Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
ˏˋDalPalˊˎ Oct 2014
Here's a thanks to my grade school teachers

thanking my first grade teacher
for getting me into writing

thanking my second grade teacher
for letting me write a longer book than anyone else
and teaching me it was alright to be different

thanking my third grade teacher
for being stern with me
and letting me know that not everyone is going speak to you with sugar coated words

thanking my fourth grade teacher
for showing me to share a little bit of yourself with everyone

thanking my fifth grade teachers
for helping me with the first year of middle school when no one else would

thanking my sixth grade teachers
for probably the greatest year of my life and teaching me life lessons I wouldn't have gotten until now

thanking my seventh grade teachers
for teaching me that being funny and creative is nothing to be afraid about and giving feels just as good as receiving

thanking my eighth grade teachers
for making me feel alright about the scary transition coming up and bonding with my classmates even more

thank you for helping me grow up
Just going down memory lane
dadens Dec 2018
Looking back, you say that you did everything right and fought for me till the end, but the thing is you fought once I had already surrendered.

You started fighting after I stopped caring.

I checked out and you moved in.

So now we look in the rearview and you think I had impossible expectations but you were just two steps behind my needs, so I had two feet out of the door before you had any inclination where I was going or that I wouldn't return.
© d.a.dens
Belated Cousin my Younger Cake gives
Forgive my Busy Bee to Greet you well
Since both we in Tune to the Yorker's, lives
Are what a few Dollars which I can sell
Now, how was your Day? Special as it seems
That the Early History our Links blur
Perhaps I was Young to sort out the Reams
Forgetting that Paper, Pink would occur
Overall, such a Worry-Wart I am
To think that you have Stones in my Basket
Realising that our Blood's Strength it can
Revive my Love's Story in your Pocket.
Greatly wish, Manang, my missed Uncle bears
Take his Candle; And put it in your hair.
So as much as this Drama does persist
Your Prisoned Warning tugs at my Cool Shirt
Asking me to take Prudence and desist
In bashing Silence to where it would hurt
Now engraved in Copper I will make Clear:
For all my Writ Plagues I Apologise,
Deep in use plug Buds to that Trumpet's Ear
If Empathy a Letter in disguise
This my Friend's Spy; Deploy to high pursuit
Waving that Placard in belated claim
Which tastes folly less on a nutty boot
And Reprimand stamped on his just Remain.
Such I learned that Friendship's Best takes no Force
I Follow my Heart; Now you Follow yours.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Of what to Think, and Thought be Thought-of-Thoughts
Equalling those Clouds no-one tried to reach
And with just a Model-of-the-Board besought
Belated Nations took you to beseech
Parsley that in Sick Reference apply
To One dug-out from Humble Electric
Honour is his beyond the Scythe comply
And carry his Image on so frantic
That is my Code acquired late at War
Knowing the Outcome of this Useless Battle
As that Spartan King drew his Sword at fore
Charged his Army; And the Persian, wrangle.
It's News to me, if I can Speak the Truth
If only I Avoid what seems Un-Couth.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Jesse stillwater Sep 2018
The belated summer sky is alive
with a  D r a g o n f l y ballet

Beneath,.. the rain parched sod
lay sullied, cracked open
by an unsated thirstiness
awaiting the painted autumn days
and the cleansing rain's renewal

A lace-winged hatch rises skyward
— meandering  airborne —
drifting upwards like a burst of dust
dissipating in an invisible cloud
of eventide's silent breath

Darting shadows hover
above a seeker's curiosity
    just this side the  
softening sunset backdrop

A synthesis of fluid motion
  – darting kinesis –
    swift agile fliers
steal away over the thirsty pond;
their mesmerizing beauty enchants
as the dimming dusk falls silent —-
embellishing the unrelenting ending
   another summer's
 imminent curtain call;

reminding how inexorable-time
is only a contrived human notion,
a recurring extrapolation
  of passing  seasons

Heightening awareness:
how we too are only
passing through these
unholdable moments
   coming to know
    we cannot stop
   how life unfolds

The raindrops will quench
the pond's aching thirst
again one fall someday...

