"biding" poems
who lit the candles
placed so eloquently
behind purple rock?
that sculpted radiance
and chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs
street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
shuffle their wares
as the front man
and pock face
sing their sullen
holy blues
cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts
a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway
hula hoops
and circle ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy
beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow
a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
SNAKE
cold blooded adapter smooth in its capture, venomous to those caught in its rapture
CATERPILLAR
ultimate evolver unique in every state, to cocoon and assimilate into a new creature at such a fast rate
OX
lifter of the heavy, for the weak there are plenty, paver of new roads that bring prosperity to many
RABBIT
soft to the touch we all wanna pet usually are to fast for anyone to get
PIG
plentiful is the swine for weak is their mind created for slaughter what a sad lifetime
IGUANA
all I can think is Mexican radio a snake with legs smoking **** in 80's videos
OSTRICH
a bird who cannot fly makes me wonder why such a big bird won't even try
~
DOMESTICATED
over time becoming content living in a situation not originally meant
OBEDIENT
submits to authority biding time as a follower till own goals become priority
GROWL
slow rumble from the soul an intimidating stare with a glow, with a Grrr! everyone will know
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 11:29 AM UTC
I hate death
The slow menancing presence
Always there
Biding its time
Counting down the time for us all
Not letting us in on the big secret
Not even a hint
Just culling us when he deems our time has come
My beautiful Nan
She's given up
She's not fighting anymore
She's ready to be taken
She's awaiting her flight leaving
She's lost her lust for life
She doesn't see all that's beautiful
Just darkness and misery within her mind
Her time is coming
She's wishing it here
She would probably be excited if she could muster the strength
Like children wish for Christmas
We all know he's coming
Like an unwanted family member
Never invited but has to come
He will arrive when we least expect him
Sneak in and take her from under our noses
She will walk hand in hand with this well known stranger
Enter the house I call home
Like a thief and take my most precious possession
The ticking of the clock counting down her time
Counting down our time with her
Removing the batteries changes nothing
Every minute, a minute less
Wiping tears away, calling out 'Cup of Tea, Nan?'
Hoping she will answer
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 12:00 PM UTC
Everything good about them starts to hurt,
doesn't it?
Once you begin to realize that
while you were
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
They were just biding time.
While you were running towards them,
they were searching for the exit.
When you were m_ ss _ng them,
they were looking for better people to see
better places to be.
When you were feeling C0nFus3d,
their friends were laughing with them - at your expen$e.
While you were falling a p a r t
high,
they were getting not feeling a thing.
While you were giving them the benefit of the doubt,
they were doubting you had any benefits.
While you were trying to
p
a t
c #
things up,
They were trying to let you d
o
w
n easy.
All of the good things become
rui
ne
d
How lovely they made you feel
Before doesn't matter.
You were d r a g g i n g out
what they wanted to come to an
end...
Now all that you have left are the memories
a-t-t-a-c-h-e-d to the
p \ in that comes
After.
©Kateland Dwyer
1/5/2017
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 5:58 AM UTC
No one else, but a poet...can bring colors
to scenes...with verses, in crass or subtle
tones......gather words together in lines,
uncertain in their ebbing and flowing...
the results create surprise in many
hues that could make one cry,
grimace......frown......or smile
readers are led to far, or near
destinations...to the cool, sweet air
and peaceful atmosphere of paradise,
or, to unlit corners...uncharted waters,
or deep into an abyss...or, a black hole,
an unknown corner, where moribund souls
are biding their time, maybe, they could
now define by themselves, purgatory and hell,
understand those sunken souls who have lost
all...except their arms, and begging eyes...
then, through appropriate words,
a poet paints a laborious path, or
a stairway...so an enlightened reader
may climb back to safe, calm waters...
a poet makes the mind see a human heart,
beating in many rhythms...throbbing,
.......aflame with longing and desire,
bursting from ecstatic, sublime moments,
then, later on, shift to grayish thoughts
that cut deep....tormenting...crashing,
............gnashing the heart...
