Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Words
"admonishment" poems
~~~ for Matt ~~~ *"My suspect credibility upon the rockets of birds, the soft parts of people, the oceans’ inevitable, cyclical weeping,*  Who has time for poetry has more time than they deserve" Breaking Spring by Matt Hart ~~~ your words warp me, the woven texture of your composition, Matt, dumbfounding the sweeping, weeping, instant recognition in the soft parts' of Nat, where credibility long past being suspected, simply arrested for statutory dark room torrented questioning deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse You Jacob, wrestle with this angel witch curveball! 'tis better to give or receive this poetry admonishment? for who knows where the time goes, when the fix is in, the addiction itch, commands and commends, *feed the poetry ***** write or die* one fix, one poem, carousel leads to another, yet, with only time to live, pay the bills for renting the space you Earth occupy, no time for illegal compulsive word blending the interrogator demands deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse? *who is your supplier? who is your time stealer?* by the ocean, weeping, you plead innocence, just ill drivel, needy for expulsion, deserving of repulsion, swear repeatedly, never again, imbibe, scribe *but the ***** coos in my ear, reaching beneath the vulnerable soft tissued skin and cells: write or die I thieve your time, 'tis nothing you deserve, I am Poetry, just your mistress, better served* deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse ~~~ June 25, 2016 written by the ocean, weeping
0
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
nat-lipstadt
(deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse)...My Suspect Credibility
~~~ for Matt ~~~ *"My suspect credibility upon the rockets of birds, the soft parts of people, the oceans’ inevitable, cyclical weeping,*  Who has time for poetry has more time than they deserve" Breaking Spring by Matt Hart ~~~ your words warp me, the woven texture of your composition, Matt, dumbfounding the sweeping, weeping, instant recognition in the soft parts' of Nat, where credibility long past being suspected, simply arrested for statutory dark room torrented questioning deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse You Jacob, wrestle with this angel witch curveball! 'tis better to give or receive this poetry admonishment? for who knows where the time goes, when the fix is in, the addiction itch, commands and commends, *feed the poetry ***** write or die* one fix, one poem, carousel leads to another, yet, with only time to live, pay the bills for renting the space you Earth occupy, no time for illegal compulsive word blending the interrogator demands deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse? *who is your supplier? who is your time stealer?* by the ocean, weeping, you plead innocence, just ill drivel, needy for expulsion, deserving of repulsion, swear repeatedly, never again, imbibe, scribe *but the ***** coos in my ear, reaching beneath the vulnerable soft tissued skin and cells: write or die I thieve your time, 'tis nothing you deserve, I am Poetry, just your mistress, better served* deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse ~~~ June 25, 2016 written by the ocean, weeping
Continue reading...
62
He looked at me with luscious devious eyes so, I winked asked him did he want some action; his look was of a fatal attraction and his mind locked me in ******* his eyes denuded my flesh as he suckled my breast, I coiled in pleasured duress He licked his lips as I submitted to his lustful toying, moans acknowledge my attraction to his lascivious actions and he salivated ensnaring nakedness in roped interaction As his appetizing admonishment began; I wickedly grinned and to his chagrin; tightened my bonds, splayed cheeks coaxing me to seep as his tongue licked in calculated dips and I shuddered in satisfaction with each sip Wet lips began to quiver; each taunt delivered, hands slid behind back with another toy he attacked, eight inches long in & out, I began to sing a song as pleasure surged, wracking my body; begging for more each time its full measure dipped into my treasure I looked up as he turned me over dripping wet, I smiled, winked again with another wicked grin, fore, he had no idea what he'd gotten into; he tied up the wrong nymph, thought I was just a sweet kitten; had him smitten after gettin' a taste, as if, he'd lost his mitten playing with this sultry kitten
0
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 4:50 AM UTC
debra-a-baugh
Fatal Attraction
He looked at me with luscious devious eyes so, I winked asked him did he want some action; his look was of a fatal attraction and his mind locked me in ******* his eyes denuded my flesh as he suckled my breast, I coiled in pleasured duress He licked his lips as I submitted to his lustful toying, moans acknowledge my attraction to his lascivious actions and he salivated ensnaring nakedness in roped interaction As his appetizing admonishment began; I wickedly grinned and to his chagrin; tightened my bonds, splayed cheeks coaxing me to seep as his tongue licked in calculated dips and I shuddered in satisfaction with each sip Wet lips began to quiver; each taunt delivered, hands slid behind back with another toy he attacked, eight inches long in & out, I began to sing a song as pleasure surged, wracking my body; begging for more each time its full measure dipped into my treasure I looked up as he turned me over dripping wet, I smiled, winked again with another wicked grin, fore, he had no idea what he'd gotten into; he tied up the wrong nymph, thought I was just a sweet kitten; had him smitten after gettin' a taste, as if, he'd lost his mitten playing with this sultry kitten
Continue reading...
30
With guilt writ all over your face, Twiddling your fingers just like you would When as a little child You'd make some mistake, Shuffling your feet nervously Like you would when you'd fail a test Or get a note from school, You stood in front of me, My precious, my beautiful, Who I'd caught hidden under the quilt, Head buried beneath pillows, Crying muffled cries of pain. You finally made eye contact, I know You waited for my trademark eye roll For an admonishment, for a "See, I told you so!" But dear, before you declared me As your fiercest enemy, did you ever wonder That you, the girl- broken, shaken, yet defiant, Once lived inside of me? Love created you And for the following thirty seven weeks And twenty two Days you grew within me, Bit by bit, cell by cell, Each moment we spent together, Sealed our souls, We were best friends even before you were born. I'd be lost, forlorn all day at work When I'd leave you behind at home, You too would find contentment when finally You'd feed from your mother's ***** I've seen you crawl, Seen you stumble, Helped you on your feet when you'd fall, I've laughed when you've cackled, I've cried when you have shed a single tear, I'm a being conjoined to every emotion you feel, So, my Inaayat dear, Instead of crying behind closed doors, And saying "It's okay" without meeting my gaze, You should've walked up to me, Informed me about the time and place, And mother-daughter, we'd embark To bash up that ruthless villain Who broke your delicate heart.