  — hereafter —
there will be another
beauty of dragonflies
some other eyes will see
preying on another burgeoning
gossamer-winged hatch

          and
another beckoning autumn
when the dragonflies hover
below the gazing totems
     in the treetops


Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018                                                 .
Notes: Dragonflies can fly at 100 body-lengths per second, and three lengths per second backwards.[20] Wiki   Fossils of very large dragonfly ancestors in the Protodonata are found from 325 million years ago (Mya) in Upper Carboniferous rocks; these had wingspans up to about 750 mm (30 in). There are about 3000 extant species.

Unholdable moments touched out here adrift —

Thanks for reading !
Ralph Akintan Mar 11
We sang a dirge
But no tears to bid farewell.
We dug a grave
But no place to place a casket.
We erected a cenotaph
But no place to lay a wreath.

Sorrow clapped with one hand.
Rays of tragedy raced with one leg

To unlock the gate of tomb.
Town Crier's gong rendered
      sounds of sadness
To inform the confounded cenacle.

Will your pen still pen a farewell?
Will your ink speaks for itself?
Will the diarists still hear your voice?

You slumber till eternity.
But you will not die again.
Brandi R Lowry May 2018
Happy belated birthday
My dearly missed friend.
I'm sure you had a heavenly party
That I regretfully didn't attend.

I couldn't think of you yesterday
It still hurts to say your name.
They say time will heal the ache
But it lingers yet the same.

I say a silent prayer for your soul
And push the thought away.
Time is only a theif.
It isn't any easier today.
Dedicated to my late best friend, Amanda Gresser
If only we could begin again and slow down the pernicious pace
We ruin our oceans, the land, our air even outer space.
If only we avoided such precarious paths that may lead to disparity
If only we knew what action is needed now, to deal with the reality.
Ecologists warned, yet still observe with ever-growing anxiety
the growth of harmful long-term effects on Earth's biodiversity.
If only the air wasn't gravely polluted, so the atmosphere begins to fail,
so wreathed by carbon dioxide layers, extremes to climate may prevail.
If only Earth's lungs cease being shrunk by profits heedless exploitation,
existing relationships are considered scarcely in these aberrations.
If only a solution for discarded synthetics which float in **** hordes
on oceans global drifts, disaster occurs wherever it reaches landfall.
If only we can do something, a belated but resounding universal call,
If only we can safeguard the future before there are no options at all.
If only we could begin again and slow the ruinous pace... if only

If Only

M C Crowder
@scorsby
19th November 2018
I first wrote song lyrics in 1978, song lyrics not so long, but it's message hasn't changed
Aaron E May 24
Barrels of oil painted smooth in acryllic
fill up the cracks with a feeling
spit out the money to feed the machine

Fair if it's toiling kids
draped along spoiled villians
immersed to serve the version of a billionaire's dream

eat the rich

Try me after I've been taught
I could've bought my chain

I would've lost my name

I should've dropped my shame facade
to play the game

We grew the youthful breath of heaven from the clay beneath our bones
imbued and innervated

aided you and drew the oath to play within the zone

circle reverie treasury burdens
bury the feathery,
herding squarely to fame - put on a show

eat the rich
dare me

you and yours invaded
bated breath had sung belated effort, whistle "death has reared it's head
at our expense so grab a sword.
We can war this **** straight out of this ole ditch
and fix whatever ***** gone wrong with it
with grit and sense

and build a fence"

Forget the soil your roots are grown in,
if you want to.

bask in shadow
of the weight of trust and decency
impeding our advances to your winner's table
fabled robin hoods with internets

guess who's deft enough let you know through every filter
left for us we may upset your dinner guests

let em know what's on the menu

eat the rich

let em know

The irony in learning
how to burn the fuel that kills you
after all the warning signs were there
sound familiar? it's a slog

burnin up, they'll crawl around
and find a meal on common ground
try the light show one more time
maybe that'll work

"The serfs are like a herd you see
they can't be riled along without a sermon
Burden them with silks and styles
worry them toward money piles"

Remind them of the fire they've been turning

Analogies aside I must abide by me and mine
but I've still got my eye on anything
...concerning

eat the rich
with discretion I guess.
Eat the Rich
Joe Workman Jun 2016
Belated but sincere,
   that's me to a T -
almost enough,
   but it was too late,
   just another dose of slightly less
   than effective misery.
Your eyes and your ears
   see and hear differently
   than most of the others who
   have spent time with me.
Don't you have anything
   better to do
   than hold on to a hopeless man
   who's in love with you?
S Bharat Apr 10
The Hummingbird

The golden egg, an Owl put
In the nest of nerd,
Out of which came then
The Hummingbird.

