"bided" poems
There's a contentious subsection
Of the homosexual community
That go in a different direction
Hoping to find social immunity
The word masculine
Is the mask they're in
To live life saccharine
Wearing a plastic grin
From the sensation
Of over-compensation
Actuating placation
To differentiate
From the effeminate
They say they're separate
But really they're just desperate
To be accepted
By their own dejectors
To not be rejected
They become defectors
To avoid ridicule
They stack their deck with nothing but physicality
Their mind minuscule
The albatross on their neck is a lack of personality
To please those that compare them to **********
Internalizing their homophobia
An infernal mighty cornucopia
Creating an over abundance of rules
One must follow to be a proper male
But we should jump out of the pool
If being miserable is what that entails
The more genuine version we see
The happier we all should be
Then we might all be free
But if I were to show glee
Someone might call me a ******
And I don't think I could hack it
When the rest of society backs it
With an approval that is tacit
So I convince myself I'm avoiding identity politics
Using total discretion
To make no impression
But my friends and family would know that's not what I'm doing
So why not tell them?
I haw and I hem
Because the underlying ghostly shame
Is the true nature of this social game
When you have the fame of the flame
You're told to get in a lane of the same
Erase my ******* sin
With the title masculine
There are practical reasons to hide it
But how much time will be bided?
Will my life be derided
Until the evil are delighted?
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 12:58 AM UTC
It is not who you are,
but rather what you represent, to me,
which defines you.
You encapsulate a love for me,
which I will never know again,
all-defining, pain and fear filled love-
the one he took away.
In a manner, when I look upon you
I look upon him too.
The face of one who
tore my heart and threw it back
cemented in me all that I did lack
which he would then attack.
In a one sided battle,
the blows raining on me like tears,
adding years to my tender age.
You see he had tore the page of childhood,
leaving this book beyond recognition.
Looking back, perhaps I should have had a premonition,
Phil,
of what you were going to be to me.
But I did not want to see
that which would break
the tinted image which I owned of you
which I knew would remain
true
only to a point,
from which it would then be tarnished forever.
I so wanted you to love me back
and so agreed that I lacked
in all that you'd say,
come what may, I know that
I allowed you to control me.
It was not always so one sided.
You bided your time well, you know,
you timed it 'just so', so you
could be sure this final blow would hit.
A finishing spit in the exposed page of my future,
You turned,
you changed,
and the burning pain I felt within,
is possibly your only sin in
this endeavour.
As whatever you are I cannot
blame you for that
which is past.
No matter how long this pain will last-
possibly forever.
And I will prove myself again.
I will prove that I can still love and
be loved in return.
No matter how my heart may yearn,
I have no choice but to spurn those
who are like you.
A half life it may be,
but half full to me.
What you once seemed,
that which I never dreamed you would turn from.
That which, though I may long to,
I shall never see again
when I attempt to see anew.
Not even blindness could hide
all that is true.
Now all I can do is to
bow to the memory
in defeat.
I will never greet who you were again.
You will never eat your words,
you meant them then.
You still do.
The final blow is that;
I will never live up
to the girl you thought
you thought that you once knew.
You reap only the fake crops which
I attempted to sow
in desperation to be,
all that you thought once thought of me.
That girl is dead.
She lives only in my mind
and your heart.
Our paths were meant to be apart.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
*I have bided you,
in the center of my gravity
cause I love you.
@ Musfiq us shaleheen*
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 7:45 AM UTC
One autumn day in Providence
I opened up a door,
And entered into a stuffy room
Called "Edgar's Nevermore",
A curio shop with things forbidden,
And things bizarre and perverse,
And obelisks of ancient books
Occult, arcane, and diverse.
I poked around the pint-sized potions,
Inspected a petrified eft,
But made no purchase; and empty handed
The merchant's lair I left.
Returning home, to my surprise,
Like one who'd broken the law,
I found I'd taken a good unpaid for:
A little monkey's paw.
It tightly gripped, with fingers curled,
A flap of baggy sleeve;
And there it stayed, upon my jacket,
When I hung it up at eve.
For many days it didn't move,
And seemed the perfect pet;
But never trust a monkey's paw,
Or this is what you'll get:
I went to bed a drunken evening,
And slept as though I were dead;
And I didn't hear the monkey's paw
As it crept beside my bed,
The monkey's paw that had bided its time,
And waited, still as could be,
To choose this night to strangle it—
My voodoo doll of me!
(Why did I have a voodoo doll
Of me, you ask? Well, I...
Well, let's just say...well...I can't tell you...
I'd blush to tell you why...)
I awoke (with bleary, blurry vision)
To the monkey-fisted grip,
Then died without a single curse
To swear upon my lip.
