"behinds" poems
My scars are NOT just scars sometimes they remind me of traumatic experiences.
Sometimes people would stare at them with a look so curious, that I myself, would become furious.
Because my scars felt like a punishment of a series of consecutive jail sentences.
They had me Feeling overwhelmed by weariness
So I put up a fence to hide what I believe was my hideousness.
Then my naked eyes realized the true lies, that behinds these marks are where the truth hides
My scars are NOT just scars they are Evidence of a Wound, evidence that after pain healing must come soon.
My scars are a sign to show Life was adjusted just as a violin being tuned
My scars are not just scars they show that I have gone thru a Transformation.
My scars are not just scars The give me motivation in my times desperation.
My scars aren't just scars They signify even after my trails, I am Triumphed!
My scars are Marks Of my pass History to celebrate even I was hurt I have the victory! For Greater is He that is within me.
My scars are NOT just scars, they show that God was With me thru it all Truly!
My scars are not just scars they are Permanent sacred Marks Of Beauty.
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 10:10 PM UTC
You agree
When you want to shout, curse, and swear
The Almighty....answer this weeping willow
Made of concrete air
Of unfeeling movement
You cower behinds browned bodies, montezuma minds, and your license
Power to go as you please, be as you please, please help me to see
The inner child trapped in mordant cornerstones, and sitting on your own weight
To grasp the folly by the throat and twist him into existance
Not so much absolution
In agreement with other fancies
Prayers unanswered
Dwelling on ginger hands and knees
In *********** when his course has never enter into being....real
Or really close
His path to plunge thick into purple passionate trance
His path askew from my own
Though a followed trendy line
A drink
When it makes your journey into trees, and speed, and gluttony
A laugh
When scorned mouth spewed and sput into russet wounds already *****
A smoke
When it clogs your memory into patchwork and quilted thoughts unwoven
Youre unspoken!
You agree?
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 3:10 AM UTC
Sitting in the car
Waiting for traffic to move
The cold rain tumbling down the window
The drops collide into a single line.
Inside my father and I wait in the warm heat.
We probably just left to get pizza,
Or Chinese food,
A regular Friday night.
The sound of the radio hums softly in the background.
The soft rumbling of the engine.
The drumming of the rain.
Not a word is spoken
between my father and I,
Each of us just ******* up the silence.
Breathing peacefully.
Over the radio comes a song.
A little old, though well known.
Ee-e-e-um-um-a-weh
Wimoweh, wimoweh, wehoweh, wimoweh.
We both know this song.
Grinning we turn the radio up.
Singing along. Dancing along.
Um-um-a-weh.
With each beat of the drum
My father touches the brake.
Quickly, rapidly
Making the car ****
The car behinds us honks the horn
Making us laugh harder.
My dad persists.
Continuing in this child’s play.
Suddenly it doesn’t matter,
that it is pouring, or
that we are stuck in traffic.
It only matters that we are having fun.
The song ends.
The radio gets turned back down.
We return to our former silent state.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
When I was young, I used to
Watch behind the curtains
As men walked up and down the street. Wino men, old men.
Young men sharp as mustard.
See them. Men are always
Going somewhere.
They knew I was there. Fifteen
Years old and starving for them.
Under my window, they would pause,
Their shoulders high like the
******* of a young girl,
Jacket tails slapping over
Those behinds,
Men.
One day they hold you in the
Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you
Were the last raw egg in the world. Then
They tighten up. Just a little. The
First squeeze is nice. A quick hug.
Soft into your defenselessness. A little
More. The hurt begins. Wrench out a
Smile that slides around the fear. When the
Air disappears,
Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly,
Like the head of a kitchen match. Shattered.
It is your juice
That runs down their legs. Staining their shoes.
When the earth rights itself again,
And taste tries to return to the tongue,
Your body has slammed shut. Forever.
No keys exist.
Then the window draws full upon
Your mind. There, just beyond
The sway of curtains, men walk.
Knowing something.
Going someplace.
But this time, I will simply
Stand and watch.
Maybe.
