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Nat Lipstadt Jul 2013
so it is, so it be.

life granted me a boon, come to me, the honey.

not the merest of coating, but a power enrichened,
capable of driving out the slow acting, daily killing,
poisonous venom.

makeover, coverup of tears of ancient marriage-madness,
black swan hate disguise, her lies, venom injection of
coffee blood staining love pretense, now just scar tracks  for a
new boulevard.

the slow pour,  the golden russian amber intertwined tones,
tongue tasted, inside me now, revealed in slow exiting, beauteous,
mellifluous tears.

you dance with the stars, I watch you watching,
clueless that my thee-flavored tears, dance and pour down
my face.

destitute, nearer my God than thee, god blessed this child's life,
love gifted from sweet bees, late in life, flew from my computer screen and sonnet-stung me with antidotes of
love n' honey...
Writ Oct. 12th, 2012
Tinkered with just now, at the bus stop, on the bus, and missed my stop.

New stanza:

"Honey,"
Not the daily address of my man-erred woman,
Babe or Sweetie, I think are in my employ,
But having read this dusty poem,
It will be Honey, tho hackneyed and corny,
Of that, She will inform me most hastily.
But I will know, but never tell, the resonating joy
Unleashed when I think of this poem instantly

gives
is it like a feather
is it now or never
our faces are neglected
our souls are introspective
gravity collected
space and time dissected
water is our mother
the earth is our shelter
a blessed sacred elder
lilikoi is my favorite fragrance
tastes like innocence
and you must respect her
amazing feelings to select
the headwaters call collect
protect our sacred mother
dance upon the other
call upon the winds
feel them on your skin
remove the falling stones
that cover up your bones
rest in love unknown
concentrate until it is shown
phone calls steal our happiness
accidents dent our marriages
darkness is our daughter
streaks of light and color
falling stars kept captive
we plant them in our yards
keepers of the spark
sisters of the sparrow
made of light and yarrow
feathers flicker softly
all our woven glory
givers of the heart
singers of the dark
if you wish to hear them
make yourself a part
of the symphony
lifetimes of abandonment
oh so quick to fill you in
on all the tragic stories
what if we ignored them
and stayed present in this moment
filling up our cups
simple days spent with simple eyes
kindness supplies our alibis
respect is valued
like a stream in our hearts
we are dipped clean
threads of beauty
borrowed from the scarecrow
next lifetime you’ll become
another source of hope
ports of pleasure in our seas
forever we are feeling these
hopeless ropes tying up our antidotes
confounded sounds mounds of hope
stereoscopes and isotopes
poets freely speak
seek islands of wisdom
on stormy seas of chatter
The wind rushes past meand the sun is so bright that I can’t see.What is this madness before me? Have I gone blind? Why can’t I see?The sounds of spring and the smell of rain,the poisons of technology permeate my brain.Have I gone insane in the membrane? Or it this a dream? I am a fiend for caffeine.You are the cure I need, the antidotes to the poisonous seed that infects me constantly. Sleep consumes me, this world I soon must leave.I am stronger than the leaves in a stiff summer breezeor in a hurricane, I am the roots that remain, to be reborn constantly.Like the phoenix I will rise towards the sky tonight.Up into the atmosphere I will rise up highpiercing through the starless night, flying like a butterflyfloating upon the breeze, with weightless eases I lay atop the trees.Why do the clouds fly by as if they are on a highway in the sky?Could they stop for a while, so I might bring one downto take a nap upon its bed of feathers made of air.I’ll climb the tallest tree, and jump out upon the sea,of cotton ***** of gas that float like a tumbling massof constantly moving poetry.I’ll nap atop the trees.2oo5-
A H Butler Jul 2018
The urge to do nothing is overwhelming,
compelling.

I am motionless
I find myself halted.
Based upon a worry
a waiting
dominated by uncertainty.

I cannot go on
I stretch the mind
wander
wonder of antidotes
remedies delicious
in the knowledge
of their reduced life
span.
But not a cure.

Openings brighten despite me,
the ephemera of the street untouched,
lilting on its arbor
in its impetuous parade.

​(I think)
I should not allow myself this dysania
in the spaces between moments,
lapses into stillness unforeseen.

In the warm response of wire
I ask for forgiveness.
Trapped in my own gaze,
it’s all I have.
(the purity of sorrow)
The floor pushes me skyward,

I run my finger’s tip around the edge of the afternoon,
Hope to god it rings out in response.
© A H Butler
JAATC Oct 2020
Im tryna
Build a house of gold
But its a straw world, where dey
Freely give diseases and sell antidotes
World, INC.
Commercialised population control
No sovereign man, no sovereign state
Big Bank make the rules
The police are corporate agents
And prisons are big business
Under a government
That's been bankrupt for a century
My straw man is a Trust,
"MY NAME" in all caps on a certificate
As a Citizen
My assets, labour, and energy
Was promised as commerce to back this fictional entity
The fight is perpetual as long as we concede with this system
Really,
Is suicide escape or submission?
Wana vow to my people
To be there when they awake but its hopeless
*** in the near and distant future
I can see no changes
Fake smiles as a hypocrite
And all I can do is injustice
As long as I accept it
Is Man the peak of expression,
And is samsara his polarity?
In a non-meta way I aint happy
saige Apr 2018
should she have
thrown her wish at the stars
or down a well?

her hair in cigar smoke ringlets
her eyes were the guinness
the journey, her passion
the boy, her poison
the liffey winked with antidotes

black glass with white lights
why do rivers mock the sky?

her hair in her vision
her voice in a bird cage
a swan on a sailboat
not a soul on the ferry

on another coast
amid the day before
and the one that followed
seafoam clashed with clouds
came full circle
as her favorite dead end

she raised
then rolled
her eyes

blue waves with gray wisps
why do skies mock the river?

she didn't go over
nor to the end
she just went against the grain
of the rainbow
only she could spot

and then
she stuffed her hands into her pockets
and
she threw her wish
away
Poetry is surely the finest wine
Its words most lavish *****
You get drunk with every line
By the end all sense you lose!

There’s no wine to cast more spell
Whiskey ***** gin or ***
So long in it your thoughts dwell
Soul suffers blessed delirium!

Ecstatic is the poetry’s fizz
The froth at the mouth of nib
Gushing out of passion unleashed
The kick with each falling drip!

