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CK Baker Jan 2018
who lit the candles
placed so eloquently
behind purple rock?
that sculpted radiance,
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
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
I’m a soldier
in a war
sold to the highest bidder
Biding my time
getting high
but not getting
anything out of
life

A lifer
a loser
lost his way
was on his way
on a journey
was earning
a living
was living
a life
in spite of
spitting in the face
of all I was faced with
Couldn’t face up
to the need
I was feeding
A hole
from which
my soul
was bleeding
Unknown reason
harboring this treason
give it time
it will season
Belief system
the Devil
finds pleasing

No matter
how much I tried
and from everyone hide,
including myself,
what was
deep inside
If I went
and made
an attempt
a fool I'd be,
wasted time spent
A lament
at controlling
the tide
And each day
from the next
more and more
of me died

There was a time
when all my efforts
went unheeded
and instead
succeeded
But these courtships
did not breed
or plant the seed
Instead was seething
to be
leaving
Escaping from me
with each breath
I’m breathing

A horrible time
indeed
Unfamiliar,
making me ill
Not having free will
Undeserving
and not for me
to get
Must get angry
and upset
Breaking steps
So many
missteps
I’m falling
more than I’m standing

Steps I’ve climbed
mostly blind
by my blindfold
Its knots
I bind
the moment
I ‘rise-and-shine’
so that
in time
when rising
like yeast,
the hiding
inner self
self-defeats

Every hand folding
as I’m
raising the bets,
doesn't make sense
From where
did I get
this invisible pet
Originally set
and previously molded
in the early stages
of the morning
in a story
that’s boring
and been told
time and time again
with
lost love ones
and friends

A friendly reminder
that a
“stitch-in-time”
is not
a time saver
if the referenced ‘stitch’
relied upon
was built upon
lies
Consumed
from others
that we
self tie
but mostly
force fed
by the very hand
controlled
by my head

It’s a numbing thought;
reasons sought
Elusive?
‘yes’
but pieces
caught
My peace disturbed
by actions
brought
from a desire
to numb
so that these thoughts
will be
forgotten

Decayed
and rotten
left for days
in a
wrought iron cage
Anyone
with sage
too afraid
to consume
but 'In-Doom'
I trust
and with full ******
my smile
displayed;
Forward I go
for sins
I pay
and lie within
this bed
I've made

Not night;
thick of day
No difference displayed
Skewed indifference
to the
different
paths
that have been
laid
like the path
of destruction
from this day
back
in my wake
Bindings
can't brake
A life's mistake
Lay me down
my soul
to take
Lying in state,
a viewing,
my wake
My mind
now awake
-
Cruelty's laugh
makes me
an ***
A crass reminder
of a life
that's past
Written: July 14, 2018

All rights reserved.
Poetry by MAN Jul 2013
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
M.A.N 7-14-13 trying something different with mind associations. The Dog is my Eastern Zodiac sign I was very intrigued when I read qualities  I will also be doing Scorpio next. I just added Scorpio and changed title these are my two astro signs I'm still going to do a stand alone Scorpio with a dark twist stay tuned. Funny side note I'm writing these associations and can do them all day while I'm in LA with family waiting to be seated at a Chinese restaurant Din Tai Fung in Arcadia CA ;)
ConnectHook Sep 2015
Boring old militant Marxist Farts
who blather on, in fits and starts
about class war and revolution
(demonstrably a failed solution)
rather than pitied should be scorned;
their websites tapped, subscribers warned.
Such talk begins as plodding fodder
dull as lead – yet even odder:
people read this wretched dreck!
History ought to hold in check
their pawn-shop plans to topple kings
they talk a good game – till it brings
armed madness, rage, the peasant wars
thugs and riff-raff looting stores,
death-camps, purges, civil chaos
union dues, returned to pay us
****** end to a treacherous story –
guns for butter and guts for glory.
Mao’s red flowers, Trotsky’s pick
Stalin’s bearhug – lies as thick
as honey dripping on a corpse.
Centralized control that warps
a free man’s mind. And yet they find
their audience loaded, pumped and primed.
In spite of numberless essays
the true believer bucks and brays
hee-hawing on, in Maoist jargon,
urging buyers to the bargain:
shining paths – that lead to graveyards
strewn with texts by Marxist blowhards.
Endless screeds by tenured traitors :
dialectic masturbators…
Marxist dullness has its edge.
Boring – yes, but forms a wedge
to split the status quo in factions
gaining time to plan their actions.
Arm in arms; so sad it tickles –
hammering plowshares into sickles
battering bewildered readers
(propagandized bottom-feeders).
Red conjecture never softens
pounded in like nails in coffins,
though their pipe-dreams burn away
when exposed by light of day.
Communist theory rings the blows
to forge the chains. The movement grows.
It’s lengthened, strengthened, link by link
ensnaring those who’re prone to think
they know what’s best for rank and file,
propagandizing all the while.
Agitating Marxist praxis
forms their struggle’s central axis.
Starry-eyed, they sing the anthem
plotting mayhem. Yes – I grant them
zeal, devotion, earnest madness…
but their ends begin in badness.
Brooding hate – their only god,
biding time to shoot their ***.
Nip their notions in the bud
before they blossom into blood.
Point them out for what they are:
faceless scribes of future war.
Worst of all: they’re as predictable
as their theories are inflictable.
Gaze into the hole of history
comprehend the tragic mystery…
Best YouTube of all trust me:  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lwoSFQb5HVk
Lotte Jan 2014
Tea
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
Sad Girl Jan 2017
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
I really loved her, from the moment that I met her.
My whole life is just one long sad story.
She's just another antagonist in a small chapter now.
I had a better role planned out for her,
but this is a true story and not many of those have happy endings.
It wasn't what I thought it was anyways.
I'm just a fool for love.
Art comes from reality, not happiness...
I guess that I should be thanking her.
jeremy wyatt Feb 2011
Phelisa was a fairy child
of bluebell stock so meek and mild
but in her heart burned flames and fire
fly into danger her desire