6.2k
Draped in fresh-knitted pearls
we traipsed
into saccharine peach orchard
The summer heat loped about our dew-kissed ******
****** - appropriated from dawn spent on neatly shorn plantation grass
Ambling into the knotted palatial arbor
we sat each in our own tree crux
behinds nestled upon ashen bark
Juice dripping in our grip
down our cast nets of flesh
sprawled about the branches
inset with gravity-defying liquescent orbs
dusted in translucent mink
painted with smears of
citrine, coral, amber, and ichorous
clinging to brass stem
The rondures secede to mandible
taut between palms pull and polished ivories
- torn-
Fluent in dulcet discourse
We cloak ourselves in provocative juice tatting
Until such time that our congealing garments
were found mapping the bark's topography
A saccharine map to the breath of soil
Bloodstone ants found our map
and had begun traversing - portent
to seize our treasure
We surrendered our jewelled cages
and took flight
to the sun-drunken lake to bathe
and swim
until heavy lids kissed moistly
heavily supped on the draught
sleep - beckoned transience
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
It comes to you in your darkest days,
disguised in a familiar face,
It whispers words you've waited for,
uttered with eloquence & grace.
It touches your skin, holds your face,
Then consumes your self worth without care.
It hides behind a mask, planning & scheming,
leaving you unaware.
It hugs you as you dry your eyes,
it fills your head & heart with lies.
It utters hollow apologies with no intention of change,
It shouts vulgarities in a crowded coney island,
Filling you with embarrassment & shame.
It fakes compassion as you wait to hear,
whether you may indeed have cancer,
You question why it chose you?
but you never get an answer.
It prays at every meal,
mocking God without fear,
It attacks your reputation, your humanity,
and all that you hold dear.
It hides behinds friends, half truths,
and a sea of endless lies,
It marinates in every excess,
so it never has to open its' eyes.
You cannot give it love, expect empathy, or regret,
It is never satisfied because its true needs are not being met.
I'll never understand the cruelty,
the why or even how,
But some things have no answer,
and it no longer matters now.
Despite what has been DONE TO ME,
This I will always implore,
Evil may destroy this world,
But FAITH, HOPE, & LOVE
WILL win the war.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
I saw the best behinds of my generation destroyed by muffins,
strudel hydrolyzed aphids dragging themselves through Chicano streets at dawn for tickets to fix,
bagel headed tipsters yearning for flagrant connection to the sorry dim sum macarena nights ...
*apologies to Allen Ginsberg
Dec 24, 2010
Dec 24, 2010 at 8:58 PM UTC
The markets up, the Markets down
For weeks it just meanders.
Alas, my stocks are always down
Each time I take a gander.
GM, Lehman, Citicorp
My broker bought for me-
And you can guess the net result-
I’m broker now, not he.
Those friends who don’t avoid me
Say I’ve reversed Midas’ touch.
I don’t turn things I touch to gold
I turn gold into rust.
I’d heard dart tossing Simians
Can best the S & P
So I went to the Zoo this March
to consult a Chimpanzee.
He perused the chart then flung a dart
to pick a stock for me-
And now I’m getting margin calls
because I bought BP.
He seemed the sage of Omaha
before he ruined me.
I should have tried Orangutans
And paid their higher fee .
They wanted five bananas
My monkey worked for three.
But now I’m bust because I used
a discount Chimpanzee.
I might have dodged a massive loss
And profited besides
Had I but heeded the baboons’
Sell signaling behinds
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 3:43 PM UTC
you are fragile
and the boy in the year above you calls you fat
and the girl in the row behind says you look like a rat
and you sit and think about it for a few minutes
minutes turn to hours, hours turn to days
and soon you've lost track of the last time you ate
and soon you've become obsessed with your weight
you forgot what colour your skin used to be
because your arms are covered in red lines
and you cry all the time
you are fragile
and the girl in the hospital bed groans
she is short and she is thin,
skin and bones
this girl is you
and there is only one thing you need to do
but again, all you can do is cry
all you hear the doctor do is sigh
you hear the boy in the year above has died
drunk with a car, an upsetting fate
and the girl in the row behinds period is late
when was the last time you ate?
you are fragile
and the man in the street smiles
he stares for a while
he soaks up any sadness
laughs at your jokes
you are happy -
madness
you remember what colour your skin was
and the last time you ate
because he has fixed you
you are not fragile
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
for centuries they have been around in every city, village and town
they was known under many different names and yet no two
were ever the same.
they are known as the angels of mercy, also te kind hearted souls
who helped the sick , the dieing , the old.
they see aches, pains and suffering every day while family members
may hide or run away.
they share with the sick , stories. pains and tears
and they wipe away their fears.
their faces may be the last faces that the dieing may see
as they bring them comfort in the life to be.
nurses don't work under doctors , they work as equals with them !
they give them meds and hold their hands to let them know they understand.
the nurses are the soldiers on the battlefields who fight the wars
they are the ones who know the score.
when they have to turn a patient on their side so
that they can clean their behinds and making sure
they have no bedsores before they walk out the door.
they also have times of joy when they see the birth
of a girl or boy, and of when a patient can walk out the door on their own
because of the caring a nurse has shown.
they are the last stop between healing and dieing
and of this there is no denying.
