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ThePoet Oct 2017
Just because
I bear
the pain,
it doesn’t
mean it’s
bearable.
Vicki Kralapp Oct 2012
Eskimo Pies.  You have been the backbone of my existance.
Bland days and times of no work.  
You have sustainted me through it all.
Your lucious chocolate and creamy ice cream make my days bearable.

Vanilla dripping down my chin,
I have you on my side.
I will make do with you.
You, who have filled my life with sweetness.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Cassie Aug 2018
some nights I want to die
some nights I'm thankful I didn't
either way,
I'm tired.
Ken Pepiton May 2018
Sunday, May 06, 2018
4:51 PM

Failing for lack of power is a fear crop.
A fear crop.
An odd thought.

Not the seed nor spore, but the fruit.

And fruits have seeds in themselves,
All men, I say again,
wombed and un, should know that by now.

Freedom of information act fact, informed
men know when to fight and when to sow and when
to reap the crops we've sown
in our mortal moment
gone with the wind.

Not mine.
The wind is in my inheritance,
True proverb.
I troubled my own house, fouled my nest
with all the rest o' youse ab-users of life
ignoring forever like that could never happen here.

It did.
The voices in your head are never all evil
if they use words.
In the total accounting of idle words
some significant percentage
may
carry meaning forsaken.
Such may be redeemed
much as one would redeem the time.

One of us.  One of our mortal kind.

Dear reader, we say again, we ain't Legion nor his kin.

We are words once spoken in jest among fools who repeated us
meaninglessly, oh my God, you know. Per se. No ****. **** happens.
All the ****** time,
and **** and God, those two get overtime of idle utterance instances.
Though a statistically measurable deme
does redeem a significant some of those two
in true beliver
dying breath
honesty. God, they say, and die.

By my leave, I say,
I am the definition of a free entity accepted in these books.
We are voices. Messengers.
Some of us were wicked, twisted as wicker
or wire bundles. Some of us were true pass words.
Some were true rest words,
rest rooms were so named
for that wonderunful feeling we all get
when **** happens

at just the right moment

in the book. Great ideas gravitate to clean rest rooms.

this is a new book right, this reader is
whadayacallit

Vetted.
What does that mean. You know right idle heard words are
meaning less
power less.
Vet me. Am I one of those ideas, good to the core, caught up in fairy
tales fed the T.V. generation, the Boom beyond the bomb?
After school freedom and duck and cover drills,
we watched cartoons, aimed twenty short years earlier
at the wanters and wishers and workers and worriers
of the thirties, not at us. W


e Boomers, as the media hipsters have always known us,
the off-spring, often unwanted and ill-begotten, of the Greatest Generation,
the one that won the contracts to build all the bombs in the world,
tax-free.

Those cartoons from the thirties with Entertainment Tonight plots and cameos of
Hollywood stars who were Grandma's age,
that Cowboy Bob on the local VHF
(unaffiliated or independent, hard to tell a diff)
showed to us, the first middle class latch key kids in centuries,
those cartoons were meaningless, prewar propaganda
unless we match adult laughing recoging the exaggerations,
The Betty Davis eyes and Frankly M'Dear bigears
"Grandpa, who is that guy with big ears and a skinny mustache?"
Clark Gable, wow.
Who knew the "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a ****" guy had jug-handle ears?
It was diversity in the desert. My big ears no longer made me bully bait.
I have superior hearing and star power.
From my kindergarten years I have known.
I am included, my flaws are not flaws at all.
That don't give a **** guy
and I have big ears to hear better with, so
we know more. Good fathers teach their big eared sons such facts of Nature.

Take care. Don't get puffed up. Knowing too much
will fill a head with hydrogen and the brain in it rots,
intrixically.

Are we powerless? If you say so? No.
I am in control, graciously demands
no load un-bearable with Gen-you-wine Joy Juice,
Kick-a-poo Joy Juice.

(Note: not fire water white lightning. This is
Gen-you-wine Joy Juice,
Kick-a-poo Joy Juice. Al Capp's
Personal Stash of Greatest Gen Synthetic Absynthe.
Used to **** hippie wanna-bees in farm country,
Like DDT for apple worms and skeeters,
Atom bombs for all colors of thinkin' right (but white),
Gen-you-wine Joy Juice,
Kick-a-poo Joy Juice revived many a faintin' pilgrim
follerin' John Wayne down the dusty trail,

Play me one o' them somebody done somebody right
songs,
there must be a million lying idle in blue puddles o' all kinds
of imaginary
ref-use.

Referee.
Job's Daysman betwixt us, we win. His call, not mine. I thought I lost for sure.