a poet paints a soul walking on cloud nine,
later, to dip feet in celebrative pools.
sometimes, a poet would rather not, yet,
an inner force prevails, thereby paints a
drooping soul...dying, in total surrender,
ready to fall..............but, again, with a
barrel of lively-colored words, a poet
takes this despondent soul to berth,
with soothing verses, bring it to a rebirth...
every human being is worth an effort
..............even those that have fallen
.........................are worth savin' .....
a poet's palette is uniquely
enriched with colorful experiences,
a poet paints life in its truest colors,
..........could be dark...or bright
.....nothing more......nothing less...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
January 29, 2017
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC
You know how the Lorax spoke for the trees? I feel the need to speak for my four-year-old niece. Not because she can't speak -- she can and rarely stops once she starts -- but because there are certain concepts time has yet to grant her. So until time does, I got you covered, Lucy.
Mommy,
you call it the "poetry" of a child's sleep,
ohh 'n ahh, she's so, so sweet,
I call it child's "pose." Not the yoga neither.
I'm posing and rolling and cooing
biding time until you're tripping on the
Ambien retreating to a dream.
You're only reprieve.
'Cause when your *** is asleep,
I be mixing up the Play-doh,
red and yellow, black and white,
'till it's 50 shades of brown, alright?
Dirt pies from the backyard,
put 'em by the brownies
in the morning world-weary in your pajamys
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Over my shoulder, drinking from a thermos --
stumble in your step mean you gettin' nervous--
hand me piece of paper and two crayons
macaroni orange and swamp water liaisons
these coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
These coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
"Color outside the lines, eh Lucy?
don't play by the rules," my Mommy say,
but I been around long enough to know dat
'dese rules pay. Outside the lines? Is just uh sloppy.
Been outside the club in front of the line
with my fellow shawties.
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Chicken and fries three meals-a-day.
Chocolate milk three meals-a-day.
Tricycle boys three wheels away.
Hands on your hips can't make me stay.
Lego blocks lodged in your skull.
I've hid the Advil. The Dayquil. Drank the Nyquil though.
Alright, alright, time to get confessional.
All my ***** accidents are intentional.
I melt my own Barbies to feel alive.
Snort glue sticks just to get hella high.
Mommy, you've got a messy ketchup face.
Mommy, you've got spiders in your hair.
Mommy, you've got ****** on your pants.
Ha. Ha.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Bi-otch.
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
We can only afford to contain our fires
Turning to... Soothsaying waters
Soothsaying rain, empty out your bottles
Irrigate from our heart puddles
Let flow into a singular well
An oasis where our hearts would kiss and silently tell
Submerge us as one being
The water milling and licking
Kissing our warm skins
Wash away as it purges and cleans
Cleansing waters, wash and give birth
Rid of the sadness to reveal the earth
Of this earth, you and I are one
Looking up to idolise the same sun
Wedged between... This expanse of redundant land
Pining for the mixing of our sands
We... We are made of the same
Earth, dirt and gravel placed in different games
Bearing similar stones that beat
Beating away the seconds that flit
Earth biding time... Stay on ground
Let wind take your souls to realms unbound
Casting our souls into the wind
Carved hearts on flags we pinned
Kites of love set to catch the air
Wind be kind... Carry us easy with care
Gift us your gentle airy fingers
As you would the sails of hopeful seafarers
Together we would dance and billow
Frolic upon your light feathered pillow
Ride the wind, on wings that never tire
Tiny bites that keep us afire
Never needing a flint to set alive the flame
Stoking the fire that burns on the same
Rhymes and reasons be our fuel
Combat logic and sense in a cerebral duel
Fight in our eyes, subdued are the blazes
Embers dormant behind glassy tearful gazes
Spark them to life with passionate heat
Fan them to rage till the time our hearts meet
But still... We must contain our fires
With nothing but soothsaying waters
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 12:49 AM UTC
Dinosaur, o dinosaur
Noblest of creatures!
