"begrudgingly" poems
The arctic cold has brushed my cheek once again
The skies are stained white
and the ringing in my ears
is louder than ever
I wonder what the clouds are doing, I never see them anymore
The night doesnt come but the sun doesn't shine
I have a silver notebook
I write, spearmint
Because my eyes are watering but I feel nothing
The world is dry while the air is full
And the heavens take their morning pills
Wash their face
Head off sleepily to begrudgingly watch the icy seas
The wind bites my cheeks
But moves in such silence I wonder if the feeling is not just my routine punishment
At least I'm used to my spirits
At least I have a jacket on
At least the heavens didnt take a sick day all together.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 9:45 AM UTC
The nakedness of winter lies heavy upon
the tolling Sunday quietude
Shed leaves perish into yesterday
and the dream of another
dawning someday wanes
The sun ― lay low
the drudging ashen skyline
Barerd emerald moss scaffolds
draw much more distantness
to the pallid shadowed horizon
The evergreens step forth,
roots grasping sacred heart,
soil and rock
In the swelling aloneness
you can feel the grain
of the heartwood
rooted in your soul
There are no hard feelings
but there's an enduring ache,
like a tree with a rotting limb
languishing within
its blackened bark sacrifice
It's not just the grinding time
that slips away begrudgingly;
more of the same takes a toll
as if another unrung belfry hour
in an empty bell tower
without a song rang out in vain,
peeling reflections
of reluctant hours c r a w l by
in the insensible apathy
A so called holiday passes ―
its footprint bears down
hard and deep
as if a paling winter rose
grieves its own passing
A dry wishbone unbroken
lay bare the poignant
truth it holds;
it takes two to make
this wish come true
.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 12:33 PM UTC
"Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly" (2)
who needs challenges, commissions.
kicks~in~le butte~
when heaven heaves rains, one downs tall orders in
short shot glass verses, which glossed over at its
first communion(cation,
come back
months later
to subtract - another
poem from where it lay dormant
on the doormat
of my sub~sub~terranes
of my diluted subconscious au natured dry & rugged terrain
a favored poet,
a secretive admirer,
whoa~whose~her truthful name, I've yet to uncover,
but whose one true soul inspires me repeatedly,
ana~lyrically licks me into
dredging from me
un begrudgingly
and yet,
another love poem,
she herself wrote when elixiring (commentating (3))
'pon one of mine,
a long long time ago
Alas! Alack!
unnaturally immodest,
one concedes,
when obviously a Super~Woman!-cedes,
seeds in three verses, what I could never unknot
nor uncover
so I requite & requote with
unlabored pleasure
miz patty m's
primary terse verse,
neither secondary & never tertiary,
her absolut perfect mixed drink
defining, summarizing,
the essences of love
*"(Love) Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly"*
I concede, in deed,
and in writing,
I know nothing,
of writing
of only love poetry
and all the great predecessors,
elsewhere lyricized, named and tabulated,
by yet another women, (1)
I will take my weary words elsewhere,
and if
perhaps,
disguised as a woman,
(Natalie, Natasha, Natali
see note below)
perhaps my verbal herbal insides,
my turgid insights,
will be shorter, sweeter,
but never more completer
than those of,
who can syncopate it
in rhyme
and the naming of my
predilection,
by mid~initial,
will give a measuring
of solace, and
a kiss and hug from my mirrored selfie,
having been unsuccessful at
my one chosen endeavor,
only love poetry,
adieu,
I, due,
utter
Nevermore
M>
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 3:38 PM UTC
men and their egos (I turned twenty this summer) are
inseparable
insufferable
begrudgingly
they admit “guess you were right”
believing that will make them heroes,
by full on confessing they are ********
I turned twenty in the summer
my tan legs in cutoffs (it’s summer) drives them to madness,
accused, you are pitiless, for their dreams of you involve ransom
still, you
search and quiet plead like Abraham, to the heated air,
while listening to Whitney Houston and Ed Sheeran,
(on your earbuds just so nobody knows your weakness)
for just that one good man in the township of
***** and Gomorrah
my mother bitter sneers good luck with that,
forgetting I am now twenty years
so old, so advanced,
that my hopes and aspirations are no longer those
the ones in my high school yearbook
my poetry fills pages,
a human urban renewal,
laying out a city of hope
recalling that ***** and Gemorrah were destroyed
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 11:49 AM UTC
A loud knock,
was what I heard.
At this hour of the night,
who might that be,
I wordered.
Begrudgingly,
I opened the door,
only to meet a giant,
and all so hairy man,
(not in a **** way though).
Hey young lady,
I'm Rubeus Hagrid,
here to pick you up.