And in my town I'm still remembered
As that quintessential loner
Who died alone with a mangled throat,
A creepy doll...and a *****
O.O
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
Sunny days bring smiles on faces
Girls with ***** shorts and sunglasses
Guys with muscle tops or floral hemps and snapback caps
September 19th was sunny
Well, that's until the clouds acuated the skies
and made all the smile evacuate to dystopia
This was an apocalypse
in my parent's house,
a place I used to call home
My father, Christopher
was the devil, Lucifer
and my mother was an angel with wings-
a delightful servant of Venus,
the goddess of love
Only, she couldn't fly
Not mentally, not physically and definitely not verbally
Her vocal chords were shaking as she passed her voice to my dad
She was the rainbow and sunshine
that was no longer divine
it was cryin’
while the devil was roarin’
as if he was a god
in which he was, but only of hell
He omitted fire but this time, it was cold
So cold that a tornado spun around the dining room
as I sat there, frozen, and watched like a snowman
The pupils of my eight year old eyes
witnessed the ending of a love I thought was immortal
A love that I used to think was magical
and illiterate
A love that formed in two hearts that bided into one
on their own
without the education of authorities
This was apartheid!,
and my parents were illegally married
A white European knight in shining armour
to an African goddess with attractive eyes
I started to believe that my mind
used to be a foolish thrall to the world of perfect love
But now I believe that it’s a vendee
who bought the saying, “love is blind”
I was a child who no longer believed
in the love of mankind
I had trouble finding myself
‘cause faith is to believe what you cannot see
and self-love was nowhere in sight
Now love is something I have to draw
and I cannot neutralize it
with optimism ‘cause my world was at an apocalypse
when the sun was supposed to be out...
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 2:13 PM UTC
Wisps of fog dragged
upon the ground, as errant
raindrops bided gray time.
Eyes fixed afield, sharing
an inertness that revitalized
our gray matter.
Robins and blackbirds scattered
their weightless will upon the
damp field.
As nearly imperceptible twinges of
sunlight interrupted the air, then
vanished.
This occurred in confidences, everytime the sunlight gained
upon itself.
The fog began burning off in
decrepid scraps...put asunder
by the field's thundering
anticipation.
The fog was lifted to spring's hierarchies of light...as blackbirds
electrified puddles in a flurry of
wings.
Spraying droplets of water
adorning the sunlight, then flying to
a favored branch shaking dry.
Eyes fixed afield, I was showered below
by accolades of rebirth.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 8:52 AM UTC
Between full moons
And new moons he lived
Half crazy, or so he said,
Putting that down as his
Excuse for his raving moods
Of pinch and punch whatever
Time of the month, but you
Thought it best to wait and see
If it would all go away or if he’d
Grow out of it like an old sweater
Or maybe have some religious
Conversion and be a better person,
But he never did, and the cruising
For a bruising, as he said to you,
Continued, the moods changing,
Darkening, the rows, the words,
The up you signs, the pulling down
Of blinds before the beatings began,
(That sort of man), the neighbours
Saying, yes, he’s a good steady type,
Wouldn’t hurt a fly, smiles and says
Hello, how do you do, and goodbye.
Between summer sun to winter death,
You waited, bided your time, watched,
Felt, ached, then one winter morning,
Out of the blue, he stopped hitting you,
You hit him instead and now he’s silent,
Good to be around, because he’s dead.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 2:59 PM UTC
All the pattern pieces were made with individual care,
Woven together, the journey through life women share,
But there remained some loose ends, unused threads.
They were the ones that did not get used,
Not part of the pattern, not fused, they refused,
To be set aside, they bided their time, knowing...
Just as the women had been brought together over a dire need,
With prayer, they assembled the quilt pieces knitted without greed,
No gossip filled the air, a sense of urgency to complete the work.
Each piece was attached to another, using the left-over threads,
The many became one community, tied together with the short threads,
The rejects now held the whole quilt together, instead,
Of being discarded.
It takes all in a community, to make one quilt, one banner, one voice,
One future, from patterned pieces to a hand full of loose threads.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC
Work History
I lucked into my first job
building four-letter radio station
call signs from tangled bins
of consonants and vowels.
In those days it was
all done by hand.
Sharp corners on the F’s kept you
on your toes, O’s easy to bobble
when you got careless, “slot four,
out the door!”, a newbie mnemonic
forever lodged in my brain.
I bided my time on the K line
until a spot opened on the W,
the graveyard shift. It paid
a little more, the hours going
toward my Creative License.
It was the seventies. We chewed
betel to stay awake during long
classical station runs then punched
out woozy, blind in morning sun,
fingers bleeding, teeth stained red.
