"aspires" poems
Why are my heroes less real than yours? I'm so **** sick of that stupid cliche "cops and soldiers, and firefighters up up and away." None of them were there for me in any way.
I don't give a crap if you won't follow or if I never see a "like" or a "favorite" again.
God almighty couldn't stop my pen.
So why are my heroes less real then yours?
Isn't god just as real as mine?
So shut the hell up and get back in line.
you know who was there the day I couldn't stand.
Not your heroes playing wars in the sand.
Not your cops, who were off killing kids.
No fire here, turn a deaf ear.
The ones who were there for me on that day. Was a hero in red with horns on his head. A man all in black who dressed like a bat. A solider that stood for what a nation aspires. And a immigrant from who knows where.
They taught me my morals from birth this I swear. They taught me right. They taught me wrong. I don't give a **** if you think I'm wrong.
I will write comics as bright as the sun. I will save worlds with words. I won't apologise, don't insult the fire in my eyes.
I've never questioned to what you aspired. I never met your heroes before but I respect the story's of yours in the war. Of cops who helped kids who didn't have a dime, of firefighters saving people in time.
so leave mine alone they saved plenty they have. Even if its only the life of a depressed lonely lad.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 8:49 PM UTC
143
For every Bird a Nest—
Wherefore in timid quest
Some little Wren goes seeking round—
Wherefore when boughs are free—
Households in every tree—
Pilgrim be found?
Perhaps a home too high—
Ah Aristocracy!
The little Wren desires—
Perhaps of twig so fine—
Of twine e’en superfine,
Her pride aspires—
The Lark is not ashamed
To build upon the ground
Her modest house—
Yet who of all the throng
Dancing around the sun
Does so rejoice?
5.4k
As another minute passes,
A being can feel more ignored...and ignored.
Soon they'll Feel invisible.
Betrayed.
disappointed. In the person they once loved.
As if “it”....They didn't matter to him.
it matters and without it
a human would not be a human.
They’d simply be nothing without it.
Just a consciousness that's hungry for attention
And a unquenchable thirst for help that you didn't give them
While they selflessly gave it to you.
Now it's too late to turn back.
Too late for a “second chance”
No sorry can fill the bottomless pit you’ve created within their once warm soul.
Any “sorry” will just make it deeper, and deeper.
Never to be seen again forming an entirely new person we've never met.
All because you made them feel so invisible they fell out of place from reality.
Shattering their hopes and dreams.
Aspires and wants to be’s.
Crushed by one **** hand.
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 12:27 PM UTC
you listen to what passes for the TV news
you read some
but not all
of social media views
you notice that
despite all internationalism
it‘s mostly old sensationalism
combined with more or less suggestive speculations about
how many people may have died in forest fires
to what imaginable depths the president aspires
whether the North Koreans have more rockets
despite the wonderful achievements
of the national superdealer
who of the leader‘s staff might be the next
to lose her job or his credentials
etc. etc.
in short
the world has mostly shrunk
to domestic politics and power games
plus a few places on the globe where
U.S. soldiers still are dying
in order to protect their country‘s interests
in oil, assorted mineral resources
or allies of political expedience
or a few thousand refugees from countries plagued
by persecution or dictators are
marching for weeks to claim asylum
in the home of the brave and the free
under the statue of liberty
only to discover that they are seen
as an invasion threatening
that blesséd city upon a hill
visions have grown smaller
more petty voices dominate the talk
a nation made of immigrants
faced with the poor who flee from their oppressors
decides to close its borders to the immigrants‘ next wave
oblivious of the times when they themselves
still searching for a better life
found a new place where they felt safe
led by the statue‘s torch that shone its light
upon a poet‘s words of welcome:
"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC
I see a man who still dreams
And a man who aspires to be better than the man he was the day before
So Ambitious Man, how are you?
A mentally strong being who is the voice for others
That only he can gather the ears of his sisters & brothers
The power is within him but that ambitious man can not see
Because those small failures that set him back
Have him to believe he's weak
But ambitious man, can't you see?
The drive that you possess is what defines you as a king
And a king is a unique male being that many men desire to be
But lack the ambition and productivity that you so effortlessly own
In result, you are a king that sits upon the throne
So Ambitious Man, how are you now?
Knowing that your ambition & your drive is what won you the crown.