Poetry is among the best antidotes
When I crave a drink or two
I inject its overwhelming shots
Pains melt to moistened dew!
Bob B Oct 2016
Greed, hatred, and delusion:
The three unwholesome roots.
They are responsible for so much suffering:
Pain, sadness, disputes…

"I want, I want, I want…":
Such is the urge that drives us.
And we, poor fools, are unable to see
The goodness of which it deprives us.

Hatred buttresses the ego
With vengeance, distrust, and despair.
We end up being inextricably
Caught in its captious snare!

Delusion poisons us all
And obscures wrong and right.
We flounder about in blind confusion,
Unable to see the light.

But, hark! All is not lost.
Three antidotes exist:
Generosity, loving-kindness,
And wisdom--just a short list.

Generosity quenches
Our constant, greedy craving.
A truly magnanimous spirit leaves
No room for misbehaving.

With loving-kindness we see
The good that comes from caring.
Ugly hatred can't survive
When it's kindness that we're sharing.

Delusion is maybe the hardest
Unwholesome root to destroy.
But just imagine conquering ignorance
And bathing in radiant joy!

If we applied to the poisons
The antidotes listed above,
What a world we could ALL live in!--
A world full of peace and love.

- by Bob B
XVII

My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes
God set between his After and Before,
And strike up and strike off the general roar
Of the rushing worlds a melody that floats
In a serene air purely. Antidotes
Of medicated music, answering for
Mankind’s forlornest uses, thou canst pour
From thence into their ears. God’s will devotes
Thine to such ends, and mine to wait on thine.
How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use?
A hope, to sing by gladly? or a fine
Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse?
A shade, in which to sing—of palm or pine?
A grave, on which to rest from singing? Choose.
E Townsend Nov 2016
The poison of my expectations
immunized my body systems

creeping in the veins a shot
of disappointments, frustrations

I cannot keep setting myself up this way

Antidotes are not the cure. Nothing can remedy
the syrup of downfalls encroaching my liver

the gates are closed.
You can’t hurt me anymore.
Michael W Noland Apr 2013
Intrepidly neglected, of my lessened reasoning, I am dissected, of my insurrection, from the blessed beens of yesteryear's glints, dancing, parading, and burning, in layers, stages, and fazes, fading, and melting, the plastic faces into the smelting heap, that has come so far, just to inspire me.

Always.

Always you unto me, spiraling, indefinitely into the deep, where ceased is the times, with bloodied hands, and laugh lines, laughing one last time, while glancing toward my watch, under setting suns, and rising stars, smiling faces, and in tearful goodbyes, i realise

The sky's limitlessness

And in all the glory, and all the bliss, the eloquent stories, and the gentle drifts, my imagination uplifts, in wisps of gentleness, where i submit to reason.

Bless-ed be, the one who garners to my support, from a vortex of euphoric antidotes, of mindless quotes, and animated emotes, pulsed, from straight faces, and lost hope.

Ill tell the truth, you can go with nope, in whispered breaths of gun smoke, lathered in lith-dope.

Just trying to cope with the flow, until i crash upon the shores of nevermore, and, explore these holes in my soul intent, ascending from the contempt of bent perspectives, and twisted concepts, letting the blood of the peasant from my arms of harmony, trembling blankly to sleep.

To you a *****, to me tranquility, as i sink, into the world i knew, so that it may be seen, casing the well being, of all the things, and pixelated dreams, from a thieves keep.

Deep, down, below me, in obscurity, i seep, through the soil of my turmoil, until my hand reaches out, from beyond my doubts, and clambers from the shadows, outside of myself.

I am born, of mud, of muck, of the stuff, you're afraid of, and all i bare is love, love to shrug the shams astray, vacating the placation, and dichotomies, unifying light, into one me, shining in the rainy streets, of my deletion

Until my completion
Completely
Erases me.
night child Mar 2015
Let it be noted,
That the things you use to clean your messes,
Cannot be used to clean the mess in your mind.

Let it be remembered,
That poisons have never worked against poisons,
But then again, neither have the antidotes.

Let it be known,
That being numb for a while,
Doesn't make you invincible.

Let it be written in final print,
That you needn't read between the lines,
If it is repeated several times.
crude words written on the tablets
cheats stuffed in the ballots
swirling glass of wine until
the ballet is the her only talent
threw a challenge at the mountain
revenge was her mask
snakes became antidotes
poison in the flask.

evil ingenuity staring off line
stripping the magnetic links
my sphinx, a catatonic palace
crooked vowels, my larynx torn shut
fruits become evil when love turns malice.

racing with the moment
speeding within the second,
her lips crashed on the cave of my chest
blessings turned to lessons
extremities that matched my thoughts
only wore them on the weekend
dressed in perfection
i ****** out her mind,
deemed it a weapon.
MsRobota Jul 2021
Poorly-contained ball of anxiety
Anxiety
Overanalyzing every interaction
Interaction

I'll tell you something sweet
Sweet

Write down
antidotes
and compliments
and silly jokes
on sticky notes

Scattered
along the floor
on the wall
in the car

I'll tell you something sweet
Sweet
Helen Feb 2015
Just so you know, this is really long.... like reallllyyy long :)
Found this while going through some old word docs on my computer. I took my HP Words Used in order and made them into a poem....