Top forty, we popped ‘em out
like biscuits and squirrelled
away X’s to slip onto the ends
of freeform formats, small acts
of defiance. I quit to avoid prosecution,
nabbed sneaking parts out
in my pants, one letter at a time,
building words, paragraphs, whole
stories in my basement.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 7:22 AM UTC
If we trust our peace to a peace maker
to whom or what do we trust our time?
Maybe it's a watch alarm or beeper
in work or play until our final chime.
Time may be measured even treasured
though never really saved or enslaved.
Now long now short now spent now pressured
sometimes borrowed bided always craved.
It has no substance but is the essence
whose tincture tipples us into truculence
perhaps some paranoid pretence
amidst much of irrelevance.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:38 AM UTC
When I first saw you
And you saw me too
Sparks of passion ignited my veins.
I looked in your eyes
And tried to disguise
The fact that my heart was riddled with pain.
For you had a girl
Who was your whole world
And all of my love was all in vain.
So I bided my time
And sipped on my wine
And silently prayed that one day
That you'd call it quits
And after the split
You would come to me and say
Well I like you baby
Do you think that maybe
We could spend a few lazy
Days alone?
Or maybe talk on the phone?
Cause girl you know
You drive me crazy.
You make my mind go
Fuzzy and hazy.
So tell me baby
Do you think maybe?
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
I only smell the bakery down my street the sewers are clogged with our dead ends while spring makes a guest appearance, finding my way home to the spot I've name always "the end" the stars have always led me back here. To the smell of bliss and Italian hair nets. The nests above always crest a hold on me. The curving plate of land leading to the window-sized door I've memorized the cracks and bruises of each push, I know I've pushed too hard into the wind and a battle started that I tried to drown with envy and sink with grief. You never fit on my block, you looked too focused and confused and too illustrated under each paragraph and each line you couldn't align yourself between finger tips or look at poetry, looking at you made me get the concept of a sore thumb, I couldn't bare to watch you lie there longer, you've always managed to touch me like an empty canvas, a loose picture frame and if there is one thing left to say to the rosy cheeks of you entering the castle I thought bided our humanity, beneath this ginger bread smell and silence it would be thanks, for stopping by.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 7:38 AM UTC
My arms too short to reach the door,
Motor skills unaccounted for,
And he had yet to build rapport.
But he wore robes and masks
And skulked beneath
The floor.
My heart abounds without a care,
Laughter floats on blissful air,
He's only in places of disrepair.
But when I stare at the cracks
I see him
Waiting there.
A time for change of flesh and mind,
A sense of reality rendered blind,
To my imagination, he resigned.
But he bided his time
As his methods
Were refined.
The rise and fall of her chest is slow.
We hold our breath and don't let go.
Time limps toward a fate we know.
And just like that
He's real with
Fear bestowed.
And now he's every face I see,
In thoughts and words and inquiry,
A tidal wave I cannot flee.
His reach, I feel,
Is greater than
The sea.
And those eyes, those
Sinister eyes
Are always watching me.
I can almost feel them.
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 1:09 PM UTC
Ever since that night
My thoughts have slipped away.
I cannot think about anything,
Except for you everyday
I can't concentrate;
You're toying with my heart.
I scream out in silence
I don't know where to start
When we met
I knew it was you.
I bided my time
Never wanting, but withdrew
I've never felt this way
I can barely breath or see
You're the girl of my dreams
Yet you hardly notice me.
And when you do
You relight a candle I can't put out,
Until it rises in to ta great flame
Built from my own doubt
So close to love, to hold
When we talk
As I gaze at your beauty
You look at another
Your wit intrigues me
Your laugh haunts me
You dance like the summer
Hot, powerful, moving, ravaging, and beautiful
Like the summer you heat me up
Until I'm burning like never before
Hoping you can catch a bit of my passion
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
She only wanted to walk freely,
or gallop through a valley
and feel the wind in her hair.
To camp by a stream and eat lembas
and wild roots. Wander here and there
with Feanor’s sons, hunt wild boar, and drink
and laugh.
She would cast away the distaff.
But freedom for a woman can be a fragile thing,
beautiful and brief as a moth’s wing.
Eol, the Dark Elf, dwelt in shadow, in Nan Elmoth.
He saw Aredhel, alone and lost, and desired her, to betroth.
She had no choice
but to seek help at a stranger’s door.
And then she had choice no more.
Captivity breaks weaker hearts.
But Aredhel was Elven, and of Finwe’s line.
She bided time. She worked her womanly arts.
She raised a son, and loved him,
and told him stories of fair Gondolin.
When chance arrived, they broke free
and fled West, to the fair city.
Eol, enraged, pursued them,
and the words of Curufin stung him.
He would have killed his only son
for his defiance, but fate denied him
this pyrrhic victory.