You are not a muggle,
you do not belong here.
There is a school for you,
Hogwarts is its name,
school of witchcraft,
and wizardry,
(not a regular school per say).
We better hurry up child,
or the train will leave us.
It awaits at Platform 9¾,
and if we are not on time,
Dumbledore will have my head.
If we are late,
you will miss the sorting hat,
which makes me wonder,
are you a Slytherin,
or a Gryffindor.
Anyway hurry up,
so go on and pack.
I would give you my wand,
but you do not know how to use it.
Do not look confused my child,
instead be happy.
being a muggle is no fun,
you will realise soon.
So hurry up lets go,
( I already hear snape grumbling).
$angila$
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 9:19 AM UTC
"we broke up"
no
we did not
"break up"
you left me
you gave up
and quit
just like that
like it was nothing
it was never mutual
and i never agreed
yet i just had to accept it
i couldn't then
but now i do...
begrudgingly
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC
Crimson maple buds magically pucker
under brightening skies
Lenten rose reluctantly unfolds
absolving the shadowed snow,
stemming the wintertide
Spring's impending bloom
mystically stirs the delicate human heart
soothing from outside its sheltering shell
A converging pleasantness
of a sunshine sown awakening
cleanses each morning breath drawn
to sate an urgent restrained longing
The wilderness carpet comes alive
with a burgeoning salient sweetness
drawing out a glimmer of gladness
from stale suffocating darkness’
wallowing in the winter ennui
Another kind of poignant balm sinks
from the tall mountain willow tree
touching the sprouting blue sky
Furry fragrant catkins blossom sweetly
like the remnants of a love once known
softly brushing against a fading memory
of unerasable stains begrudgingly beget
Like fawning flowers falling fallow
in a passing season’s pollination breeze
Manipulating frayed heartstrings,
unhealed as the deer peeled scars
and rubbed bark of a mountain willow,
scarred from another season past
Some protective shell ― never grows back
when benign heartwood is brought to light
harlon rivers ... Spring 2018
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
Slowtar,
the monster,
is black sludge.
He engulfs
all alive,
complaining
begrudgingly
about the ongoing
construction.
striped
cones
only
tell
us
where to go.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 9:30 AM UTC
we were driving home
taking side roads in a roundabout way.
and you spotted something on the side of the road.
bloodied, broken and (i assumed to be) dead.
you pulled over and we inspected it.
i was rather disgusted, but you picked it up and coddled it 'cause it had fur.
you kept coo'ing at it and asked it what it's name was (expecting no answer)
but it struggled to utter "Love".
we begrudgingly decided to take it home
and made a bed for it and nourished it back to health.
a week later we were drinking Earl Grey by the fireplace,
heard a rumbling
and looked around to see it standing there looking at us.
it was 7' tall and had an expression of awe, wonder, and terror
as if it thought we would ****** it at any second.
each night it had a different face, resembling one of your former playthings.
you never called it the same name twice.
a week later, it couldn't fit through any of the doorways.
we always came home to plaster, paint and drywall scattered everywhere.
i complained.
"Love has broad shoulders", you quipped.
it had grown too much for us.
a week later, i spent the afternoon at the bar and you were shopping.
we rendezvoused back home at 3PM.
only to find a gaping hole where the front door used to be.
everything inside totaled.
precious collections, expensive technology, jewelry...
all gone (or destroyed beyond recognition).
i railed, "Love ruined EVERYTHING!!!"
you seemed to take no note, kept your composure and muttered, "It always does" and just began sweeping.
the next day we got a kitten from the animal shelter,
and were laying in bed with it at night.
i asked, "Do you think Love will ever come back?"
you answered coldly, "It never does".
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 1:17 AM UTC
As i lay asleep last night
my mind wondered through the window and out of sight
catching a ride on a passing crow
it went places i’ll never go
Gliding it passed over palms and rivers
swooping under waterfalls left me with shivers
rising on a warm sea breeze high
it watched the golden sun set and with a sigh
Returned begrudgingly to where bedridden i lay
paralysed, a vegetable as they say
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 2:10 AM UTC
Scarlet-haired maiden. Blood-soaked kitten. Our history once bled from my veins. May the ink from my pen be the last drop to leak from my stitches. I have cursed, I have blasphemed, and for what? You are as blind as ever as to what I am saying. It is as if those crows finally got around to doing my bidding. Scarlet-haired maiden, I am but a Jester to call you so. Calling you a maiden is a folly no less disastrous as calling a Siren a fish. Blood-soaked kitten, you dare call yourself such a familiar? Call your fat self a, "Little" in search of a father figure? Hark… You're but a beast rolling around in lovers' blood. Licking the sweet nectar off your soft and welcoming fur. Had I not known better I'd reach down to the pits of hell just to pet you. I'd risk your curious claws getting at my loose thread. Sadly… I am but a Jester…I lead you back to our old tree. Our shrine where Gaia herself guarded our love. Where I gave you my heart in the form of an odd pedaled flower. To this day, I dare not to let a white Jasmine flower offend my nostrils. Its sour scent will begrudgingly throw me back to sweet—fleeting—moments. Moments where I had you play the "Loves-Me-Not" game whilst utterly ignoring the warning sign of the very NAME of said game. Moments where I was unaware of the very games you were playing.
