#soliloquy
Share, are we your decency?
Share a little more, history
Share is ours, to spite, leniency
Share, it had to be you, wisdom's epistolary
Prevent or protect
Salacious, we know bitter try's
Of a sincerity, determined to collect
Fright's, in the name of when beauty cry's
Pardon me, the future silence
Somehow, asking a savior's heart, how
Special is a tribute, on the chin...
Secret's with a many, misery in a tow
Can't mean the better?
Sordid advances...
Makes the call, to finish the letter
Of a wish, then with avarice's chances
Reposed, the had guilt
Sense seemly, a willful and sour sake
Has our opinion, all in a row to be felt
With love before life's content, accepting a mind is one to make...
Oct 3, 2024
Oct 3, 2024 at 4:18 PM UTC
Little more
Then a callous effort...?
True to my spirit; a chance, a form
To notions care to find worth
Little back
Where almost sake also...
For a simple right, to the instinct we lack
A habit of merit in the kind, is a shared owe
Little mere
So found a new silence, to be the kind
Suppose and revealing a who to we're...
The pious beginnings of a stead to mind?
Little bite
To eat the days needs, without the pout of deeds
Taking a time away from us, let us see the might...?
That means the most, for must to begin a history that leads
Little mean
Saving grace from a strength's limit, toil in logic
Does a liberty know us for a savior's intuition to seem
The better of could, the nary of faring the rise of life be intrinsic?
Little blue
Waiting on the lucre, the dote of simplicity to favor yet
The sameness of prowess, to ask in suggestion a curious look
Is moments at own, an atone or a thought, of the loan we met?
Feb 26, 2024
Feb 26, 2024 at 1:48 AM UTC
Just the peace, the least
Of a lesson in gray seem...
Care for any of a mere in is...?
The pasts day come by a heart to win...
Places we played, we fated with a new passion
To call upon what we knew, for a deeds many
In held today, the common with the lasting
Of a smiling friend, that has the voice to lend any...
Heard in a clash with silence's blessing
Today is a merit in keeping style
Through a moment alone, we saw the hour we are giving
Have the affect of heeding the same, still powers, all the while...
Mercy in a roll of thunder...
Time with a being sit of earn, to know a charity to burn...
Sacrifice and learning, dealt the blow of wonder...
Sameness of a presence of mind, with shyness to churn...
Final guarantee of a simple care, in the hands of life's appetite?
Here to say, and know a seldom in the name of comparison
A snapped finger has its way of settling an argument, a fight
With itself, and the world of other's, without mercy on the run...
Cares of vice, within the range of your ears...
Patience in kind, if strength has a say...
Lucid forces to intone, a way amid pain and fears...
And wholly fated shame, we almost missed for nix, that just learned how to pray...
Aug 19, 2023
Aug 19, 2023 at 5:05 PM UTC
Stop! PLEASE stop saying "don't."
"Don't give up."
"Don't be afraid to ask for help."
"Don't be sad."
"Don't keep it bottled up inside."
I could go on and on.
"Don't be scared."
God, I hate that one the most.
Like, why the hell shouldn't I be scared?
Look at everything that's happening.
Look, I know you mean well,
But when you say that word,
It feels like you're trying to control me.
And I already feel
So
Out
Of
Control.
I know you want to help.
And it means a lot to know you'll be there if I need help.
But I need to do this on my own.
Jul 22, 2020
Jul 22, 2020 at 9:01 PM UTC
read his stuff
https://hellopoetry.com/r-2/
n.b. nowadays I write here only in praise of others,
as the rewards are far greater than any of the meager
stuff I got laying around.
a poem for his summer soul-stice
<>
self-confessed to the priest, we us, both, meeting
in the confess-urinal, wee needy for a solid projectile
purging, me, cause, I’m a plagiarist of inspiration
**** it every time a ce r tain poet writes,
its a sock to my multi faceted square sided~head,
discoloring my eye shadow, my maskara crazy running,
frustration, admiration, mortar and pestle pounded
into a white powder of unadulterated adultery with a
frothy topping of a jealousy muse laughing face, at me,
cappuccino made from bitter herbs and pink sea salt.
in eight lines the man accomplishes
what would take me eight, eight full
poems, even then, not coming close
still failing to retake his brevity skills,
his summer solstice way of seeing,
by keeping the dark away,
by inviting the dark in,
making it under duress,
spill the beans of his life’s
ironies, some hellish,
some not, all well kept,
in Georgia granite stoney face.
the softest steeling of words that irritates
me into a fine frenzy... what’s the use,
point made, in how he undresses
the eyes
into just outright gasping,
and that is the only
permissible comment emoji.