0
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
ghazal-tansir
To the Daughter I Yearn For
With guilt writ all over your face, Twiddling your fingers just like you would When as a little child You'd make some mistake, Shuffling your feet nervously Like you would when you'd fail a test Or get a note from school, You stood in front of me, My precious, my beautiful, Who I'd caught hidden under the quilt, Head buried beneath pillows, Crying muffled cries of pain. You finally made eye contact, I know You waited for my trademark eye roll For an admonishment, for a "See, I told you so!" But dear, before you declared me As your fiercest enemy, did you ever wonder That you, the girl- broken, shaken, yet defiant, Once lived inside of me? Love created you And for the following thirty seven weeks And twenty two Days you grew within me, Bit by bit, cell by cell, Each moment we spent together, Sealed our souls, We were best friends even before you were born. I'd be lost, forlorn all day at work When I'd leave you behind at home, You too would find contentment when finally You'd feed from your mother's ***** I've seen you crawl, Seen you stumble, Helped you on your feet when you'd fall, I've laughed when you've cackled, I've cried when you have shed a single tear, I'm a being conjoined to every emotion you feel, So, my Inaayat dear, Instead of crying behind closed doors, And saying "It's okay" without meeting my gaze, You should've walked up to me, Informed me about the time and place, And mother-daughter, we'd embark To bash up that ruthless villain Who broke your delicate heart.
Continue reading...
47
Skipping ropes tied to lamp posts hopscotch was another for girls I'd try to work out the rules but dare not ask, nor yet even be seen to be showing interest sometimes I'd be invited to join in girls play I could hold the rope while others skipped but had not the grace or the agility to skip at all well myself there were role play games of families with dolls proudly displayed tenderly nursed and I would be offered the role of 'daddy' though I had no clue of how to do that having no father myself so I would be told to arrive home from work to sit in my chair to put on my slippers to smoke my pipe to hear tales of misbehaviour by the children and I would be amused but would be told firmly that I must be stern with them then when that was done to eat my tea and afterwards to sit watching the telly distracted from the game that continued around me or to go out to the pub and I thought that fathers must be the most boring of people The rough and tumble was not for me why would some boy think he could throw me down straddle me, pummeling overpower and hold me there trapped, despite my struggles I learned early that scratching, biting, flailing, kicking were not permitted nor were tears yet I shed them still and screamed and scratched and bit and flailed if I could not avail myself of natural defences generally expected of girls then why should my attacker receive no more than mild admonishment, if that while I'd be advised to "toughen up" and the goading carried on relentlessly "you run like a girl" "you throw like a girl" "you kick the ball like a girl" "you fight like a girl" as though doing those things like a girl were demeaning Cynthia Pauline Jones 30/10/13
0
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
thia-jones
Games
Skipping ropes tied to lamp posts hopscotch was another for girls I'd try to work out the rules but dare not ask, nor yet even be seen to be showing interest sometimes I'd be invited to join in girls play I could hold the rope while others skipped but had not the grace or the agility to skip at all well myself there were role play games of families with dolls proudly displayed tenderly nursed and I would be offered the role of 'daddy' though I had no clue of how to do that having no father myself so I would be told to arrive home from work to sit in my chair to put on my slippers to smoke my pipe to hear tales of misbehaviour by the children and I would be amused but would be told firmly that I must be stern with them then when that was done to eat my tea and afterwards to sit watching the telly distracted from the game that continued around me or to go out to the pub and I thought that fathers must be the most boring of people The rough and tumble was not for me why would some boy think he could throw me down straddle me, pummeling overpower and hold me there trapped, despite my struggles I learned early that scratching, biting, flailing, kicking were not permitted nor were tears yet I shed them still and screamed and scratched and bit and flailed if I could not avail myself of natural defences generally expected of girls then why should my attacker receive no more than mild admonishment, if that while I'd be advised to "toughen up" and the goading carried on relentlessly "you run like a girl" "you throw like a girl" "you kick the ball like a girl" "you fight like a girl" as though doing those things like a girl were demeaning Cynthia Pauline Jones 30/10/13
Continue reading...
72
The best thing about me is that I'm mute I can say whatever I like and no one seems to hear me I like being mute I don't feel the guilt of my words Because they go unnoticed The best thing about being mute Is that I can throw my voice around And I can scream my words of pain eloquently crafted into the night And I'm not deemed, "drama queen of the year," The best thing about being mute Is that I can I sing "Hurt" at Joan Sutherland volume And the only thing suspected Is that I'm widening my range Becoming well-rounded in my repertoire The best thing about being mute Is that when I'm approached by my comrade Four years my junior And am scolded for not taking care of what I was "supposed to" And now HE must bear the burden of my carelessness and selfish tendencies I can drop my vacuum and set down my washing Beseech him to not use those words against me again And am later chastised for usurping my lieutenant's role Out of personal, hormonal hurt No-one suspects The fact that I am scolded in this way Means that they don't hear And that's when I start to wonder When my throat is sore and my lungs ache If I'm not really mute at all And if they're just deaf The best thing about being mute Is that no one hears me at all No fingers of shame and eyes of admonishment are cast The best thing about being mute Is that I can look in the mirror and tell myself, "I'm strong" "I'm smart" "I'm generous" "I can do it" But the words mean nothing If there is no fog of breath Ghosted against the glass
0
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
samy-ounon
Mute
The best thing about me is that I'm mute I can say whatever I like and no one seems to hear me I like being mute I don't feel the guilt of my words Because they go unnoticed The best thing about being mute Is that I can throw my voice around And I can scream my words of pain eloquently crafted into the night And I'm not deemed, "drama queen of the year," The best thing about being mute Is that I can I sing "Hurt" at Joan Sutherland volume And the only thing suspected Is that I'm widening my range Becoming well-rounded in my repertoire The best thing about being mute Is that when I'm approached by my comrade Four years my junior And am scolded for not taking care of what I was "supposed to" And now HE must bear the burden of my carelessness and selfish tendencies I can drop my vacuum and set down my washing Beseech him to not use those words against me again And am later chastised for usurping my lieutenant's role Out of personal, hormonal hurt No-one suspects The fact that I am scolded in this way Means that they don't hear And that's when I start to wonder When my throat is sore and my lungs ache If I'm not really mute at all And if they're just deaf The best thing about being mute Is that no one hears me at all No fingers of shame and eyes of admonishment are cast The best thing about being mute Is that I can look in the mirror and tell myself, "I'm strong" "I'm smart" "I'm generous" "I can do it" But the words mean nothing If there is no fog of breath Ghosted against the glass
Continue reading...