Why must you have been struck down
With your graceful features?
Perhaps you are still around
And you are just in hiding.
Perhaps you are just waiting,
Your time you are biding.
One day soon I hope we'll meet
And with prowess you will thrill me
Because I feel sure that
We are one, and you will not **** me.
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 7:25 PM UTC
Loving you must be a crime,
cause i'm stuck in this prison biding time,
waiting for a visit,
a call,
a postcard,
something,
anything to show that I don't mean nothing.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 9:23 AM UTC
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale ***
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of *******
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
5.3k
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale ***
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of *******
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
4.9k
i just want to die
life is trying my mind
oh, why should i even try
when i'm just biding time
i think about it all the time
of why i should never try
my life defies my mind
i just want to die
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 8:30 PM UTC
**IMMEDIATELY PLEASE REMOVE ALL OF MY INFORMATION FROM YOUR DATA BASE FORTHWITH. ALSO,
ADVISE ANY AND ALL CONTRACTORS, SUB-CONTRACTORS, AGENTS, SUB-AGENTS, AFFILIATES, PARTNERS, COLLEAGUES, ASSOCIATES, CLIENTS, WEBMASTERS, WEB BASED LINKS, WINKS, TWINKS, COLONEL CLINCKS, BOSSES, CO-WORKERS, EMPLOYEES, VENDORS, SUPPLIERS, SALESMEN, ASCCOUNT REPS/EXCS, ACCOUNTANTS, BROKERS, CO-BROKERS, HACKERS, SLACKERS, WHACKERS, JERKS, PIMPS, HOES, HOBOS, BUMS, DERELICTS, DEGENERATES, DOPERS, DEALERS, TWEEKERS, GAMBLERS, RAMBLERS, SOLICITORS, SIDEKICKS, COHORTS, WINGMEN, WHEELMEN, LOOKOUTS, OUTLAWS, IN-LAWS, RELATIVES, FIANCES, GIRLFRIENDS, BOYFRIENDS, FAMILY, FRIENDS, ENEMIES, EVIL NEMISIS', CANVASSERS, INQUIRERS, QUEERS, QUEENS, COWBOYS, KINGS, **** DRAGS, HAGS, HETEROS, HOMOS, TONY ROMOS, FEMALE IMPERSONATORS, (PRE OR POST) MALE IMPERSONATORS, ***** ***** VAN ***** **** VAN **** LESBIANS, LIARS, BUYERS, CRYERS, CIGAR SMOKERS, CARPET MUNCHERS, RUG RATS, TODDLERS, TEENAGERS, YOUNGSTERS, SENIORS, SUCKERS, TRUCKERS, MOTHER shut yer mouth, LAW MAKERS, LAWYERS, ATTORNEYS, JUDGES, POLITICIANS, PECKERWOODS, LEADERS, FOLLOWERS, DISCIPLES, PROPHETS, EVANGELISTS, SAVIORS, SINNERS, SAINTS, SOOTHSAYERS, MEDICINE MEN, GYPSYS, TRAMPS, AND THIEVES, WITCHES, WARLOCKS, VAMPIRES, LYCANS, ZOMBIES, WAR MONGERS, PROTESTERS, SOLIDERS, GENERALS, GOVERNORS, PRESIDENTS, PATRIOTS, PACKERS, LIONS, BEARS, BROWNS, BLACKHAWKS, REDWINGS, RIGHT WING, LIBERALS, OR LAW BIDING CITIZENS, THEY ARE NOT TO CONTACT ME AND LOOSE MY NUMBER.
BUT IF YOU SEE MY MOM, TELL HER TO CALL ME.
........................................................................BA-ZING....................................................................**
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
When the world around me
feels like a black hole
Energy goes in
But does not come out
What does that mean?
