates.
The scent of her, intoxicating,
Like laughing gas,
A jovial inebriant,
As tranquillizing as her wholesome chortle.
Who or what am I, by comparison,
Without her eyes, her skin,
The taste of her lips,
A sip of blackberry brandy.
Her legs, more perfect, refined than David,
Between them, the Holy Grail of contentment,
Where life begins, where it can end,
At her say so— her command.
******* crafted by the hands of God,
I marvel at the sight of such beauty,
In such a grotesque world,
That she owns with her movement as graceful as the wind.
She makes me quiver, like salt on a slug,
As her silky, slick locks flip over her shoulders,
Those shoulders, help me,
Forget Greek architecture.
How dangerous it can be,
To tread through the seas of her love,
Anticipating rogue waves,
This schooner musn’t capsize.
Dancing with her, as if the last two on Earth,
I sway her body, closely against to mine,
Her passion radiating against my desire,
Bound to create a combustion greater than the Big Bang.
And that Big Bang, where our everything meets,
Her breaths, short but sweet,
Her gaze pierces through my existence,
As I force confidence daring to look into her eyes,
While I aim to satisfy her every desire.
If I should be so bold, so foolish,
To take her for granted,
May my soul burn in Hell,
For all of everlasting.
I’m nothing without that woman,
Women, thank God for ‘em,
For there is no greater rendition of Nirvana,
Accessible to mankind.
Nov 23, 2023
Nov 23, 2023 at 9:50 PM UTC
Little One,
Oh Little One,
How sad you seemed to be.
You ****** and moaned your grievances,
Not knowing you were free.
The world seemed so big.
When you seemed small,
The problems that you’d seek,
Today I yarn to reminisce,
How much you’d hate to be me.
Little one,
What caused you such delusions,
What caused you so much pain?
Your life was like a fairytale,
No losses and no gain.
Come take a gander,
In my world,
See how you’d toss and turn.
Your thoughtlessness and gravity,
Would tumble, crash and burn.
Little one,
Oh little one,
The problems that you find,
Are darling little memories,
In a world as ****** up as mine.
Oct 7, 2023
Oct 7, 2023 at 2:37 AM UTC
Farewell Charlie Watts
Perfect manners and attire
Drumbeat still echoes
Bonnie Prince Charlie
Too ****** cold and wet said he
So sharpish legged it!
© Robert Porteus
Feb 13, 2022
Feb 13, 2022 at 7:55 AM UTC
I made a list of caveats
For the designs you constructed,
From thoughts in my mind
And for one, you know me too closely
It is too frightening
The way you find constellations
In broken skies
And propriety from my colouring
Outside the lines
Then, within my bones, too unstructured,
You found the sun in their moonlight complexion
And you confess your secrets
That these letters and conversations we’ve exchanged
Hang in a gallery in your head
Etched sentiments
And faded drawings of everything resolute
Oct 13, 2021
Oct 13, 2021 at 10:51 PM UTC
It is not a mere assortment but a testament to the sentiment we share,
A bundle of heartfelt glee I present to you,
An array of colors crossing symbolism itself,
A gesture reigning classical to say the least,
A bouquet of roses for you my dearest,
My sincerest regards.
Sep 14, 2021
Sep 14, 2021 at 3:47 PM UTC
once again i fell into the pit
as the darkness vibrantly hit
my consciousness as well as my wit
were taken as i was forced to submit
once again it swallowed me
chains on my wrist as I'll never be free
vision slowly becomes hazy
please let this not be my reality
once again i screamed so loud
no one heard me, not even the crowd
speaking silently with no sound
my eyes seek for the blue sky amidst the cloud
once again I'm in this pit
but these feelings i cannot admit
agony filled me as it seethe
once again the darkness bit
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 8:49 AM UTC
I bet the sounds inside my head were noisier than the sounds of cars that jammed in the middle of traffic in Surabaya.
Especially when it comes to rush hour.
I often caught myself were slowly dying.
And I'm not even sure who the hell I am.
But I'm always like this, isn't it?
Isn't it a tragedy?
For being someone who watches me with misery.
That's why I made this poetry.
But someone out there is despising this part of me.
I wrote this because my capability with words that I put and I spend to think are well composed than the words that I never been able to say out loud.
So please, honks by all means.
So I wouldn't hear the sound inside my head was talking about.
Feb 5, 2021
Feb 5, 2021 at 9:23 AM UTC
Rendering summer’s mid day
Looking back at autumn’s memories
A warm winter having winds of may
Yonder saddened by tears of enormities
It is a difficult and intertwined world
Little by little we became distant
We became obsess with wealth
Forgotten to what is more important
What will words could ever be
Thoughts, farthest words form probably
In the place rainbow born and dies
And where the end of this life lies
When do you think people die?
When the heart stops beating?
When the body is as cold as ice?
It’s when.. they’re forgotten
Apr 22, 2020
Apr 22, 2020 at 2:51 AM UTC
Painting the pictures I wanted to be in ~
Our life's lines are implied as parallels,
For they trace in the same direction
To our collective personnel's
profound destination:
As our life's lines are redrawn,
again and once again,
Our destiny's knotted into one,
A Triquatra till the end.
Know our lines stay parallel-
Though Infinite, they'll never meet
In their never joining spell
Their truths within decept.