42
Puffing profoundly on an old bone pipe.sat the old woman on rickety stool. A white tendril seeking altitude from schorching embers. A wafting spirit casting errant admonishment. Dusty footpath of a million footfalls all on missions of redemption lovelorn weeping allotments of anguish,pain and hope.FULLSTOP. At sunbeaten,rainbleached risers three in number. Splitpea fragrance wafting to greet. Maybe collards too. "What can I do for ?" But having asked,she already.knew. To.walk.out to.the.shack.was.a.profound procession. Made by many,owned by.few Seeking solace from.the.witches brew. "You need.a.poultace ? Cast a spell for.you. ? Fix it so.she.never leave you ? Aint nothin.much.that.I.cant do. Gonna fix.it.for.you. Ramshackle rundown house of dreams,nightmares and stalking horses. Beads and potions.come back lotions. Love notions out the window.like startled ratbats. The little shack of sorrows. Old time mystic.sitting on a stool. Jingle pennies in pockets. Yonder comes nother fool
0
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 9:02 AM UTC
geno-cattouse-1
The Shack
Puffing profoundly on an old bone pipe.sat the old woman on rickety stool. A white tendril seeking altitude from schorching embers. A wafting spirit casting errant admonishment. Dusty footpath of a million footfalls all on missions of redemption lovelorn weeping allotments of anguish,pain and hope.FULLSTOP. At sunbeaten,rainbleached risers three in number. Splitpea fragrance wafting to greet. Maybe collards too. "What can I do for ?" But having asked,she already.knew. To.walk.out to.the.shack.was.a.profound procession. Made by many,owned by.few Seeking solace from.the.witches brew. "You need.a.poultace ? Cast a spell for.you. ? Fix it so.she.never leave you ? Aint nothin.much.that.I.cant do. Gonna fix.it.for.you. Ramshackle rundown house of dreams,nightmares and stalking horses. Beads and potions.come back lotions. Love notions out the window.like startled ratbats. The little shack of sorrows. Old time mystic.sitting on a stool. Jingle pennies in pockets. Yonder comes nother fool
Continue reading...
21
Numbly perform before the crowd the sign of the cross, a bow before the altar, a melody or two. Why do they burn us? We are no sirens, and song is no witchcraft, not the kind they douse with holy water. Lift up your hands to the sanctuary and bless, But do not let them meet. Do not praise. Your God is not found in music and dancing, though he cries for the horns, begs for a drum, weeps with longing for harp. You give him a voice, monotone with no emotion. Is this how you hear him? A drone in your ear, harsh admonishment, one voice, or silence? My God is music. He sings in the breezes, in the hum of the earth, the clapping and stomping, the praise. He is the breath in my lungs, the words on my lips, the touch of fingers on string. His voice is many, raised up in song, raised up in the praising, raised up in the "Hallelujah! Amen!" Why don't you hear him, those with ears among us? You are not deaf. You are dead among the living prayer.
0
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 9:15 AM UTC
greyCacophony
Praise Be
Numbly perform before the crowd the sign of the cross, a bow before the altar, a melody or two. Why do they burn us? We are no sirens, and song is no witchcraft, not the kind they douse with holy water. Lift up your hands to the sanctuary and bless, But do not let them meet. Do not praise. Your God is not found in music and dancing, though he cries for the horns, begs for a drum, weeps with longing for harp. You give him a voice, monotone with no emotion. Is this how you hear him? A drone in your ear, harsh admonishment, one voice, or silence? My God is music. He sings in the breezes, in the hum of the earth, the clapping and stomping, the praise. He is the breath in my lungs, the words on my lips, the touch of fingers on string. His voice is many, raised up in song, raised up in the praising, raised up in the "Hallelujah! Amen!" Why don't you hear him, those with ears among us? You are not deaf. You are dead among the living prayer.
Continue reading...
39
I suppose he thought I needed to be tamed, or required reprimandation & obedience training, because he could simply never let me BE... myself without an open invitation for some harsh admonishment or crippling criticism. I must have painted a target that begged for his attention on the core of my soul because he loved the thrill in taking aim & shooting to **** He still colors my characterizations of the men I meet, who ask me for insight into my mind, & he leads me to question the intention behind any stranger's simple gesture. He told me he loved me, but he held me much too tight like a petulant child who refuses to share or suffocates a butterfly clutched in between his hands - because its beauty inspired a selfish need to seclude it away for one's self.   He told me he needed me, that without me he would be left to falter blindly through a nebulous black night, yet he stood so close to my flame that it was inundated, & he smothered his source of warmth & illumination. A fire needs to breathe if it is to rage & be magnificent - he knew that & he feared it tremendously. He taught me to fear myself & undermined my capability to silence those who shook my confidence. In doing so he left me teetering on a decrepit foundation & he so delighted in kicking bricks out from beneath me. He pushed me down & taught me to be terrified of falling dreading the arousal of self empowerment & ambition to welcome an opportunity to pick myself back up again. He tried to tether me to land, like a flightless bird - inert & with no purpose. He thought he had me hooked like an inhumane bully who allows a fish to fight his line until it believes it has once again attained liberation, then roughly reels it in, relishing in sick indulgence. He thought he had me tethered, but I am not worn-out & weathered like an old leather ball & I am not to be beaten round in endless circles, the obsolete plaything battered by systematic violence made into child's play.   I said no & walked away. I broke my tether that day. & I never looked back.