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 6:59 PM UTC
A man he wrote the book
A book for all and none
About a life spent leaning
Leaning towards the sun
In search of all a greatness
His life a distant run
A battle for a giant
He reaches for the sun
On a field of giants
Merely flesh and blood
He disregards the mismatch
And stretches for the sun
Life the fiercest battle
A war that’s never won
Commits his life to reaching
Reaching for the sun
He asks the aged pastor
Disillusioned as the nun
Confides in self and marches on
Onward towards the sun
Saw life and fortune a lady
Took a chance with love
Traded breast and beauty
Traded it for the sun
His only life a sacrifice
A gamble for a goal
With faith and strength he pushes on
He strains his empty soul
Tried to be a good man
Emulates Christ the son
Grounded broken wings he *****
Tragically towards the sun
To advance the course of history
Alexander, Caesar, the ***
A martyr for the western world
He reaches for the sun
To hold the mighty leviathan
With gear to catch a cod
Born with a head of a *******
He aspires to be a god
And oh his quest does beckon
Failure certain done
What else can he do
He reaches for the sun
To god he clings his anchor
Sworn service to God and Son
Hopelessly he leans
Leaning towards the son
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
A perfect man for me was never moulded by a box,
A box that screamed multitude of labels
To satiate the chaotic minds of society,
A belonging judged by feudality, no rhyme or reason required or questioned.
A perfect man for me was never measured by material things,
He gives abundantly by just being around,
An illuminating source of comfort on the other end listening,
Empathising and leaving a trail of laughter that makes me fall even deeper.
A perfect man for me was never masked crusader (okay, maybe Batman sometimes),
He is maskless for the world to bask in his genuity,
No bounds or limitations set on his acts of kindness and love,
Selfless and generous with his time, blind to any creed or pedigree.
A perfect man for me was never one to run away from problems,
Valiantly facing the raging bulls head on,
Inner strength personified by his poise and determination,
"I will get through this unscathed and no one will stop me".
A perfect man for me was never an owner of a cold crackled heart,
Headstrong, gallantly keeps the family together in a bind of unconditional love,
Lovingly adores his sunshine, making sure she knows she is loved with the same fervour,
Day in and day out, void of complains and pettiness, as the world turns.
A perfect man for me was never perfect,
Owning up to his flaws and shortcomings and being aware of mine,
A cycle that is never vicious but one that is laced with acceptance and non-judgments,
He inspires the best version of myself as he aspires to better himself.
A perfect man for me spells Y-O-U,
And the way that you are is exactly how I love Y-O-U.
Shalini Nayar
24.11.14
(C) 2014
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
I wonder if my late night plays
Will ever be relayed
To a generation that is slayed
In my play every black home
Has two stories, a fence
and a dad that won’t roam
Their cars ain’t all chrome
No bars on the windows
No grandmas saying lord knows
When cops shows
There are more colors than grey
No dope boys on the corner cliche
Or dogs on chains barking to get away
The colors blue and red stand for a flag
The black youth aren’t in a body bag
And pants never sag
Black men aren’t scary and mean
The system isn’t their adversary or
The silver screen
They don’t fill cemeteries nor chase
The color green
Black women have a name
Not ***** or **** used as shame
No fakes buts for their fame
The son has more hope
Then shooting a ball and ****** bout dope
He aspires to use a stethoscope
The daughter is strong and free
She can either write a song or get a PhD
Her future is whatever she wants it to be
Their ain’t thugs on tv our color
Not every sitcom has one strong black single mother
Or get drunk and fight one another
Gun violence is a joke
the police don’t chock our folk
Our music don’t promote drug use
And Gucci don’t ******
Drivebys are now hi’s
Every family is woke and wise
It’s sad to know
That this world won’t ever exist
Because the world outside
Is to nightmarish
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
What is the essence of a woman?
Many a beauty pageant have asked.
And which, countless have tried to define
through responses better than the last.
I am not wise, bold or old enough
to pretend to know the right answer.
But with enough imagination,
this does not have to stay a puzzle.
A woman’s essence is found in you
who’s strong-willed, kind, smart, and who inspires.
And also in me, who’s persistent,
who pursues, dreams and humbly aspires.
Together, we’re what ev’ry woman
once was, still is and always shall be…
I, who strives to leave lasting marks here,
And you, who will always inspire me.