once old enough to learn her trade
an uneasy truce with her queen was made
ten years of duty then she is free
to choose her own true destiny

Phelisa born with eyes of fire
outflies the wind no bird flies higher
bravest of all none can compare
Phelisa you must have a care

Be careful watch your little ones
take every day just as it comes
one day the call will come to you
till then protect as we all do

Sweet human children in their beds
hover at their little heads
watching waiting keep them safe
every little human waif

What dreams a Fairy keeps within her flower-soul
and when a warrior small but splendid fair
does not hold watching weans a noble goal
spends hours adding feathers to her hair
so when she flies to battle forces grim
her visage such a terrifying sight
her countenance conveys the chances slim
that any evil will survive the fight

Phelisa where do you go?

Dreams on noble strife and deeds
draw you away to the woods,
but the child you watch is threatened
by a man who means no good


Phelisa drifted to the nursery window, tired from swinging her wee silver sword all day.
Practising her craft with the agile birds and fencing with her friends the falcons.
She was puzzled at the windows edge, she could not understand why the cot was tumbled to the floor, and why the dog howled so.
Then she smelled them, baby cries in the air, hot and sweet and frightened.
And something else Mother was cold afraid.
She cast desperately around the cottage, no sight or sound, but the smell led into the summer evening, mixed with car-smell.
Follow then, if you can little one and help you wee charge.

"I get what I want, or the baby gets hurt..."
Evil swine, all these years hiding and he found her still,
dragged them to the little Austin Seven and drove them to the middle of nowhere.
A quiet wood where noone will disturb them.
Stood there now, screaming baby in his foul fists, eyes full of lust and excitement.
He pulled them towards a small cliff, do what He wants and the child may live, all she could think off, don't and he throws the baby over the edge.
He runs on with them, but frowning, what is this at his feet,the  brown of animals, small warm things keeping pace?
As they run they crush in, making him stumble, making him afraid.
He quickens his pace, strikes out, God they are everywhere get away!
He drops the child and throws the mother to the ground.
Running for his life now, running as  hares and rabbits and foxes swarm around his legs and make him fall over the drop, to his death.

Phelisa comes as the Austin drives  away
Too late to help her features pale and grey
She understands the debt she owes this wood
And makes a vow for its eternal good

Whatever good you did today
I will a thousand times repay
nothing will enter in this wood
that does not come with dreams of good

No beasts each other here will slay
tooth and claw you each will stay
within the confines of these trees
all will live in care and ease

And I will stay with you all here
keep you free from strife and fear
to guard you for the deed of grace
when I was slow and failed the chase

In the rocks at the foot of the drop
evil dwelt
torn faced weasel, twisted and old
Mad man's spirit drawn inside
growing together in their poisoned hate
the loathing of life and love pure
biding its time