I was powerless, let me testify.

No. We think different here. If you are not stupid,
you are not powerless. If you are stupid, then you are powerless,
but but but
If you think you are powerless, you are not stupid. God knows, right?
Stupid people seldom see themselves powerless past the standing
under peace that's beyond understanding meat-mind-wise.

Dunning-Krueger. Again.
Feedback please, this is one of many in the theme of redeeming idle words, for fun and profit.
Patricia LeDuc Feb 2019
With every pill I take… I lose a little of myself
It almost makes my life bearable
With every pill I take… my mind borders on insanity
It almost makes my life bearable
With every pill I take
I break with reality
Pop another pill
It will never make my life bearable
Pop another pill
Just in case
A vicious circle...that may never end
(Medications for Bipolar Disorder)
Nic Mac Jun 2018
Distance, is this air around me that is vacant of you.
Your heart, so far from mine, though I can hear it’s music.
Patience, is the belief that time without you is bearable.
Seconds slowly scrape along the line I drew to wake.
Nothing matches this ache.

of opening eyes to mornings, without your laughter.
Closing them is redundant,
it does not permit me back, to revisit the dream I had left you in.
Eyes instead reluctantly greet the sunrise,
whilst yours are still dancing, flickering, in the gift sleep brings.
I wonder if your searching for me.

Impatient hands long to pull you prematurely out of slumber. Reaching across this border in vain, restless mind teasing me,
as it thinks of holding you, kissing you, here. now.
Dare I soften the white peaks of the mountains that part us?
I mustn’t, thinks the patient witness of time I’ll wait for you on the other side my dear...join me, soon, I wait eagerly.
the wait for wakefulness as they sleep still....

By Nic Mac
Rakha Mar 2019
my mother once foretold
that my overwhelming disgust
poured onto my skin and
patches of personalities
will put me on a gridiron
and wave me as a vapor heat
bearable, annoying, and
unwanted — but!

it is a process i forego
before i love the person
who will love me more than
i despise me

and that person is me

i am my wildfire
and i am my flood
and i wreck my world
rebuild it with bare hands
the red stain on my palm
speaks of the sturdy brick i built
sol Jul 2018
6:09 PM
Wednesday june 20, 2018

There is unspoken beauty in rain
Others may see the mud, the humidity it brings
But i say isn't it beautiful how the rain washes away the sins of the earth,cleans it, purify it making it bearable for others
Along with it it brings rainbows of hope and the energy of growth, the electricity of change
The rain creates puddles as it softly kisses the pavement leaving its DNA  behind
The frogs come out to play and croak a song of joy
The leaves open up to the wet nectar the sky provides, absorbing it as it drops upon them
The rain brings with it a paddle of a lullaby it sings with the window accompanying it
©sol /the poems i never wrote
Wish I Could
Say no to you
And be as strong
As you think I am
I'm afraid
Living in this cycle is bearable
But for how long?
How long will it take me
To destroy everything even more
Then that I already did
How can I live with this
Because the feeling
After breaking you
Will be just as bad as before
I am confused
I am screaming
I am happy
I am silent
I am all at once
I am me
A terrible person
Who hurts
Who breaks
Who cries
But mostly
Makes other people be
And the worst part is
I don't even know why
So one last time
Sorry
I just want
To be the one
To speak her name as mine
Even in my dreams
She's here
But does that count as cheating?
Because it feels
Just as good
And just as bad
Even my poems show that broken is not broken Enough for me but nobody seems to realise
How
Can I scream for help
I want to
How
Can I get out of this stupid roleplay I created
Out of this lie
Out of this love
Out of everyone
Without breaking something
There is Only one question left
Why do I give out signs for help,
If help.
Will make this word I created,
And destroyed
Even worse
The pieces are finally getting back together
Help
Lies. Lies. Lies. Sick of lying.
Kewayne Wadley Jul 2018
And if such a time comes.
I ask for courage anew, happier eyes.
To delve into sweet slumber without sigh.
Time neither passes or retracts.


And in addition I find the least bit bearable.
Unable to drown in total sleep.
The sights seen precious.
I forget where I place my head.


And I hold no grievance against thee.
Heavily affectioned to many a sight.
My eyes swallowed whole,
At happiness's interpretation.


Whilst I not forget, Sandman,
I dream with open eyes
Zowie Georgia May 2014
Love I've not yet met you to the fullest,
to the capacity I know we are
and the understanding that's to come.
But it’s okay,
The timing was wrong,
we had plenty of lives to live,
to experience other loves and the alien times,
to know what we truly want
and recognize ourselves in each other.