______________________
r
Her verse
I need to taste the salt
of her soliloquy
be drunk on the sobriety
of her verse
those words she writes
behind my eyelids
makes me want
to crawl inside her skin
and listen to her heartbeat.
Jun 23, 2020
Jun 23, 2020 at 8:22 AM UTC
Would you agree with witty words from a dictionary?
And do those confusions all depend on mind play?
Who could help us more correctly:
Definition or detonation?
Lust or Love?
Who will promise to find the differences?
When we dig ourselves into dictionaries
or thesauruses
Defining our commonality,
Refining our uniqueness, However
the death is the dictionary of unknown words,
Cant’t anyone edit and omit it, to none,
It’s soliloquy.
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 5:55 AM UTC
I hear the raindrops tumbling, in the clouds, on the breeze.
The moon's light peeks through the veiled night sky.
The first drops Kiss me so gently, but I know a storm is on her way
The crickets chirp mimic the sound of her shoes.
How it tiptoes into my space, the rustling leaves sway like a dress.
It pulls back almost as if aware of my observational gaze.
Then there's movement, the flow irresistible.
If her fringes invoke such beauty one could only imagine her eyes.
What kinda peace could a king find in the face of such unbridled grace.
Her pours allow the dark to share in the bright, bearing pits of light above most.
Her torrents clear the sediment of comfort and sweep the drought away,
Her showers clear the spirits of her subjects and boon us bounty,
Her voice crisp as lightning and clear as thunder shake the heavens when heard.
She can blitz the land or coast on the air
Raising up our tears only to let hers fall
So I know Ororos love touches us all
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 11:48 PM UTC
Death is the dictionary of unknown words,
Written on the pages of the unbound book
Of earth and sea ~~ to no one, its soliloquy.
Feb 29, 2020
Feb 29, 2020 at 3:48 PM UTC
Her gaze got the best of me
Burning bright and mahogany
Conversation-soliloquy
I framed my fervor in filigree
hollow gestures, a pantomime
She just wanted to pass the time
Nearly twenty, too juvenile
To be anything more than tactile
A crowded room, a compact tableau
I still look for her where I go
A stubborn habit, it’s hard to quell
Maybe too callous, but I meant well
A little less than fortuitous
Resolution eluded us
Two strings, discordant synchronies
My pride, my wounded dignity
Sep 6, 2019
Sep 6, 2019 at 7:01 PM UTC
I was born a gentle soul
Reformed with an old jovial wisdom
Which was corrupted by the first attack
Stripped of my candor and left to meander
Until a visceral skin latched to my back
I watched my rivet dreams vicariously
All the while from side scenes
Spending time refining the premise
The fine hemmed edges
Were sharp yet crude
When tuned to this percentage
The very root of metamorphosis
Became an epitome of what I am
While walking a tight rope
Of Hope's chokehold
Invoking me to stand
Forcing me to look down
With nowhere to land
Echoes of mediocrity only fuel my drive
Staving fires from mere survival
Into the desire to thrive
While every injustice withers and dies
I bide my time refining my form
While the perfect storm subsides
The strengths I hide
Preside just beneath the surface
A revival impulse is convulsive therapy
Leaving me resolute within my purpose
Uncouth is the pretense
To claim and obtruding suspense
Whilst I am colluding and fearful
Whether I reminisce or remain pensive
The time has come to be cheerful
The only power over me
Is what I allow to reside
And keep me preventive
So if I choose to stay inside
It's because I'm designing
The next in line incentive
After I've repented
The only indefatigable witness
To my truth is me and God
And at times I ask myself
Will I know the blister's burden
Or fabricate a facade?
