"barer" poems
If you're gonna be lonely,
maybe learn how to cook.
Parade the smoke to the rafters
after doubting the book.
Alert the parents in vowing the earnest
salt in the brook.
A fervent effort relays to bacon kisses you took.
Brine is cheap,
and on days like this
find a Mrs. or friend,
apply the bread crumb crisp.
Buy the egg to allure.
confide that "this might miss."
If not to them to yourself.
Try the odd light whip.
Find a guide or a dozen.
Fire doesn't necessarily deny the pleasant after math.
Passable dishes levy comfort on cold nights,
dying for treasure dancing in the lights,
and forming function digging diamond from plastic wrap.
"I could serve a candied berry
pair it fairly cold below a lighter cream."
See the finer things elaborate below the theme.
Mise en place allowing,
yolk to heat,
folk wreaths are crowning.
Found a leek to brown,
found out what friends to feed can mean
Be the barer
taste your food
silk confections
social fruit
Buck the system
Find connection
tuck the mood in
ginger root
get your list out
pay it forward
take the order
grab a whisk
make an impact
Pleat the border
break the silence
wrap a gift
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 6:56 PM UTC
Standing in this place,
Where you tells us nothing that is going on.
We fear the worst,
Only because you wont tell us better.
You take us away from our land,
To a place I never knew.
You tell us nothing that is going on,
And you treat us as though we are not human.
You tell us we are moving,
and whip us until we move.
"form a line" you tell us.
We fear your guns, so we do.
You take us to the water.
The same water that brings us joy,
Now will bring us nothing but fear,
and hatred.
You whip the ones who don't go,
And Yell at the ones who do.
You hurt our kind,
Like you have nothing but sin.
Slowly the line starts to move,
And I hear nothing but the clang of mettle,
And the cries of my kind.
We fear what will happen next.
I get to the place,
where the white man stays.
I try not to look him in the eyes,
Because all I will see is sin.
You put your cold grasp,
From something I do not know,
Around my wrists and ankle,
But worst, around my neck.
My man fears you aliens,
so we do what your guns say.
We are not to be feared,
Yet you show us nothing but sin.
All of my men,
are joined by your cold hard chains.
The ones who don't move ,
get pulled by the rest.
The whippings become more,
And my people find it hard to stand.
You tell us you need us,
But show us nothing but sin.
We get on the big beast ,
The one only white man knows.
You shove us down the stairs,
And crowed us in.
We are close.
Too close.
Man and woman and child,
Brought together by sin.
the night finally comes,
And I feel peace again.
But only until the morning sun shines,
And brings death with it.
17 of my fellow men,
Brought out my you aliens.
Its only the second day,
What will the next bring?
The hunger in our belies gets stronger,
as you feast upon your joy.
The days food is not much
But rice and ***** water.
As we start to lose count of the day,
We lose count of so many other things
Death, **** fear, mice, whipping,
And sin.
My man can not talk about there fears,
For the white man will listen.
The only thing we can do,
Is make our own language.
Some hope for death,
For by death our souls can fly free.
By death we can return home,
But our families don't even have our bones to remember us by.
Our women and children are used as objects,
Objects of the white mans will.
To show no respect to,
And release your sin upon.
We are brought to stable land,
Of which we have never seen.
You brake us into groups,
and show us no respect.
Only half of my men make it there,
And most of them are not well.
We are shoved around,
And most of do not stay on out feet for long.
The ones you deem 'Usable'
go on to the homes of the white man.
We are forced to work,
for the man of the sin.
We get nothing from this,
and very little food.
We bring you your growth,
While ours is held back.
We are the worker,
we are the barer of life.
You are the owner.
