"blemishing" poems
Whereabout of the heart, where might it be ?
When fury is a feeling which engages your senses, your mind and your soul in a raging outburst of negativity expressed in adrenaline,
Everything seems to be one sided, a loop which only fuels your anger with thoughts of unpleasant, disturbing annoyances, making it harder
Harder to resist, until alike a super nova, you explode in a viscious rampage with knows no escape, so, where is the heart ? Where is it?
A tantrum might be encouraged to grow in size if it's revenge you seek, desire, want to live for to make it expire, with violent passion,
Mercy or compassion, forgiveness and simpathy may be forgotten, within the depths of your burning soul, lit ablaze solely by hatred,
You may lose your mind, oh beauty of a living existence, becoming alike a lily of murderous intent, spiteful, yet elegant and wonderful,
A shivering star, ready to take its opponent down with itself while destroying what used to be so precious, unique and simply sweet,
Blemishing the unconscious without thinking of patience or the chance to calm this nuclear meltdown, unfolding in tragedy for us,
The pure light of your praying palms might help in this regard,
Because his remembrance is what makes furious hearts become calm.
~ Umi
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
Diving into my insecurities,
Replaying the same mistakes
Unfolding memories from the deepest crease,
Mesmerizing the unforgettable words
Reminiscing over faint situations
Tears trembling down my face,
A wave of nerves tip toe down my spine,
Tearing my mind into pieces
Thoughts are scattering around,
Blemishing the good thoughts
Peeling away the flesh of my sanity,
Revealing layers of my anxiety
Losing sight of what’s right
A misunderstanding of my identity,
A willingness to be distant
From the people I love dearly
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 8:15 AM UTC
How beautiful is the life
With all its vibrant colours
The colours which define its creativity
Life is colour,colour is life
Shades of translucent rainbow
Casting his grace on embellished life
The allured tints of the moring sun
Captivating the vivacity in people's life
How abhorent the nature be
Enchained,restricted without the colours
Blemishing the ornamentation garnished from heaven
But suddenly the grandness breathed for its life
As colours started to play an illusive vibe
Awakening the sluggishness in one's life
Unfolding the colours honesty with ecstasy.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 5:07 AM UTC
~For Eleanor~
<•>
don't
believe in fate or luck,
never won no lottery,
even the next word of
every poem word, product of hard earned
stolen lust affairs
me desiring,
of acquiring
the infamy
of saying it & making you believe it,
all new (ha!)
while reusing worn-out words,
stolen from unknown predecessors,
lovers and prophets
but then, read you,
a-believing now that only princesses
may have the magic powers to do,
to sense, the incongruence,
of the most ordinary lives,
the ways we-hide-in-our-underbellies,
the faces of our elven selves,
that we are desperate to see anew,
without the blemishing scars of experience
writing it morning fresh from dream filled sleep
so my sinner summer sun dying requests
you to be reminded:
even a prince, only has just so many
golden opportunities,
so quit stalling,
shoot out your next from your
handgun mind
yup, no luck, good fate, for me
held in abeyance for
the next first date, maybe
as I write
Katy Perry
is ear-worming in my head,
ignite the light!
do you see us
awaiting in the shadows
for the definition of your words?
<•>
^divergent communication:
pattern in which the sender gives conflicting messages on verbal and nonverbal levels and the listener does not know which message to accept.
read https://hellopoetry.com/eleanor-prince/
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 11:53 AM UTC
~
*How did a dead man in Reno
come to be a field of ink
in the Martian salt flats-?
It only took a whisper
An addicted civilian
driving the metaphor machine
the last man to voluntarily fly
asleep and well hidden
writing about his life
without survival techniques
Autopsy report says
he slipped at the hand rail
blemishing his planet
in riding time's escalator
a longing to see the stars up close
and give them new names
it's the future grim repasts
of cullen shores
from a cancelled earth
That silently floating figure
was a human all along*
~
Aug 4, 2024
Aug 4, 2024 at 4:48 PM UTC
The jagged pebbles poked and dimpled my body
as I sat on the shore of Aleutian Alaska.
Each rock was dusted with patches of grass like an old man’s tangled toupee…
Not that the epic beauty of nature should be compared to
something so artificial and ugly.
The air was so cold and crisp that its fresh purity burned my peeling nose.
I am not a Native Alaskan.
I feel like an alien spectator, blemishing this astounding autonomous habitat…
But I am trying not to disturb the locals.
I haven’t seen any grizzlies yet, which maybe I should be happy about.
I wouldn’t want to be anyone’s meal-
What was that?
A puff.
An exhale.
A lingering ghost waltzed atop the water and faded.