Love if we hadn't known such loneliness
how would we truly appreciate what home feels like together,
being in eachother's arms will make all the waiting so much more bearable.
Through the past, lessons learned and the rewards yet to arrive
I will bump into you my Love,
where my dreams and reality collide,
and you will have been looking for me too
for eons,
and I will laugh at my cynicism,
how silly I was,
to believe you didn't exist.

How will I know it is you I hear you say,
My heart will know I’m telling you.
I’m stronger now my heart's softer,
I couldn't possibly not know now.
And how will you know I telepathically ask,
because I already feel you I hear,
How could we not know each other already...

I’ll lose myself in your eyes
distracted by nothing but your next micro-expression,
I will be so full by the ultimate knowing that It’s you,
I've been waiting lifetimes
for your deep brown eyes.

And you’ll know me
how I've always wanted to be known,
wordless or full of them depending on my mood,
you’ll know.
I allow your hands to touch me
without trying to control,
softening more because I'll want you to devour me
and I’ll truly know surrender.

My love,
I know you're there
As I’m here.
Our lives will continue to move in directions
and yes this world is massive
but I'm travelling towards you
just be there waiting to see me.

<3 <3 <3
Lovers meeting through the Ether, already familiar within - bringing the inside into a physical embodiment
incidental Apr 2019
Talking to myself
Laughing at my own jokes
Entertaining myself
Making fun of myself
Calling myself a *******
Believing it
Acting like a lunatic
Becoming one
Feeding my insanity
Laughing about it
My life is going nowhere
I’m happy I have a life
I’m a suicidal maniac with a smile and a side of fries
I write poems about it
And I wouldn’t have it any other way
Because of people like you
Who make my *******, boringass, cheesyass, waffleass, *******, stupidass, lønelyass life worth living
Thank you
My ******* way of saying thank you
Maggi Jan 2019
How am I so deep in love when I dream of dying?
Love is a really powerful feeling that can be the only spark in the darkness we call life, making the thought about death bearable.  It is a never-ending adrenaline rush that makes us feel alive and helps us through the pain of living. Always holding our hand saying: “Well done. It is nearly over.”
Arke Aug 2018
This is a gift exchange.

I would like to share with you some of my happiest moments:

Having breakfast at a restaurant on top of the mountains and watching the sun rise over sleepy houses.

Wine and food pairing tasting in the summer, near the lake. It smelled like fresh flowers and the breeze off the lake made the summer sun bearable.

Kissing you and realizing it felt like home, like I had found something I didn't even know I was missing.

Every memory shared has been a gift exchange, and your gifts are ones I will always cherish.

Thank you.
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
The love pretty please
wait for my
Cherry baby on top
Not some love O-Oreo
I could scream beguiled
Both twirled in swirls
Bavarian cream

Love has torn at the seams
Bad dream hot hit
bounty hunter
Bunny ears of the hop heart
it skips divine lips like a light tower
No other apology cries the thunder

And wait a **** minute
O-Oh-Yes where's my tip

I am not your second
fiddle of stunts
The romance of philosophy

We can fly higher
than anyone
will ever be

The Outgaze O hearts
of symmetry
Being told about their love
or other peoples fun
Twilight apology Wolfin tie outrun

Love O Apology light my pleasure
O on Overdrive no time for the
S letter-word SOS seizure
How many love gestures
of psychology

Love word *O
love
to Outlive
your treasure
Being psyched for physiology
Feeling mighty good right now
Don't blow bubbles like their
stars* of trouble

A few in the A-New heart stays
ever so blue few Good Men
Perfect Zen thumbs up
His or hers how cute
the words up
The Buddha says
Love is a
spiritual existence

The herbs body rubs
Going to the Hubs
Behind all your apologies
Wearing the new Doctor scrubs
Love house of Labs resistance

The morning glory September
rise and stretch your
overworked wings
Believing never comparing
to another love
It's your love

Or very O for outstanding at the utmost
So incredible the feeling
       Loveology
There's absolutely no apology
The love surrender lion and tigers
So bearable

Her turn like a Turnup
Up close nose smells the rose
Picking love out pulling
the weeds
Her red  embarrassed face
of the radishes
The Shy bush compared
to the O outgoing love
A hint of red delicious apple
Buzzing around the
Mulberry Bush_
Big Ben London
O Sweet Lord of magic singing
*Rosebush* fresh lemons
George Bush Patriotic
Chilean Sea Maiden Bass
Love ******

VIP pass especially with love
Here it is his loves
A spinning wheel so dizzy
London foggy she is the
product of the  flower *****
Like a carnival cotton candy
What a head rush
Another apology and a big push
Those hummingbirds of sweet soul
But something ambushed
She got a lump of his
crab meat cheek crush