For nigh-on thirty years or more
peace reigned upon the woodland floor
beasts walked in fearless glades and rides
no need from tooth and claw to hide
but on one spring day all was fear
Phelisa why are you not near?
Flying out too far this day
following falcons she wants to play
The evil weasel it takes its chance
will lead phelisa a hellish dance

Running into the wood so sweet
pattering horde of weasel feet
heading to hunt and drag away
something small and sweet today
a baby hare they corner at last
he tries to run but cant get past
The Beast with relish starts to whet
his appetite on this leveret
Carry him back then to your lair
frightened meat will taste so fair
down with us among the stones
all we leave will be his bones

Our fairy comes and sees the scene
the fright and fear where they have been
Her vow she has to still uphold
or die as she tries it to uphold

Racing to the weasel's den
at the dark place of the glen
sees the last one running in
sees the hatred and their sin

But at the entrance of the burrow
her fire eyes dim and smooth brows furrow
the weasel entrance is so slim
her Fairy wings won't let her in
But in her burns a fire so bright
nothing will deter her fight
so kneeling in pain she softly sings
as mother -hare bits off her wings

In the deep dark dread is there
terror of the little hare
evil circles all around
forcing it down to the ground
but as the teeth are reaching out
hear the smallest hero shout

"No blood will spill of this sweet thing
my spear and sword and heart I bring
I gladly give my life today
to see this young hare run away"

srtiking silver blade of light
held with all her strength and might
Arthur himself or Great Glyndwr
would not have swung their blades the truer
battles hard and battles dread
blood and bites and screeching dead
all the time she fights them back
not one gets past with its attack
then only one is waiting still
the evil spirit hard to ****
her fairy blood runs down her hair
blurs the fairy face so fair
" You tire and I will **** you soon,"
the weasel spoke an evil tune
But fairy strength is hard judge
and this wee one did bear a grudge
"You took my baby in the past
I failed to reach him flying fast
was not enough but creatures here
they rescued him from pain and fear.
Now I repay them with this life
and cut you with my silver knife
my spear of dandelion form
I plunge into your deadly form
my wings I lost to pay this debt
the ****** back I feel the wet
The pain I carry will all pale
as your foul heart I do impale!"

Her deed was done her battle won
returned the frightened hare's wee son
so proud and fierce a Fairy Queen
The bravest one the world has seen

Epilogue

The terrier and the Rotteweiler were in a frenzy
running wild, tearing at the sheep in a passion of hate
Then the scent of fresh young blood a child
racing over towards the sleeping parents and the wandering baby
the terrier got ahead straining for first blood
Then whispering voices
Tumbling sky flowers pain and blood stillness
Puzzled as it died fairies small and winged crowded its corpse
Blood dripped from their spears.
The Rottweiler drew close, ready to tear them all apart.
Behind them was a hare, armoured with wood and gold, spikes of silver armour, a Fairy Queens gift.
Astride it, scarred-faced and wingless, the old wise fairy sat smiling.
" Stand aside ladies, this one is mine...."
ryn Dec 2018
I await such time,
my toes would dig.
And spear deep into the earth;
take root and keep me planted.

I await such time,
when my trunk -
my core would regain its strength.
So that I wouldn’t sway
too easily in the wind.

I await such time,
my bark would thicken -
like carapace upon the flesh.
So I may be protected
from scathing lashes
of ravenous tongues.

I await such time,
my branches would reach up
with unwavering conviction.
Knowing the clouds in the sky
would be the cushion and salve
to my gnarled digits.

And I await such time,
my leaves would finally sprout
and green.
Then they could rustle
and whisper the tales and hopes
of my past, present and future.
Sally A Bayan Jun 2018
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
The piper coming from far away is you
With a whitewash brush for a sporran
Wobbling round you, a kitchen chair
Upside down on your shoulder, your right arm
Pretending to tuck the bag beneath your elbow,
Your pop-eyes and big cheeks nearly bursting
With laughter, but keeping the drone going on
Interminably, between catches of breath.



The whitewash brush. An old blanched skirted thing
On the back of the byre door, biding its time
Until spring airs spelled lime in a work-bucket
And a potstick to mix it in with water.
Those smells brought tears to the eyes, we inhaled
A kind of greeny burning and thought of brimstone.
But the slop of the actual job
Of brushing walls, the watery grey
Being lashed on in broad swatches, then drying out
Whiter and whiter, all that worked like magic.
Where had we come from, what was this kingdom
We knew we'd been restored to? Our shadows
Moved on the wall and a tar border glittered
The full length of the house, a black divide
Like a freshly opened, pungent, reeking trench.