0
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC
emma-leigh-ivy
Tether
I suppose he thought I needed to be tamed, or required reprimandation & obedience training, because he could simply never let me BE... myself without an open invitation for some harsh admonishment or crippling criticism. I must have painted a target that begged for his attention on the core of my soul because he loved the thrill in taking aim & shooting to **** He still colors my characterizations of the men I meet, who ask me for insight into my mind, & he leads me to question the intention behind any stranger's simple gesture. He told me he loved me, but he held me much too tight like a petulant child who refuses to share or suffocates a butterfly clutched in between his hands - because its beauty inspired a selfish need to seclude it away for one's self.   He told me he needed me, that without me he would be left to falter blindly through a nebulous black night, yet he stood so close to my flame that it was inundated, & he smothered his source of warmth & illumination. A fire needs to breathe if it is to rage & be magnificent - he knew that & he feared it tremendously. He taught me to fear myself & undermined my capability to silence those who shook my confidence. In doing so he left me teetering on a decrepit foundation & he so delighted in kicking bricks out from beneath me. He pushed me down & taught me to be terrified of falling dreading the arousal of self empowerment & ambition to welcome an opportunity to pick myself back up again. He tried to tether me to land, like a flightless bird - inert & with no purpose. He thought he had me hooked like an inhumane bully who allows a fish to fight his line until it believes it has once again attained liberation, then roughly reels it in, relishing in sick indulgence. He thought he had me tethered, but I am not worn-out & weathered like an old leather ball & I am not to be beaten round in endless circles, the obsolete plaything battered by systematic violence made into child's play.   I said no & walked away. I broke my tether that day. & I never looked back.
Continue reading...
47
My mistakes walk all over shore lines known as me Touching on my foolish memories I long to smile and depart into the sun I see If only these mistakes Would let me be My skies sing counsel into my pulse each day As I walk in silence to be content Yet out of the dust my mistakes still stray Calling out to my heart In admonishment Long years from the home where I love to be Appear now in a haze of smoke Choking out the vibrance contained in me As I hide my heart beneath This silken cloak What joy could be my own I hear in my skies Such treasures are upon my shelf If I would only lift up mine own eyes My shore would lead me home As I forgive myself
0
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 4:00 PM UTC
neva-flores
Shore Lines
My mistakes walk all over shore lines known as me Touching on my foolish memories I long to smile and depart into the sun I see If only these mistakes Would let me be My skies sing counsel into my pulse each day As I walk in silence to be content Yet out of the dust my mistakes still stray Calling out to my heart In admonishment Long years from the home where I love to be Appear now in a haze of smoke Choking out the vibrance contained in me As I hide my heart beneath This silken cloak What joy could be my own I hear in my skies Such treasures are upon my shelf If I would only lift up mine own eyes My shore would lead me home As I forgive myself
Continue reading...
20
I’ve been a busboy, a waiter, A salesman for road crews A cook and a soda **** The American market is Not set up that well for Kids who want to work. Before I was twenty five I’d had eighty different jobs Some of them at the same time. Some parents think their kids Are a good source of income. Others think that is a crime. I suppose it’s one thing If the kid picks his own job; Does what he wants with money. But robbing his stash When he is out working Is not even close to being funny. And keeping a youngster Both working and schooling And no social or playtime is sad. It robs him of childhood And rips off all his ambition. The child has to somehow turn bad. Maybe it only trusting That the kid learns not to do. Maybe that dreams don’t come true. Maybe the kid learns His hard work and dedication Only gets him blisters when he’s through. That was all true of me; I did what I was told and I learned that joy and accomplishment Earned no praise for the doing Only produced, if I didn’t work hard A tremendous amount of admonishment. So, when I left home I had no direction in mind; I looked ahead to sixty more years Of working and being robbed By people I wanted to trust And not even being capable of tears. This may sound like a whine Blaming and much worse A griper that’s totally out of line. But what it really means Is your kids aren’t your slaves To be put to work in some coal mine.
0
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
brent-kincaid
TOTE THAT BARGE
I’ve been a busboy, a waiter, A salesman for road crews A cook and a soda **** The American market is Not set up that well for Kids who want to work. Before I was twenty five I’d had eighty different jobs Some of them at the same time. Some parents think their kids Are a good source of income. Others think that is a crime. I suppose it’s one thing If the kid picks his own job; Does what he wants with money. But robbing his stash When he is out working Is not even close to being funny. And keeping a youngster Both working and schooling And no social or playtime is sad. It robs him of childhood And rips off all his ambition. The child has to somehow turn bad. Maybe it only trusting That the kid learns not to do. Maybe that dreams don’t come true. Maybe the kid learns His hard work and dedication Only gets him blisters when he’s through. That was all true of me; I did what I was told and I learned that joy and accomplishment Earned no praise for the doing Only produced, if I didn’t work hard A tremendous amount of admonishment. So, when I left home I had no direction in mind; I looked ahead to sixty more years Of working and being robbed By people I wanted to trust And not even being capable of tears. This may sound like a whine Blaming and much worse A griper that’s totally out of line. But what it really means Is your kids aren’t your slaves To be put to work in some coal mine.
Continue reading...
48
California....I love to hate this place, Gas prices high people getting high on a false sense of reality....lets get it right Exotic cars and intellectual flaws Riding down the boulevard **** can I drive without the admonishment of getting far..? Dreams of impacting the world one country at a time Schemes of people full of vanity, fallacies that aren't mine... Can I dance with the moonlight like King Harvest and not be sued for human rights...? The waves of excitement once stimulated my thoughts, Filled with nightmares and dreams a southern jezzabelle once taught... What can you do for me and what I can't do for you; the nightlight just caught... Yet I remain humble, though I stumble through the golden coast that boast dreams a civil war couldn't  fault... Dreams of californication....with laid back sentiments and pornification... Can I wake up from this guitar riff of fornication? Yet I Vibrate....And marinate on this pointification...