YOU are the sin.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 2:11 PM UTC
When, like a running grave, time tracks you down,
Your calm and cuddled is a scythe of hairs,
Love in her gear is slowly through the house,
Up naked stairs, a turtle in a hearse,
Hauled to the dome,
Comes, like a scissors stalking, tailor age,
Deliver me who timid in my tribe,
Of love am barer than Cadaver's trap
Robbed of the foxy tongue, his footed tape
Of the bone inch
Deliver me, my masters, head and heart,
Heart of Cadaver's candle waxes thin,
When blood, spade-handed, and the logic time
Drive children up like bruises to the thumb,
From maid and head,
For, sunday faced, with dusters in my glove,
Chaste and the chaser, man with the cockshut eye,
I, that time's jacket or the coat of ice
May fail to fasten with a ****** o
In the straight grave,
Stride through Cadaver's country in my force,
My pickbrain masters morsing on the stone
Despair of blood faith in the maiden's slime,
Halt among eunuchs, and the nitric stain
On fork and face.
Time is a foolish fancy, time and fool.
No, no, you lover skull, descending hammer
Descends, my masters, on the entered honour.
You hero skull, Cadaver in the hangar
Tells the stick, 'fail.'
Joy is no knocking nation, sir and madam,
The cancer's fashion, or the summer feather
Lit on the cuddled tree, the cross of fever,
Not city tar and subway bored to foster
Man through macadam.
I dump the waxlights in your tower dome.
Joy is the knock of dust, Cadaver's shoot
Of bud of Adam through his boxy shift,
Love's twilit nation and the skull of state,
Sir, is your doom.
Everything ends, the tower ending and,
(Have with the house of wind), the leaning scene,
Ball of the foot depending from the sun,
(Give, summer, over), the cemented skin,
The actions' end.
All, men my madmen, the unwholesome wind
With whistler's cough contages, time on track
Shapes in a cinder death; love for his trick,
Happy Cadaver's hunger as you take
The kissproof world.
3.4k
if you could hold me in
like burning dawn
on the tips of fall mornings
i would scratch our names
into my bark
i would lean over children
that looked like you, baby
sew my leaves to their jackets
so they would always smell
like fresh dew on a misty morning
water my roots and trim
the thorn bushes i've collected
a dress swathing hips
that are barer than deserts
and if i sing this song now
would you come to me in honest
or like schoolyard jokes
will you kiss my fingers only in jest
i'm a simple plant i need only
sunshine and damp dirt
bare bones lapping up nutrients
a stolen kiss over dinner
a bath that is not lonely
a hand to be held
on afternoons in the city
two people staring in rapture at each other
in the black subway windows
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC
Been on this forum just a short time
Found amazing talent from all kinds
Makes me wanna dub this creative flow
As the greatest ever, if you don’t know
Thus my admiration has been sparked
To write mad verses with a flaming mark
You are the ingredients of this unique brew
That I’m now calling the “Quintessence” crew
So here’s to the “Q,” your words have weight
More than silver and gold, ’cause you’re my mates
Here’s to the eyez of earth’s celestial Angel
X-raying minds to diagnose and become less tangled
Here’s to the fury of the beast, a.k.a. Animal
Ripping at the life we sometimes take for granted
Here’s to the western gunslinger, holla Pug
Blasting us with the creativity from them slugs
Here’s to the sweetness of sista Sara
Walking the mule as a humane barer
Here’s to the Feminine heart of a special Poet
Grounding us to reality, a toast from a glass of Moet
Here’s to the petals from the Y2K1 budding Rose
Missing the nectar to feed the bees and in those…
Here’s to the shiny armor of gleaming love, the Arhanghell
Giving us adventurous tales, ready to drop more coins in that well
Here’s to the food from the Miller they call Keith
Dropping them verses like tender, tantalizing beef
Here’s to the endeavors of the newbie, a Creator of Love
Soaring the clouds fiercely with the freshness of a dove
Other members of the “Q” are still missing in action
Hope you come back to be part of this elite faction
So this dedication will continue to be unfinished
Not whole, but waiting to be no longer diminished…
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
Time is the lingering of the past which the present tries to shield from the future. The future is the growth we take from the lessons time has taught us. Each is unique as the individual barer. Time grants closure and renews hope.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
Johnny had a golden head
Like a golden mop in blow,
Right and left his curls would spread
In a glory and a glow,
And they framed his honest face
Like stray sunbeams out of place.