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 8:14 AM UTC
i missed the taste of an apple
i didn't even know i really liked apples
until I moved from home and fresh fruits in my diet
became such a rarity
it brought me back home
the taste of an apple
made me nostalgic
reminded me of the summer days
my mom would buy only
apples
instead of the cool fruits-- like
strawberries, blueberries, raspberries--
my favorites
instead she would buy only apples
(the kind that were on sale, of course)
and I would be disappointed
but begrudgingly I would enjoy the
taste of an apple,
on a hot summer day that leaves that earthy smell
in your hair
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 2:17 AM UTC
1:12:25 9:20am nyc
Exactly, how far is it to you?
this is more than mere question,
or a rhetorical poem title discard,
consider it an interrogatory of
the first order, a debate raging
with every word successfully
affixed from brain to fingertips,
from my breathing to your heart,
how far is it exactly, pray tell me,
how these cords of words find you,
are your lips bending up in a smile,
need me a weather report, air quality,
wind gusts vitals vital to yo! estimate
how fast & conditions they’ll require survive/arrive in your eyesight well
and be friended
feed me the data, Heart Rate, Blood Pressure,
SpO2, so I’ll know what condition your
condition is in, adjust my words accordingly,
send to this distance back to me awaiting,
the necessary facts & figures to provide the finger stroke directional, do you need whispers or emboldened bold face to arouse the a spirit flagging, a shoulder shaking, a dozen red lipped chords of
kisses and sweet everthings, that do not
dissolve, dissipate or disappear instantly,
but can be stored in a Ziploc bag, refrigerated,
ready for gorging and disgorging, repeatedly,
as needed, synchronized slow or hard, fast
or soft, wet or dry. sweet or salty, savory
or a blended mixture, an adjustable concoction depending
on distance, time of day,
tell me,
the stuff that you accept
with open willingness,
or just begrudgingly
all adjustable
all shaped to
your individuality
elastic flexible
but the schedule
filling up fast
so we can mutual
squeeze into each others
empire of empty
so,
***Exactly, how far is it to you,
to where you are being***?
Jan 12, 2025
Jan 12, 2025 at 2:48 PM UTC
*Something is amiss
you begrudgingly beat
blood barely flows
in survival mode
Your rhythm echoes
as habitual hope
lacking in conviction
weary and wary
Do you hibernate
unable to sustain
in a landscape
frigid and barren
A passionate void
fills with apathy
dreams lie dormant
awaiting your awakening
My foolish heart
i asked you
to be still
not to stop*
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC
I'm walking down a path I know
I got the volume on full blast
I've still got thousands of verses to go
I intend to make each last
But someone walks up to me
Telling me to cease and desist
I begrudgingly comply
But in my mind, I say this:
Don't talk to me now, my headphones are on
I'm dancing in my mind to my song
My feet match the kicker, my heart beats the snare
In this moment, I don't have a care
So while I've got my headphones on
Please take note, I'll carry on
It's the end of the day, I'm finally home
All homework and chores have been done
So I walk up to my room, warm and alone
And soon the phone's concert has begun
So I say
Don't talk to me now, my headphones are on
I'm dancing in my mind to my song
My feet match the kicker, my heart beats the snare
In this moment, I don't have a care
So while I've got my headphones on
Please take note, I'll carry on
I've got two more hours on this ride
Through a long and quiet night
But I've got a little help by my side
To get me to the morning light
So I say
Don't talk to me now, my headphones are on
I'm dancing in my mind to my song
My feet match the kicker, my heart beats the snare
In this moment, I don't have a care
So while I've got my headphones on
Please take note, I'll carry on
Don't talk to me now, my headphones are on
I'm dancing in my mind to my song
My feet match the kicker, my heart beats the snare
In this moment, I don't have a care
So while I've got my headphones on
Please take note, I'll carry on
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 8:02 AM UTC
my dad was a workin man
mud on his boots and rust colored hands
cigarette in his mouth and Carhart pants
covered in sawdust from the projects he'd sand
we were family but how he saw us I'll never understand
and there was always my mother so he always needed another plan
we were technically a family, the few of us just us three