0
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
oceanic-liquidity
Californication 2.0
California....I love to hate this place, Gas prices high people getting high on a false sense of reality....lets get it right Exotic cars and intellectual flaws Riding down the boulevard **** can I drive without the admonishment of getting far..? Dreams of impacting the world one country at a time Schemes of people full of vanity, fallacies that aren't mine... Can I dance with the moonlight like King Harvest and not be sued for human rights...? The waves of excitement once stimulated my thoughts, Filled with nightmares and dreams a southern jezzabelle once taught... What can you do for me and what I can't do for you; the nightlight just caught... Yet I remain humble, though I stumble through the golden coast that boast dreams a civil war couldn't  fault... Dreams of californication....with laid back sentiments and pornification... Can I wake up from this guitar riff of fornication? Yet I Vibrate....And marinate on this pointification...
Continue reading...
14
This is my truth: I fall too easily in love. Like the tall thin golden grass, I bend in the winds of admonishment. The slightest touch will snap me, The lightest breath will move me. I sway toward whispered "I love you's" Lean in toward sighed "I want you's" Break at sobbed "I need you's." I am a fool for heavy-lidded gazes And lazy touches in the dark. I slay myself over and over again, I bleed out for empty words. I cannot define myself outside The context of the words you sing. I have lost my identity somewhere Between the cracks in your voice When you beg me to come back home. I can only stand the sound of my name When you breathe it down my throat. This is my truth: I fall in love too easily. I define myself by the terms set By sad boys with empty hearts And tired eyes. I fall in love for convenience, So as not to be alone. My love for him was borne of a need To sate the hunger I felt when you left. In truth, I have always been yours, And that is all I know how to be.
0
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
brianna-elise
Honest
This is my truth: I fall too easily in love. Like the tall thin golden grass, I bend in the winds of admonishment. The slightest touch will snap me, The lightest breath will move me. I sway toward whispered "I love you's" Lean in toward sighed "I want you's" Break at sobbed "I need you's." I am a fool for heavy-lidded gazes And lazy touches in the dark. I slay myself over and over again, I bleed out for empty words. I cannot define myself outside The context of the words you sing. I have lost my identity somewhere Between the cracks in your voice When you beg me to come back home. I can only stand the sound of my name When you breathe it down my throat. This is my truth: I fall in love too easily. I define myself by the terms set By sad boys with empty hearts And tired eyes. I fall in love for convenience, So as not to be alone. My love for him was borne of a need To sate the hunger I felt when you left. In truth, I have always been yours, And that is all I know how to be.
Continue reading...
31
Atoning Admonishment Beloved Blessings Confusing Contemplation Debating Disturbance   Everlasting Eternity Foreboding Faithfulness Gods Goodness Hasting Heaven Internal Intuition Jesus' Judgement Kings King Loving Light Monday's Moment Never Numbing Open Opportunity Peoples Persons Qualify Quiet Redeemer Resemblance Saving Salvation Thee Truth Undenying Unity Valient Victory Washed White X chromosome X factor You Yelling Zealously Zapped
0
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 3:02 PM UTC
austin-d-woodruff
Double Down
Atoning Admonishment Beloved Blessings Confusing Contemplation Debating Disturbance   Everlasting Eternity Foreboding Faithfulness Gods Goodness Hasting Heaven Internal Intuition Jesus' Judgement Kings King Loving Light Monday's Moment Never Numbing Open Opportunity Peoples Persons Qualify Quiet Redeemer Resemblance Saving Salvation Thee Truth Undenying Unity Valient Victory Washed White X chromosome X factor You Yelling Zealously Zapped
Continue reading...
52
Astonishment, Admonishment, Quivering lies through the eyes of arrogance doubt. Fancy hearing the turbid tones of truth as the skies fall upon….you. Yet you blame. Shame for shame, playing your endless games. Ill-guided moresence proves the downfall of all, Your ill-fated squalor talks more than you know. Yet your speech is mute to yourn. Baited falter, Caught in your own web. I will listen to yours no longer.
0
Jul 6, 2024
Jul 6, 2024 at 9:38 PM UTC
WordsDoMeanSomething
Ouroboros
Astonishment, Admonishment, Quivering lies through the eyes of arrogance doubt. Fancy hearing the turbid tones of truth as the skies fall upon….you. Yet you blame. Shame for shame, playing your endless games. Ill-guided moresence proves the downfall of all, Your ill-fated squalor talks more than you know. Yet your speech is mute to yourn. Baited falter, Caught in your own web. I will listen to yours no longer.
Continue reading...
12
JO AND I ARE GOING BACK HOME NOW, IT'S DONE, WE'VE HAD EVERYTHING FROM PHUKET TO HUMDRUM, I'D LIKE TO THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR HEARTS, YOUR CALL, I GAVE SOME, FOLLOWED AND TRIED TO READ YOU ALL; I HAD CRITICAL ACCLAIM, PERHAPS STRUCK A CHORD, I DON'T MIND THE ADMONISHMENT - MAYBE YOU WERE BORED, BUT IF I MADE YOU LAUGH, EVEN MADE YOU CRY, IT WAS WORTH EVERY MOMENT THAT I COULD TRY TO BRIGHTEN THE DAY OR FOR THAT MATTER - THE NIGHT, WITH THE 'REVOLUTIONIST' HOLDING COURT, GIVING US A FRIGHT, 'TITANIA' WAS 'ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT' IN AN EERIE GLOW, I SAID TO LIGHTEN UP, ILLUMINATE, NOT LOOK LIKE INDIGO; MAYBE SOME THINGS WERE WRONG BUT NOT IN THE MAIN, I WILL RETURN TO ' RIGHT ' AND SEE YOU ALL AGAIN.
0
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 1:41 AM UTC
terry-reeves
SEE YOU ALL!