Long and thick, they half could hide
How threadbare his patched jacket hung;
They used to be his Mother's pride;
She praised them with a tender tongue,
And stroked them with a loving finger
That smoothed and stroked and loved to linger.
On a doorstep Johnny sat,
Up and down the street looked he;
Johnny did not own a hat,
Hot or cold tho' days might be;
Johnny did not own a boot
To cover up his muddy foot.
Johnny's face was pale and thin,
Pale with hunger and with crying;
For his Mother lay within,
Talked and tossed and seemed a-dying,
While Johnny racked his brains to think
How to get her help and drink,
Get her physic, get her tea,
Get her bread and something nice;
Not a penny piece had he,
And scarce a shilling might suffice;
No wonder that his soul was sad,
When not one penny piece he had.
As he sat there thinking, moping,
Because his Mother's wants were many,
Wishing much but scarcely hoping
To earn a shilling or a penny,
A friendly neighbor passed him by
And questioned him: Why did he cry?
Alas! his trouble soon was told:
He did not cry for cold or hunger,
Though he was hungry both and cold;
He only felt more weak and younger,
Because he wished so to be old
And apt at earning pence or gold.
Kindly that neighbor was, but poor,
Scant coin had he to give or lend;
And well he guessed there needed more
Than pence or shillings to befriend
The helpless woman in her strait,
So much loved, yet so desolate.
One way he saw, and only one:
He would--he could not--give the advice,
And yet he must: the widow's son
Had curls of gold would fetch their price;
Long curls which might be clipped, and sold
For silver, or perhaps for gold.
Our Johnny, when he understood
Which shop it was that purchased hair,
Ran off as briskly as he could,
And in a trice stood cropped and bare,
Too short of hair to fill a locket,
But jingling money in his pocket.
Precious money--tea and bread,
Physic, ease, for Mother dear,
Better than a golden head:
Yet our hero dropped one tear
When he spied himself close shorn,
Barer much than lamb new born.
His Mother throve upon the money,
Ate and revived and kissed her son:
But oh! when she perceived her Johnny,
And understood what he had done
All and only for her sake,
She sobbed as if her heart must break.
1.6k
Beware the pale horse
Who rides at dawn
From the wells of sorrow
His gait was drawn
Across the plains of snow
Unto the barren field
Ceaseless can he be
He can't afford to yeild
The benifactor thus unknown
To fabricate our faith
Shall carry upon his back
All that has to wait
The still pond lies
Its whipers are obscene
The pale horse is comming
This you can believe
He's passed the ancient grove
Before we knew of love
He's rode across the meddows
And waded through the mud
With a weary head he watched
And kept the toll
With blind eyes of age
Barer of the soul
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 4:03 PM UTC
The dull leaves
cry and crackle as
the sharp winds strains
their stalks.
They flutter through
the wayward wood
like the ever searching cuckoos.
Ochre, the sad oak gleams, barer
in the morning rays.
Diamond frost melts once more
into the crisp leaves which,
from crunchy embers, soften
as they drench
Satin turns to pumpkin
and mahogany
as melancholic
November approaches.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
Breath hard alright the it done you runt!
Ran t whoa that was a
title tortoise for me my. Kankakee barer ahhhhhh
You think I'm still good,
...?
Think I've changed?
Maybe ha aha fatti
I've still got the touch, the magic touch caçede ahhhhhh ha!
Gût you toot
I'm just, it's just uhhhh
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 5:37 PM UTC
Winter light eats the wide hill
ever barer, buzzards hover over
the headstones in the fertile soil
which for centuries bore olive trees
The souls are elsewhere, where Israel
takes them, the remains perish
in black cloths, to be the first people
to enter the new world on the day
the gate of mercy opens
That is what the dead have lived
and fought for, for that
they have won against the god of war
they have conquered the city, with the source
that breaks out of the earth
Jerusalem, where I suffer
from divided togetherness
Will children of my grandchildren
collect their bones, honour them and
grow olives here again
with sky-high twigs of peace?
Apr 5, 2023
Apr 5, 2023 at 4:04 AM UTC
I am the villain,
the coldhearted canyon
killer who cut
Atlas’ Achilles tendon
causing the sky to crumble
and crush the falsely humble.