**** at the gable, the dead will congregate.
But separately. The women after dark,
Hunkering there a moment before bedtime,
The only time the soul was let alone,
The only time that face and body calmed
In the eye of heaven.

Buttermilk and *****,
The pantry, the housed beasts, the listening bedroom.
We were all together there in a foretime,
In a knowledge that might not translate beyond
Those wind-heaved midnights we still cannot be sure
Happened or not. It smelled of hill-fort clay
And cattle dung. When the thorn tree was cut down
You broke your arm. I shared the dread
When a strange bird perched for days on the byre roof.



That scene, with Macbeth helpless and desperate
In his nightmare--when he meets the hags agains
And sees the apparitions in the ***--
I felt at home with that one all right. Hearth,
Steam and ululation, the smoky hair
Curtaining a cheek. 'Don't go near bad boys
In that college that you're bound for. Do you hear me?
Do you hear me speaking to you? Don't forget!'
And then the postick quickening the gruel,
The steam crown swirled, everything intimate
And fear-swathed brightening for a moment,
Then going dull and fatal and away.



Grey matter like gruel flecked with blood
In spatters on the whitewash. A clean spot
Where his head had been, other stains subsumed
In the parched wall he leant his back against
That morning like any other morning,
Part-time reservist, toting his lunch-box.
A car came slow down Castle Street, made the halt,
Crossed the Diamond, slowed again and stopped
Level with him, although it was not his lift.
And then he saw an ordinary face
For what it was and a gun in his own face.
His right leg was hooked back, his sole and heel
Against the wall, his right knee propped up steady,
So he never moved, just pushed with all his might
Against himself, then fell past the tarred strip,
Feeding the gutter with his copious blood.

*

My dear brother, you have good stamina.
You stay on where it happens. Your big tractor
Pulls up at the Diamond, you wave at people,
You shout and laugh about the revs, you keep
old roads open by driving on the new ones.
You called the piper's sporrans whitewash brushes
And then dressed up and marched us through the kitchen,
But you cannot make the dead walk or right wrong.
I see you at the end of your tether sometimes,
In the milking parlour, holding yourself up
Between two cows until your turn goes past,
Then coming to in the smell of dung again
And wondering, is this all? As it was
In the beginning, is now and shall be?
Then rubbing your eyes and seeing our old brush
Up on the byre door, and keeping going.
Robert Ippaso Aug 2021
You may well ask where am I,
Am I engaged or fully checked out,
Take a seat, happy to clarify,
Placate your mind, dispel any doubt.

I'm Biding my time and that's not a joke,
Giving the old guy time to implode,
He's senile and tired, befuddled and woke,
Any wires remaining will for sure  overload.

The Border is crumbling, COVID runs wild,
Afghanistan gone, China supreme,
Kamala in hiding, lost and beguiled,
Progressives now surging their wishlist extreme.

Nancy grandstanding, Chuck babbling loud,
Cuomo shot down, who would have known,
Just goes to show it's good to be proud,
If your cover is solid and not wholly blown.

I'm mulling and watching disasters untold,
Inflation unbridled, crime running wild,
The Media's support from lukewarm to cold,
Uncle Joe's moods ever more riled.

Well may you ask why I seldom now speak.
The answer is simple and easy to grasp,
Time is my friend as you see week by week,
And eventually bites like a poisonous Asp.
JJ Hutton Apr 2013
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?
ryn Aug 2014
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
Brooke Davis Apr 2014
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.
Do you even care at at all?
vircapio gale Oct 2012
what did it take for me to miss those days?
crawling breathless,
stomach nails for breakfast, ventricles of rust,
pounding on my ribs with any upright task
from soaking bed delirium,
corroded mind and eyeballs
tortured falun dafa tears
stinging on the walls a glowing red,
my branching veins encasing me in flaming
paths of mystery: to live or die, to try or fail
at simple efforts
--never gone without, since infanthood--
to stand itself a tissue horror
bathing in the needles of another lifeform's hold on me,
that spiral nesting multitasker
legions in the joints,
invading forces claiming spinal tower-riches
as if my thoughts will be my last,
originary flickerings of self, sacked and razed,
the burning out of novelty for bottom emptiness
and only sympathies malinger there--
yet vaster frame invisible to healthy eye emerged:
a sea, empathic with my prior paths from health diverged:
adrenal waves and dolphin plays of other air ensouled i purge
with cascade urges tension mixing universal breath
of statements, fears and wry coercings not to think of death
or tempting near the abolition of a system *****
for all the benison it's bound to store for years
of hiding blind and uttering the shield-word
of our sly, superficial, group-stock lies,
to have us screaming at each other out of only kneejerk love
a mask of fodder from our young dogmatic wanderings
they burn and burn and choke like spirochetes themselves
while shoving under family rugs the truth