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 11:46 PM UTC
To My Dear
Once more
I speak from no blind
Without arms
Without an edge
I wish all the while
The well was face to phase
You were once in the hunt
Yet it wasn't your scent I was after
It was your fallen words
Feelings
Like leaves that still a windy day
I remember that night
You hosted and hoisted my delusions
Pried my pride
With your rules and my rues
Shall a man be so shell shocked
At you
At the chill in the air
The wave of a pointed hand
The weave of lost tapestry
Unfinished
I often think back
At my metamorphosis
I was once told
Your dialogue
My dying on a log
Like tomorrows frog
To take upon a pond
And to jump into it
Logan Robertson
6/24/2019
Jun 24, 2019
Jun 24, 2019 at 7:48 PM UTC
Haphazard soliloquy,
Uninspired philosophy.
Hello Poetry.
Streams of senseless dreams,
And many more to follow.
Swallow'd by a sense of disparagement,
Characterized by the cries in my head.
Survival of the fittest synapses.
That hold myselfs together.
I hold nary a candleless flame,
With a mind to set my minds ablaze,
with my haphazard soliloquy,
my uninspired philosophy.
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 6:43 PM UTC
[Enter Marco, a young Milanese courtier.]
_It is he, is it not, whose honeyed barbs drip with sweet condescension, and whose kisses taint fair Bianca’s lips with similar speech? Behold, how he frames her vision to reflect his own and directs her preferences accordingly.
Fie, I have been April’s fool in believing Antonio my ally. His encouragement was as sweetmeats to a greedy child; but I have chipped a tooth on that candy-coated morsel and found its centre to be flavoured with deceit.
My cousin Bianca, whose name speaks directly to her nature, whose light once made shadows dance for joy; how extinguished she appears now. For as Antonio sparkles and splutters at her side, her brilliance flickers and fades.
Lo, how he has seeded his untruths within her honest heart. His lies smuggled like contraband, his blandishments the articles of his trade. God’s wounds! Such a purveyor of frippery and falsehood I have never met the equal of.
It is high time to confront this sneak thief in his lurking-hole and to uncloak his creeping connivance. I shall bottle my rival’s words and choose carefully the occasion for their uncorking; then pour for the crowd a rich liquor of ripe requital._
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 3:03 AM UTC
"Hello, little Little shoulder,
Haven't you seen a bucket of tears over the years?
Or was it?
Was it all just yesterday?"
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 8:38 PM UTC
I make myself so happy for no reason then stick my own back,
melancholic acts of treason, cut and measure my own lesions;
a line between pleasure and pleasing.
Not an pessimist nor a type of optimist but a realist who has mastered the execution of delusion and illusion.
Oxymoronic, Guess I'm just human;
Apparently the semblance of a god,
so making something from nothing isn't odd,
but I was given everything from a soul to my bones, hair to my toes;
Even to me who stays in this, sinew and ivory, home the reason is unknown but I know the weight of this form has its toll.
Ties made are rarly cut
more than the material is used,
bonds spirt imbued,
that which feeds hate and love.
My soul is the ocean my form the soil my mind the heavens so it's wisdom guides the toil.
What I put on to my body will seep to the sea, be it poisons or ointments that is to be seen, my wish for foresight seems obscene,
a noxious tint colors the scene
Ah this is but a show, how else can I explain the tragedies sown.
Who wrote this play?
No
Who paid its commission,
who conscripted us to suffer, no need for permission, no fine print played off as a simple omission?
Actors with no access to backstage
so it is do or die,
freedom in a cage,
the 4th wall blocks our eyes.
we get no reactions for our performance
no real feedback,
so we face our troupe like opponents, for no real reason.
Whilst some seem to flourish in a limelight others perish in darkness
some disappear through trap doors others fly with out harness.
seasoned thespians sometimes show us a way; how to perform our parts, from when they entered the play.
We are told there is a script, so I would say some have forgotten thier lines
but honestly the script has never passed these eyes,
all I know is that somes voices are drowned out by the soundtracks of anxiety and sadness;
The polyrhythms of fear and deafening sound of loneliness and madness
How could the director have this?
That's the purpose of a tragedy; make the watcher feel like they are living lavishly.
Wanted a reason why I find it so tragic.
In the words of Life 'There, you have it.'