I am rage working its way
from a red froth foaming
in the cold glowing bay,
choppy waters which
reflect star light
that is too far away
and already dead.
I am not the hero
of this narrative
because all that
I have to give
is destruction
in the form of
my careful criticism
of this corrupt system.
I smile, hoping
my wise words will
blasts this system’s foundation
and clear the clutter
to build something better.
I am the truth barer,
sunlight sharer
in a world
happy with its shadows.
I am a vicious striker and slicer,
mean bust mostly nicer
than I should be
as the bad guy of humanity.
We all want to be the hero
of our little fairytale,
but I know
better than to fool myself,
because if the genocidal politicians
the vile ********* preachers,
the violent sports stars,
the murderous soldiers,
and the greedy businessmen
are your definition
of the ubermensch
apex of the patriarchal
hierarchy….
Then to you as to them
I am anarchy
builder and destroyer
of abstract constructs
that control us
and the ultimate terrorist/freedom fighter
because I am a truth writer.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 7:43 PM UTC
I’ve gotten used to being set
Set aside
Set straight
Setting like the sun on the idea of happiness
Dying to so many dreams
I don’t have enough phalanges to count them on
People hurt me because they
Think they know me
(You don’t know me, not even a little)
I had forgotten how it feels when you hold me
I had lost the lust to know you
Blade sharp visions
Cutting away at my ability
To hold up my life card
I want to punch out and leave.
Pleasure and pain concurrent
*** and little deaths roll together
I have never spelled it out before
Your *** your *** your species, your intimacy
It murders my self-confidence
It leaves me barer than birth
And hungry for something
That isn’t real
(And you still don’t know me)
tears are my life’s work
blood is my excuse for living
I leave it in the veins
Because anything else would be
Too messy.
In my fantasies
We watch football on the couch
Drink beers with fancy labels
And I fall asleep on your shoulder.
I could make a whole life
In the small of your back
In the space behind your ear
I would color in your lines
And connect your dots.
We would be childhood happy.
(You don’t want to know me)
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
If you followed me on a walk,
In the sunshine of my mind,
What would you see?
Who would I be?
Would I be a yellow fairy,
Skipping between rows of sunflowers,
Higher than high,
Taller than tall?
Would I be a gargoyle,
Grinning hideously at the top of my
Great, grey stone wall?
If you followed me on a walk,
Through the tempest of myself,
What would you see?
Who would I be?
Would I be a giant black wolf,
Prowling the dense forests of Scotland,
Dimmer than dim,
Darker than dark?
Would I be the ghost of a lady,
All dressed in white, in an empty room,
Barer than bare,
Starker than stark?
If you followed me on a walk,
Through the corridors in my head,
What would you see?
Who would I be?
Would I be a great horse,
Pounding with my silver hooves the earth of a road that never ends,
Over and over,
On and on?
Would I be a painting,
A landscape,
My colour fading,
Paint peeling,
Rough and old,
Gloomy and wan?
If you followed me on a walk,
Through my own sweet fragile world,
I don't know what you'd see,
Or to you who I'd be,
But I know who I am,
No one knows more than me.
Would you like me to tell you?
13/09/2006
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 7:21 AM UTC
Bared every piece of my soul
I knew how
Still these trees remain barer
Thrown a hundred frisbees in spring
Turned a thousand saucers in fall
Still pie in the sky wins
Watched a lot of people
Seen a ton of smiles
Still trust is obsolete
Walked a million streets or more
Tamed even more shoes
Still I’ve gotten nowhere
Read all the books they told me to
Seen all the classic flicks
Still most amazed by fire’s flicker
Every city seems the same
Every person less a wonder
Still they say life is wonderful
And the wedding gowns blend into the snow
I somehow like them better that way
Still one or the other seems off-white
Plucked the petals off a garden
Wished on endless shooting stars
Still no miracle of love
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 11:24 AM UTC
Oh silly,
wandering,
pale,
petite
heart
you travel miles
from your owner
exploring
the beauty of the globe
without
rib cage, torso, and body
you finicky
flighty
little thing
you annoy me so
you jump from
stranger's hearts
to stranger's hearts
lavishing in their adoration
and unusual beauty
you trapse around
masquereding yourself
as an authentic barer
of real love
a skilled actress
convincing
this world
that your owner,
me
is right there with you
all along
Oh you tormenting
rapid
active
amber *****
Here I am
always stretched
in two places at once.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 1:45 AM UTC
A soft sympathetic voice
cries
Please,
don’t forget
what I was,
a child of love.