(c) emeraldine087
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 11:11 PM UTC
{After James Tate's 'Consolations After an Affair'"}
My piano breathes with each of its keys:
it aspires to inspire change
in someone's watering mind.
I have paintings that I did not paint
that do more observing than the scientist.
They know nothing of evolution and it's hypothesis.
For them to see and feel
is all they need to express.
I've discovered that I don't need
to prove myself for my own approval.
A jellyfish escapes and dances behind me
as swift as the flame of a fire.
Now I can taste the truth,
a place filled with disgust and desire.
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 8:30 PM UTC
Buttons couldn't describe you,
Nor a picture or portrait to compare.
Your smile indescribable,
Neath iron straightened golden hair.
A shadow in your eyes I see,
Your arm inscribed serendipity.
An unforgotten commodity,
An awe inspired oddity,
But what aspires you to me,
Is the winding way your eyes did see.
Before the corner first was turned,
Before the present came to be.
What was the sight which turned your way?
What overshadowed your luminosity?
I wish my friend that you would smile,
For everyone not just for me.
In light of this stay positive,
And smile miss serendipity.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
Neuroeconomic
Amalgam
Uninitiated
But prescient
Drumming to remember
All last September
Kernels
Nuggets
Mirroring
Neurons
Can take down
Neocons
\|/
Signals
/|\
Subtle infrequent
Lullabies flow into
A numinous bassline
Reverberating Ohm
Indivisible
Mitosis
Becoming us
As the egg aspires
Divine feminine
Holding space
For the new
Phoenix rising
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
In the face
of radical Christianity,
a devout pagan stands.
Where religion
aspires to govern,
spirituality
must voice its protest.
"One nation, under God..."
turns out to be
easily divisible.
All is not forgiven
when wrapped
in flag and cross.
This poem a futile gesture,
message lost amidst
the knee-jerks.
So long
as speech is free,
it must be said.
Jesus was a
great, holy man;
Herod was the governor.
For God's sake...
stop trying to turn
Jesus
into Herod.
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC
i am proud to be will maybe do a poem about it as well let me know?
btw how many of my dear friends here pn HP are Leo's? if ur not let me pls know what sign you are! thanks........
Leo - The Sign of the Lion
The people of this sign are natural leaders and chiefs. In reality the supervising position is what the majority of people born under the sign of Lion aspires to. They are really intelligent and magnetic people. That fact attracts others, but they should not try to dominate everyone. Lion frequently called "The sign of the kings" according to his intelligence and graceful manners. Their astrological symbol " Lion" is considered to be the king of animals. But, as well as all governors, that people should learn to wear the crown modestly. They should remember their large sin - vanity.
Friends
It isn't always easy to be friends with a these people. They are best in a one-to-one friendship where their ego is less likely to intrude upon the relationship. These people can find their most lasting friendships with people born in their own period or from March 21 to April 19-27 and, strange to say, all those people who were born on the 1st, 10th, 19th, or 28th of any month, for the reason that these numbers accord and have a sympathetic attraction to the number of the Sun which is the number of this period.
Health
People born in this period should have more time to sleep than almost anyone else. They usually overwork their brains, and are inclined to suffer from headache, trouble with the eyes and other things concerned the head. And they are liable to get cuts and wounds in the head, and they usually run danger from fire. Such people usually demand a constant medical attention.
Color
Their most suitable colors are all shades of yellow, orange, pale green, and white.(PURPLE)
Stones
The birth stones for this period are topazes, amber, and rubies.
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 12:07 PM UTC
Have you seen sunkissed oceans?
stretched till eternity,
pacific yet turbulent,
destined to touch the shore.
Have you seen a girl?
carefree and wayfarer,
breaking the norms with harsh blows,
creeping through parochial minds.
Have you seen a girl?
aspires to be the ocean,
her sunkissed hairs are like jet streams,
messed-up but knows where to flow.
