"abandons" poems
For all the earth in the world,
For the varied chunks,
shapes and shades
of brown, keep an eye out!
There, somewhere in the dirt,
Next to the writhing worm,
Gasping at pockets of sunlight,
Green life ruminates, and
pushes, pushes up,
through the soil,
intrepid, unlikely.
It abandons its old husk house,
what little safety it knew,
and, daring to dream,
thrusts itself into existence,
and feels the day's cooling kiss,
a multi cellular masterpiece,
when yesterday, there was only
dirt.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
Even fate picks it's favorites,
I'm sure of this as I watch the sunset. My porch reveals to much.
The homeless hide their homes in the corners,
Sleeping in the shadows.
The heat leaving them sun burned and drunken.
Can you spare some change?
I've got 5 mouths to feed...
But I always can find some,
Even when they admit it's for beer.
I wonder each time if hope abandons them all.
I know that people can give up on the ones they love,
I know that life can be painful.
But I lay awake at night,
knowing that could be any one of us. Just across the street,
Lays a man in the bushes,
Sleeping off a drunken state,
Not knowing if he'll eat tomorrow.
And me,
I've got 5 mouths to feed.
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
Time: a purpose
built for frolic and fancy;
an infinite seduction
so exquisite
that it’s yet to be considered to exist;
a burden so nameless
that life abandons it
almost upon inception.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 7:17 PM UTC
There is a ladder that I climb
And climb I shall through all of time
The wood is rough and splintery
And so the task is hard, you see
And as I climb my arms grow weak
My bones, like the rungs, bend and creak
Sometimes resolve abandons me
My head goes down and I can't see
When climbing in this careless way
I lose my hold and slip away
So, quickly I fall ten feet down
I tell myself to not look down
I grab hold of the rung again
Then meditate and rest my chin
The rung has now a coat of slime
It feels I'll slip another time
I push the thought out of my head
For if I fall, then I'll be dead
I wipe away the dreadful slime
And climb again, step at a time
And though the top I'll never see,
I keep my gaze ahead of me.
"Why do you climb", a man once asked
"...If you cannot complete the task?"
"There are two worlds", I said to him
"...And one of them is filled with sin
Within that world, you'll find no light
Your soul is bound by fear and spite
In the other, you can see
Your heart's made whole and you are free
The line between these worlds is broad
That is the world on which we trod
But even here amidst our strife
You'll find there are two sides of life
We start between and go one way
By choices we make every day
This road we take is gradual
We slowly fall as blinded fools
Unless we climb the other way
And so please hear these things I say
As I climb, the light gets brighter
And the load on me becomes much lighter
The truth's revealed and my heart made full
As I climb away from sin's dark rule
So, where's this ladder that I climb?
He's here; take hold. He's yours and mine"
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 4:05 AM UTC
Here’s what a divorce does:
Divorce
Takes a remnant of a family from the house they moved into 10 years before
when their family numbered 6
then added a 7th
Divorce
Takes them from the house where a new daughter came home
a new Marine came home
the first daughter-in-law came home
the first grandchild came home
the newest daughter to be came home
where we battled illness and survived
where we laughed till we cried.
Divorce
Takes them from the house where friends have gathered to celebrate
birthdays
bonfires
a prom
a dinner dance
a wedding.
Divorce
takes one away
puts two in limbo
makes three leave
four-legged family members
who can’t live
where they are going.
Divorce
shatters family
abandons dreams
mutilates memories
condemns the future.
Divorce
only helps the one who wanted it.
4/13/2012
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC
The pierced ego sees
through an opaque lens;
a vestige of hope,
humor and
intellectual solidarity.
Effigies of forgotten ethos,
the culmination of a
fated dream;
unrequited ardor, abandons
identity to an irreducible
fervor,
subtext of tension,
enduring ****** privation;
etude of a paramour
ending torture,
tasting mystical polarity.
The wounded heart
once intruded,
bleeds effusive;
the ornament of humility.
Flattened collateral
damage,
primal search,
proves illusive;
portals of hurt, slivers
of pride,
assembled fragments of
thereness
absorb the loss
of my English muse.