How does God cal me to be
Gentle?
Humble?
I know patience is the key
But how?
Why?
What does this stagnation help?
How long must I wait --
To see gifts used more fully?
To move into the light?
How do I challenge myself,
encourage myself
To keep on,
to stay optimistic
to keep alive the passion?
How do I know
When to sit?
When to act?
How do I remain in patience?
I feel like I'm biding my time
waiting until things
"really happen"
And yet, I know God is working
Now
Forming me and others
How do I let the patience guide me?
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
Gates climb
News and paraphernalia
Modern communication
Internet on vacation
Today, rural Australia
Goes awol in valleys, hills
As seeking when hiding
Frustration biding
Trees, various pitfalls
An Insufficient population
Say Cannot build towers
Excuses bely hours
Trying, for connection
Work with what's known
Try cavalier solutions
It's the execution
When, creativity shown
First try computer waving
Above head I'm shaking
Signal not taking
Despite, the swaying
Next option lying on floor
Hint of access, fleeting
Patchy greeting
So slow, won't store
Then stand on top of bed
Try to reach high ceiling
Wobbly feeling
Response, still lead
Despite heat, go outside
The temperature violent
Connection silent
If Home far, just beside
Time past, similarly stung
Found access best rate
The paddock gate
Balancing, top rung
Troop to gate hopes keen
As Searing heat, metal
Stand and settle
Tightly, cradle machine
Process long, time lost
A Connection success
Finally access
But who, counts cost?
Eventually, its loaded mail
As Balancing hold keen
Humorous scene
As Sway, in light pale
Internet access by Gates
Not Bill, Steve, Microsoft
Hung steel aloft
So basic, surely debates
Climbing for a signal now
Is the practical response
Sadly ensconced
As Rural, area know how
But surely it must be time
When access essential
Internet critical
Yet today, gates climb
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC
Crow was watching ......
......with his toothless grin .
Biding his time ......
...... he then stoops in .
He knows more than you may think ,
it all reeks of a ghastly stink .
No matter ! With your false truths ,
your lies betray you , So Uncouth !
So now ... When you are alone ,
be safe and wise ! Know the Unknown .
For crow is silent and cares not ,
Has his revenge already been Begot ?
Victims ! Aren't we all ?
Those Who rise sublimely ,
Only to find their fall .........
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC
Stillness,
Waiting for words to come while you sit still
Wanting the perfect simile
To tell you what you mean to me
But each passion charges right to the end of the pencil,
Breaks and falls off as mumbles
Like the pencil lead that crumbles
Until there's so space on the paper
Just the scars and scribbles
The pencil gives in and sits still
Seeking stillness amidst the busy city circus
It's the end of the longest day
We wait, wordless, wanting not to work
Letting the steady melody of Old Friends
And Bookends lull us,
Lead us, keep the world at bay
I'm mute except for simple words
But holding out for more
Biding time until it feels right
Finding the stillness inside
Stifling the roar
Fighting out a title
Then the page falls to the floor
You smile, say goodnight
Walk off towards the door
Still the pencil sits still
The pencil sits so still
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 8:34 PM UTC
I am a puppet,
Here are my strings.
This one's for my mouth,
And this one's for my wings.
You can make me fly,
Fly,
O so high, in the sky,
Till I die.
You are in control,
Just the way you like it I'm sure.
Making me do tricks,
Getting all of your sick kicks.
You stand above me,
With your fidgeting fingers.
Making me dance around,
To your favorite singers.
Make me jump,
Make me fly,
Make me happy,
Make me cry,
Make me crazy,
Make me high,
Control where I look,
With my eyes.
I do your biding,
Like it or not.
I'm addicted to your control,
Like some are to ***
I feel like,
It'll be this way till I die.
Yet you drop some scissors,
What are you trying to imply?
But now I found the scissors,
And you know what I'm going to do?
Snip,
Snip,
Cut,
Cut,
And,
TADA.