JO AND I ARE GOING BACK HOME NOW, IT'S DONE, WE'VE HAD EVERYTHING FROM PHUKET TO HUMDRUM, I'D LIKE TO THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR HEARTS, YOUR CALL, I GAVE SOME, FOLLOWED AND TRIED TO READ YOU ALL; I HAD CRITICAL ACCLAIM, PERHAPS STRUCK A CHORD, I DON'T MIND THE ADMONISHMENT - MAYBE YOU WERE BORED, BUT IF I MADE YOU LAUGH, EVEN MADE YOU CRY, IT WAS WORTH EVERY MOMENT THAT I COULD TRY TO BRIGHTEN THE DAY OR FOR THAT MATTER - THE NIGHT, WITH THE 'REVOLUTIONIST' HOLDING COURT, GIVING US A FRIGHT, 'TITANIA' WAS 'ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT' IN AN EERIE GLOW, I SAID TO LIGHTEN UP, ILLUMINATE, NOT LOOK LIKE INDIGO; MAYBE SOME THINGS WERE WRONG BUT NOT IN THE MAIN, I WILL RETURN TO ' RIGHT ' AND SEE YOU ALL AGAIN.
Continue reading...
14
S/he who Our amity loves to cherish, S/he who The fulfilment of my wish Has a bent to relish, S/he who Serves me a right arm To parry,towards me, Inflicted harm, S/he who Like a mirror When I err Gently draws my attention To self-image Tarnishing error, S/he who Basks in my success Than covertly prove An enemy adverse, S/he who Like a wolf in a sheep skin With my closest ones Doesn't commit a sin— Which to forget but not to forgive I will find hard Before I am sent to The graveyard S/he who Like a cat or snake A retaliatory measure As a knee-jerk action Does not take, Also  with gentle admonishment Willing to forgive My mistake, S/he who Without ifs and but My inborn follies willing to accept S/he who During all seasons Agreeable or adverse A chameleon His/her stance That doesn't reverse, S/he who That doesn't Behind my back gloat When I lose A battle fought, When the aforementioned Conditions set Are met, As gold is tested With fire A genuine friend I admire!
0
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 6:52 AM UTC
alem-hailu-gkristos
A Genuine Friend
S/he who Our amity loves to cherish, S/he who The fulfilment of my wish Has a bent to relish, S/he who Serves me a right arm To parry,towards me, Inflicted harm, S/he who Like a mirror When I err Gently draws my attention To self-image Tarnishing error, S/he who Basks in my success Than covertly prove An enemy adverse, S/he who Like a wolf in a sheep skin With my closest ones Doesn't commit a sin— Which to forget but not to forgive I will find hard Before I am sent to The graveyard S/he who Like a cat or snake A retaliatory measure As a knee-jerk action Does not take, Also  with gentle admonishment Willing to forgive My mistake, S/he who Without ifs and but My inborn follies willing to accept S/he who During all seasons Agreeable or adverse A chameleon His/her stance That doesn't reverse, S/he who That doesn't Behind my back gloat When I lose A battle fought, When the aforementioned Conditions set Are met, As gold is tested With fire A genuine friend I admire!
Continue reading...
56
Twenty ticks and eleven tocks into a man’s day, the fourth of seven days for him to grieve the injustice shackled upon humanity. He grips war by the handle and strikes with irresistible force upon the once immovable object of hate. He finds himself guilty of hostilities for the sake of peace. He is offered no trial for his crimes of war. He seeks admonishment for his guilt and is left with a confession upon his heart. His apologies fall silently into the void neither heard nor acknowledged. A single dove’s feather falls upon him carrying a single drop of spilled blood. He tattoos on his skin a mark of shame. The fourth of seven days is now complete.
0
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 10:29 AM UTC
david-w-jones
A Day To War
Twenty ticks and eleven tocks into a man’s day, the fourth of seven days for him to grieve the injustice shackled upon humanity. He grips war by the handle and strikes with irresistible force upon the once immovable object of hate. He finds himself guilty of hostilities for the sake of peace. He is offered no trial for his crimes of war. He seeks admonishment for his guilt and is left with a confession upon his heart. His apologies fall silently into the void neither heard nor acknowledged. A single dove’s feather falls upon him carrying a single drop of spilled blood. He tattoos on his skin a mark of shame. The fourth of seven days is now complete.
Continue reading...
4
awesome apothecary addressed as Agamemnon alleviates anxiety, and alimentary aggravation anodyne appeasement arrests ailment amphetamines acquaintanceship assuages agonizing aches also advocates amorousness assiduously activating admiration aggressive attacks assault air afoul affable affinity affects adumbration anatomical accidental addiction attested as academic, although afterward abnegation absolutely arduous, affianced attired apparently as an anomaly Ares and Abyssinian Astarte admixture acquiescence affliction affected adroitly, and abruptly abends accessible altruistic alms axed albeit admonishing, alluding, and attributing authored autonomous anonymous adroit arriviste agents accompanying as accomplished accomplices accredited ace advertisers applaud ascendent assaults amidst agonizing appeals acting all acrimoniously apropos avowedly ardently, and antagonistically, agitating appositely advocating ancillary assistance addict adrift afloat anchors away assails along, among, and an alias archenemy - adorned abominable assassin alters ambition adroitly, aggressively, absolutely addict announces asseveration against avid admonishment alarmingly annulling authentic affiliation anew anonymous ability acclaims alignment aegis actually adversarial abetting attrition appetite acceleration ascendent after aplenty anesthetization additionally activating arced analogous arrow advancing added abdominal and arterial agony abject ambivalence arrests accomplishments attainable any artistic avocation absconded asper auditorial approbation, animadversion artificial aggrandizement abrogates astuteness appropriate adjudication affronted alternative afforded amnesty about acing audioslave as aerosmith ambition assumes arriviste affectation already appalling alacrity awakens amendment although Awol administration adamant acrimonious affront agonizingly attributable announces another afterworld apparent ailing apparition ardent allegiance asking anyone appreciable affix apathy abounds attending apriorism allotment.