Yes, I have met a girl,
vast than the ocean,
turbulent yet pacific,
smeared with sunkissed soul.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 3:50 AM UTC
This is for a girl whose name means light,
Who fights every day of her life to beat the gravity of depression,
Whose dearest pastime is turning everyone she encounters to poetry,
Who’s never stopped looking for fairies or shaking glitter over everything,
Who is tall in the flesh and tall in the heart; love overflowing,
Who aspires to be ironclad but always tender,
Who knows too much about bruised innocence and precious things ripped away,
Who can never get enough of walks in the wind and rain—all of that pulsing sensation, all of that alive-alive-alive,
Who salutes Eve each time her teeth break the skin of an apple,
Who is thoroughly in love,
Who has taught herself to bleed out with dignity,
Whose defiance could halt the turn of the earth,
Who grew up on bare feet, free will, and the softest joy imaginable,
Who would die for justice,
Whose soul is warm and messy and unfurling,
Who has a family of artists living in her head [Alcott scribbling in the cerebral cortex, Van Gogh mixing pigments near the frontal lobe, Ginsberg clacking at his typewriter beside the cerebellum],
Who dreams of avenging the marginalized,
Whose arsenal includes sturdy black boots and neon strength,
Who is ruthless yet sentimental beyond belief,
Who slipped into the world with a sweetness she’s never really lost,
Who lives like she writes like she laughs like she argues like she loves, with heat and certainty and unending vibrance.
This is for myself.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
Despite multiple accusations
Of ****** impropriety,
Trump still demonstrates
A false display of piety.
He knows his loyal fans out there
Would never, ever truly deceive him.
He denies whatever he wants
And they will all believe him.
Justice Brett Kavanaugh
Aspires for both fame and glory.
Somehow he got people to
Give credence to his manicured story.
Following Trump's slick advice,
He thought, "Hey, why not try it?
Whatever they accuse me of,
I will out-and-out deny it."
Putin said he hadn't meddled
In our twenty sixteen elections.
Although we know that Internet trolls
Were following his cunning directions.
Putin merely had to say,
"Mr. Trump, I did not do it."
That is all that Trump needed
To say to the world, "You see: I knew it."
Trump asked the Saudi king
If he had had a journalist killed
In Istanbul. That is where
Jamal Khashoggi's blood had been spilled.
The king and prince denied it. Trump,
Satisfied, said, "You see:
The king said they didn't do it.
His denial's enough for me."
Just deny whatever you've done.
That's the message we are getting.
Having to pay consequences
Can stifle your plans and be upsetting.
Just deny it, and you will have
All of your fans believing your tale.
Turn them all against the victim
To save your *** and stay out of jail.
-by Bob B (10-16-18)
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 1:29 PM UTC
terrible machines slipstream the extreme in-between where they grind the invalid star heaps into dust
there, they spike the lion's paw of life's Sphinx, methinks it winks at God's Riddle, and twiddles a thumb of some god, in a sky pod of dead people, hording jasmine and madness and pancakes, upon the everlasting Maybach sedan with the chrome piping and the platinum plinth, regal in ice and fire !
what aspires must be crushed into tiny little else. into neutrinos of speculation in the non rational abode of our most holy joke. the spun spoke, in a wheel of cold lotus. we know this is not a dream without motive. we know this because we notice, know this because it's flawless, and flawless reveals a mind of terrible machines that slipstream the extreme in- between where they grind the invalid star heaps, into dust ! they might spike the lion's claw of Life's sphinx, where it thinks that most people are dead inside, that might can take a joke if joke is told in a void baritone with Gamelan Bells of Unbearable Revelation, the revery of a Greek nose on the face of a broken clock.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 2:49 AM UTC
Prayer is a thought,
a frisson,
a song,
a sob.
Prayer can be all that one is,
All that one aspires to be,
It can be all that one has lost,
The last thing that one has to give.
True prayer is internal,
Prayer is like a snowflake,
Prayer is not printed
Words on a page.
Prayer is not always cathartic.
Prayer is angry. Prayer is hopelessness.
Prayer is more often than not
A last resort born of desperation.