A gemmy nestling saw nerd,
the sooty Raven
He was terribly shocked and
in grief driven.

Aware Peahen asked Raven
Eyes aren wet?
Seethingly he answered her
The little I hate.

The restless little flatters,
As a bee unstable
And hovers above flowers
Which do wobble.

Belated Peahen took Raven
To Peacock White.
The incident she explained,
And story did recite.

Let my wisdom penetrate,
In thy empty brain,
Love begets love; hate hate
Said Whitish sane.

Take care of her, no her liberty,
The little be free.
Wish she pearches on loyalty;
A branch of Tree.

S. Bharat
Chris Slade Dec 2018
(A Tribute to Ted Slade - poet, 1937-2004)

This new friendship. This journey on which we were just setting out.

How will we work it now you've...well...gone?

It was going so well. That's the way I saw it anyhow.

It had only been a year - we two - back in each other's circle...

Same planet - different orbit. Though I'll never know now what your thoughts might have been..



This 52 year gap in our 'acquaintance', for that's all you'd ever say it was
,
it closed at dad's (your Uncle Bud's) funeral - as he leapt 'on-flame' to the ether.

He didn't half want to go..."Why don't they just let me slip away?"
And then it was you I wanted to know amongst those finger buffet scoffers.

Those ribboned aces never knew that Bud just kick-started their Lancasters and 'Spits' at Leconfield and Liberia.



Bud's morphine muted passing proved positive, and thankfully at last - 

(he might remember now) - he helped kick-start too this belated kinship between us.

Jack would have been pleased about that...(Bud too I know)

"a good trade" he'd have called it. "I'm knackered anyway".

I was always curious about our respective dads - they only ever sent Christmas cards...no letters. No love.



Bud gave me a book  before he swapped "heaven's hopper" for the "take & bake".

"Eer-yar" he wheezed...this is more up your street than mine..."

"Yer what?..."Poetry?...No... I can't make head nor tail of it. Like Shakespeare...Where's me glasses?"

and, with that ,the "Last Arm Pointing" welded that closing gap between us tight shut.

I read 'Mystery Tour' to Bud...about Jack's 'motorised passing' and he cried. So, it was up his street. after all.



Your words filled me in on distant memories...made solid.
Missing chunks I'd seen but never written down
.
Of Withernsea and its winter isolation

of Jack, his life - and how it intertwined with yours.

I've not found too much yet about Phyllis. Is there a darker story there? Who'll tell me now?



Your final work, tireless as ever, from your New Malden 'crow's nest'...

was steering your second collection to print...and then...

Your literally-literal Mugs and Sweats - flying off the shelves of a California warehouse.

Disabled? Pah!  Why should they ever know the what & why behind the who and when?

Your 'disability'...would only 'publicly' let you down if your trike sustained a puncture in Richmond Park.



"Hi Cuz...Where do I go to get mugs and sweat shirts printed?"

And then, whilst I was looking through directories & old invoices,

you whizzed across the earth on the wings of your laser guided mouse.

By the time I'd got the phone numbers of long distance, half remembered contacts -

you had designs submitted, distribution and royalty deals sorted and were planning the next big thing.



Your freehold on the planet was the web...your very own super-short cut.

Who needs invalid cars when you can 'fly digital'?

You were a lover of the dub-dub-dub which loved you back in floods.

Now, even when your body has deserted you - it still throws us pages and pages - of you - and about you.

The Noddy Holders and Wes the Western Gun-slinger, pale by comparison, they'd envy your PR knack.



Instead of trying to phone, (these heavenly BT - or is it ET-connections often end in wrong numbers)...

and, because a lot of the time talking took it out of you, I'll keep writing like I did before.