Just like day  
life will know  
that time will  
make eyes  
at a heart  
Love will depart
night has left  
Gone away  
You want to  
face a world  
inside words  
I think  
in the end  
head is sorry  
to say  
the hand really  
tried little  
to look pretty  
beneath a soul  
Body is not right  
skin is brittle  
breath is long  
thought is lost  
in a cold way  
touch will lay  
in the light home  
lips cause pain  
he's callous  
in his hold  
Try to be open  
perfect is gone  
I wanted, hated trying  
to still feet at the bed  
Sure, you asked  
with a smile and hope  
going beyond
all things death  
dark voice  
tears live inside
a red place  
darkness makes things
small  
sitting doesn't  
mean walk  
My wish is just waiting  
for a kiss to hide  
easy dreams feel  
it’s been years  
since my friend  
became my man  
I got tired of lying  
You came to the floor  
rain was happy to sit  
but it took to the ground  
and hell has hands that
held sleep longer  
than it took to fall  
a song, perchance?  
We pretend to dance  
for hours before the door  
will be ready to close  
The start of the old sun days  
standing gentle, saw hurt  
today, in the mirrored glass  
she's ready to tell  
the blood moon  
mind the lie  
thinking on a broken  sigh  
Even if the door  
looked broken  
it wasn't  
I won't waste minutes  
to stand outside  
I matter enough  
to leave
on a high  
looking free  
Beyond a black moment  
set in stone  
is the dream from long ago  
indeed, all it will need  
is a girl to slowly remember  
the past  
Leaves that are dead  
are hard to beat  
I knew, I felt  
at the table  
I was naked  
but with a good morning  
talk was easy to stay  
I rest on yesterday  
and wonder turned  
and makes me question
If goodbye takes reason  
I hear it does  
Soft hate in arms  
that blind the eye  
drink from the earth  
for fear comes  
to make me forget  
I sleep beneath a sky  
deep in coming memories  
the word of the new  
silky hair and sharp fingers  
don’t care to fly in the breeze  
far from being beautiful  
it sat boringly  
saying ok  
bring me to the baby  
as tiny antidotes
goes to play  
white in the snow,
Wrong is a thing of beauty  
that would not ask for wings  
Don’t miss the woman  
tomorrow where a line  
is crossed and being afraid  
half I died when dirt  
skidded beneath the car  
understand the bare turn  
are just thoughts and guess  
best is the taste
of a single truth
Die for your god  
the fact can be
different  
It sits I believe  
and is best seen  
on a more secular path  
Sweet entreaties stop  
your simple time in space  
caught softly as you walked  
I whisper to your integrity  
in the middle I remain  
demons  cut   oh  
It’s worth leaving  
without an answer  
Gently emotion  
rounds the corner  
step into my headspace  
it knows , It’s tried  
sad that it died so young  
Street hugs the silence  
silently lies are whispered  
Never a mistake  
been left so hungry  
10w fight against the walls  
I gave eyes to watch  
No question, no touch
Warm people are real  
sound and emotions  
are holding friends true  
begin where the door closed  
an angel on the phone  
choice is not in the looks  
rainbow glitter is spent  
on children at the edge  
of a gaze, their scream  
is big, asking to sing  
angry at snow sheets  
bent listening for escape  
You've wondered  
you couldn't tell  
we've all been listening  
you'll spend seconds  
maybe hot  
wanting forever  
to run from Hell
Room for better hearts
pure agony  
for those that fell  
Able fingertips glow  
heartbeats listen  
and actually loved  
piece of blue mystery*
Precious lullaby of Love  
yes we cry bleeding  
into an ocean of wind  
I was told you stopped  
to stare  
watching all laid bare
while outside roses  
ancient but never picked  
found sin  
in a riot of colour  
You noticed, janet  
what's her name
was a 10  
Lies sense used words
that break bone  
make you wait  
staring accusingly  
but continue needs  
are watched next to the river  
breakfast was bad  
Times lets us all think
everything is fine  
stars burn, decided reality  
is warmth with a mate  
pick one from the universe  
Memory sits beneath a tree  
second to understanding
mist curls in breeze
bright and tight  
the image in the mirror  
walks with eyes closed  
and watches with ears instead  
Crack is bound to break
a road  
captured and cracked  
My dear  
I claim  
I waited  
seven miles away  
Your date with gabriel  
was met with silent curse  
Tonight was fun  
I mouth in anger  
Kisses from the pocket  
breathe laughter  
I just feed apart  
from the burning lonely cry
I heard form short  
of being born  
strong lives taken  
shed simply  
dropped to knees  
trapped in lot  
of empty heat  
Early I ran  
in a body that holds scars  
point at my pants
dry pockets frown  
Quietly over coffee  
summer fed a knife  
with a grace  
that never cared  
if sisters weep  

19/12/2013
Words used are in actual order as found in my list of words used... at the time I wrote this :)
O'Reily Nov 2014
Written shots come in all shapes and sizes,
Size matters like size six, eight or fourteen.
Fortune braver the first line alternates the second so on so forth.

What becomes sizeable?
What's your size?
Little antidotes from a measured eagle size flies,
Weighs it all up from a prolific mind blasted out its circumference,
Two lines make three so on so forth.

In size short or long corridors open left and write,
Rooms of poetic justice words escape its meaning of pride,
Trying to connect its versatility,
Weighing up all its options to a third eye so on to the forth.

High five thinking outside a sizeable box,
A perfect band meets five,
Your five a day fruit flavoured squashed for you,
Drinking your rainbow colours that your taste buds acquire,
For then be hit for six.

Six like **** curves figure dressed up in  silk hanged up with a second coat,
There's a cat amongst the pigeons,
A cricket high score,
A winner catches it all out from a wicket duck 0.
A severed chase far from Devon.

Sailing on the seven seas on a ocean boat ride reach so wide,
Beckoning on a horizon with the world looking so flat but at your feet,
Never reaching the edge just for evermore,
No deck of cards would collapse or fall from this fate.

My great mate who I now hate as late as it goes round and round in a figure of speech,
Rate this of the eight wonders of the world,
Paradise monuments globalisms tournaments under and over a bridge we go and we go.

Nine I'm not taking no for an answer, upside down to the left six had it all,
Too much size from those verses,
Saliva grown twitch es,
A centre forward scores a goal,
The last but not least single number,
Einstein a rocket launch..

For then ten let it be impeccable when circling around next to its dolby one den,
Fur marks of a Lion gathered round a pack of clubs five odd and five even,
Doubled up figure of been odd but really been even Steven or maybe roughed up down in Nuneaten nine mine.