(C) L . RAMS042715
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
I can't breath, I can't breath!!!
But because I'm big and black they continued to terrorise me
Choking me until I seized to gasp for my final breathe
Now I'm dead
Looking down from the heavens wondering how could this be
How could this be?
So let me get this straight
I died for so called selling illegally
And you would think it was at least **** I was selling
I was selling the american dream of creating
Creating a profit..
To take care of my family
Then they shot me
And I couldn't stop it
I saw death as clear as the time
What is this
And if that's not a crime
Then what is...
I told him I had a gun
Even asked him if I could get my license from my pocket
He said sure why not
But as I proceeded to reach for my pocket he shot me anyways
Now I'm dead
Looking down from the heavens wondering what did I do
What did I do?
Why am I looking at myself stained red
I got pulled over for a taillight but ended up satisfying someone's bloodlust
There wasn't even a fuss
But look at me now
Dead six feet under
And if that's not a crime
Then what is...
Can't you see
They're picking us off one by one
Getting off scott free by saying they feared for their lives
What about our lives
Shouldn't we be the ones panicking behinds our guns
We can't even take a jog down the street without being accused of something
Don't we have rights
Last time I checked we're human too
Not animals who deserves to be stuffed in cages
And poked with sticks like they did back in the ages
So how do we evade this
Better yet...
How are we supposed to survive this
Black lives matter
How many times do we have to say this
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 11:35 AM UTC
Guardian:
She stands alone
Abandoned by those she called friends
Left behind by those she thought were her family
Abandoned
Left behinds
Alone
But not....
Embraced in a world of unseen white
Her guardian
Her angel
Wings smooth as silk
Soft as a feather
White as pure snow
Strong as steel
They surround her
Protect her from the harshness of the world
Her guardian angel
Never leaving
Always staying
Never seen
Always being
She stands alone, head bowed
Abandoned by those she called friends
Left behind by those she thought were family
Abandoned
Left behind
Alone
But not...
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 2:14 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, sometimes what we want is not what we're granted;>
brought to you
no you came brought to me
painted with lines on the finements of my destiny
not on the deads
in the lives you float
rent free on a mind I own
called boat
a ship a rocket you name
there is no bound no limit no aim
in the terror of my cave
you bring the symphonies you carve and pave
pave the way to my hands
to board their journeys
to make their plans
feel the world upon tips
like the steps of sand
the breath of land
the sight of dear
the sense of mere
the drip of downs
the realize of nows
the dive of sea
in blues of surreal
up taken by the fingers to a deal
of a fluent flow a pleasant kneel
not to the gods but to the clear
no more on the behinds of blood and set and Neptune
to a slender of a violin a shiver soon
you know your lights and shades on my moon
not aware of my nights anytime for you
although my gates are open to infinite
no stops to the intimate
you color you steep
on the curves of my leap
------ravenfeels
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 1:23 PM UTC
There is just enough morning sunlight
filtering through the english laurel
for aging eyes to capture the purple tint
of carnations blooming
in the front of the rocks
jutting toward the porch
Night-time had been colorless
in the midst of a celebration
announced by a sign signaling
an event in the main ballroom
With a loud voice
a long-named minister
toyed with religion
and flirted with comedy
before the silverware
clanged against the china
Boredom captured the moment
in the middle of the clatter and chatter
Even stunning silks and satins
around bodacious behinds
failed to entertain
Now perhaps the oldest in the crowd
he carefully quenches each desire
to know the delicacies of the evening
with the efforts of survival. He was slowly
dying in the madness of the crowd
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 1:29 PM UTC
is there any room for hope…
no longer is friendly white Jesus
waiting on a cloud with harp playing angles
that image has been replaced
with Catholic officials proclaiming
Alien saviors will soon be at our doorstep…
a doorstep sprinkled with nuclear fallout
and massive carbon and methane emissions
a doorstep in which hate resides
based on skin color,
religious dogma,
classism,
and anything else the media outlets
promote to the mindless ninnies
forever entranced by the glowing box…
a glowing box spilling lies onto children’s ears
forcing sexuality and violence on children’s eyes
promoting genetically modified foods
flavored with prescription drugs
for children’s mouths’
all the while singing about the future
and the world we are leaving behind…
and so many behinds must parish
so many parishes of Pharisees
pleading to the Presbyterians
that the Pleiadian’s
probably will save us all
from our own collective choices
or maybe they are coming to feed…
we feed on the flesh of the endangered
for status
we frolic in the delicate forests
for fun
we fight amongst ourselves
for fear
but I am free from that frivolity
seriously….