Poetry and devotion
punctuated murmurs
of piety,
depth perception
virtue unfound;
expectation - access
to suffering;
disinterested love
present,
desultory carnage
of rescission,
absurdity personified;
euphemism
of adieu,
the sound of no sound.
The discarded image
finds no favor,
the salt lost it's savor
unquenched thirst;
desire of
diminished purview,
the saporus stream
deferred;
vision eclipsed;
saturated self
hidden in the text.
Poverty asks the
question,
absence summons
ethereal substance
merged into
the immanent frame;
integrating,
in solitude signifying,
mediating - logos
contested
the humiliation of
the word.
Lyrical enigma,
where did I go?
provisional
personality
scorned,
renouncing nostrums
of the prosaic,
surrenders to the
the realm interior
sovereignty
assumed in
provenience,
native
horizon of the next.
©2008 & 2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 3, 2011
Sep 3, 2011 at 6:11 PM UTC
have you left yet?
are you gone?
i miss you.
i love you, koala.
you're free.
wrap your knuckles around the steering wheel & don't look back.
think of me as you drive into a west texas sunset.
shout my name as the thin mountain air puts pressure on your lungs.
stop at traffic lights & expect to be enlightened.
look at the clouds every day. i mean really look.
stop & cry by yourself on the side of the road somewhere.
stare into the fantastic sun & don't blink first.
return light to the world like a universal mirror.
take a bath in a hot mountain spring & learn to breathe underwater.
fly in vulture circles over the deadness of your past.
never stop writing & painting & singing & reading.
turn around & surrender your heart to the void.
take the list you wrote of the things you learned here & burn it for fuel.
cut up that credit card & use a sharp piece as a guitar pick.
laugh at your warped reflection in a rippling pond's surface.
let light dance around you in a lush green valley.
look at life through a thrift store camera lens.
abandon the road before the road abandons you.
go chase a rabbit up a mountain in tennessee.
go nowhere & i'll meet you there someday.
go find your friends on couches & balconies.
talk to strangers every chance you get.
pull them back from the ledges they're on.
hug a quarter million people.
by the time you hit kansas i hope you love it.
by the time you hit asheville i hope you love yourself.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 6:58 AM UTC
this city breathes.
she dances on the doorstep,
she whispers in your ear,
this city breathes.
this city is her own oyster of fortune, misfortune.
this city stops,
she abandons the light,
she lies with the night,
this city sleeps.
she is a secret that is not yours to keep,
she is a violet bruise of ecstasy,
she is a smiling face of melancholy.
this city breathes.
don't get too close, please
~T.T
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
As a maze is to the eye, I am to all. Winding and wearing, my walls impossibly tall. Here, turns are the
Words
and dead ends the Actions. Spirals are the days, and red herrings, my Attractions. With each
Who dare
Enter,
Two Paths
They All
Choose.
One abandons
All Hope
The Other,
Nothing
To Lose.
But none have made the journey,
none to the
core.
For all who enter,
leave and say
"no more! no more!"
Here I have planted this garden that others accuse a maze.
A beautiful creation covered by haze. But all that is seen is monstrous,
a trick of the daze.
Months and years at the center have been all of my stays.
Here I will watch and wait for the One who makes it, and is amazed.
By all I have built, all I have dreamed and every aspiration and desperation has seemed
to build this
wonderful,
wandering
place.
You who hear my case,
I invite you to take that space.
Be the One who makes it, leave all others to be commonplace.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 12:37 PM UTC
While the bud butterflies melt their wings
Within the light red poppy chain,
The pink-gray clouded, sad sunset rings.
In this lost sky, the sun's light vein
Is almost thrown in a ****** rain.
The leaving sun abandons the sky
For the moon, and in the cricket crawl
The leaves of the oaks whisper 'good bye',
While the coming night has a dark shawl.
She looks at the stars with a black eye.
The sun and the stars find synergy,
In the regolith on the moon,
But with helium fusing energy,
This moon looks like a big balloon,
Or like a fragile, silky cocoon.