Further down the bank I saw more dancing vapors.
Is that what it looks like when a whale comes up for air?
I have never seen how their breath shoots up the water like that.
The mist is like a ballroom dance class
swaying and skirting about the glossy, smooth surface.
Speechless…
Do you remember in elementary school how you knew everything about animals?
What was who and who was where and why?
I forgot a lot.
I forgot that whales are mammals, needing air just as I do.
Obviously, they can hold their breath longer… But I still try to hold on.
I guess those fun facts that you collected as a kid fade as you grow older.
All those little things get whisked away,
And waltz until they dissipate in the wind.
Against all reluctances,
We inhale.
We exhale.
And we forget some things along the way.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:36 AM UTC
Oceans of blue wash my tears away
Pain, torture only implores
Voids inside tearing up the seams
For emptiness has insufficient space
Languishing screams in their silence
Deafening to thoughts they threaten to be
Sadness, endless strokes blemishing the soul
Tie my dreams and drag them down till they drown
Heart halt in your meandering, not another blow
Love my wicked, don’t torment my youth
This face is becoming hallow and grave
All I want is stillness and peace, but alas it cannot be
Time is stealing everything from me
May 10, 2011
May 10, 2011 at 5:59 AM UTC
To this day I smoke cigarettes in their names
a collection of men
admittedly women
that after settling too long
sit somewhere between memories and strain.
I don't burden myself with the weight of their names
though a few of their impressions have become deepening stains
bruising, blemishing the favorite spots on my brain.
Earliest versions of the story have found personal inches on my skin
before I grew up I learned to let it leak in
sluicing through veins
burning the moments of where I had been
in attempts to remind myself of what remains.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 1:55 AM UTC
Dear Mr. Big bully,
I wish I could understand fully,
The depth of your rage,
But i'm stuck inside your cage,
Blackened, blue,
Torn to pieces by you.
Dear Mr. Big bully,
Do you think of all you’ve done?
The amount of wars that never had to be won?
Blemishing people’s sanity.
Ruining Humanity.
Dear Mr. Big bully,
My depression has come,
Does that mean you’re done?
Will you stop the belittling?
Hitting and name-calling?
Will you stop the whispers?
Will you stop picking on the lispers?
The “Mr.’s”?
Dear Mr. Big bully
You’ve corrupted my mind,
Telling I have nothing left to find,
Among this avenue of life,
So I bought myself a knife.
No, not for you,
Just say goodbye to Sue.
Dear Mr. Big Bully
Today my life was counted among many,
The Headline read,
“The Death of Jenny”
I joined,
Four-thousand-four-hundred and twenty.
Dear Mr. Big Bully,
Do you still think it’s funny?
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 10:35 AM UTC
The world surrounds the in’s and out’s,
the truth in the authentic locus,
Millions of people move the scouts,
in order to increase their focus.
The corrupt world,
induces to follow the tradition,
Creaming the beneficial fold,
making the submerging the verification.
Contempting the placid,
that none other would do,
Blemishing the bracket,
elaborating the déjà vu.
Alteration is necessary,
and a proximate change we need,
Admitting the weary,
was a very doltish deed.
Trepidation should be removed,
the coercion it had built,
Destroying its aged bedrock,
and the selfish guilt.
Resuming the rejuvenate change,
the mutate we devoir,
Establishing the new welkin,
and the heavens we desire.
Commemorating the new holy,
we partage our obligations,
Rectifying our contemporary folly,
by deciphering our bygone praxis.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 2:42 AM UTC
Though the sentence may end,
the ink carries on.
The cartridge seems vacant of
wanton metaphors.
Exhibiting reflections on soiled paper cups,
wanting to be filled
with drinkable dictations of
what is spelt out in stains.
But I spilt that void long ago,
blemishing my shirt
with what meant to be drank upon.
A decolouration of meaning read differently.
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 5:45 PM UTC
It's times like these I wish you could see me work so I could stare at that smile that I love so dearly, but it's alright that you can't be here since I know you're busy and besides, I can still envision your image so clearly.
It started with that smile, those gleaming teeth which sought to keep me infatuated for a while.
Then it moved on to your eyes, the twinkling sapphire treasures which cannot escape my visage despite so many tries.
Slowly it became your face, with every glance it was quite apparent that your looks were blessed with every charm and grace.
My brush quickly moved onto your gracious golden locks of hair, untamed yet silky and unbelievably fair.
Next it came to include your neck, coupled with your head it would be a wondrous bust perfectly chiseled and shined to be free of any blemishing speck .
Outlining your ******* and your shoulders, you'd be mistaken for the fair Helen whose famed looks were fought over between Greek and Troy soldiers.