cicada shells clung eerily against the burls and branches
of a monumental tree itself a deathly symbol bare of green
like ornaments of rhythm upsurge birthing into death digest
the exoskeletal remains, under finger crunched as
up the bark i climbed
to view what death had taken value on for me, and balanced
up atop the hill of faded names i yearned the meanings of,
and in the clouds
a part revealed
a sunny mist,
to paint me colorful again--
and in that mood a hail began to tick on forest floor:
the brittle dead a singing whisper flaking brown
on brown, on earthy brown to gather white within the paper nooks of leafy drums

how whimsically to service death
anon anon for now they're always lying there
across the road atop the grave hill,
from other species hunted here
but this, that time it was a carved skull
hacked or sawed but yards from peaceful temple yard
another, cleaner omen skull had led me there,
ochre red with emerald mold
the cranial pale divided stop and go
and led me wondering within the stream
to notice other signs i half-expected mystically:
surreal blood abundantly with vulture feathers carpeting the scene:
a stag with missing brain, missing hind and organs
chosen how, i'd never know
--i saw the arrow though, a barb of certainty--
and old fur, gray and white, a timely passing then,
to make of gore a sacred right,
and in hale ignorance i prayed like only atheists can pray
with self-disclaiming smirk but
humble authenticity of unknown forces
biding in the impulse-meaning-gathering of earth,
now memory to glean and hold to live in me
Christine May 2010
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.
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!
GaryFairy Mar 2016
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
i have never been suicidal, but this is about a real life friend. i feel her emotions and i tried to put them into poetic words.
WARNER BAXTER Dec 2013
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..............................................­......................
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!
Louise Apr 2014
She lived a life less worthy
a life, less worthy she lived
Forgiving not an option
determined not to forgive
Let the fury inside rise
rise against the fury
Scheme and plot a plan
Plan to scheme against 'him'
the less worthy
Biding now her time
her time, she will be biding
To execute her plan
her plan to execute 'him'
in hiding
Inspired by my friend who wants revenge on her ex
; )
Lisa Neu Feb 2015
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?
A P Taylor Jan 2015
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
About Internet access in Australia
Stephen Shaw Jan 2016
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 .........
Devin Bardot Mar 2014
I stand alone in the weight of motionless time

Upon my bluff, to witness all these godless crimes.

Hearing the victims screaming out all their helpless cries

Ever enduring yet all they really wanna do is die.



No more biding time, gather the crowds

Adorn these criminals with their neck-crowns

Their time to say hello to hell is right now.



No pain has left a life so unsatisfied

Nor struck so vicariously inside my mind.

All the rage, all the hurt builds up inside

Dreaming the day all these villains will be crucified.



No more biding time, gather the crowds

Adorn these criminals with their neck-crowns

Their time to say hello to hell is right now.

.
.
.

No more biding time, gather the crowds

Adorn these criminals with their neck-crowns

Their time to say hello to hell is right now.
March 28, 2014
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
Wuji Oct 2011
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.
A puppet is no good without it's strings.
Shane Hunt Sep 2012
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...
Onoma Jun 2019
the biding root of a

superlative

intimacy touches...

the thralling ghost of

essences, and spreads.

the ceremony of love's

stand out moment, too

vast to cohere to another.
Kara Jean May 2016
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
Starlight Jul 2018
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'
Em MacKenzie Oct 2018
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.
Pokkuri Feb 2015
'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.
If someone can interpretate this I'll be shocked (not a challenge)
Gary Suarez Jul 2011
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.
Mark Jul 2018
The nightfall smears a biding shade and plume
as Nyx complexed the clear diurnal day
and skews the stoic lensing out of gloom
alike the hearted Eros, wrought his sway.

How still the specks of frost on balm and reed
like stars arranged in view for crystal eyes,
and glazed upon the tips; a sweetened mead
which lovers strive in truthful, purple prize.

A sullen stratus coats the idle orb
succumbs the amber beams to patchy lure,
and from within uncertain skies absorb
a kindred duel; dreamers must endure.

Tonight, the morrow, all thereon to be
to ardors flux; at night is when to see.

— The End —