0
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 6:46 PM UTC
matthew-scott-harris2p
addictive ampoules annihilate after alluring
awesome apothecary addressed as Agamemnon alleviates anxiety, and alimentary aggravation anodyne appeasement arrests ailment amphetamines acquaintanceship assuages agonizing aches also advocates amorousness assiduously activating admiration aggressive attacks assault air afoul affable affinity affects adumbration anatomical accidental addiction attested as academic, although afterward abnegation absolutely arduous, affianced attired apparently as an anomaly Ares and Abyssinian Astarte admixture acquiescence affliction affected adroitly, and abruptly abends accessible altruistic alms axed albeit admonishing, alluding, and attributing authored autonomous anonymous adroit arriviste agents accompanying as accomplished accomplices accredited ace advertisers applaud ascendent assaults amidst agonizing appeals acting all acrimoniously apropos avowedly ardently, and antagonistically, agitating appositely advocating ancillary assistance addict adrift afloat anchors away assails along, among, and an alias archenemy - adorned abominable assassin alters ambition adroitly, aggressively, absolutely addict announces asseveration against avid admonishment alarmingly annulling authentic affiliation anew anonymous ability acclaims alignment aegis actually adversarial abetting attrition appetite acceleration ascendent after aplenty anesthetization additionally activating arced analogous arrow advancing added abdominal and arterial agony abject ambivalence arrests accomplishments attainable any artistic avocation absconded asper auditorial approbation, animadversion artificial aggrandizement abrogates astuteness appropriate adjudication affronted alternative afforded amnesty about acing audioslave as aerosmith ambition assumes arriviste affectation already appalling alacrity awakens amendment although Awol administration adamant acrimonious affront agonizingly attributable announces another afterworld apparent ailing apparition ardent allegiance asking anyone appreciable affix apathy abounds attending apriorism allotment.
Continue reading...
50
My best-ever for­tune cookie con­tained a vari­ant of Feyn­man’s maxim: “The work will teach you how to do it.”     <|> *not yet noon on New Year’s Day, the new words search begins croakingly, then stumble upon a philosophical notional, celebrating messy processes, equating to outcome, robbing me of my lazy-all-in-NY Day-no-work-ethics many a-poem writ, more half-baked, on shelf resting, but the pointillist theoretical, paint by point, insists: a clean year is a clean canvas deserving, so wade in the water of frozen creeks silencing gurgles, catch and release, a natural new work now! an admonishment most personal, for the production of poems has dimmed, excuses, plentiful but it seemed my harshest critic, MM&I,^ never provide an editor’s sign off, these pieces of me, pass their date of expiration, &  will then, my own passing* ***the work teaches how   but never guaranteeing good enough*** 1/1/22 4:46PM ^Me, Myself, & I
0
Jan 4, 2022
Jan 4, 2022 at 12:57 PM UTC
nat-lipstadt
My Best Ever Fortune Cookie
My best-ever for­tune cookie con­tained a vari­ant of Feyn­man’s maxim: “The work will teach you how to do it.”     <|> *not yet noon on New Year’s Day, the new words search begins croakingly, then stumble upon a philosophical notional, celebrating messy processes, equating to outcome, robbing me of my lazy-all-in-NY Day-no-work-ethics many a-poem writ, more half-baked, on shelf resting, but the pointillist theoretical, paint by point, insists: a clean year is a clean canvas deserving, so wade in the water of frozen creeks silencing gurgles, catch and release, a natural new work now! an admonishment most personal, for the production of poems has dimmed, excuses, plentiful but it seemed my harshest critic, MM&I,^ never provide an editor’s sign off, these pieces of me, pass their date of expiration, &  will then, my own passing* ***the work teaches how   but never guaranteeing good enough*** 1/1/22 4:46PM ^Me, Myself, & I
Continue reading...
23
a companion to “why do men cry in the bathroom? (1) <> even harder to understand, for it’s almost unnatural, alone, unshaven, first glance, a small smile creeps ever so slow from ocean to ocean, cheek to cheek, while the lines on the face join in, quiet applause, a satisfaction acknowledgement of mini~ minor proportions, a quick stock taking, a putting aside of the futures worries and the currency of ever present daily woes, a small pat on the back <self administered, (minimal) self admonishment> we made it this far, while juggling so many acting parts that we/he learned on the fly, good luck and good instincts for this exercise in adapting, becoming an on the cuff, father, wise-man, little league coach, protector+defender no matterwhat, a font of knowledge who gets ignored, cept for delayed hugs that slowly dawn and get inserted when never expected, shoulders for carrying two at a time, a reassurer when the world is spinning crashing and the watch alerts stop this blurting and get the their act together again for the curtain going up when the individualized symphony of alarms, buzzers and rock ‘n roll anthems pronounce the blessings of morning and another opportunity to get it wrong, but make it right, saying no with loving reassurance that someday the yeses will be for real, delivered with that same smile when the unexpected delights and in the eye corner he observers a version of happy love in an unreservedly small  format that has value above everything else and even with all the deep day saturations and self salutations he cuts himself carelessly shaving and the focus of wskeup calls and tender shaking, comes back like a slap to the fresh bleeding face, and all of the above took maybe 10 seconds ten great, and! all of  ‘em firsts ~ no seconds here
0
Sep 29, 2024
Sep 29, 2024 at 7:55 AM UTC
nat-lipstadt
why do men smile in the bathroom?
a companion to “why do men cry in the bathroom? (1) <> even harder to understand, for it’s almost unnatural, alone, unshaven, first glance, a small smile creeps ever so slow from ocean to ocean, cheek to cheek, while the lines on the face join in, quiet applause, a satisfaction acknowledgement of mini~ minor proportions, a quick stock taking, a putting aside of the futures worries and the currency of ever present daily woes, a small pat on the back <self administered, (minimal) self admonishment> we made it this far, while juggling so many acting parts that we/he learned on the fly, good luck and good instincts for this exercise in adapting, becoming an on the cuff, father, wise-man, little league coach, protector+defender no matterwhat, a font of knowledge who gets ignored, cept for delayed hugs that slowly dawn and get inserted when never expected, shoulders for carrying two at a time, a reassurer when the world is spinning crashing and the watch alerts stop this blurting and get the their act together again for the curtain going up when the individualized symphony of alarms, buzzers and rock ‘n roll anthems pronounce the blessings of morning and another opportunity to get it wrong, but make it right, saying no with loving reassurance that someday the yeses will be for real, delivered with that same smile when the unexpected delights and in the eye corner he observers a version of happy love in an unreservedly small  format that has value above everything else and even with all the deep day saturations and self salutations he cuts himself carelessly shaving and the focus of wskeup calls and tender shaking, comes back like a slap to the fresh bleeding face, and all of the above took maybe 10 seconds ten great, and! all of  ‘em firsts ~ no seconds here
Continue reading...
