"aud" poems
The night,
The sounds,
The scenery,
The times,
Everything is just the same.
But then I realized,
There’s one thing different,
That thing is, our minds, our thoughts,
And our feelings also,
Aren’t the same.
- Aud.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 8:57 AM UTC
Sunday morning. . .
You'll hear oldies on the radio,
while your woman cooks your microphone.
The siren screaming "get away from here!"
the Aud lang syne is in your ears,
It changes overtime, and this is not a drill.
The moment of silence is more important,
than a series of bombing for the innocent. . .
The running chariot of insolence,
heading it's way inside my head and blowing it!
Saturday have just arrived,
The nightly calm and lullabies.
Yesterdays home is now long gone. . .
my father shot himself with a two barrel shotgun. . .
The moment of silence is more important,
than a series of bombing for the innocent. . .
The running chariot of insolence,
heading it's way inside my head and blowing it!
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 6:41 PM UTC
Dim lights
They burnish
The nestling day.
Round the bend
Sits
Days end
Crickets chime in
The symphony
Grows comforting
Natures
Lullaby.white noise.
Hello serenity.
Whisper in aud ib ly.
A quiet storm. (Thanks Smokey)
Melodious smoke.it closes my eyes
Like a dubious sandman?
To sleep.perchance
To dream.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC
what happens when you're the sole
male in a supermarket,
filled by females,
cashiers, and the customers...
you walk in, you walk out,
which is not as bad as being intimidated
by nine prostitutes while
you wait your turn..
you walk in, and then you walk out...
with aud lang syne
booming from your ears...
(i kannie **** cry at tje track..
mountains man... just mountains...
i kannie not cry...
or forget that i danced the Kayleigh
without donning the kilt)
o heart o thistle...
o my dear earned hands,
to hand over the land
worth of till and toil...
my own and sole wish...
that Scotland take my heart
and gives unto it... bloom...
once upon the cobbled stones
of the Royal Mile...
then upon the dawn of day,
upon Arthur's Seat...
for what i am worth,
to have but this sight,
of seeing far an wide...
Edinburgh...
the only city whereby i refused
the ingenuity of the compass...
Firth of Forth...
however welcome
or unwelcome...
through to the backstreets of
Dundee...
and behind the history of Glen Cove...
i cry...
because Scotland is the only
"convenience" of home know to me...
a home, that is more...
it's an ideal...
an.... idea...
England can never be it...
England could never be "it"...
England was merely
the handing over of Hong Kong under
Blaire...
it was the Labor government...
the late 90s...
but Scotland was
so much more... and will forever
be more than just much more...
had the heart eyes,
it would see this thistle baron
as for what i see it as...
as i leave it, as i've left all prior
palaces of my habitation...
always the fonder memory,
than a fond-of experience
among the living...
may the dead serve the same exacting
justice upon me,
as i, among the living,
revive them... back t life,
and the knife of mortality's
burdens...
and us do our part,
to part,
with a hope of once more,
congregating, in either a heaven,
or a hell.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
the same dad who doesn't know how to spell my middle name
has me gather the trash every monday night.
it's trash night,
he says.
i woke up this morning with a pink ponytail holder on my wrist that wasn't mine
which someone must have used to tie my hair back
as i vomited half a bottle of ***** into that godforsaken porcelain bowl
which is to say that one way or another a&e; most definitely
took
new year's eve
and being drunk is fun but annie get your gun because you'll read about your laughy happy self in the news the next day and you'll want to shoot yourself in the head, honey you
made yourself trash night
if you give a mouse a cookie
if you give a girl anxiety
she's going to want a drink to go with it
but while drunk is temporary
sunk sure feels permanent
but so what
aud
you're at the bottom of the heap
you have broken bones and unknowns
you left people and pieces of who you thought you were behind
you can't find your way to wonderland lately and you're
shaking
because voices are calling you trash.
the same trash
that you collect on monday nights
but lil homie you're pretty **** recyclable
so you fell apart
put yourself together again, one more time
maybe one of many
don't use the same parts this time
or do
use whatever you choose
build her from legos and lilacs and laughter and after
wards if you breathe words into her she'll come right to life just like
she always does.
but you're not trash,
audrey nicole without an h
i don't care what you drink as long as you stop feeding
yourself lies like that.
you're not invincible, no.
but even with eighty pound weights tied to each of your feet
you'd never be sunk
forever.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 3:43 AM UTC
we went out for dinner
just to a pub. used to serve
great chicken parma's
just you and me, a quick meal, nothing fancy
well i suppose it was eight,
nine years ago, i last ate there
gone upmarket, in that hipster way.... beers named by frustrated poets, drinks
made in jars and mixologists
charging bottle prices for a glass of boutique wine,mead or perry.
no table for two, just large communal tables, with cold
hard metal stools, that made
ben, tickle his ears with his knees.
one bluetounged beer and
pickled piper perry later
sans $23.00aud later...
we decided Macca's infront
of the motel telly would do just fine...