O'Reily@15112014
Anthem Dec 2016
talked of dropping him at the hospital
but we settled on the park
we got him in the car and
we waited til it got dark

we found an empty spot
and we laid him on the bench
we wondered about the difference
between enemies and friends

one last look goodbye
then we slid into the night
and god bless whoever found him
since then, none of us have felt right

we saved the mourning for the morning
at the funeral we acted surprised
but i couldn't shake the feeling
of his stapled and judgemental eyes.
The Noose Aug 2016
An ocean bleeds
Through the spaces
Of my tremulous fingers
I taste decaying sentiment
Tucked beneath ritual
Adrift in reverie, still
Ruptured by the hand of fate
The outskirts of a worn out aria
Cosmic wasteland, lost
Treading backwards
Aftermath of visceral escapism
Faux antidotes
Once veiled in promise.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
let's just see where you'll be given this current populism of
Darwinism antidote, dietary requirements of
the size of your ****? let's just see where left-off,
let's see where Darwinism begins
and Shakespeare ends,
because we're living in times when the two matter,
the dating scene especially,
the Galapagos intrigues never made it to
Palmer's Green, or Strand,
Shakespeare subjected us to objects within
a framework of potential,
Darwin objectified us to be subjects within
a framework of failure -
which made fashion sensible; most people take
selfies, others write ~poems,
care less about the rhyme and more
about the impromptu tendency -
live it once, think about it many times.
Olympics is pure Sparta, what i love watching,
Edinburgh fringe is pure Athenian -
what i care not to think of, being a part of, crude,
a Spartan in St. Petersburg with my
grandfathers motto: fizyka (physics), matematyka
(mathematics) i sport (sport), one fatal omission:
music (muzyka).
watching the Olympics is primarily a Spartan
past-time, but the brotherhood, **** me!
there aren't any actors on the stages,
the Romanian fencing team against the Chinese
in the épée - dyslexia primus Gael -
secondus Anglia - hidden hedonism -
excess spelling - i was Spartan for a while,
that's when women liked me...
after that i became obscene and dangerous...
you touch me from now on i'd imagine
a fate worse than that of Iscariot....
you can try, i don't mind, just try, i'm gagging
to launch a crusade; kicking a man down
will not excuse you kicking him into a digging sequence'
oh please try! please derive some form of Islam from it...
i got used to hallucinations, i'd like to see too see you
become ultra-claustrophobic, for nothing else than the kicks.
but when they come with their Darwinism i feel
like an idiot having no awe left,
i actually stop wanting to reproduce an have start-up
strategies for families... i want to be dodo
and leave the idiots to their own demise...
every time Darwinism's cheat moves in chess
is mentioned to give me the advantage i turn into a dodo...
it becomes so disengaging with the world having
all the facts for free... it's this new formation from
the Roman legion turtle arrangement excavating assurances:
thanks to feminism she's hardly the prize two
bucks buzz with their antenna in a boxing ring...
can i compete for a kebab or a Swiss roll than her
menopause to simply convene and up-keep her "company"?
my misogyny isn't virus borne,
it's a natural cataract that makes us look like
thanksgiving turkeys force-fed the dynamo we all wished
to obstruct for a gurgling quack, even man's onomatopoeia
worth of echo could not, or ever would depict the
phonetic stresses that obviously doesn't mean
that turkey ever gurgled... man's interpretation
of god's incision into the world left us with
no true encoding of animal sounds, but only
what we approximated: onomatopoeia, the alleviated noun,
being the Genesis of poetic rhyme, so the lessened
suffering eased with rhyme, where man's tongue
exerted influence that it shouldn't have,
rather kept its intuitive sabotage of all other influences.
i mean, how far will Darwinism take you
before the sour or the bitter palette reciprocation takes over?
i reduced everything to juggling,
it's easier in a circus than in some form of the operatic,
as i told my mother: easier to deal with a household
animal friendly than in a household animal hostile,
makes up for sunshine, that schematic,
we mind 1 dead in western society, but simply add up
70 dead in Pakistan, we're unconsciously inheriting
Hindu traditions with full media support,
to belittle ourselves with animal to regain human
antidotes of the myth of the fall erased...
but as i said, concentrating the arrow of Darwinism against
the target of theology will not necessarily let
you shoot that arrow from the bow of chemistry-physics
at the target of dogmatic body-language bending and
kneeling and palm-reading...
not everyone will appreciate Darwinism's subjectivity,
if there is any... if man keeps changing categories,
equating male superiority with mammals
and feminism with insects like the case of spiders
and mantis marriages... i think of Darwinism as some
weird microscope... we are given a rainbow of object
and we're supposed to create a subjectivity from the choices...
in the end we're given too many choices,
and we make too many of them in the first place,
multiply the two and we're only choosing more choices,
by multiplying categorisation we're choosing more choice,
and in the end we only get the "Utopian"
plateau of dissatisfaction...
i'm not saying Darwinism is wrong, i'm saying:
look at the ******* timescales... big bang an the monkey-format,
and our Monday to Friday... it's not exactly
sensible...
                   what to do from here?
isn't it enough that i noticed a problem for our behaviour
without signifying that it resembles our treatment of
criminals with prisons that i have to suggest a safety-plan
for escape when the criminals have no civilisation
to return to, given their uncivilised treatment?
it's seems kinda pointless to have asked that question
in the first place, purposely avoiding corrective
punctuation markings, a depiction of an asthmatic.
Jacobe Loman Aug 2016
Autumn.
How do you charm?
Is it the pretty leaves?
Perhaps, it's the popular color?
Maybe the unique smell?

It truly is the season of change.
Past loves revisited in waves of seasonal aroma.
A sense of urgency from the changing colors.
The frailty of the fallen leaves.
A hint of impending doom.

Though, gently the wind grazes.
Warmth echoing through the chills.
Some antidotes heal with the passing of time.
Preparing us to mentally brave winter.
Reflecting inward, changing outward.

Hope; maybe.
Motivation to work hard.
Endlessly, to find our way.
Pick up what we can and move on.
Recollections of the good, the bad, and the old.

Noble as time flows.
Ultimately, honorably ending.
Another chance, another year.
Different colors, different smells.