I'M FREE FROM YOU.
Although,
I didn't really think this through...
Because before I knew,
It I fell to the floor.
Like an overdosed,
Ritalin *****
Lifelessly alone laying,
On the ground.
The only thing I hear,
Is your fake laughing sound.
So there I lay limb over limb,
Not knowing where to go.
Then to my dismay,
You mange to cause me even more woe.
For beside me,
A new puppet takes my place.
And your once gentle hand,
Comes down on me, and I am erased.
Now I think,
I miss your strings.
And all of your,
Cute little things.
I might have been a puppet,
But I loved my master.
Until she got bored,
And caused this disaster.
I loved a disaster,
Which was my master.
But what should I know?
I am just a puppet.
Oct 2, 2011
Oct 2, 2011 at 7:54 PM UTC
I sold smack on a playground today
biding time to scrounge the rent--
Two months ago I had never even seen the stuff.
I'd never procured it for personal use,
let alone sold it.
Now I'm a full-time pusher of prescriptions
for problems that can't be cured,
a modern-day snake-oil salesmen
schlepping panaceas for every conceivable ill.
*Trying to cope with depression?
This'll give you a shot in the arm!
Your boyfriend just broke your heart
mere weeks after breaking your *****
Here's a ***** that you can depend on*...
I thought I was better than this,
but who can afford scruples
with bills to pay?
Internally
I struggle to compete
with people who would never deign to take note of me.
My revenge is in undermining their immaculate lives,
a pill-peddling Socrates
keeping creditors at bay.
I'd always envisioned being someone's hero--
at least being remembered for an act of creation.
Instead I'm an enzyme for eradication.
A cancer cell at best--
A ****** wrecking ball.
One day I woke up a sidekick
to a heroine that's never saved anyone...
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 12:53 AM UTC
Kissing me
Vicious was my scheme
I made a story of tainted glory
Anticipating his biding sincerity
Craving the touch of my hips
Misplacing perseverance
Delaying conscience
Losing rationality
Watching his admiration
Over compensating captivation
Realizing his conspiracy
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 9:11 PM UTC
I see you everywhere but beside me,
the one place that I need you the most.
I don’t know if you’ve just felt like hiding,
but it feels like I’m being stalked by a ghost.
I think of my life consisting of just time biding,
with parasitic emptiness and I’m the host.
This hits me like waves I am meant to be riding,
and it follows me persistently from coast to coast.
The grass didn’t seem so green back then
I guess all that constant rain did pay off,
‘cause now this little future’s just a casual friend,
and my god looking back the past was soft.
It’s not like I always want to be drenched in sorrow,
I find I look much better in brown, blue or grey,
you know I’d trade in every tomorrow
for just one more yesterday.
I hear every voice but yours in my ears,
the deafening noise has made me forget that sound,
since I’ve heard that sweet melody it’s been too many years,
and every other pitch makes my static brain pound.
I’m always biting my lip but now I’m fighting tears,
I shake my head side to side and around.
I’m quickly losing stamina from battling my fears
and now looking forward to my hole in the ground.
The skies never seemed clear and blue back then,
it turns out that I was the creator of each cloud,
I’m hoarding past calendars so that I can pretend
that I’m back in time and making everyone else proud.
If you’ve got a hour or two that I can borrow,
I swear I’m good for it and whatever price; I’ll pay,
‘cause you know I’d trade in every tomorrow
for just one more yesterday.
I feel you all over, laced in everything,
if it wasn’t such a curse, it’d be a gift.
You’re the peace in winter and the hope in spring,
you’re the summer sun and autumn’s winds so swift.
I’m relieving every memory, looking for a place to cling,
I remember all of the details but the clarity is now adrift.
Side to side, back and forth, I constantly swing,
it pulls and drags me down but it can also give the highest lift.
The sun never seemed to shine right back then,
but maybe I was just too busy looking for artificial light.