Please don’t
let go
of my heart.
Please,
be kind
and kindle
the hearth fire
of compassion.
Please don’t run
when I need you
to stay.
Please,
oh please
don’t
forget me.
The gentle voice
slips away
as the barer
stares coldly
into a blank face.
It is a dark mirror
that marks his change.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 9:05 AM UTC
[Author's Note: These are song lyrics.]
Distracted
Restlessly inactive
Desperate for the formula for joy
Attracted
Recklessly reactive
Rescued from the silence of the void
(Hearing everything)
From under the frozen ground
You walk on by
I explode
Without so much as a sound
And then you're near!
Trembling like the earth
Inside
The ice that disappears
Blown softly open
By degrees
As slight as deep
Morning tundra yawns
A filthy whine
Disturbing the soil of years
A product of my environment
Skeptical and wired
More than a little irrelevant
Always so tired
Of tragedies already written
Of competition for roles
To survive, win or lose,
To pay the price for repetition
I vow to leave this spectacle behind
But then you're here!
Barer than the trees
Outside
Your buzzing, breathless fear
Blown softly over
By a breeze
As light as sleep
Budding blossoms weep
A minted sigh
Releasing the doubt alive in me
(Please)
Baby come for me
Let me know your zeal
Let me know your greed
Let me know you feel
Even if you may not love me
Baby come for me
(Born of the urge
To devour what is beautiful
Favor the nectar of a queen
Torn by the surge
To divide the irreducible
Savor the subtle taste of spring)
Into everything
Over fertile ground
You walk on by
I explo-
© Michal Czechak 2010-2016
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 4:10 PM UTC
My legacy ends here,
I have no name to lend
Because I was born out of wed lock,
All I have is the shame to bend.
The truth comes out always
When the truth barer passes on;
What I believed to be a truth on my side
Turns out to be false pretense; nothing but a lie.
Who was my true parent, will I ever know?
One thing is for sure, I was not to be procured.
And that is apparently something hard to swallow
Because being born out of wed lock is so hollow.
My legacy ends here
I have no name to lend,
Except what was generated out of
Grammatical error has to die here in this era.
Creative Writings - Reina J. Morris
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
The feelings that I once held for her have vanished before my very eyes, all the gooeyness vaporized like steam. I knew it was coming though, I could feel it always ebbing and easing forward like a scorpion on the prowl, but I never expected her to hurt me so badly. I never expected her to be the barer of the elements that brought down my demise.
Who is she?
She is love, or better yet, she is my love. Dressed in naught but a warm smile, seducing me with that smile as she lures me closer and closer to an abyss that only I can fall into. But why? I was so close to her and yet we still had a distance to go, so loving to her and yet she didn’t see it in any aspect.
So here I sit, tears falling down my cheeks like little lava droplets easing down an Ice sculpture, burning heat making it somehow all the way to my chilled core.
None can say where the road can lead, but none can say they know not the destination.
None can say they haven’t known a love though one may not have felt its connection.
But I can say that I’ve felt the loss of it, and I can say its worse than daggers in the gut. I can say that once my heart was lost, there was nothing to fill that empty space and nothing to keep me living. Why did I give her so much power, why did I show her that I was a vulnerable being just waiting on her oppression? Why did I beg the heavens for a love I knew I couldn’t keep?