Replies would be good. But I often used to write out of turn anyway.

So yes, things could get a bit one sided...forgive me if I 'go on', and... you don't!

But I'll keep writing to [email protected] and read the answers in your books and old e-mails of the family's past.



Cheers Ted...Lots of love Chris (Cuz) Slade.
Ted Slade was a published poet with (for a sufferer of severe kyphoscoliosis) a stellar career. Only started school at age 12... Qualified for Uni at 16. A metalurgist at Filingdales after graduation (so, a real 'propellor head')... He switched to Head of Marketing for the Portuguese Tourist Authority (as you do)...An Atheist and Communist, his last job before dedicating to poetry was as PC Network specialist at Kingston University...On retirement he turned his attention full time to Poetry and founded www.poetrykit.org We lost touch big-time and only met again in our 60s (mental) and found we had so much in common... except I was and never will be a propellor head!
The world was made to break you
But you don't have to agree
Do not side with those against your truth
It is not you against me

It is us against the world
The two of us to defy the odds
For many years, I was alone
I alone, to pay the cost

Prove to me that love is real
I hold scars only you can sooth
My greatest pain comes from inside
Now I know what to ask from you

Sing me compliments and affirmations
To replace the screams of hatred
Hold me tight yet oh so gently
The gesture has been long belated

Stand with me with our heads held high
For you and I will rewrite the world
Finally standing on the same page
Restarting the memoir of this girl
By: Cedric McClester

Her explanation
Best explains,
She’s living rent free
Inside of his brain
A mere distraction
That always remains
The motivator of
His outrageous claims

She’s been vetted
A thousand times
All they’ve come up with
Are imagined crimes
“Lock her up,”
His base always chimes.
She’d be rich
If they paid her in dimes

I guess we could have
Anticipated
Him calling for her
To be investigated
For spying he says
Kind of belated
They used to be friends
But now she’s hated

He’s talked in the past
About giving out pardons
But when it come to her
His attitude hardens
It’s like the war
Of the ancient Spartans
Not like a stroll
Through Tivoli Gardens












Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019. All rights reserved.
Andrea Jan 8
As nostalgia takes me
I go back to old memories
Of broken dreams and shattered realities
My future seems incredibly bleak.

It’s been months since we’ve parted
and to your farewell I couldn’t attend
I just couldn’t stomach the thought
of you being erased from existence.

But now i’ve dealt with things,
I want to say thank you..
For everything you’ve done for me but here's
A belated Goodbye, A forgotten I love you
Chris Thomas Aug 2018
Like the elms, I am bleeding
But nothing so sweet as sap
You sit perched on the branch above me
Contemplating your belated Autumn nap

Your eyes harmonize with the brown bark
And I envy you, so simple and blasé
I crave some shelter from your rain
But it's cold, and still drizzling dismay

There's a shadow falling over us
The forest has learned to be a clever thief
The light catches you smirk while I weep
Like a willow without a handkerchief

You hear applause, so take your bough
All while dawn bends and slowly breaks
My lips snap like frozen twigs as I wonder;
How can you slumber while my heart's awake?
Blargh, (repulsed)
Blue moon, blue moon? (playful calling)
Where are you?
Where have you been?(tender)

Blue moon, blue moon? (loneliness setting in as you gaze out awaiting the train that never arrives)
What have you seen?

Blue moon, blue moon? (heavy hearted)
I've had a dream, (sigh) I've had a dream. (side gaze with a sigh)
A slot of open and a bash of delight. (guileless)

(Sigh)
Oh, blue moon, blue moon? (glum)
Where are you tonight?