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
Coroanele tale astrale coboară
Și în dansul lor doboară
Barierele clădite
Din iubiri neîmplinite
Aripile tale sunt
Conturate blând de vânt
Și-aud *** aduc plăpând
Un glas grațios și sfânt
Al tău,
În viața mea.
_M.
Dec 8, 2024
Dec 8, 2024 at 9:45 AM UTC
fatalism și reavăn.
reavăn și fatalism.
n-am mai scris,
n-am mai scris.
mi-a mers gura prea puțin și acum mi-e capu-n groapă.
mă soarbe Oltul ?
Rămân o cruce ortodoxă, stingheră pe marginea drumului, îndoită de mașini în depășire.
reavăn... e reavăn după ploaie și îmi intră în vene.
fatalism slav și decăderea omului, cui i-am mai dat urechile mele?
asta nu sunt eu aici,
nu eu aud, nu eu simt.
ace și mâini atinse, drumuri scurse, reavăn și fatalism.
da n-am mai scris!
nu, nu, pentru că nu ***
nu în București, nu în tramvai, nu in scaunul din dreapta, nu cu mâna lui tata strânsă pe volan, nu cu piciorul scuturându-mi în spital.
un chist pe ovar, un folicul hormonal habar n-am;tot e un reavăn tot e fatalism și eu iar n-am scris.
poate că nu mai am de ce.
viața e film destul nu mai are nevoie de scenarist, viața m-a depășit uite, e self-sustaining!
Tata a zis că i-am frânt inima când i-am zis să mă ia acasă la 2 ani, ce isteric.
Nu mai vreau să aud, nu mai vreau să simt atât de greu din cer curgându-mi la tălpi,
rămân reavăn și fatalism și nu mai scriu nimic, nimic.
reavăn sărută buzele astea - petale de iris lăsate în soare!
reavăn, reavăn sărută trupul ăsta și mintea ce duc oriunde în nicăieri!
reavăn, sărută fatalismul ăsta infantil și torturat și dă-mi înapoi tot ce a fost și poate fi eu!
May 20, 2022
May 20, 2022 at 4:47 PM UTC
am văzut lumea întinsă alene în vena de pe antebrațul meu,
vulnerabilă.
am văzut lumea și ceea ce-mi pregătește conturată într-o vânătaie teribil de albastră.
sare la uși, păianjenii se transformă în musafiri iar eu într-o gazdă criminală.
pășesc pe muchii, rămâne din mine doar scrumul și mirosul unor vise fosile ale timpului, surâsul înșală.
ia-mă, ține-mă nu mai contează ale cui sunt mâinile ce mă dezmiardă, vreau doar căldură.
am văzut lumea aruncată în dârele dureroase lăsate cadou pe pielea-mi, doresc să ți-o ofer
am văzut lumea și-am decis să o trădez.
înfige-ți unghiile în umerii mei, întoarce-mă cu fața spre realitate spune-mi că nu visez, spune-mi că sunt singură.
aruncă-ți urletele asupra mea, vreau să le aud, vreau să surzesc din vină.
nu vine nimeni, nu vine nimeni
Nu mai aștepta
Sep 7, 2022
Sep 7, 2022 at 1:41 PM UTC
'cause there's no one,
that could love you,
the. way. I. do.
Note this.
It's only me.
I promise.
And be sure to face me first,
before you take him from my arms.
If you want to get the job,
you better know who's the boss.
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 7:45 AM UTC
It’s the poem I carry inside,
Here, by my heart, where it’s always stayed,
And even I cannot decide
If I’ll ever write what it’s begged to be made
I feel its soft pulse, its quiet hum,
Yet, why am I scared to give it a name?
Or is it that, though its fire may come,
Heavy words would shatter its delicate flame?
***
(original poem, Romanian)
Despre poezia nescrisă
E poezia pe care o port cu mine,
Aici, în piept, în dreptul inimii era
Şi chiar nici eu nu ştiu prea bine
Dacă am s-o mai scriu cândva.
Îi simt vibraţiile moi, i-aud bătaia mică,
Însă de ce nu *** s-o scriu, de ce s-o scriu mi-e frică?.
Ori, deşi arde focul ei şi pieptul mi-l străbate,
Grele cuvintele-ar strivi făptura-i fină, poate?
Jan 12, 2025
Jan 12, 2025 at 9:40 AM UTC
și în Istanbul totul rămâne la fel.
numai eu merg altfel,
numai eu sunt alta.
lustruitorii de pantofi sunt pe mal,
oamenii fumează și se miră de pescăruși.
unghiile îmi sclipesc în soarele ăsta străin,
mi-e frică să aud ce e în jur
mi-e frică de nimicul pe care îl simt
mi-e frică că sunt ruptă de realitate și nu mai știu *** să mă port
dar tu
tu ai rămas la fel și mă doare viața pe care aș fi putut-o trăii cu tine.
prima și ultima
clipă și iubire.
Apr 20, 2022
Apr 20, 2022 at 6:30 PM UTC
Her hair brown, curly
Her skin tan, beautiful
Her smile breathtaking
She is mine, I am hers, we are each other's
Why is she so perfect in every way
She always knows exactly what to say
My Aud~ I love you
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 12:22 PM UTC