Accomplishments and failure.
It's all the same in the end.
Withering, until spring.
Life fights a way through.
Meeting us on the other side.
Reborn again.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2017
it's just a welcome distraction...
that's all it is... modern art
is an act of: being distracted...
i do agree that it's in the bin
when compared to the renaissance
aesthetic...
       but then translate that appreciation
of the beautiful... and you
get an immediate counter:
*******...
               **** shaming and the rest of it...
evidently my contemporaries can't
appreciate beauty...
      we need welcome distractions...
it's called: re-evaluation!
                         i know it's just a canvas
with a black square painted onto it...
but i've been having restless nights
while roofers are refurbishing my roof
and i've been waking too early for
my pleasure... i blamed it on spring
at first, and then i was like: huh?!
oh right... there's some dip-**** banging
a nail into wood on my roof...
     like today... there's a lot of mess on
the mini roof outside my window...
and then there's this block of "artificially"
glued-together clippings of wood...
and i'm looking at it with my sunglasses on
and thinking... hirsch... hirsche...
                gonna bake me a' apple pie...
  (' = h) -
                          so there they are, doing the roof
and i notice all the mess outside my window...
and i spot this thing glaring back at me...
    it's a piece of wood that's been made
into a blank from all the offcuts...
                    but the patterns on it are like
a kaleidoscope... it really is what modern art is
truly about: a welcome distraction (****,
it really stinks of the building site... i'm
not going to keep... out the window it goes
from where it came) -
                (the current background) -
but it's a welcome distraction...
              it has to be, that's why modern art
isn't "****" - but it's an antidote to adversiting
that has become so "artistically" infectious -
modern art isn't ****, per se, it's so simple
because the "art" of making an advert is
           so ****** psychopathically complex!
variations of a forest.
    this be one: the digital complex
regarding where paper came from... the ******* trees!
now they're saying: paper doesn't grow on
trees... sure... but it's imbued in the bark.

p.s.
    i tried to forget her, she introduced me to
in extremo...
                 i had to find antidotes...
akin to: corvus corax, garmarna... etc.
Julian Jan 2016
The ineffaceable stain
Allegorical refrain
Dictates the wily antidotes for a newfound sane
They hector from a distance
Muted but militant resistance
magical hobgoblins the lifeblood of their persistence
Heterodoxy enters the stage
Cognizant of ignominy, a potent repressed rage
Succor sought, corporate media bought
A pyrrhic limelight is certainly not what was sought
I defer to dignified exemplars
I confer with callous company at vapid bars
Concluding thereby the inverse proportionality of authenticity to success
The articulations of divinity imply rigidity
sweltering soul burgeoning with light sweating an evanescent humidity
If blind before, partial and total sight reconstitute the core
omnipresent paparazzi deplores
Past pities insuperable even with pithy witty
Future pieties irrelevant to ineradicable ignominy and purported dignity
Cupid and cupidity must be related
because gold-diggers alerted to my fair share would be elated
Begrudged at every tick, tantalized by a slow torture lurid flit
I cast my ambitions into the fathomless depths
I amass provisions for a restive hibernation, enduring schlep
Redemptive powers yet articulated
Should ease the prospects of being matriculated
But is cloistered suffering an inexcusable plight
When the deep coffers derelict a modest gesture of making grievous inequities once again right?
Must I swim to distant shores
Past the barnacles beneath and the urchins on submerged sand, very sore
Landmines at the beach, pantomimes and their garbled preach
Past scattershot invective fortified by intransigent misers of conscience, the balmy resort out of reach.
Bleak bleats, meek feats, good eats
I think it is about time for a tyrannical psychology to let me off the incapacitating leash, letting me focus on actions rather than on incomprehensible speech
Joe Wilson Jul 2014
The taste left by the bitterness of anger
unlike that which is caused by over-indulgence
cannot be forced away by milk of magnesia
but by humility, understanding and forgiveness.

Oft times it is humility which leads to
a thoughtful understanding which in turn promotes
feelings of forgiveness that are quietly kept
but which serve as unspoken personal antidotes.

But what elation when normal calmness returns
to fill the soul with so much joy and peace
If anger serves to do nought else – then appreciate
that pleasantry which follows the ire’s release.

©Joe Wilson – I was angry, but it passed 2014
Mark Kelley Feb 2019
“Dream song”


Sing me a dream, dream me a song
Don't make it too short, don't make it too long
Don't make it too happy, don't make it too sad
Right in the middle, is where I'll be had


Stories of mountains, tales of the west
Antidotes retold, by strangers, the best
A kiss in the moonlight, I'll never forget
These are the songs, that long to hear yet

Journeys on train tracks, that rumble through time
Back and forth life scripts, that turn on a dime
A vision of happiness, lost but content
Tearful eyed memories, of love letters sent

The dark senorita who called out your name
The shot of tequila's romantic refrain
Then next, the siesta that memory denies
A lost, lonely cowboy with stars in his eyes

The hot summer day, mescal, por favor
Bar room bravado, courage assured
A harsh word, a look, machismo commands
The next move, the next slight, a line in the sand

Battles with savages, outside the door
A march in formation to find the next war
The promised reward that can never come true
History's legacy, painfully true

Battlefield monuments lost in the woods
Where lines were once drawn and heroes once stood
Where blood was once spilled and questions remain
Hidden in shadows of yesterday's shame

A quivering peace that can never stand still
A new generation to march up that hill
With hope for salvation, foundationally true
A new culmination who's interest's accrued

Then one more recovery long overdue
The colors of sacrifice, red, white and blue
The stories of history, tinted and hued
The song that our grandfather sang me and you

A search for a gold mine, the dutchman's remains
The promise of new life, fortune and fame
The optimist's song, the pessimist's tune
Off where the rattlesnakes sleep before noon

One more Matilda, a shovel and pick
A search through the canyon where fools gold's the trick
Where water's the treasure and darkness the cure
And the road back leads empty, to adventure once
More

Explosions of springtime, a park bench called home
The birds and the squirrels and the church bells of
Gold
The mothers and children and promise of youth
A new day brings new ways, a new search for truth

School buses roll, people commute
Businessmen tow the line 'til rebuke
The homeless and destitute scrounge for their fare
Passersby glance on, unwilling to share

Yes,
Here's one more season come 'round the bend
Some start anew, some find their end
Some take their orders from voices on high
Some walk this earthly path, never to fly

Some take the train their father's once rode
Some walk the city streets, lost and alone
Some gain the riches of power and gold
Some keep their hearts, some lose their soul

So here lie the stories, the songs and the dreams
Of one among many, of all, so it seems
Unique and unusual, we all ring the bell
Then set off in search of our heaven or hell

These are the songs that I'll hear once again
These are the dreams that I'll send you, my friend
So sing me a dream, dream me a song
Through ages, these pages are where I belong