50
What we idealize We condemn. Strip it from the backs Of those we oppress, Notwithstanding ourselves. Cram it in a box marked “DO NOT TOUCH” - A false preservation. Fasten wonder and difference in Wax-body museums. The overture of youth, displaced. Forcibly removed and Compartmentalized until Homogeneity reigns supreme In the halls of collective memory. Admonishment replaces admiration. The administration demands - How dare anyone have what We stole from ourselves?
0
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 6:37 PM UTC
Story
Sado-Masochism
What we idealize We condemn. Strip it from the backs Of those we oppress, Notwithstanding ourselves. Cram it in a box marked “DO NOT TOUCH” - A false preservation. Fasten wonder and difference in Wax-body museums. The overture of youth, displaced. Forcibly removed and Compartmentalized until Homogeneity reigns supreme In the halls of collective memory. Admonishment replaces admiration. The administration demands - How dare anyone have what We stole from ourselves?
Continue reading...
18
I stood upon a mountain top and breathed the ethereal air and watched the lofty dreams of men, a shimmering misty veil. And upon the the cold uncaring winds I heard their rising prayers. Cries of mourning, admonishment, , joy and fear, sailing upwards into the heavens to be swallowed up by the billowing clouds. Again I listened and 'lo came the voices of insanity, a multitude of babble, swirling and flickering like a grey pallor of smoke on fire driven wings.And here in this place gathered all the hopes and dreams and despairs of men.Cold and bitter but with the radiant sun shining brightly on them.And I knew surely that upon these immortal granite peaks, that men struggled upwards, gasping, grasping for handholds, sweating, swearing, falling, groping, rising, packed with all their livelihood upon their backs, reaching ever for the snow covered summit.
0
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 4:53 PM UTC
james-jarrett
Heaven
I stood upon a mountain top and breathed the ethereal air and watched the lofty dreams of men, a shimmering misty veil. And upon the the cold uncaring winds I heard their rising prayers. Cries of mourning, admonishment, , joy and fear, sailing upwards into the heavens to be swallowed up by the billowing clouds. Again I listened and 'lo came the voices of insanity, a multitude of babble, swirling and flickering like a grey pallor of smoke on fire driven wings.And here in this place gathered all the hopes and dreams and despairs of men.Cold and bitter but with the radiant sun shining brightly on them.And I knew surely that upon these immortal granite peaks, that men struggled upwards, gasping, grasping for handholds, sweating, swearing, falling, groping, rising, packed with all their livelihood upon their backs, reaching ever for the snow covered summit.
Continue reading...
20
I cannot explain the dread I feel when you look at me with those eyes. As if I had failed. Your admonished stare pounds me and my heart sinks with the pressure. The sheer weight of it all; No normal person could thrive (let alone, survive). The knot in my throat, stomach and mind is impossibly taught. Impossible. That's all it is. It is impossible for me to function knowing I failed you.
0
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 7:05 PM UTC
keiko
Admonishment
I cannot explain the dread I feel when you look at me with those eyes. As if I had failed. Your admonished stare pounds me and my heart sinks with the pressure. The sheer weight of it all; No normal person could thrive (let alone, survive). The knot in my throat, stomach and mind is impossibly taught. Impossible. That's all it is. It is impossible for me to function knowing I failed you.
Continue reading...
15
Oh how respected! How brave your soul is. How marvelous you’ve been, To me who’s despair ridden. You of nobility or so it seems. Of an esteemed Catholic family, But alas you’re no queen! Of procrastination maybe. You whose ire knows no bounds. Of your shrapnel-made tongue! Remember those times, love? Of how you hated social media! Your hatred and trust issues, How valuable they are to you. Hatred of guidance counselors, Led to hatred of God himself! Oh how brave of you to oppose! How mighty you are in your stand! I don’t mean to judge, love. You’re free to believe, or not. You’ve become a pitiable ghost! I suppose, maybe it’s just me… You disappeared, love. Where have you been? From admiration and care, To admonishment and hate! You who left me in August! Are striped of that description! These aren’t anger filled lines. It’s of disappointment, love. We’re both cowards, right? But why leave me alone! I’ve been there for you in May! Remember the ninth of eighteenth? With you eating frozen watermelons, While it rained ever so gently? You cried and cried, Shouting “I’m okay.” I lied and lied. Saying “No, you’re not.” Why’d you become my August ghost? Did you regret crying that night? Why’d you leave me all alone? It’s better if I just died… Because I was just a friend. Not even worth your words. Because you left me hanging. On the twenty-second of August.
0
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 10:40 AM UTC
PoemsByCed
“August Ghosts”
Oh how respected! How brave your soul is. How marvelous you’ve been, To me who’s despair ridden. You of nobility or so it seems. Of an esteemed Catholic family, But alas you’re no queen! Of procrastination maybe. You whose ire knows no bounds. Of your shrapnel-made tongue! Remember those times, love? Of how you hated social media! Your hatred and trust issues, How valuable they are to you. Hatred of guidance counselors, Led to hatred of God himself! Oh how brave of you to oppose! How mighty you are in your stand! I don’t mean to judge, love. You’re free to believe, or not. You’ve become a pitiable ghost! I suppose, maybe it’s just me… You disappeared, love. Where have you been? From admiration and care, To admonishment and hate! You who left me in August! Are striped of that description! These aren’t anger filled lines. It’s of disappointment, love. We’re both cowards, right? But why leave me alone! I’ve been there for you in May! Remember the ninth of eighteenth? With you eating frozen watermelons, While it rained ever so gently? You cried and cried, Shouting “I’m okay.” I lied and lied. Saying “No, you’re not.” Why’d you become my August ghost? Did you regret crying that night? Why’d you leave me all alone? It’s better if I just died… Because I was just a friend. Not even worth your words. Because you left me hanging. On the twenty-second of August.
Continue reading...
48