Getting over someone never to see them

*Picking out all the petals of the rose when she was with him*

How many apologies open heart surgeries
Apology on hold like a new series
*Wake up "O" my muffin*
Cheers to the world of Oats
Fingerpicking Cheerios
*Don't give in  get to know him

Giving/InWay*

New love *Caved In*
His way per click day
High payments to pay off

BMW Billionaire Man wilted
Love head Beamer
Be
_ My__ World the dreamer

That love pain injury, going faster
Strong love never to lose her
Like cancer Santas Deers love prancer

Fine tooth comb
Negative force to succumb

Capitulate
Artsy wings to meditate
She is destined for something
So articulate
Can this be a painful love of fate?
She succumbs to the time given in
To her O Lord temptation
Words stand alone planet of people
Hearing the real voice no recording
From here to eternity the blasted phone

The Love O not to outwit just sit
And lift your gravity of love
Round earth or your flat on the ground or above
someone knows your true love


*She is combing her hair Silkience Queen of the Divination
Love, there should be no apology lifted gravity that loves O went further than he will ever know her sexuality was smiles alive he couldn't learn his numbers.  Where is the love when your heart thunders world of letters and love writers never to apologize we are the real fighters
Victor D López Dec 2018
Your husband died at 40, leaving you to raise seven children alone.
But not before your eldest, hardest working son, Juan, had
Drowned at sea in his late teens while working as a fisherman to help
You and your husband put food on the table.

You lost a daughter, too,
Toñita, also in her early teens, to illness.
Their kind, pure souls found
Their way back home much too soon.

Later in life you would lose two more sons to tragedy, Paco (Francisco),
An honest, hard working man whose purposeful penchant for shocking
Language belied a most gentle nature and a generous heart. He was electrocuted by
A faulty portable light while working around his pool.

And the apple of your eye, Sito (José), your last born and most loving son, who
Had inherited his father’s exceptional looks, social conscience, left of center
Politics, imposing presence, silver tongue, and bad, bad luck, died, falling
Under the wheels of a moving train, perhaps accidentally.

In a time of hopelessness and poverty, you would not be broken.
You rose every day hours before the dawn to sell fish at a stand.
And every afternoon you placed a huge wicker basket on your head and
Walked many, many miles to sell even more fish in other towns.

Money was tight, so you often took bartered goods in
Exchange for your fish, giving some to those most in need,
Who could trade nothing in return but their
Blessings and their gratitude.

You walked back home, late at night, through darkness or
Moonlit roads, carrying vegetables, eggs, and perhaps a
Rabbit or chicken in a large wicker basket on your strong head,
Walking straight, on varicose-veined legs, driven on by a sense of purpose.

During the worst famine during and after the Civil War, the chimney of your
Rented home overlooking the Port of Fontan, spewed forth black smoke every day.
Your hearth fire burned to to feed not just your children, but also your less
Fortunate neighbors, nourishing their bodies and their need for hope.

You were criticized by some when the worst had passed, after the war.
“Why work so hard, Remedios, and allow your young children to go to work
At too young an age? You sacrifice them and yourself for stupid pride when
Franco and foreign food aid provide free meals for the needy.”

“My children will never live off charity as long as my back is strong” was your Reply.
You resented your husband for putting politics above family and
Dragging you and your two daughters, from your safe, comfortable home at
Number 10 Perry Street near the Village to a Galicia without hope.

He chose to tilt at windmills, to the eternal glory of other foolish men,
And left you to silently fight the real, inglorious daily battle for survival alone.
Struggling with a bad heart, he worked diligently to promote a better, more just
Future while largely ignoring the practical reality of your painful present.

He filled you with children and built himself the cross upon which he was
Crucified, one word at a time, leaving you to pick up the pieces of his shattered
Idealism. But you survived, and thrived, without sacrificing your own strong
Principles or allowing your children to know hardships other than those of honest work.

And you never lost your sense of humor. You never took anything or
Anyone too seriously. When faced with the absurdity of life,
You chose to smile or laugh out loud. I saw you shed many tears of laughter,
But not once tears of pain, sorrow or regret. You would never be a victim.

You loved people. Yours was an irreverent sense of humor, full of gentle irony,
And wisdom. You loved to laugh at yourself and at others, especially pompous fools
Who often missed your great amusement at their expense, failing to understand your Dismissal, delivered always with a smile, a gentle voice and sparkling eyes.