I need to leave this area! (fiery rage)
I want to leave this area? (curious)
yes?! (erratic)
To leave this area? (humble bewilderment)
To leave behind the crazed and the immature, the delinquants and the tyranny (assertive)

Such dispair lies within their minds, lost like the foggy winters depth. (anguish)

To wonder, if there will ever be a smile lay upon their ashened faces. (heartened)

The once rosy and pleasant of all chosen places. (sweet blossom enriched with the crisp warmth of mulled wine)

They went and they came, but never accepted, so left behind they became dilapidated. (nonchalant)

Taken by their own obsessions! (dejected)

Like the creaks of the night, they became the howls of the moon. (like cool chills upon the face, the bitter kiss of Jack frost scratching at your door(dead as the night, even the beat of your heart echoes))

Oh, blue moon, Blue moon!? (weep)
Where are you? (nonchalent)

A ponder here sat patiently waiting. (self pity)
Blue moon, Blue moon? (inquisitive)
Why have you left me? (sorrow)
We've been here soo long, so patiently waiting. (tearful)
So far no good, the cries not answered, will there ever be a moment of joy or will they ever be belated. (faded like the mist of the seas, leaving the bitter taste of salt upon the lips)
Mind bending
(actually, now at present time juiced
well nigh high noon same day)

On this January nineteenth
tooth thousand and nineteen
dogged by an earlier notion
searching soul to glean,
(while at Collegeville Diner)
above place previously wrought
poem hammered from this peon
expounded possibly seen,

asper belated birthday
outing now I mean
to expound upon nagging , yet keen
existential question, sans what purpose
validates yours truly within skien
of terrestrial webbed wide world,
no...no...no not
simply pocketing green

backs (banknotes, legal,
tender, money, et cetera), but now bean
older, and displeasing lee not so lean
when just a slip (pre) youth decades ago
yea, that would be
when I hapt tubby a teen
with nary a concern,

nope not even to preen
myself much to the dismay
of my late mother, nay
no idea why lackadaisical, illogical,
and antithetical bee hay
vee yore prevailed, but more to the point
rarely when young and naive did stray
thoughts besiege my mind,

that LX vintage sketchy,
shady, and seedy gray
area bothered concerning,
hounding, pestering and fill lay
mignon noggin ready toboggan
any price you say
for this staged coached blarney
finding this mortal questioning... ray

zing meaning, purpose,
and underlying importance, gestalt, design...
of life more so today
meaning since recent past
also taking stock of
accomplishments from way
back, and feeling stymied okay
at a loss to delineate

any rhyme or reason
to shout hip...hip hooray
quite the contrary, which following
admission might appear cray zee,
but aye decry barely
living capped off with oy vey!
(due to circumstances beyond ones control, it seems this writing has been belated as the venue has previously denied acquiescence to its publishing, be it known that this correspondences dispatch was foreseen as so to be propounded at the appropriate time, for this offense please forgive)



It has been a year to the day since i began writing to You, chronicling my affections in various literary styles dripping the proverbial ink in an amorous display of yearning and dedication in anticipation of Your heart hearing mine.
   i would assume by now many questions have arisen as to the how and why of these writings and to what end is sought. So if You will suffer me for a time i will do my best to help You understand.
   Six years ago while contemplating life, where i had been, where i was going, reliving the numerous failures in my search for the "Truth in Love", being granted the gift of clairvoyance i had a vision...i know it sounds kookie and the manner in which conclusions were come to after the fact is highly unorthodox as well but please, bear with me... i saw You (You will need to read the first letter if You have not already done so) and also a numeric stream that come to find out is a phone number, which i dared not call out of fear of the repercussions of haste.
    Immediately after i began researching as to the optimal mate (astrological compatibility) taking into consideration both the eastern and western zodiac philosophies. Now as fate would have it, we were literally created for one another, And in the adamant belief that such an epiphany was no mere coincidence from that point on i chose to wait for You, inasmuch to confirm celibacy, And although it pains me to share this, not from being rejected mind You, but the disappointment in myself that due to a momentary lack of composure an incident occurred that i conceded to the thought to satiate the flesh.
   Now as You have already read, since the beginning of this adventure many premonitions have been seen in regards to You, not only by myself but also in dreams by friends as well (two occurrences thus far), i have seen You walk the gardens at night, Brought You tea as You painted by the light of the morning sun, Prepared meals hand in hand, i have also seen us together in old age...5 generations of our family are present in that time and our Love continues to grow.
  i know that is a lot to process and fringes on the absurd, Your most likely thinking "This man has completely lost his mind!", that in my loneliness the desperation has created a fantasy world full of hallucinations with You as the heroine of some neo-Shakespearean Love sonnet and anyone who fits the prerequisites will find themselves in the most uncomfortable position to be forever stalked by a deranged "happily ever after" lunatic.
   But i can assure You my Dear that this is far from the truth.
   i am very much in control of my faculties (save the earlier mentioned) especially in regards to relationships where You are concerned. It has taken many years to reach this point, much prayer, patience and soul searching to get here and i am not willing to jeopardize my happiness nor any others for that matter based solely on a synastry chart. Although all that has been revealed surely solidifies the findings therein.
   Yes the "foundations" have been layed for our compatibility but there's so much more to be seen. Being a proponent of both nature and nurture it is the subtle nuances that make us up as individuals, i know who You are according to the heavens and these sixth sense apparitions...The culmination of a finite amount of attributes arranged in such a manner so as to render me incapacitated by the mere thought of You. The embodiment of perfection enveloped within a vessel found as the epitome of femininity. But i require more, far beyond the warmth of flesh, it is by depth of soul i desire You, The You that has emerged from the filtration of lifes experiences through Your naturally given core.
   As for my Love for You, It is best described at least for now as Agape (in its most sincerest form) being conceived through Philautia, For in hopes of Your arrival and our time together being my inspiration, And for that i am indebted to You.
   i am well aware that not everyone is meant to be together, regardless of what has been said and seen. i am emotionally mature enough to accept and admit this fact. Yet still remains the undeniable truth that somewhere here on GODS earth...YOU...out of all those born on This Day exists, and by HIS grace and HIS grace alone, we will one day be together for as long as HE deems fit...