in a house like a boxing ring the loving was left up to me
four poor walls held together by two wedding rings begrudgingly
you could starve to death there if you were the one hungry for sympathy
my mom was a violent woman, a true fighter
hot tempered and her temper would start hot fires
at a young age I was inspired to learn to fight back because I was tired
of the beatings, of the yelling, of fake apologies, of the mire
we were a family but how she handled us I will never admire
she wanted us forever but the fates conspired
we were a family through all of the calls to the police
we were a family through the jealousy, the paranoia, and the deepening grief
we were a family that went to war and ignored peace
we were a sick body on it's knees that knew only disease and no relief
then of course we were a sailing ship forced on it's inevitable course
divorce
then us three became him, and her, and me, the source
now I have no recourse to heal those old sores
my dad was a boxer and my mom was a volatile pyre
fourteen years on that noose and fears are all I acquired
what transpired has made me hollow and lonely and scared of today because of the prior
and whoever tells you that you could survive that unscarred is the worst kind of liar
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 9:47 PM UTC
Sometimes I put my headphones in
No music playin
Just to muffle out the background noise
Of all they're sayin ,
all the empty conversation
I'm secretly sat here craving
From Better days when
This paranoia wasn't constantly
Invading my brain and
I could entertain it
Sit here without fear
Cause I was going somewhere
With people I could call friends
Without questioning motivations
Unquestioning motivation
Faltered
Now sleign , altered
And warped by blame
checked into the Awk-ward
I wait in urgency
hoping This was no accident
And I'll imerge and see
The bigger picture
Fat-e
But for now I shrink
Violently
Weight droppin off of me
still feelin heavy
Propped up on this bus seat
Weighing up whether
I should miss my stop
Cause I'm not sat near the bell
And God forbid I ask someone for help
Cause then they'd have to look at me
But don't look at me,
Don't you dare look at me!
I can't face you today
I can't even face me
That's why I don't take a window seat
And you have to begrudgingly
Shimmy past me to take yours
Or walk past to the back
Silently cursing me
I wish you'd sing instead
I've got no music playin
Clear my head
lend an Ear-nestle next to me
Did I not earn your earnesty?
If I've got your back
Won't you back me?
Or will I turn round
Reach out
Only to find your shadow stretchin
Out of reach
Like a weary soul-dier
you take your leave...
I try to shake mine off
Anxietree
Break some branches,
Tryin to get free
Oh-live!
They Silently scream
But I'm struggling
To even make it off my seat
Go live
In three
But I can no longer perform
Go on without me
Forget me
Only thing on the way up
Is mum's spaghetti!
Need some Bob Marley
Get up, stand up
But my legs won't let me!
Musics off
So it's down to me
Get up, stand up
Used to be so easy
Get up stand up
Your bus stop is here
No music playin in my ear
But right now I could do
With a mellowdy
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 11:01 AM UTC
The rattling
of an empty plastic water bottle
on a trash-ridden street
at 3 a.m.
is so exceedingly hopeless
that it makes me want to
jump.
Seeing the two drops of water
lingering in the bottom
causes me to untie
my beat-up shoes,
take off
my plain grey socks,
and place them in a neat
and hopeless
pile
next to the overpass.
The label
peeling away from the bottle
forces me to climb over the railing
onto the little ledge,
high above the busy street
below.
Glancing at the forlorn
plastic water bottle,
I prepare to jump.
A ****** homeless man
shuffles down the ***** street
picks up the bottle
and puts it in his bag.
“'scuse me miss,
do ya have any spare change?”
I stare at him with dead eyes
and begrudgingly climb down
from the railing.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
The Comeback snapped the ball
and looked desperately for somebody open--
I stood in the endzone
franticallywaving my
handsjumping
sporadicallyyy
HEY! I'M OPEN!!!
With an eye-roll hardly concealed
within a muddy helmet,
he begrudgingly tossed me the ball--
The buzzer sounded
and the fourth quarter ended
just as the ball was in my sweaty clutch--
But the visiting team had already clapped
each other on the backs and
my team waited for me in the
locker room
smelly and defeated.
Alas, I was the most distressed,
standing on the field alone
with the winning boon
a moment
too late.