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 11:40 AM UTC
Trees turning late September
Leaves nosediving the ground
I know I should be changing too
Think as evening comes around
Fighting my shifting demons
Dropped to shaking knees
Autumn's knife struck my heart
Chill spreading like disease
With eyes shut in cold apprehension
Underneath a waning moon
Dreams
Sunshine
Disappear and are replaced
By fear of Winter coming soon
Wrapped tight in blanket of desperation
Colors switch to dull from bright
The nights steadily grow longer
See less and less clinging daylight
Making pathetic attempts
Lift myself off the floor
To transform like the weather
Wishing to not be the same anymore
But heart remains frozen solid
The months continue on
Seek a metamorphosis
Still meet resistance each dawn
Temperatures decrease little by little
Doubts and insecurity rise
Avoid facing the bitter wind
Everything in nature dies
Animals go into complete hiding
Have to admit I relate
Sleeping in to escape the world
A way I also hibernate
I try climbing towards my goals
Instead like seasons dizzily Fall down
Stripped barer than naked jagged branches
Forced beneath icy feelings to drown
Frost covers each surface
Departs as morning wakes
Dew remains as evidence
Like shavings after erased mistakes
Not long until snow layers earth
Buries all white touches
I couldn't bury flaws as well
Bad habits caught in my clutches
I stand rigid as an anchor
Though it might sound strange
Time ages all surroundings
Somehow I don't change
Mar 24, 2020
Mar 24, 2020 at 4:20 AM UTC
To traverse the terrain of logic, common consideration in mental expectation and in keeping the public's entertainment of notifications well placed in unscripted floor plans, not to mention the exuberance of those oh so willing to test the nerve of the pulsing jokes taunting the core value of the herk a ****
The traverse from the need based , Food, Housing, life and limb to the higher minded considerations of abstract thought where a ball is a call to rise ones ability to suspend disbelief we find it not not unlike, making a tighter turn than the bad guy can muster up to with stand or believe possible to them and their well oiled machine.
So in this we find a random house effort to win the masses with a check to the mental and emotional standard barer in such guide on's as were a flag upside down and flowing haphazardly in verse all reverse and running away from the very battle for which they have trust upon the deer hearted and needy of us all.
And we smile and say, Welcome to the party, wish you were here, but then again we are comfortably numbed to the pains for which you have cast such doubts upon the soul of our matter. and you no longer matter and we don't mind that bad folks don't matter yet can forth of july the lake of fire and fry.
As we the good folks smile and see that turning such a tight turn can cause the bad folk pause for concern.
Smile, they hate it when we turn their scripted page, like it was a popup book discussing daily wages.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC
I closed my eyes,
Watching blood streams flowing from me.
My body felt lighter than ever.
My veins felt emptier than ever.
My skin felt barer than ever.
My heart felt slower than ever.
My soul felt stronger than ever.
Watching blood streams flowing from me,
I closed my eyes.
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 6:43 AM UTC
I smell,
A queen bee drenched in alcohol!
Dried up,
And soaked into a cotton ball.
One whiff and all of a sudden she is my queen bee!
Now I devote my entire life to a spoonful of honey!
Baked inside her two thousand golden wombs,
Emerging drunk on her chemical love.
We eat her eyes for sight to see,
She sees what she wants to see.
Gold dust is stuck to my thighs,
And flowers are growing out of my eyes!
This is all I can see,
The life of a honey bee!
I hunt with the bees from the honeycombs,
All entranced by her chemical love song.
Seduced by the crown of a flower,
Hung ovaries filled with nectar.
Excuse me, Ma'am. May I, a humble honey bee, drink of your nectar?
I am a starved servant of my queen bee, and I must return to the hive with nectar for the colony, or else my queen will beat me maliciously!
-
I am the mother,
The barer of life.
If you follow me,
You will survive.
You need someone like me,
You need a queen bee.
I am the one who rose,
and you rose with me.
I am the creator,
Of the entire colony.
You need someone like me,
You need a queen bee.
-
Strong enough to hold down the seas,
Yet too weak to hold down the bees.
You can't tell us what to do,
Because the bees will find a way to defy you.
With a body so fat,
And wings so small,
We should not be able to fly at all;
Yet we fly anyway,
Because we don't give a **** about what you say;
The bees just levitate away!
Who are you to tell us what to do,
We are the many and you are the few!
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 5:04 PM UTC