So sing me a dream, dream me a song
Don't make it too short, don't make it too long
Don't make it too happy, don't make it too sad
Right in the middle is where I'll be had
Somewhere in the middle is where I'll be glad
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
that was my pet name, a love's long lost word
of infuriating apathy against grey public passerby materials:
simply that: kakasha - or little ****, or mouse ****,
or rodent shrapnel - i guess me being a Pole
and she being a Russian would have never worked out -
i don't actually know what was expected of me, an English girl?
n'ah, wouldn't have worked with the master slave antics -
a Polish girl? **** me, no! well, it just ended up being
a love for the people... which is a lot and nothing at all
come to think of it... whenever i said Cyrillic
was the new Greek i was right... shame though,
i could have had a marriage correct my deviant bachelor years...
i would't have written anything at all...
and it would all seem like the perfection of life: problem here,
problem there... but that's all i remember
from the days when youth allowed  my body to be buff and me
staging  a dumb way out of having a body of a model,
but hardly the vacancy to accept it... god it takes such a
large chunk of manoeuvring a Zeppelin
to land a paper aeroplane equivalent -
               i just didn't have the vacancy
to keep at the gym routine...
         went back to the bloated lamb belly,
and felt all the better for it....
                 starting drinking professionally -
because soberness was  a bit of wasteland -
nice name, that lover's pet name: kakasha:
or little ****, or mice pebbles, don't you think?
sometimes that's what's needed to
strengthen the memory, when memory
overpowers imagination,
it's not a case of lingering on the past,
utilise phonetic encoding well enough
and the symbols reveal a lacking need to
move forward and take into consideration
triangles and squares...
          images...
      you just forget about the future...
you're not stuck in the past,
        it's just about how everything's encoded
and where you place your primers -
        but of course i'm not nostalgic
as in hoping for a revision or a revival:
i just mean: it actually happened,
i can't reverse it from having happened -
what i can do is treat memory as the most
private event of cinematography -
nothing the forward looking imagination
might breed - what imagination lacks is the
fact that symbols can't change... they remain
intact... all imagination can do
is use the same symbols of encoding that
memory otherwise decodes, unravels and
makes desecration of... imagination is politically
correct by comparison... memory really does
become the perfect cinema, provided there's
a life worthy of cinema, however simple...
i know i bankrupted on imaging things as
they'll never be... but memory?
i already knew they happened - hence
the counter-imaginative response:
memory, alter-cinema -
                     which, in another framework of
sentences is a second rebellion,
counter teeny winy annie mo - of how they
framework educational models,
stuffing our imagination with fall-safe mechanisation
of know techniques: akin to arithmetic -
and how we were taught to remember what
would readily become forgotten come the next year...
                   of what i understand:
i think             i imagine                 i remember
                   precipitates into           being
                     - thus the three prime faculties
  and akin to the rules of prime numbers:
               no positive divisor greater than 1 or the
           stated faculty per se-
      later she slanders me with the nouns schizoid
and autistic: because we didn't have the picnic
  and didn't raise a family... a lonely world indeed.
i feel: and indeed the many loves, and failings of
    the heart's housekeeping standards -
             after that it just becomes a guess-work
   pattern of competition and incompetence -
                    or how language can become anti-journalistic,
  as it often does, it never is a scenario of
             Wednesday, 6th of July 2016 a.d.
                                        and credits akin to a movie:
             like you'll never talk to the background of things
and the people who move them while you pay the tax.
right now i have a 9kg Maine **** cat trying to
escape the house during the night, a cat turned
Pavarotti - meow meow, meow ******* meow,
meow meow... Lombroso should be near... this
is really starting to bug me... he might have a case
about a cat that never shut up and the person that
strangled it...
               so, indeed, three basic faculties of the mind...
i kept them as: imagination, thinking, memorisation...
                which means i went against the
Cartesian model of denial thought and doubt -
because i found them too emotionally entwined,
and therefore less puritan in consideration -
            and also less scholastic by the looks of it -
exams...                     for me the three prime
faculties are imagination, thought and memory...
they're antidotes of what later became the existential
revision of the Cartesian inspection: how
                              namely the notion of denial
as the antidote to good faith (doubt) - i just didn't
like the kindergarten of adults playing childish games.
Helen Mar 2016
Just so you know, this is really long.... like reallllyyy long :)
Found this while going through some old word docs on my computer. I took my HP Words Used in order and made them into a poem....*