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
The grass bends down beneath my feet accordingly, only to rise,
rise again
The waves break on pebbles, sand, only to crash again on
distant shores
Pulled back through quiet memories, the soft smoked smell of
mesquite & juniper
Lying in the heart of a gray metal shell, laid length-wise, molded into
a mad-mans image
Falling through old, tired, lives, with such innocence, clean &
unburdened by life
Accumulating this tiredness, begrudgingly ground down, absently
tossed aside
Never asking why, like beasts led to slaughter, not of flesh & bone,
put principle & ideal
Dreams of silver, fading into tarnished piles of rust, distorted image,
mocking faded beauty
Quiet nights spent in the shade of moonlight, watching the stars go
down with you
Dreaming of sunshine as the dew collects on our sleeping
faces
Awakened by the fleeting song of cardinals, staring into lattice-work
clouds
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
Is back..
It gives you a smile a mile wide to see Gypsy John is back
Gypsy John with cart, horse and dog by his side
People call from far and wide to deliver parcels of food for Gypsy John and his crew.
Gypsy John sets up camp in the middle of the road, on what's called a roundabout.
Gypsy John is getting old and sits around a camp fire to warm his cold bones and cook his food.
Gypsy John does not like favours and takes his food begrudgingly, instead he will work all day for his pay, locals find him work indoors.
When one cold winter came, locals crowd funded to buy him a new cart, his horse was retired as very old, £12000 was raised to keep Gypsy John and his animals well.
Gypsy John comes with the change of season as summer turns to fall.
Gypsy John is a reminder and reason to us all to keep going work hard and live long.
Long live Gypsy John.
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 5:45 AM UTC
EᔕᔕᕼI ᑕOᑎT.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"You do that and your mother will make sure
you have nothing but kale meals for a
month or three!" Ainhara snickers. "She only
wants you to eat more healthy meals."
"She's the one who likes the green devil,"
Lyn snaps. "I don't have to!"
"You seem to forget, My Lady," Esshi
points out, "Mothers know best!"
She can tell the young queen wants
to retort but she begrudgingly nods with
a small smile.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"Alright," Lyn groans, "I'll eat it."
She dips her spoon into the soup, lifts
some kale, lamb, potatoes and broth,
blows away the steam, eats,
chews slowly.
"Hmm!" Lyn smiles and eats happily.
"It's actually not half-bad!"
She looks around. "Don't tell her I said
that. She wouldn't let me live it down."
"Your secret is safe with us, My Lady."
Esshi giggles as they watch her eat.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"If there's more, you two should have some."
Ainhara cut a slice of freshly baked honey
-bread and places it by her mistress' side
while Esshi makes some fresh Jasmine
Pearl tea.
"I thought you were not hungry!" Ainhara
teases. Their Queen had the grace to flush.
"It certainly helped... Compliments to Bael
and his team! Thank you, but now, I need
to get back to work. Letters to respond to,
gathering my things for the morrow-"
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 1:36 PM UTC
my dad was a workin man
mud on his boots and rust colored hands
cigarette in his mouth and Carhart pants
covered in sawdust from the projects he'd sand
we were family but how he saw us I'll never understand
and there was always my mother so he always needed another plan
we were technically a family, the few of us just us three
in a house like a boxing ring the loving was left up to me
four poor walls held together by two wedding rings begrudgingly
you could starve to death there if you were the one hungry for sympathy
my mom was a violent woman, a true fighter
hot tempered and her temper would start hot fires
at a young age I was inspired to learn to fight back because I was tired
of the beatings, of the yelling, of fake apologies, of the mire
we were a family but how she handled us I will never admire
she wanted us forever but the fates conspired
we were a family through all of the calls to the police
we were a family through the jealousy, the paranoia, and the deepening grief
we were a family that went to war and ignored peace
we were a sick body on it's knees that knew only disease and no relief
then of course we were a sailing ship forced on it's inevitable course
Divorce
then us three became him, and her, and me, the source
now I have no recourse to heal those old sores
My dad was a boxer and my mom was a volatile pyre
fourteen years on that noose and fears are all I've acquired
what transpired has made me hollow and lonely and scared of today because of the prior
and whoever tells you, you could survive that unscarred is the worst kind of liar
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 12:54 PM UTC
This time of night
Is an old trap
Familiar
And dog-eared
And well-worn
And haunted
Nothing good happens after two
—it's a funny little adage—
And I'm a funny little insomniac
Begrudgingly listening to my racing
Heart
In the silence
The restlessness gathering
Storms beneath my skin
Lightning sparking wildly across my mind
This is the hour of madness
This
This is when
E v e r y t h i n g
Unravels
And all I can do
Is hope my muscles stay stuck to my bones
Hope my veins stay caged in my skin
Hope my lungs stay expanding against the weight
Of the darkness
Nov 13, 2022
Nov 13, 2022 at 8:46 AM UTC