Your cataracts and near sightedness made it difficult for you to read,
But you read voraciously nonetheless, and loved to write long letters to loved ones and friends. You were a wise old woman, the wisest and strongest I will ever know,
But one with the heart of a child and the soul of an angel.

You were the most sane, most rational, most well adjusted human being
I have ever known. You were mischievous, but incapable of malice.
You were adventurous, never afraid to try or to learn anything new.
You were fun-loving, interesting, kind, rambunctious, funny and smart as hell.

You would have been an early adopter of all modern technology, had you lived long
Enough, and would have loved playing—and working—with all of my electronic
Toys. You would have been a terror with a word processor, email, and social media
And would have loved my video games—and beaten me at every one of them.

We were great friends and playmates throughout most of my life.  You followed
Us here soon after we immigrated in 1967, leaving behind 20 other Grandchildren.
I never understood the full measure of that sacrifice, or the love that made it
Bearable for you. I do now. Too late. It is one of the greatest regrets of my life.

We played board games, cowboys and Indians, raced electric cars, flipped
Baseball cards and played thousands of hands of cards together. It never
Occurred to me that you were the least bit unusual in any way. I loved you
Dearly but never went far out of my way to show it. That too, I learned too late.

After moving to Buenos Aires, when mom had earned enough money to take
You and her younger brothers there, the quota system then in place made it
Impossible to send for your two youngest children, whose care you entrusted
Temporarily to your eldest married daughter, Maria.  

You wanted them with you. Knowing no better, you went to see Evita Peron for help.
Unsurprisingly, you could not get through her gatekeepers.  But you were
Nothing if not persistent. You knew she left early every morning for her office.
And you parked yourself there at 6:00 a.m., for many, many days by her driveway.  

Eventually, she had her driver stop and motioned for you to approach.
“Grandmother, why do you wave at me every morning when I leave for work?”
She asked. You explained about your children in Spain. She took pity and scribbled a
Pass on her card to admit you to her office the next day.

You met her there  and she assured you that a visa would be forthcoming;
When she learned that you made a living by cleaning homes and washing clothing,
She offered you a sewing machine and training to become a seamstress.
You thanked her but declined the offer.

“Give the sewing machine to another mother with no trade. My strong back and hands
Serve me well enough and I do just fine, as I have always done.”
Evita must have been impressed for she asked you to see her yet again when the
Children had arrived in Buenos Aires, giving you another pass. You said you would.

You kept your word, as always. And Evita granted you another brief audience,
Met your two youngest sons (José and Emilio) and shared hot chocolate and
Biscuits with the three of you. You disliked and always criticized Peron and the Peronistas,
But you never forgot Evita’s kindness and defended her all your life.

You were gone too quickly. I had not said “I love” you in years. I was too busy,
With school and other equally meaningless things to keep in touch. You
Passed away without my being there. Mom had to travel by herself to your
Bedside for an extended stay. The last time I wrote you I had sent you a picture.

It was from my law school graduation.
You carried it in your coat pocket before the stroke.
As always, you loved me, with all of my faults that made me
Unworthy of your love.

I knew the moment that you died. I awoke from a deep sleep to see a huge
White bird of human size atop my desk across from my bed. It opened huge
Wings and flew towards me and passed through me as I shuddered.
I knew then that you were gone. I cried, and prayed for you.

Mom called early the next day with the news that you had passed. She also
Told me much, much later that you had been in a coma for some time but that
You awoke, turned to her without recognizing her, and told her that you were going to
Visit your grandson in New York. Then you fell asleep for one last time.

I miss you every day.

[   To hear a YouTube reading of this poem in its entirety, you can visit the following URL: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OX6w1Pwe7gI   ]
from Of Pain and Ecstasy: Collected Poems 2011, 2018
Ankit J Chheda Dec 2018
She brings happiness in places I never knew it existed,
She stays when I'm bathed in self-loathing and pity,
Nursing me back to a reality she makes bearable,
She saves me from drowning in the sorrows of depression,
She protects me from myself in the darkness of my mind,
She's all this and so much more I didn't know I needed,
I'm so madly in love with this woman and I want to tell her every waking moment,
The crazy thing is she doesn't even need to hear me say it,
And I know she loves me back
Keith Wilson Jul 2018
It has now turned into
a normal English summer
after the scorching
temperatures of late
Much more bearable!
aL Dec 2018
Delicate touch of fate
A mist turning into a rain
Cold but bearable
Clouds make the day end prematurely,
Skies accepting the darkness
I am getting used to it, though
Liked it how we have to part our ways
So close to a happy ending
Life is such a sadistic writer
While trying to make a full comedy
Thus making our lives tragic
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