Just like day  
life will know  
that time will  
make eyes  
at a heart  
Love will depart
night has left  
Gone away  
You want to  
face a world  
inside words  
I think  
in the end  
head is sorry  
to say  
the hand really  
tried little  
to look pretty  
beneath a soul  
Body is not right  
skin is brittle  
breath is long  
thought is lost  
in a cold way  
touch will lay  
in the light home  
lips cause pain  
he's callous  
in his hold  
Try to be open  
perfect is gone  
I wanted, hated trying  
to still feet at the bed  
Sure, you asked  
with a smile and hope  
going beyond
all things death  
dark voice  
tears live inside
a red place  
darkness makes things
small  
sitting doesn't  
mean walk  
My wish is just waiting  
for a kiss to hide  
easy dreams feel  
it’s been years  
since my friend  
became my man  
I got tired of lying  
You came to the floor  
rain was happy to sit  
but it took to the ground  
and hell has hands that
held sleep longer  
than it took to fall  
a song, perchance?  
We pretend to dance  
for hours before the door  
will be ready to close  
The start of the old sun days  
standing gentle, saw hurt  
today, in the mirrored glass  
she's ready to tell  
the blood moon  
mind the lie  
thinking on a broken  sigh  
Even if the door  
looked broken  
it wasn't  
I won't waste minutes  
to stand outside  
I matter enough  
to leave
on a high  
looking free  
Beyond a black moment  
set in stone  
is the dream from long ago  
indeed, all it will need  
is a girl to slowly remember  
the past  
Leaves that are dead  
are hard to beat  
I knew, I felt  
at the table  
I was naked  
but with a good morning  
talk was easy to stay  
I rest on yesterday  
and wonder turned  
and makes me question
If goodbye takes reason  
I hear it does  
Soft hate in arms  
that blind the eye  
drink from the earth  
for fear comes  
to make me forget  
I sleep beneath a sky  
deep in coming memories  
the word of the new  
silky hair and sharp fingers  
don’t care to fly in the breeze  
far from being beautiful  
it sat boringly  
saying ok  
bring me to the baby  
as tiny antidotes
goes to play  
white in the snow,
Wrong is a thing of beauty  
that would not ask for wings  
Don’t miss the woman  
tomorrow where a line  
is crossed and being afraid  
half I died when dirt  
skidded beneath the car  
understand the bare turn  
are just thoughts and guess  
best is the taste
of a single truth
Die for your god  
the fact can be
different  
It sits I believe  
and is best seen  
on a more secular path  
Sweet entreaties stop  
your simple time in space  
caught softly as you walked  
I whisper to your integrity  
in the middle I remain  
demons  cut   oh  
It’s worth leaving  
without an answer  
Gently emotion  
rounds the corner  
step into my headspace  
it knows , It’s tried  
sad that it died so young  
Street hugs the silence  
silently lies are whispered  
Never a mistake  
been left so hungry  
10w fight against the walls  
I gave eyes to watch  
No question, no touch
Warm people are real  
sound and emotions  
are holding friends true  
begin where the door closed  
an angel on the phone  
choice is not in the looks  
rainbow glitter is spent  
on children at the edge  
of a gaze, their scream  
is big, asking to sing  
angry at snow sheets  
bent listening for escape  
You've wondered  
you couldn't tell  
we've all been listening  
you'll spend seconds  
maybe hot  
wanting forever  
to run from Hell
Room for better hearts
pure agony  
for those that fell  
Able fingertips glow  
heartbeats listen  
and actually loved  
piece of blue mystery
Precious lullaby of Love  
yes we cry bleeding  
into an ocean of wind  
I was told you stopped  
to stare  
watching all laid bare
while outside roses  
ancient but never picked  
found sin  
in a riot of colour  
You noticed, janet  
what's her name
was a 10  
Lies sense used words
that break bone  
make you wait  
staring accusingly  
but continue needs  
are watched next to the river  
breakfast was bad  
Times lets us all think
everything is fine  
stars burn, decided reality  
is warmth with a mate  
pick one from the universe  
Memory sits beneath a tree  
second to understanding
mist curls in breeze
bright and tight  
the image in the mirror  
walks with eyes closed  
and watches with ears instead  
Crack is bound to break
a road  
captured and cracked  
My dear  
I claim  
I waited  
seven miles away  
Your date with gabriel  
was met with silent curse  
Tonight was fun  
I mouth in anger  
Kisses from the pocket  
breathe laughter  
I just feed apart  
from the burning lonely cry
I heard form short  
of being born  
strong lives taken  
shed simply  
dropped to knees  
trapped in lot  
of empty heat  
Early I ran  
in a body that holds scars  
point at my pants
dry pockets frown  
Quietly over coffee  
summer fed a knife  
with a grace  
that never cared  
if sisters weep  

19/12/2013
if you go to your profile you can find your words used... Click on your name and the down arrow and click on words used.... It's fascinating what you find, I got bored one day and turned all my words used into a poem... I kept them in order, just liberated with the use of auxiliary verbs, (Don't forget, when you post a new poem the word order changes! This was 'as at' the time I posted over 2 years ago) a couple of years later, I'm nearly at 100 thousand words, maybe I'll make it my next writing project :)
You can find the original here....

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1066324/hello-poetry-words-1/
Seema Mar 2018
To die peacefully at old age
Is a fortunate privilege indeed
It's quite heartbreaking to see
The suffering, as the purries we feed
When soul snatchers are summoned
To collect the soul
Their arrival does alarm
There are no bright lights but clouds of coal
The heartbeats jump and ****
At times the eyes open too wide
When it's time to go,
You can not repel or hide
I wish they go silently in their sleep
The much torture of the epidemic diagnose
And the so called cure antidotes
While everything is fed through tubes in nose
The nights become much darker
To welcome the path to the death valley
How I wish, we could give our lifelines
To the ones we are so close to very
Just for them to live a bit more
How I wish, I had a genie lamp
To grant the wishes for green health
And erase all that is meek and damp
Here I sit in the hospital,
By my mom's bedside
Out of five critical admits,
Four have lost their loved ones side
Tho, the life seems numbered
It is my mom that got through the night
Tears after tears I break silently
So long for the will to fight
I pray hard and ask God
To spare her for sometime
Just a little more
To see her precious everlasting smile
I don't know how I will pull through
As I am just a small canoe
Trying my best to shore the wrecked ship
O' there is so much, left to do
The night owls hoot over the roof
Not a good sign I guess
As I dismiss the negative feelings
Coz within me, my brain is a mess
There are many more things going on
Everywhere in this world
Time flies, and loved ones gone
Expiry their dates, and so are called...


©sim
antidotes become a long walk home
after leaving everything you used to know
the swaying trees speak in tongues through leaves
and roses become chloroform

tied to a a mast i'm set to outlast
sirens on horizons, harmony intact
this boat becomes a home for everything still unknown
as the hull breeches from impact

can't complete what i'll never believe.  
been forced to deny what makes sense to me.
and while the tired are now wired, and begging to flee
i'm still addicted to whats worst for me
ahh... love.
Nuit noire mais belle de Malaga
Empoisonne-moi
De tes hamecons et de tes leurres
Envenime-moi
De tes vers luisants et polissons
Qui gigotent dans le vin du clair de lune
Instille-moi de tes piqûres,  de tes ourlets
Des criquets qui chantent au fond de tes criques
Innocule-moi
Tes vaccins, tes rappels et tes antidotes
Cachés au creux des terriers
Des mangues et des câpres qui mûrissent
Sous tes obscènes caresses.
Obsède-moi
De la froidure romantique de tes rhums capiteux
Muselle-moi dans  la cannelle de ta souricière
Bâillonne-moi de tes eaux de Styx
Engloutis
Capture
Relâche
Aspire-moi de tes yeux de khôl
Je ne suis qu'étincelle
Infime brindille incandescente d'amour
Dans l'attente fébrile du point du jour.
Kimberly Eyers Feb 2015
The artistry of protection;
the elegant deception.

Poisons of the mind,
And their bitter antidotes.

If my life is a work of art,
Then it is community theatre.

And I am thankful
To everyone who keeps
The curtain
From closing.