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 10:28 PM UTC
last minutes of trust
in a poem made of dust
you made me hate me
feel the real injection daily
everything seems to poke
you turned into a joke
everything seems to shine
twinkle and rhyme
feel the real injection
this verse is for my protection
this verse is killing you: action!
lamps out of broken teeth
brother breaks his brother's knee
brother stabs his brother's stomach
feel the real injection
everything is for protection
turning choirboys into warriors
brother against brother
everything is an attraction
brother smashes brother's face in
brother against brother face it:
brother against brother
Mar 6, 2020
Mar 6, 2020 at 3:52 PM UTC
the rivers of shades
provide water for the forgotten
ones
who have been isolated
from all living in order to
dance
you'll find their silhouettes
behind curtains, in flickering, a
chance
for the living to look closer
in ice-packed letters forever
can't
you give it all back to me?
i need me my caring, my huggings
don't
stay away from me i wouldn't cope
i would grab a thick rope but ya know i
won't
everything counts no detachments
attachment: the rivers of shades approaching
us
we can't get away from them they
are here now and they will stay
more
depictions of endless loopholes
children adults and groups
into rivers of shades:
the last curtain
the last candle
the last silhouette
"we can't get away from them"
you say looking at me but "no sweat
we'll be good baby" i'm echoing as we
become a combination of wolf & lioness
from one unit into one fluid
liquid
last echoes voices and shades
but the rivers remain
but the rivers remain
Mar 5, 2020
Mar 5, 2020 at 9:24 PM UTC
A crushed Shah Jahan said:
When you behold the memorial,
a sight so masterly, yet sorrowful;
you will inevitably admit
an aching little bisecting wish
that adorns your yearning lips....
parched,
barren,
effete......
And from the world's lid,
the luminaries too
would sob and drip.
#
He could well have been talking
about my beloved's words ;
......so utterly breathtaking
that a sigh poignantly quivers
in my dithering being.
Her words meander.
It is no wonder:
for all of us saunter
in thought and speech
one time or the other.
At times her words are poised and easy.....,
wonderfully jolly, sensationally starry:
They shimmer like the four minarets (1)
on the full moon night;
....brilliant......resplendent.
Then they taper from the dome
and stop halfway between the tomb
and the solemn reflecting pool:
They are calmer, sober,
and you know,
a little factual;
...what they call discriminating
intellectual, rational......
Soon the words leave charbagh (2)
and hit the red sandstone walls (3)
crenellated with flawless wisdom;
spotlessly beautiful
like the lifeless marble
that proudly commemorates
Mr. Shah Jahan's love
in grim, cold blooded grace.
We talk about
riders and scruples,
kith and kin,
restraints and constraints,
fidelity and modesty.......
....and I can not help
but to sadly agree
to the placid logic
in our impeccable scripts.
#
Logic is a wonderful remedy
for the radical and foolhardy
but for every cure,
there is a spin-off.
Deep somewhere,
a delicate,
two-cent sentiment
collapses into atrophy
and.......silently
another part of me
becomes a
meek monument
of disposable history.
----------
(1) The four minarets of the Taj Mahal
(2) The garden that starts from the end of the main gateway and ends near the squared base of the mausoleum is an integral part of the Taj Mahal structure.
(3) The building material used is brick-in-lime mortar veneered with red sandstone and marble and inlay work of precious/semi precious stones. The mosque and the guest house in the Taj Mahal complex are built of red sandstone in contrast to the marble tomb in the center.
Nov 11, 2019
Nov 11, 2019 at 10:27 PM UTC
Eid Al Adha;
Eid of Sacrifices
and the celebratory end of Hajj.
Purity abides around their heart
as souls are blessed with the
sown seeds of joy.
Allah hu Akbar;
takbir echoes
as devotees congregate in
every mosque nearby.
They wear embellished clothes,
extending their hearts to one another
and capturing the ecstasy
in every single encounter.
Sentiments are reciprocated,
and gratitude is manifested
on such an occasion
as we recall the origins of the
reason we sacrifice;
and that is to follow the order of Allah,
as Prophet Ibrahim did.
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 12:03 PM UTC
Writing out poetry, line upon line,
As the Summer rain, silently, dripped down the window,
I solemnly scribed every rhyme upon rhyme,
Forging sentiment slowly distilled from the page.
Whimsical musings yet tinted the scenery -
Colourful, fancy and folly imbued –
As the wondrous flashes of visual tapestry
Filled me with passionate fervour renewed.
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 7:58 AM UTC
Where there is a will there's a way,
That's what I always say,
Hope is a four letter word,
For a story that has never been told,
Time is of the essence,
Taken forgranted yet shines its fluoresence,
Digital fairytales seem the norm,
Forgotten are memories so free and warm,
Busy bee is searching for connection,
Smelling the roses, she expresses affection,
Mourning the sight of passers by,
Lonely stressed and ever so shy,
Bewildered and in a daze,
These people are lost in a maze,
A zenful flower is not the ideal,
For a world that is told how to feel,
Hope is a four letter word,
That whispers "where there's a will there is a way"
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 12:34 PM UTC
If the world was a stage and I was a play-write:
The wind: It was a musician, the muse of a heartbeat and whistling was its charm.
The leaves: The companions of the wind, they were the strings of the guitar. Dancing towards oblivion.
The flowers: They were the painters. A vision was their purpose. They played with colours and mystery.
The sun: It was the stage light, as it glowed upon the sounds of music in the air, the surface of the leaves, and gave life to all the trees.
The stars: They were the show stoppers, dancing in the sky. Revelling in the attention from the eyes of the observer.
The moon: The shy wonder of the night, sometimes barely visible. As it timidly sets the stage for another afternoon.
And lastly,
You: With a thousand stories to tell you’re in thousands of places at once. Looking for mountains to climb and things to design. You’re curious and too quick, never on the stage but merely an observer, but secretly you’re the whole show.
There are a thousand stories to tell,
So I’ll tell you a secret to this mysterious show
The script is blank, the pages clear white
And every minute new words appear
For I am merely following sentimental alliances
Just an observer watching as the future becomes clear.
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 4:10 PM UTC