And like those thoughts enveloped in words,
Or like angels carrying their pure love,
Are the Feathers of the Holy Birds
In that rain dropping the divine globes
On the strong souls needing love rewards.
Any epistemological sphere
Is pouring up to the Holy Book,
Or is falling down to disappear.
The reverse arch gets a killer look.
Tries to provide fragrance of fear.
The fluid, wicked waves draining in sight
On Earth to meet at infinity
Are like the dark rays in the pure light.
Light rays are arches of Trinity,
While dressed in wind seems to be the night.
Stars are candles and night lights them all,
The colors withdraw in the last light.
In the black darkness, they look so small.
The dream seeds germinate for a fight,
Becoming real while breaking their wall.
© copyright Marieta Maglas
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
"There in the midst of it so alive and alone
Words support like bone..." Peter Gabriel's "Mercy Street"
Orion abandons the sky
dropping his club
casting his belt toward the horizon
Just once, for a moment, he glanced away
from exalted ****
his vanquished prey
He’d seen the picture—
A girl of sixteen
lying awake—muses in her head
eyes shut, arms thrown back
behind pillow
Tee shirt stretch across lean chest
Hips mingle with blankets
She is scattered there
among the minions of her hair
behind her mouth of unkissed words
_______________
McCaffery's Coffee is open late
He’s seen the picture
Muses in his head
His arm almost around her
Hers on his shoulder
Small—feather-light fingers
lift the hair of his neck
Reaching around her
his hand searches and slides
along her silk-draped hind
...and the view he has is amazing!
_____________
Music— and waves pounding and lapping
at the life he fears....
Little boat stranded in gray mists
till a thousand tiny birds alight
in a peppering and fluttering
stir of time
in greens of brine
as the sun pries through….
______________
McCaffery’s is ready to close
but the owner, knowing
douses the overheads and turns away
leaving candlelight to crouch and duck
and blink in circles
How long and free we
are allowed to gaze....
so full of wind and riffling water
Stars above and stars below
blooming on the floral silk of night
Vespered lilacs exhale
Votives of warmth
beneath his hand
Silk sweating—
familial in their rocking
Distant lightning loosens eternity
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 9:26 PM UTC
God has pity on kindergarten children,
He pities school children -- less.
But adults he pities not at all.
He abandons them,
And sometimes they have to crawl on all fours
In the scorching sand
To reach the dressing station,
Streaming with blood.
But perhaps
He will have pity on those who love truly
And take care of them
And shade them
Like a tree over the sleeper on the public bench.
Perhaps even we will spend on them
Our last pennies of kindness
Inherited from mother,
So that their own happiness will protect us
Now and on other days.
2.6k
The feeling of your skin on my fingers,
Abandons all of my problems .
As I spell out the only one thing I want to say.
Rolling hills like rolling tides,
Represent time Passing faster than I'd like.
So I spell it once more,
Hoping that your Unconscious notes the seven letters.
Forever...
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
Stuck in the thick that drags me under
I struggle for breathes, grasping for the surface
The runner appears beyond the drowned
Do you see me?
A sense of familiarity blankets my surroundings
Yet it is shrouded with insecurity
The runner stops to peer into the abyss
Can you help me?
I reach to where the moon and stars used to be
Your conflicted face reduces to fear
Only hesitating before fleeing
Where are you going?
I sink deeper than before
As the runner abandons the gloom
A stream of tears left next to your footsteps
Why are you crying?
Now I am consumed
Now I am alone
And now I am tired
Why did you leave?
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 9:45 PM UTC
When suddenly, at midnight, you hear
an invisible procession going by
with exquisite music, voices,
don't mourn your luck that's failing now,
work gone wrong, your plans
all proving deceptive -- don't mourn them uselessly.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage,
say goodbye to her, the Alexandria that is leaving.
Above all, don't fool yourself, don't say
it was a dream, your ears deceived you:
don't degrade yourself with empty hopes like these.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage,
as is right for you who were given this kind of city,
go firmly to the window
And listen with deep emotion, but not
with whining, the pleas of a coward;
listen -- your final delectation -- to the voices,
to the exquisite music of that strange procession,
and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.