*Thank you
Salmabanu Hatim Apr 2018
My sister is a box of piety,
Tied to obedience to her creator,her priority,
Wrapped in a hijab,plain and simple,
As her way of life,modest and simple.
Layered with prayers which are obligatory,
And recitation  of the Quran,that too, necessary.
There are tightly packed packets of truths followed to the letter,
For to lie is to be a sinner.
Antidotes abstains her from harmful deeds or pleasure,
Fears of incurring His  displeasure.
The bandages of her beliefs are
so strong,
That the path of Almighty does not deter one to do any wrong.
To her, beliefs of the wise,
Are to feel what is in the heart,say it and act likewise.
She has great bundles of charities
Connected to different activities,
All carried out with sincerities,
Be it be  to help a beggar, an orphan or a widow,
She is there to wipe their sorrow.
She has all the kits for the hereafter,
In order to procure heaven ever after.
Take the pills, they say
It’ll make the pain go away
Rather than address the root causes
Let’s fill her with antidotes
Temporary solutions
Hopeful lies.
Take this for your skin
Don’t question why you’re out of balance
Why there’s a correlation with the stress in your life and the budding mountains on your face
Instead of bursting at the seams
Blood vessels burst in your face
Don’t question the fact that a man will never caress your face
Because they’ll be met with medians and potholes instead of a smooth ride to beauty
Don’t question that you’ll never get to try the new updo
In fear of scaring men away by bearing too much of your imperfect skin
No man will attempt to mount the peaks of your troubles.
Take this to stop nature’s course
To allow any man to do what he wants and not have to worry about accidents or entrapments
Not have to ever take responsibility for mistakes
And they’ll call it your safety and security.
Take this for the searing pain that flashes behind your eyes and leaves you in bed on the most beautiful days of your life, unable to function
We’ll stuff you full of preventers and painkillers and not ask why a twenty-year-old has the stress of a soldier on the battlefield
We’ll ignore the pressures of school and money and relationships
So we don’t have to talk about it.
It’ll all wash away, when you wash down those pills.
Pedro Garcia Jun 2016
again, I find myself awake.
I’m sure you’re asleep, in his arms, wound tightly and pressing your body against his
I’m sure you’re asleep, with his face in your hair wafting in your sweet aroma
I’m sure you’re asleep, dreaming of the life you’ll live with the man you chose over me
I know you don’t think of me anymore, and when I message you, you say you still love me
but those are only words, and words don’t comfort me on these lonely nights
words don’t lie next to me in this half empty bed under the slivers of moonlight
words aren’t remedies for heartbreak nor antidotes for love sickness
If you did love me, then why is it that you reply the next day and apologize because you were so busy with him
If you did love me, why did you move in with him, how come I can see his presence in all of the snapchats you send me
If you did love me, why did you choose him over me, how come you can have two hearts and I’ve nary a one
I’m sure you’re asleep,  blissfully unaware that I lay awake thinking of you
when you wake up, your first thought will be of him
when you wake up, your first sight will be his face
when you wake up, your first smile will be for him
and when you fall back asleep, you’ll have spent the whole day without even thinking of me once
you’ll fall back asleep, and I’ll still be awake, tortured every agonizing moment thinking of you
but just because I’m awake, doesn’t mean I’m not tired
I wish I could sleep
forever
Xiomara Hussein Aug 2016
Solstice, a balmy summer reverie
Painted by secreting watercolor filled syringes
Flowing doses of vivacious antidotes have been carefully webbed tightly to the tiny rings and pings sung by the now cellophane hairs captive of one’s inner ears
Nonchalantly breathing into useless feeble minds
Tenacious thoughts now traveling at the speed of light rupturing eggshell craniums
A staggering yet haltering cogitation silently seeps through the dark self condemned asylum as if it was awaiting the bargained price.
Sound proof simplicity , a temporary lobotomy
Everything is still, bliss, and untrue
Vortexed by images portraying perpetually uncomplexed inhabitants
While foam slowly oozes from any unfilled cavity
Rubber, fraying, faulted tubes filled with foreign ideas now escape it’s once fleshy coffin
Time lapses while tucking in bedside lies to the shape of a familiar casted shadow
Who will you be when it strikes for you
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
it’s better to apologise than to thank, for it leaves the one you’re apologising to without any clue as to why you’re sorry, which makes the thanks all the more obvious, when they’re no longer in you life, and you haven’t said ‘thank you’, but merely said ‘sorry’ - makes all the people you’re congratulating on your existence and your thanks like this unnecessary quest for a tip in a restaurant, the genesis of money, the way people were “civilised” by money... a civilised state of affairs that bred the pauper, and lost the community spirit... well thank you for breeding the angst against the Poles... did former colonials take you you take that up, or were former colonials ready to forget the Polish R.A.F. involvement with the dog fights over Kent and Essex? oh sure, get us out... i’ll be the perfecting geneticist of the purest xenophobia with antidotes for Sharia; YOU, MADE, ME; but obviously, a box with a lid, then some pop culture idol and mass acceptance, the way all internet pseudonyms end with the no. 666... killing off the idiots will not make you realise a sabotage for the need for supermarket cashiers... one of them knows my name, we're on first name terms; they could have dispersed that tsunami wave by bombing it into shrapnel... the army could have intervened for environmental reasons, they could have carpet bombed that tsunami wave, like they water-gun and gas the riotous crowd... they didn't... there was bound to be a profit margin somewhere... no wonder old Yoko Chi Chow wants to resign... he wants to eat the sushi like westerners: with chop sticks and not mere fingers... he wants his grave to be scented in Coco **** Chanel rather than jasmine... the basic ineffectiveness of the army... able to prevent a natural disaster, unable to prevent unnatural investments in the clearing and recycling processes... or as Urban the Second said: cut the first head of the Hydra; truth ascending to envelop itself as merely an envelop with the necessary letter included; the postage stamp of truth being expressed ruthlessly? in ridicule, the envelop is there, the letter also included, but the postage stamp will cost you all sanity: it's not what you know, it's who you know - forget being able to cure cancer, once you prescribe the profiteering "miracle" drug, cancer doesn't exist unless it's an advert for some charity group, that pays for the life of its bureaucrats and the advertisement agency P.R., than that poor ****** wheezing to death from lung cancer; you think that African royalty doesn't exist? must have been glorifying African-American culture for too long, without hope or chance of revisiting jazz, getting sick of rapping, the cancerous form of poem: mm, yeah, peace town, Usher is in da housing queue on a council estate... mm, yeah... unless he be mm yeah... bumming off an advert for Niké...
oh ****... look! i just ruined your logo and copyright laws -
so you saying it was a French conspiracy after all?

— The End —