I was never one for second looks but I should’ve searched again,
because everything I wanted was already in my sight.
So I plant a seed hoping it will eventually grow
and I sculpt all I wish for with clay,
‘cause you know I’d trade in every tomorrow
for just one more yesterday.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 1:58 PM UTC
Should
never have to
face the
thickened
sticky
white and
creamy
cheesy
cliched
wrath and
terror
of her
mother's smile.
Should
never have to
flinch
inside
behind walls
made of
bricks
behind
barricades
of
stone
wrapped
in
bubble-wrap
at her
mother's
glance.
Eyes
should
never
hold
so
much
power
within
the
flash
of
discontent.
She should not
live
on a boat
always
biding time
waiting for
storms to pass
for
waves to
curl
and crack down
upon her
head
down into
the sand
that
holds her
down into
the dark
that
kisses her
goodnight
down into
the brutal
flick
the tap on the
glass
clench
of
the fingers
twitch of
the jaw
should never
have to
wait
for the
mother's roar
to
echo
through the
chamber
of her heart
until
silence
envelopes
her soul
and she
can sleep
without
fear.
Should
never
fear
her
mother's
evening breath
the
gentle and
stilling
exhale
a sigh
a brittle
and
glassed sound
that shatters
against her
tightly
pursed
lips
locked
mouth.
Should never
tell the heart
to
quiet down
and let
her run
like a
good
child
ignoring
the warning
bells
which
everyone else
seems to ignore
the words
that leave
her
stubborn
lips
in the
joke she
tells
the story
she
preaches
the hesitated
eye
widening
limerick
the expected
story
to tell
her
friends
her
mother's
wrath
tastes like
fire in
her belly
sulphur in
her throat
and
metallic
lingerings
of
biting
her tongue
to
suppress
the
screams
'what can you expect'
'my mother gets like that'
'she attacked me'
'but its okay'
'I was stubborn'
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 7:19 AM UTC
'Trapped in a lizard state'.
The singer's echoes,
the words too clear.
Like a lizard, I lay and wait,
biding my time.
Waiting for my prey to walk in the door.
To latch, and to never let go.
To playfully wrestle the bait.
But for now I am waiting,
staring at nothing.
I wonder if Lizards don't sleep much,
because of their dreams.
Cause if so, I am most definitely cold blooded.
Staring into nothing,
waiting for my prey.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
Lo, I have loved thee long, long have I yearned and entreated!
Tell me how I may win thee, tell me how I must woo.
Shall I creep to thy white feet, in guise of a humble lover ?
Shall I croon in mild petition, murmuring vows anew ?
Shall I stretch my arms unto thee, biding thy maiden coyness,
Under the silver of morning, under the purple of night ?
Taming my ancient rudeness, checking my heady clamor
Thus, is it thus I must woo thee, oh, my delight?
Nay, 'tis no way of the sea thus to be meekly suitor
I shall storm thee away with laughter wrapped in my beard of snow,
With the wildest of billows for chords I shall harp thee a song for thy bridal,
A mighty lyric of love that feared not nor would forego!
With a red-gold wedding ring, mined from the caves of sunset,
Fast shall I bind thy faith to my faith evermore,
And the stars will wait on our pleasure, the great north wind will trumpet
A thunderous marriage march for the nuptials of sea and shore.
2.8k
He is known as The Leader of Men.
His combat skills and his undisputed valor are unparalleled.
The cryptic tattoos of his body are the gospel of neighboring regions.
The utter of his name sends shockwaves of fear and trepidation across the land.
Biding idle time by sharpening his spears, swords, daggers.
Gutting, severing, and beheading those opposing his path and will.
The elders say he is the son of Achilles.
Yet at the twilight of every night of battle,
He lies at his bedside.
Alone.
He never talks, he never sleeps.
Just gazes upon the blood spilled upon his hands.
He weeps.
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 6:56 PM UTC