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 5:57 PM UTC
a simple mind
a lover not cruel, yet unkind
a heart that beats in digits
in binary, to a love lost to time
what will I be
tomorrow, next moment
tell me, if you know
dear shadow, what am I
Ninté
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC
when did it become so painful
why did it get to a point of it being so hurtful?
the search to find a trusted one goes dead,
with the battle to have one to speak to,
emotions are trapped inside my head.
for the love we gave was yet so sweet,
but pure,
we still couldn't find the medication to cure.
then blood became sweeter than tears,
when we dragged our blades,we overcame each fear.
it flowed like the rivers,
so fast you feel the shivers.
the life in our veins
disappeared one by one-after each pain.
we became one and diverse,
when we sharpen each pen
and write a new verse.
a promise of security,
yet still take away my purity.
they told her to remain silent,
but how can she- when they still stay so violent
what did you expect love,
for them to treat us with respect?
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC
Picture a late afternoon
iridescent honey-yellow:
The glance she knows is seen
her cool hand placed in yours
your stripped shirt she rips,
her mouthing, “You’re it!”, hiding,
revealing herself stripped,
her finger tipped shh,
the brush of *******
surrender and assent.
She'll rise with a rustle
of desiccated pines,
needles will fall from her back,
she'll crumple a cigarette pack,
humming a vacant lament,
fingers caressing a fossil flea
embalmed in a dangling pendant.
Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
She cleaves onto her like a blunt razor-
stroked onto the mustache of a young man.
If only she was omniscient enough into resisting
the beguiling beauty within and beyond the tangible.
She constantly craves composition within thine peoples,
yet they make augured gore holes into her oesophagus.
Lesser does she know to refrain from it,
yet more she knows to stay.
More does she know their separated fortune,
lesser she chooses to be borne in hand.
Her notion is of higher standards,
yet still the lowest.
Scarf up thine eyes;
Plug up thou ears;
Tape up thine mouths;
Nevertheless chop off thy tongue
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC
i'm sorry
if i was
never able
to tell you
'fix yourself'
before
you totally
blocked me out
(or blocked me away?)
i was too busy
fixing the things
you broke----
like your own trust
oh
and i did trust you too
fyi
just saying
and our
well
"relationship"
if you could still
call it that
which by the way
you said
'ayokong mawala ka kuya'
*that will lose it's value
if i translate it to english
because for some
unknown(lol) reason
i still treaure those
words
(broken promises are just words right?)*
and umm right now
i'm sorry if
i couldn't reply
so quickly
that you're asking
for help----
i'm too busy writing this
which by the way
you should really read
when i publish it
probably when i've moved on
and umm
i can laugh about it already
but really, at the moment
all i can think about
is how
i wasn't even able
to tell you
'fix yourself'
before you broke me completely
because i was too busy
hurting
by myself
and apparently hurting in your behalf
since apparently you're 'too cool' to cry for me.
don't worry, after i write this
i'll probably
not say those two words again...
and i'll probably
fall head over heels for you again...
bah if i ever let you read this
that means i've either succeeded or quit?
but for now
i will try to fix you
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
"From every wound there is a scar, and every scar tells a story.
A story says, I survived." - Fr. Craig Scott
**... a tribute to a fallen brother ― R.I.P Les
... you were with me every step of the way to the top**
crampon cleats tickle her bedrock
far below the frosty powder dusting;
released from where her majestic peak
parted yester night’s obstinate clouds.
the alpine atmosphere
first chilled and then plummeted
as the starlight glistened;
illuminated ice crystals sparkle
like diamonds in the rough.
I am overwhelmed
by the peaceful aura
surrounding me.
watching how
"these"
footprints
mark the snow
...arousing
a lucid,
stirring awareness
of my existence;
...inciting
a conscious moment,
extraordinarily deepening
the realization of being.
harlon rivers ... May 24th, 2013
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
#***" Don't walk behind me; I may not lead.
Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow.