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
One Rose for you Madame
the most beautiful woman in the world.
My Story of love inspired from
" the Romeo and Juliet screening to the pink rose
Flattered in your Eyes, your voice
a memorial day of 24 hours
delivered your birthday night
Proposing you by this Rose to
promise you to live for the whole life & to shelter you in
my heart to define the Color of love
Fragrances around, the world you tuner of blooming night
Gifting you a secret beauty
Crafting up on the toes, folding hand behinds
Taking one hand forward with, Beautiful Rose to say,
will you marry me?...
Answer : This story of love will never end until the Rose speaks your heart
voice to accept my proposal for the love life that's "yes".
-Chirayu!..
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 5:28 AM UTC
What hide behinds, that big black cloud?
Listen, real close..Shhh!!!
BOOM!! Nice and loud!!!!
Flashes of light,
ballet across the sky.
Pulsating surges
electrify the night.
The mother is mad,
in all of her glory,
vengeance is amongst us,
hell hath no fury.
The rains subside,
damage is done.
No rainbows to see,
where is the sun?
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
Seen something move out the corner of my eye
Can’t tell the difference between dreams and real life
Maybe that’s why I got such unrealistic visions
They tell me to create a real list of things I could be
But I ainte a realist, because life’s too silly to sit around waiting for the reel to end
They don’t see what I see
These pupils are blood shot with conformity stuck up their rear ends
They just live a broken hope smothered in icing, while I sit on the ledge
My brains got no drive these days, see it flies eh, I’m livin’ on a flaming jet
They keep asking me to flash my knowledge
Maybe that’s why they call it a mind-set
But hell, I only know ledge, never seen over the hedge
Is the grass greener?
I don’t know, I haven’t smoked it yet
I felt high above but then life got plain and crashed into the edge
Of the Earth
And I rose again like smoke does when things get heated
And I know the Earth isn’t flat, it’s got a nice set of behemoths
Ones Mount Everest
And then there’s me mounting every verse until I’ve fulfilled my thirst
Eating creativity alive and only leaving behind the skeletons
So when they pile up you can identify their behinds and come find me in my cabin
Would you like to see my trophies mounted?
Dates below from when they were founded?
They weren’t found, they were downed
And only a fool would mount’em
I’d rather stack’em and climb’em like a mountain
And prove I’m the chest of the world
Look inside and find golden albums
… What the **** that was a weird dream
REM sleep sure knows how to deceive
And it left me with such a cliff-hanger too
Or should I say aircraft hangar
To store my fly art in ‘er
Feels like I was at a witch-craft banger
I’m feelin cursed as I spell
Feels like the devils got my voodoo doll
Maybe that’s why I’m on fire
I’m so tired my words tie together in red
The line between my dreams and reality is ceasing to exist
My two worlds dance, my thoughts prance and draw blood, in a beautiful dissonance
It’s only when I’m half asleep that I’m truly awake to my passionate presence
Insomnia is a curse and a blessing
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
rainy days come and they go.
so blissful they breeze by the seems of all we fail to know.
picking up the left behinds and whisking them away to a land..far away.
back in my day we would say "rain rain go away.. come back another day.
But unlike any other day i feel a calming comfort when alerted by bursts of winds and when the storm settles you'll fell better.
rainy days get the best of me.
they get my creativity.
they get that unlike the rest, i have yet to express the simplicity that's instilled in..rainy days.
we nuzzled together to ward off the cold but behold this rainy day came to the rescue to hold you in my arms. This blanket was our armor. this rain was our guard.
these memories will be ours.
soon enough the stars will appear in the distance and then we may dance & kiss til the end is near but sit for a second while the rain does his dance. give it chance to prance for a moment. for soon we shall own the night
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
Passing Tweetsie on my way home from work.
In the Food Lion, low-calorie chicken soup
cans under tinny lights.
Sick-green avocados and riding-hood bacon
celebrated the day all your shoes moved in.
Can't we pair those together again?
The blank space on the floor
like a good friend's face seen
without glasses,
washed out.
Frustratingly,
the smell of my own laundry.
mi colada es su colada
Ha!
By the pond, the gazebo we never spent time in
but might have.