2.5k
Never call someone your home
never compare someone to a home.
because once the person
you used to call home abandons'
you, you'll be homeless
and be left feeling homesick.
Never call someone your home.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 1:44 AM UTC
Good morning, class! I am your substitute teacher, and I will be teaching you your ABC’s today. Let’s not waste time and just dive right in!
A is for Anxiety. That’s that feeling you get when you go to recess and see the bullies waiting for you on the playground.
B is for ******* If you don’t know what that means, that’s when your daddy abandons you before he even gave you a chance.
C is for Cranky. That’s what I feel right now because I had to get up early today to come in here to teach you brats your alphabet, and I’m getting paid **** for it.
D is for Dog. Mine died, and if you have one, yours will eventually die too. That’s another D word for ya.
E is for Empty. Empty hearts. Empty souls. Empty stares. Empty lives.
F is for Friends. Friends will **** all over you.
G is for Girlfriends. They’ll rip out your heart and stomp all over it.
H is for Hell. It’s the world we live in.
I is for Idiot. Which is what you are if you ask a question.
J is for ******* Which is another term for donkey – another D word.
K is for Knife.
L is for Love. Your parents will tell you they love you, but they don’t mean it.
M is for Money. If you want to make a lot of it when you grow up, deal drugs.
N is for Neglect. That means when your parents ignore you cause they’re too busy with their pretentious jobs and their extramarital affairs. If you don’t know what that means, don’t worry. Time will teach you.
O is for Optimistic. Stay positive – just not HIV-positive.
P is for ********** Judging by the intelligence level of this class, that is a bright career opportunity for several of you.
Q is for Queasy. Which is what you feel when you are hungover.
R is for Respect. You don’t earn it. You take it.
S is for Secrets that no one will ever keep.
T is for Tranquilizer. I have one waiting for me for when I get home tonight.
U is for Ugly. That’s adolescence.
V is for… Only girls have them.
W is for Wood Chuck. How much wood could a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood?
X is for Xenophobic. That’s what you will all grow up to be because your mom taught you to never talk to strangers.
Y is for Yes. That's what you have to say to everyone to get anywhere in life.
Z is for Zoloft. I should probably up my dose.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
A glass cup sits on a table,
Five inches tall and smooth walls,
Plain, ordinary, transparent,
Water filled to the rim,
Glistening, clean, and pure.
A thirsty man sees the cup,
Gets excited and reaches out,
Be gentle, he says to himself,
But the water still spills,
It was filled to the the rim, you see.
A few drops fell onto the table,
But it's only a few,
Only a few drops slipped,
Only a few drops gone,
Only a few drops missed.
The man takes a gulp,
Quenching his thirst,
The water is no longer pure,
He takes another gulp,
The cup is no longer clean,
Another and another,
Until a sliver is left.
The man refills the cup,
With something he likes,
Slightly below the rim this time,
The liquid is no longer clear,
But the glass still transparent.
The man takes another gulp,
Another and a few sips,
Until there is two inches left,
He abandons the cup,
Unfinished.
A glass cup sits on a table,
Filled less than halfway,
Opaque and unclean,
It stands on the table,
Among clean water,
Spilled from before.
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 8:49 PM UTC
Embrace the dark.
Let the shadows consume you.
Slip slowly into the eternal sleep.
Embrace that which you cannot change.
Let him into your life when no others are there.
Greet the devil with kindness.
Embrace him when God abandons you.
Hold him like you'd hold a loved one.
He is all you need now.
Embrace the eternal sleep of death.
Embrace its peace and calm.
Embrace your tortured soul.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
The sea stretches tight on a slight, white horizon
unflurried by waves, by the clean, boneache moon.
The water rests awhile, passing slowly through the ribs of continents,
its deep, deep chest booming with the cries of extinct fish.
I am not dead, though the salt has lifted me out
and away, its sting green-silver like a safety razor edge.
It rubs away chromosomes, the earliest layers of skin
and remakes me pale and raw as a baby’s spleen.