Brushing in your stomach and hips, the beauty of your image arouses and I cannot stop the involuntary quiver of my lips.
Strokes which create in my composition your arms and your hands, there's an unveiling of beauty like winds uncovering a pyramid hidden in the sands.
I pay special attention to drawing in your well- formed thighs, your slender legs, capturing the natural attractiveness of your delicate feet; myself as the artist witnessing the creation of a masterpiece ready to be unveiled to the world, and for myself reserved the very best seat.
A deep breath, a last stroke, a moment to regain composure.
My heart a drum, my hands made of cement, my eyes shutters that won't open, and my mind not ready for closure.
The thought of you is unbearable, I'm in a panic and I dip my brush in the darkest shade of red.
Enlightened by your love yet scarred by your memory, doting upon all the questions unanswered and the words I should have said.
Nights like these, where my body is limp and my head becomes heavy with fear and dread.
I slash this blood red across you with tears in my eyes and a delirium to submit to.
It's times like these I wish you weren't dead.
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
on the field of battle
blood soaked youth lay
their once sparkling eyes
extinguished in gunshot spray
men who gave command
wear no blemishing mark
yet these dreadful deeds
defy description so stark
war is wretchedly vivid
numerous are history's columns
mankind learns few lessons
war is ever solemn
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 9:47 AM UTC
OF all who applaud thy existence as the morningtide-
all to whom their truancy is the night-
the blemishing all in all from the afterworld, the holy star-
of all who, wailing, bless thee constantly for the tunnel light-
for Life. ah! above all, Life. for the awakening of
deeply concealed Faith in verity-in virtue- in Mankind.
of all who they are, on Misery's unholy cradle, lying down to wither -have suddenly come to Light-
at thy soft words spoken now --- a prelude to their eulogy ere the ending of this thing Life.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
i can feel the weight of the world pulling me down
all around with its blemishing frowns
how i once saw life so full of glee
now it's naught but fragile mystery
all these lives crossing endlessly
will see things that i'll never see
who can say how my end will be
i just pray that it's mercilessly
Sep 19, 2021
Sep 19, 2021 at 2:22 AM UTC
The worshipers gather in droves
at her feet like a clamouring congregation,
Desperate to begin the ceremony of the
giving and taking of love;
A burning love which only she can radiate.
Shamelessly they lie there,
Basking in her seductive warmth
Blessed at her selflessness while they
selfishly adorn themselves with her splendour,
Taking and taking until she cannot bear it anymore.
Soon she scorns them to the point where her
red ire is clear for all to see,
Blemishing the golden happiness she bestows upon them -
A burning love which only she can turn to pain.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
Does the moon know?
That people seek it for support,
For hope and companionship?
Does it know that to us,
It's much more than just a ball of
Rock floating in darkness?
It has existed for billions of years,
Orbiting us ever loyally
Always the faithful servant dragged around by gravity
And yet it does not know
That the people who trampled on its skin
Blemishing its once-spotless soil,
The people who pierced its flesh with a flag
Of arrogance,
Vanity
And conceit,
Look to it for guidance in their selfish,
Mediocre lives.
But now imagine if it did know.
If it had feelings like the ones we pride ourselves in having - or not having.
Would it look to us for assurance too?
Feeling proud that it can reach such a deep level of 'understanding'?
Would it love our mysterious glow, created not by
The Sun, but by our artificial light and rivers of blood?
Would it feel pressure, always having to help us?
Or would it soak up our love
Delighting in our mostly undivided attention
Secretly knowing that even though it is..
Small,
Uninhabitable,
Lonely,
It will live longer than us
And the technology that was never meant to be in the Universe's gift that is Earth in the first place?
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 4:54 PM UTC
It would not be for want of words
that I regret but my reckless superfluidity
I pour them out in mindless torrents
betraying their trust and blemishing their purity--
hushed, silent, solemn, reverential
I should learn to be in this my journey
perchance the Grand Council of Words some day
would grant me a second chance to write poetry.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 2:33 AM UTC
Hillsides of evergreen where the breath of nature
weaved within the branches, kissing every leaf
they bowed in sensibility of this moving.
Below magnetic in its roaming, barks of trees
caressing its need to scratch needing of relief.
The pack awaiting for there brother to join again.
Playful in there roughing up of others, but never
blemishing a brothers flesh, always looking out
for each the alpha always feeing first respect earned.
When the seasons linger between lucid hues of
decay and the white washing of scenery they,
Playful times are less, hunger is there regress.
White lingers as tears of life's wine saturates,
the need of the many feeding on the fallen
motions of there prey, living for another day.
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 12:05 PM UTC