The dusk-dark evergreens with delicate lace tips
like spidery lingerie
leggings ripped wide open,
lingering,
recovered from the trash can.
Rainbow polka-dot gift wrap
on my light-blue chest,
flagship of her left-behinds;
A tawny feather earring, the lonely fore-mast
lacking a mate
and
Demure winter-cabin-smile, framed:
green scarf turned seaweed,
the face-down figurehead drowns.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 12:57 PM UTC
When my grandfather passed away, my brothers and I held my dad with slanted eyebrows and stiff, silent upper lips. Because we are young and foolish and still learning. Because we’d never really had to do the holding before and, as far as we knew, this is how men mourn.
We dusted antique left-behinds with delicate, moth-wing hands that fluttered here and there and never stopped trembling -- dead giveaways that within the corridors of our arms our heartbeats went stampeding, arrhythmic. We couldn’t quite bend them into the proper shape for prayer, so instead we ran them, with touch somewhere between float and feel, along every ashtray and age-stained picture album. In that moment I think we each wished that memory read like braille, but no one ever said as much. Because this is how men mourn.
We honored our patriarch with whiskey, hidden away for what must have been twice my age, between the carved out pages of old stacked books.
We drank like secrets. His portrait played witness.
We promised between our teeth with tinged lips tight, keeping words in that might otherwise crumble us like great ancient empires.
We singed and smoldered in a burn that coated our throats, quelling a choke that kept climbing its way up from a chest that never quite stayed sunk. Boys grow up loving the clinking twist of unlocking deadbolts but men peek through keyholes. Because this is how men mourn. Silent and straight with head only slightly slanted.
But when my father betrayed his rigidity with words that clicked clean like unfastening locks, we traded this stale air in for wind laced with the electric taste of thunderstorms. We forgot how men mourn.
When my grandfather passed away, my brothers and I held my dad with lightning behind bleared eyes. Because we are young and foolish and still learning. Because we have umpteen days left to dress in bittersweet vestiges and, as far as we know, this is how men live on.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
I like the way you look at me.
Your eyes have that little twinkle
and your pupils dialate --
I can see it clearly in the pale green of your irises.
The corners of your lips curl into a smile, a smirk, a grin,
and the butterflies in my tummy start to flutter all over.
They creep into my bloodstream and send tingles throughout my limbs,
a tantalizing numbness that I'd savor 'til the end.
I like the way you look at me
when your fingertips graze my skin.
Goosebumps raise and my heart begins to race
as your hands find themselves in the right place;
Thighs, hips, and behinds; ******* necks, hands tangled in hair.
I see that twinkle in your eye and the grin playing on your lips,
and your usual pale green eyes darken a deeper shade of lust --
or is it love?
That sultry look and your bedroom eyes,
the rasp of your voice and your hand on my thigh --
is this love or is this lust?
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
You're a mad rapper
I'm a mad hatter
Ideas in my head always bleeding
So lyrics you won't be needing
You spit them
I write them
You rap them
I rhyme them
Lines we be exchanging
Like I'd be interchanging
The lanes fast on the freeway
Paving the roads leading away
From the ghetto
Like Pinocchio was to Geppetto
We be each others woodwork
Combined we be the spork
Together in our minds
Like buns on girls behinds
We ain't getting lost
Whatever the cost
We'll stay in the light
Never fly stay and fight
Cause we be the illest
Cough Cough we infect the rest
Wanting to be part of the fuss
They try and copy 'r' us
But they will never ever
Be as swift or as clever...
© okpoet
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
I shall love you in all the small moments; I shall live in those scant seconds when you forget. I will be the bursting seam of a lie in your mouth; I will nestle amongst the many frayed edges of your hungry anemone heart. Feed on our memories and sense the truth that true love stains you, through and through you are deep and black with this iodine. It soaks in and reveals the fractures, it lies behinds the smiles you manufacture. So now we cup our empty hands and wait for nothing. And it is in the small moments that this phantom's hands will touch yours, and your cup will fill to spilling with half-dreamed maybes.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
I'm excavating strained crevices in complete caves of royal silence,
A coil of better-left-behinds trail me
Frail me,
Bear in mind that I'm to blame.
Brute valor left undervalued
Caliber I drowned to death in her
A messenger of baptized alibis
Who am I who am I
Distant soundscapes of times ago
Blue-light memories aglow
I thought this was what I wanted…
If (only) I told you all my vaulted causes,
My daunted losses haunted with flaunted gauzes
I could have had what I always daydream of
But the day seems to have, still, just begun.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 4:46 AM UTC