Just walk beside me and be my friend." - Albert Camus***
~ ~ ~
The telegraph road circled through the foothills,
rising towards the majestic mountain high
It’s been a long and twisting passage soon forgotten,
with the pavement abruptly dead ending,
just below the timberline
The dawning blue heavens look so much closer now
Just a step away from standing within reach
The birds uplifted on the telegraph wire rest atop me;
perched on the final material traces
disregarded by a digital world
My awakening soul is ascending beyond
the distant alpine meadow horizon
At the threshold of an untrodden wilderness wonderland,
climbing up above the meandering clouds
It’s exhilarating to look back and know
there is no turning back around;
I’ve never been higher
and can never get back down
What unknown frontier lies in wait before me now?
Just on the other side of the impossible dream?
The last step forward to find the next step beyond the bounds
There is not that much that changes,
when we just repeat the same old song
The atmosphere’s thin air leaves me gasping for wings
Like dust and ashes free to soar with the tempest breeze
If only time would sever these loathsome ties that bind
The ones that enchain the weight of this load unto me
While understanding the pace to a long journey’s rhythm
The only barometer you have to trust is in your heart
Adaptation is at the core of freedom's survival
But it feels almost like running away
I have felt the fear of falling with nothing left to lose
I’ve climbed as far as flesh and bones can reach
I've come this far always feeling subtly afraid
It has been a great distance back from the beginning;
knowing I must take these last steps alone.
Understanding it was love that brought me here
Naturally tugs at the spirit in my soul encouraging me on
I'll keep searching for the shining light of guidance
Listening for a voice that softly beckons me home...
written by: harlon rivers ... May 24th, 2013
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
Three thousand miles
navigating a storm
without drop of bad weather
Abacus odometer clicks
rotating forward ―
spinning with the
world go round
Circling back down
a long and winding road;
where unforgotten memories
were once searchingly explored,
untrodden pathways
coursing way up north of alone
on the low highway
Now an aging shepherd
wonders without a compass ;
a vagabond deprived of light
from an ever blurring north star
Heart empty as a gas tank
with a broke down gauge,
running on fumes of hope
for unpromised tomorrows
Running from loneliness
just to be on the run
The gales of silence bellow
No feelings I can see ― lay me low
Wild-eyed daydreams
of Full sails billow out
through the windshield,
only hearing the unspoken
moments sigh restlessly ―
The dull droning road rumble
re-sighs renunciatively,
a tired monotone voice
mimicking the loathe silent echo
wallowing in an
omnipresent hollow void
deriding unspoken chaos
between the passing centerlines ―
A frost heave pothole erupts,
with a leaf-spring rattling thud,
as a fleeting cloud of dust arises,
set adrift with the draught
headed off the east side
of the Alcan highway:
blown way outside the lines,
towards the Alberta prairie
White knuckled steering wheel
held sway, rolling down
a beckoning wilderness
reincarnation;
default reset button paused ―
stuck in a moment ― until another jaw rattling
frost-heave pothole in the highway,
jars it free
Leaving it all behind
like a sigh breathed
in a silence a heart has outgrown;
just a fleeting cloud of dissipating dust,..
a paling whisper
the past seems to send forth
like a fading last breath
Letting it all unfold to become what it is
harlon rivers ... May 2018
... travelogue 2 of some
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
Every year is the same,
same people,
same places,
same time,
same faces.
They bring me their labeled tickets,
the same ugly tan-colored, black-inked tickets.
Bent and smudged as if it went through their wash.
No time for conversation,
not even small talk,
only the same old.... hello.
They sit, they smile, they leave.
They sit,
on that same old boring brown box,
"Feet placed where the red exes are please."
You think they'd already know that by now.
They smile,
tilting their head to the right,
their eyes looking directly at the lens,
looking as if they were hypnotized.
They leave,
the camera flashes bringing them back to realization,
they release their breath,
"Goodbye!" They say,
"Have a nice day!" They say.
Who I wanted to be is who I am not today,
who I wanted to be is not where society has placed me,
who I wanted to be is what society calls a joke,
who I wanted to be is free.
A photographer.
Not here working for life touch taking pictures of the same bland faces,
I imagined myself... flying,
Like a bird traveling around the world,
Capturing every moment I see,
Where the natural light glistens across the landscape,
where i can direct the poses of my subject.
But instead,
i'm stuck here taking pictures for life touch
of the same people,
at the same places,
of the same faces.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 12:17 PM UTC