Maeglin lived, and watched his father
die, as he stood by, free.
Maeglin—his father’s son—desired one
who loved him not. In reckless despair, he traveled too far,
and Morgoth preyed on his shame and desire.
It was not hard to turn Maeglin traitor and liar.
But no reward had Maeglin in this life--
never did he take fair Idril to wife.
Aredhel died to save her son, not knowing
he would be the one
to bring ruin on the Elven city.
Maeglin (his father’s son) had no kindness nor pity.
He revealed the secret path
to Morgoth (his likeness in envy and in wrath).
And in the end, all fell: Gondolin, Nargothrond
and Doriath.
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 2:01 PM UTC
Between full moons
And new moons he lived
Half crazy, or so he said,
Putting that down as his
Excuse for his raving moods
Of pinch and punch whatever
Time of the month, but you
Thought it best to wait and see
If it would all go away or if he’d
Grow out of it like an old sweater
Or maybe have some religious
Conversion and be a better person,
But he never did, and the cruising
For a bruising, as he said to you,
Continued, the moods changing,
Darkening, the rows, the words,
The up you signs, the pulling down
Of blinds before the beatings began,
(That sort of man), the neighbours
Saying, yes, he’s a good steady type,
Wouldn’t hurt a fly, smiles and says
Hello, how do you do, and goodbye.
Between summer sun to winter death,
You waited, bided your time, watched,
Felt, ached, then one winter morning,
Out of the blue, he stopped hitting you,
You hit him instead and now he’s silent,
Good to be around, because he’s dead.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
we danced out the womb
singing our songs loud
refusing to be ignored
we bided our time
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 7:50 PM UTC
There is smoke
but no fire,
My ire burned to ash
Rash decisions
a well run dry
As I try to free my buried soul
From the control that you have taken
By the gods forsaken
To lie with the sucubi
You and I two headed
And two sided
Our time bided to ensure
All pure was perverted
And twisted like the snake
That spake in your head
In the bed where I tasted your beauty. ...
There can be no found without being lost
No final cost till we are bought
The prize sought simplistic
Animalistic in our pursuits
Of the gods for which we yearn
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 12:09 AM UTC
My heart has been set ablaze
Mind is stuck in a cave
Your heart is what I must tame
We're driving each other insane
Who is to blame but who am I to say.
Drugs are what have overcame
Keeping us partially sane
I wish to be more brave, going insane
Heart as hard as stone
Feelin it when my feet tread through snow.
Your heart beats a sad monotone
There's a unpatched cut in my heart
My only wish is to keep yours from being ripped apart.
There's a blade against your heart
Barrel against my chest
I can't take another breath
Dark shadows haunt me
Counting down my death
Grey clouds stalk me
Knives falling from the sky
Rain drops hurt me
Your soul burns me
And your touch melts me
One has never felt such pain as thy
I have the affection you need
Tell me why your heart must bleed
This is one thing I ask, I plead
The darkness is what your sadness feeds and where I rest my left knee
Prayed to a diety, speech is which he granted me
Spoke is what I did indeed
Told him what I need, that is of a key
Bided my soul just to see you walk free
Would you cry for me?
No, just think of me, as you walk free
Don't pray for me
Just wait for me
When you near your final breath I can finally rest.
Death will not do us part.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 10:00 PM UTC
Autumn brushed her golden hair
curling locks of auburn-red
as she shed the gold 'n fair
as she donned her white to wed
she swirled around for me to see
the colours cascade, as waves of sea,
her rain of auric crimson leaves
over hay and golden sheaves
and round about, upon the ground,
a scattered patchwork of earth's finest
clothes of copper, bronze 'n browns,
as befit her regnant highness
weathered skin of palest alabaster
with hints o' coral hue,
glistening dew on whitest plaster,
as cream of marbled statue
as she shed her harvest raiment
stark beauty in the sky
heady jasmine and cider scent
betray her unclad thigh
and he waited, bided time,
with snow and crystal'd silver
bedecking ice-king in his prime
still and patient Winter
wrapped himself in single sheet
of luminous, crystalline ice,
as he laid his ivory feet
on mount of edelweiss
for Autumn, she had melted
'fore his numinous gelidity
invisible she lay pelted
'neath his averous cupidity
he tapped his toe in single tone
in beat of coldest shiver
as in the moonlight, there alone
shot arrows from his quiver
darts of hail and blustering wind
his army of projectiles
hid benevolence as he grin'd
a warm, pulsating smile
for now sweet earth, beneath her blanket
of whitest, softest snow,
giveth forth roots for sumptuous banquet
sun shines on afterglow
Aug 30, 2021
Aug 30, 2021 at 7:07 AM UTC