   my expectations are that this writing has resolved any confusion as to my intentions...

i Love You
                        and may bliss be found in the celebration of Your birth.


                            Ecclesiastes 3:1
myrrh Nov 2018
If I spoke underwater about the things that I hated
I'd run out of gas and the water would be carbonated
It's belated, but I realise that everyone I've dated
Faded away because they found someone 'better'
I just guess that means I'm fated to be rated second
So this girl wants to get down with me
But doesn't want anything higher
Yet I'll keep running back & stand by her
Feelings of objectification
I guess my body is like a slum & I need some gentrification
Corazon Beatriz Nov 2018
I take one step,
As I see you on a locker slip
There you was, so handsome
Closer next to perfection
Close to me to bound an attraction

I take one step
Much closer this time
Aroma of your smell
Makes my nose inviting

I attempt once, took a step back
Got rid of the idea to talk with you
As I see her welcoming by you
Hugging each other made my heart
Ripped, Into pieces

For the moment, i knew
This will be the last
Chances got took for granted
Hopes for the both of you will belated

For the last time, make my bestfriend
Appreciated
George Anthony Dec 2018
you were born on the cusp of spring,
a breath of warm sunlight
coaxing bright life back into
dark husks of wilted stems
and barren souls in need of bloom.

i died the day i came to life.
a beginning amidst the beginning
of the end. four days of stuttering heartbeats later,
i was hurried home under a heavy sky
of god’s tears and thick cloud

your eyes are sick with grief in winter;
i think your chest aches to heal
the fragile, frosted frills of flowers
that suffered and struggled
and surrendered to the cold

you are burdened by empathy
for the crumpled caskets lining the flowerbeds,
impatient for a fresh start
so you can refresh these corpses
into new life. new roots
and petals flourishing in the image of your beauty

you are a god i could worship.
you are a god i could believe in.
you are a creator of life, and colour, and new starts
you created happiness within me,
so i can only hope to do the same for you

i, dead the day i came to life,
belated winter baby with blue lips, blue veins
am alive for perhaps the first time in years
sleepy, but still awake—breathing, blooming
as if spring came early just to kiss the feeling back into my fingertips



a fistful of sunflowers clenched tight,
and with you by my side
my chest is set alight
with a sun’s ray of hopefulness
that the day will eradicate the night.
moon child Oct 2018
Grace and poise
abounding.

Fear instilled
belated.

Lamented life
impassive.

Rationale in
liquidation.

A life without
proposal.

Death in all its
splendor.
Inspired by Billie Eilish

— The End —