The land abandons me. The last little fishing vessel
returns to its village, bearing upon its sun-slick floor
the heft of my cells, my tiny stillborn children.
I know I’ll never be a mother;
the salinity of my blood has risen steadily
these past million years;
it itches against my arteries
and calcifies in the deeper pockets of my lungs.
I tower over grassroots, vivid as a corpuscle,
drinking from the local well and dreaming of lysis.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
~~~
~bye~
what right we mess with a better gone before?^
what right does it mess with our composure
one hundred and three years later?
~
“Such are the little memories of you”
these crafted words of flying feet bittersweet
knock a mother farther back upon her lowered flat heels,
recalling too, similar and same,
the resounding pattern of a gone child’s pitter-patter,
of treading, exploring long hallways and secret rooms
with comfortable, yet reckless flying abandon until,
a fateful reckoning abandons us both
this poem elocutes my charges against your Taker,
and all the little prayers of the angels sent to minister,
give no comfort like the giant memory of your
running little feet,
coming and going and gone
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 6:05 PM UTC
I am not yet defiled; O hear me.
Let not the crazed hornets or serpents or ophidian or the
buzzard bee come near me.
I am not yet defiled; console me.
I fear that the snake charmer may with rhythmic body clocks clock me,
with predatory hissing paralyze me, with authoritative power anger me,
on wicker constraints constrain me, in bamboo-patches pierce me.
I am not yet defiled; provide me
With beauty to free me, dressage to cover me, silence to come
to me, souls to save me, charmers and angels
in my wandering existence seeking fights to waver the war within me.
I am not yet defiled; forgive me
For the provocative glances in me, my presence when womanity holds me,
my mythological beauty by deities beyond me,
my head held high when they slay by means of my
crossbow, my addiction when they poison me.
I am not yet defiled; rehearse me
In the dreams and the prayers I must take when
art interrupts me, material disturbs me, splintered souls
gaze at me, smiles fade at me, the knifes edge
stains me and everlasting scars pain
me to shame and the shames taints
my skin and my heart abandons me.
I am not yet defiled; O hear me,
Let not Perseus who is warrior or who thinks he is King
or a rival to me.
I am not yet defiled; O fill me
With gasoline against those who would inhabit my
bones, would sink me into empty caverns,
would make me a prisoner locked, a monster with
blood dripping, a monster, and a passer of dis-ease
who would execute my self, would
flush me like ***** oozing and
***** and ooze and *****
like alcohol seeping in the
pores would drown me.
Let Poseidan not make me defiled and let him not **** me.
Otherwise **** me.
© Sia Jane
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
I
Originations of consciousness whir into a moan of torment.
A sudden bombshell of consternation;
her eyes burst wide.
Baby?
Sleep-laden, post-finals brain gravy:
No, can't be. Could be. Shouldn't be. Want to be? No, can't be.
Lurking beyond the reach of terror, realism slithers closer.
The hysteria deteriorates as deduction brings lucidity.
******* eggs.
They are abolished, and never heard from again.
II
Suitcase tetris, smothering each layer.
She moves without direction,
or a lazy child with ADD.
At long last, the shimmering sink full of death beckons...
Dissatisfaction erupts in a symphony of fragmented drinkware.
Her assumption lingers, cresting into prediction.
Her expectations are met.
A thorn in her paw.
The dishwater weeps.
III
Her rage is tangible, hissing in her ears,
bashing her skull when it is ignored,
clawing at her spine.
She abandons the silverware.
They never did anything for her.
The loathsome bag swings threateningly.
She ignores it, giving it a silent challenge.
Fate strings before her eyes, yanked taut and thrumming
with inevitability.
Crimson satin sheets tangle lovingly from the rift of tender peel.
Cake-batter-in-a-mixing-bowl splatter,
the dissimilitude of children's laughter.
Wobbling, fawn-like under the density of rage gnawing at her lips,
she retreats, acknowledging her submission.
She begins as a tree, but rapidly degenerates
into grotesque dysmorphic spasms on the cheap veneer.
Hysteria threatens to burst forth, frothing, but no.
This is not my day.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 4:47 AM UTC