Prayer uttered daily, commanded by a man,
Is prayer stripped of meaning, desecrated,
A holy word on a holy plane
Made mundane.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 7:27 AM UTC
I Sleep next to dreams
as lofty words on wasted reams
a miss used time
or ends to means
this mush of patience
restrains to sin
through will of mind
contained within
lay that to waste
what aspires to be
oh hidden fate
in elegancey
I close mine eyes
withhold thy needs
care not to cause
few misread deeds
whom only lead to spiteful seeds
Moon beams wane
and dissipate cross frosty panes
a gauge of time
ticked off by rain
this music made sweet serenade
a leitmotif of dreams past played
on morning comes & brings the sun
the brightest star
of Apollo's hour
and Ea's desire
though all I aspire
this union of fire
of earth well worth we wait within
deep sleep and reap our body's heat
oh perfect form
thoughts while I gaze
attention divided
open field fed by maze
-2006
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 9:26 AM UTC
Now the lies that they've (we've) told have surely grown old
Childhood stories of growing up and the happiness it holds
melts into the facts
life clearly, it lacks
so she falls short and stumbles back to memories
"It's too hard to handle", she often would state
everything it seems, is a disappointing weight
By those who had once held onto her hand
the notions about the way they had told her to stand
"Hold your head up! Walk with pride! Look for rainbows!"
Now every single time she is loaded with woes
so she lays down and aspires for days spent in memories
And I never really thought what they said could be true
well I guess I did in daydreams when the sky was clear blue
By examining their faulty smiles
their faces as long as the Nile
I would give up and fall back into memories
Sometimes I wish I was stupid and young
I tell myself in all honesty and with my mouth open sung,
"If I wanted I could just disappear and then cut"
So every once in a while when my eyes are held shut
and her (our) body lays in blood and lost memories
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
Summer sets,
Summer, Summer, Summer…sets
Summer ***
Summer, Summer, Summer… ***
Summer sets in the *** of Summer,
Or is it *** that sets in the Summer of sets?
Can I have *** in your sets this Summer?
Or will Summer just set?
Let’s go back to basics,
Where the Summer just sets in the sunsets.
Autumn aspires to asphyxiate natures atoms
Because the Summer has set.
Oh let’s just have this last set of *** as our Summer fades and sets.
Make love to our least favorite song as the fire around us burns and resets.
Because tonight is the last night, that our Summer will set.
Jun 5, 2010
Jun 5, 2010 at 8:22 PM UTC
for some
their sexuality
is intimately tied
to curves and licks of pain
and their own
abject destruction
trussed, ornate
for a brutality
that accentuates
****** lucidity
in the dark caverns
of a perforceive mind
and o so willing body
which
like bruised piano keys
in a triumphant concerto
of ecstasy
aspires
to be played hard
like Rachmaninoff's
beaten ivories
finding immense pleasure
in constant crises
stretched
between the entwined
demand of desire
and the need
for a
a depraved ritual
of exquisite subservience
imposed
by an idyllic master
sweeten the world
my darling
honey machine
industrious slave
bend my beloved
like the weighted ridge pole
are you ready to break
oh princess
of cruel inflictions
that intoxicate
with onerous dark thrills
the sway of your writhe
where pleasure is piqued
by perfect suffering
blood glitter paradise
she beckons
from hells shadowed doorway
enter my love
enter
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 2:25 PM UTC
Let's talk about a human being,
Be it a male or a female being...
The infant needs care,
It also needs to feed..
The infant cries,
The infant laughs.
And nothing else matters.
Then the infant grows up to be a kid,
Becomes a more big teenager next..
The teenager needs attention,
It needs to be accompanied..
The teenager plays,
The teenager enjoys.
And nothing else matters.
The teenager matures into an adult,
Blasts each one of the social norms.
The adult needs inspiration,
It needs to be truly loved..
The adult thinks,
The adult aspires,
And nothing else matters.
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 3:28 AM UTC
An aesthetic storm settled in the
wee hours of creation.
What of it strikes favor or disfavor?
Beauty's immediacy comes with
fatalistic sweep--demanding
principle, demanding ground.
Unveiled beyond time constraint
all over our world--in praise, in
revulsion, eyes score the gamut.
As if image begs love, to be so...
or unrequited.
What's plain of light exposes all
flaw or beauty in a single sitting.
The sitters vary the material world,
with eyes creation asks us to paint
what we see.
The eyes paint the sitter if the sitter
be deemed beautiful, instantaneously
sight's canvas may be left cold...
burdened.
Beauty aspires to affirmation of being,
to have it echoed.
Beauty's lain raw, holds what's held it--
as such...desolation is easy.
Eyes bespeak their volumes...beautiful
or ugly?
A sightly, unsightly moment given to the perpetual.
Epidemic pageantry--ordered by creation
make due...irregardless.
If beauty--eyes are for you--if ugly...eyes
are not.
Thus...of being, of affirmation, of visible,
of invisible--you...beauty are.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC