"bolster" poems
poetry readings have to be some of the saddest
****** things ever,
the gathering of the clansmen and clanladies,
week after week, month after month, year
after year,
getting old together,
reading on to tiny gatherings,
still hoping their genius will be
discovered,
making tapes together, discs together,
sweating for applause
they read basically to and for
each other,
they can't find a New York publisher
or one
within miles,
but they read on and on
in the poetry holes of America,
never daunted,
never considering the possibility that
their talent might be
thin, almost invisible,
they read on and on
before their mothers, their sisters, their husbands,
their wives, their friends, the other poets
and the handful of idiots who have wandered
in
from nowhere.
I am ashamed for them,
I am ashamed that they have to bolster each other,
I am ashamed for their lisping egos,
their lack of guts.
if these are our creators,
please, please give me something else:
a drunken plumber at a bowling alley,
a prelim boy in a four rounder,
a **** guiding his horse through along the
rail,
a bartender on last call,
a waitress pouring me a coffee,
a drunk sleeping in a deserted doorway,
a dog munching a dry bone,
an elephant's **** in a circus tent,
a 6 p.m. freeway crush,
the mailman telling a ***** joke
anything
anything
but
these.
7.7k
*at the end of the ticking time that rushing ..
i contemplate the expanse of despair that has passed ..
at the junction of desire that embroider serene ...
my hopes are pinned hard petrified ..
as i trudged up the ladder of life ..
you bolster me in order to stay ahead ..
when i am tired to hit hardest desire ..
you wash my sweat with exuberant embrace..
when i get wounded by the sharp of blade of era ..
you wrapped me with sincerity ..
there's no string of words that look beautiful to me,
i spit all over the rhymester while reading pen script from your conscience ..
there's no shade of voice that sounded good to me,
i throw up the whole commercial hypocritical preacher when hear advice from your sincerely ..
if the shape of the grateful is exist,
then i will chisel your figure in a stretch of horizon ..
if a form of sincerity can be visible to the eye,
then i will paint your smile in the court of canvas twilight ..
my polite to my friend my angel,
i ask god, salvation for you ..
i ask the cause of prime substance , health for you..
because your happiness is an honor for me ..*
-the poetry is dedicated to a sincere friend of mine, Ha-
┈┈┈┈┈»̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶ ƦУ »̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
sahabatku malaikatku
dipenghujung waktu yang berdetak laju..
kurenungkan hamparan asa yang telah berlalu..
dipersimpangan keinginan yang menyulam syahdu...
kusematkan harapan yang keras membatu..
saatku tertatih menapaki tangga kehidupan..
engkau papah aku agar selalu terdepan..
saatku lelah menghantam kerasnya keinginan..
engkau basuh peluhku dengan rimbunnya dekapan..
saatku terluka terhunus tajamnya pedang roda jaman..
engkau balur perihku dengan sejuknya ketulusan..
tiada untaian kata yang terlihat indah bagiku,
kuludahi seluruh pujangga saat membaca torehan pena aksara nuranimu..
tiada keteduhan suara yang terdengar merdu bagiku,
kumuntahi seluruh pendakwah komersial nan fasik saat mendengar tausyah tulus darimu..
apabila bentuk dari bersykur itu ada,
maka akan kupahat figurmu dihamparan cakrawala..
apabila wujud ketulusan itu dapat terlihat mata,
maka akan kulukis senyummu dipelataran kanvas senja..
santunku untuk sahabatku malaikatku,
keselamatan bagimu kupintakan pada Penciptaku ..
kesehatan bagimu kumohonkan pada Dzat penguasaku
karena kebahagianmu merupakan kehormatan bagiku..
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 7:34 AM UTC
It was a Saturday night in the park
his trees were singing
out of tune
his clay pigeons needed to come out
of his closet
for he was parked
on a stool
at his favorite watering hole
amongst a full house
where pairs beat singles
and there he was
shooting blanks
drowning in his sorrows
on his nine lives of lowlife
hoping for a sitting duck in despair
the kind that waddles right up to the Romeo's
with suspense in their hearts
and spontaneity in their wings
a cackle
that he can tackle
to take home
to his garden bed
for him to be fed
but what he got
was for not, naught, knot
wistful thinking
sitting in a bar sinking
for the jukebox played a broken record
finding love in the wrong places
and the joke squarely was on him
for thinking, he could round the bases
looking no further than the escape of his glows
or a crutch of decoys
and sitting ducks
for he was no Romeo
yet
there he was still, like steel,
a stole away in society
forlorn, preserved
like mamas mothballs tucked away
in basement storage
squandering the forage
for there were no triple treats
tonight for him
or forever sounds grim
for his reality check gone dim
or
no eye candy
for his heart beats
no picnic
for his ****
and all the bottled whiskey
could not drown out his pain
as his eyes were slain
as the sitting ducks turned
from his fantasy corner
phantomlike
and though
he's sitting at the bar, a loner
reminded that in cards of life
pairs beat singles
and in his worn hand
familiarly holds a lonely joker
for it's like he tries
and its
like his sitting ducks
are like hoofed deer
and his little sweets,
are spooked
hoofing
away from his
now darken forest
like red ants at his picnic
and the gleam in his eyes turned
to the poorest
its
its
as if his life and watering hole
was condemned
his garden bed cut at the stem
it is as if he has a red vest on
and a rifle don
and all the hoofed deer
panic
looking at him in fear
like he's manic
or maybe it's his eyes
that hold dark skies
he orders another double
trouble
for what else is there to do
on his Saturday night
than to sit in a bubble
forever sounds grim
but sing him a sweet hymn
he says please
to wit as he steals peeks
at the bartenders triple treats
like a bee to a hive
his joker still strikes a beat
if only he can find a bolster
for his gun needs a holster
and a deer in the headlights
would be hard to find
the confession now told, tolled, towed
through tears
the guy in the bar window
is me, sitting
resigned
Logan Robertson
10/18/2018
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 6:23 PM UTC
A willing volunteer
It was out of my hands
Not my choice
No regrets.
Should have seen the signs
Went in blind
Naive to think I could trust you
My style never changed
You lured me in
For your own hidden agenda
Massaged my ego
I kept my options open
You found out
You took it personally
You took it the wrong way
I broke your trust
You sought revenge
I read the signs
You tried to trick me
You turned the tables
Hindered my growth
Made me a scapegoat
Damaged my reputation
Stitched me up
Left me out on a limb
You acted on impulse
You spoke too soon
You showed your cards
I held the aces
I made sacrifices to meet the target
I made mistakes
I left myself exposed
You thought you were clever
I knew your next move
You couldn't predict what was coming next.
You never chose me
I was rejected
Not valued
Not appreciated
Shame on you and your accomplice
Exposed for what you are
A pair of bullies
No turning back
I've had enough
I'm going
Going
Gone!
You grin
I saw through it
I'm no clown
I'm just a fool for exposing my weaknesses to a pair of manipulative *******
My character traits twisted to bolster your own selfish positions.
Surpression is the lowest form of greed threatened by my presence.
I'm no longer your target but now direct competitor.
Watch your backs
I'm on a mission to crush your egos to mush you pair of ******
I will Expose you for the clowns you've become.
Blowing smoke up each other's arses does nothing to build up the team.
A dog will always bite if provoked.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
This journey:
this path I’m on seems ever circular, bringing me back around to the same old lessons that for some strange reason I am just too dense to understand.
There is something I feel I should be learning – or something I need to let go of – or is it grasp? Maybe it’s both…. I don’t know.
I feel like I’m on a roller coaster –
one minute I’m strong –
I really believe I can do this…
the next, I am hiding again…
allowing myself to be lost in shame and self-hate.
A few months ago, I felt like I took this huge leap forward...
self-care, healing, opening emotional pockets…
knowing full well that I needed to keep reminding myself about the lurking shadows...
the ones who provoke me and make me feel bad even in the midst of making strides forward.
So here I am, feeling those same old feelings of guilt and shame and hatred.
I suppose I know what the shadow is that lurks, but I just don’t know what to do with the shadow. How do I bring it into the light to stay?
My husband tries to use my “achievements” to bolster my confidence, help me shed this bone crushing feeling of self-defeat, but those achievements are a smokescreen – an elaborate, disguise, the stronger I seem, the less likely anyone is to guess what a coward I truly am.
I can fool others- but not myself.
The first time, I lost, it was to him
this time, it comes at my own hands….
And that seems to be so much worse...
I can feel myself backsliding …. So much up and down!
When does it does it stop?
Does it stop?
The term “survivor” implies a certain level of triumph or victory. The term ‘victim’ carries connotation of guiltless submission. I am neither a survivor nor a victim. I am a fraud, a shell of a person hidden inside a carefully constructed facade. I have not triumphed over my past, and the damage it continues to cause is due to my own personal failure to set it aside. I have managed to surrender my whole identity because I lack the courage to claim my truth.
Healing is a lot like daylight savings time...
fall back, spring forward, over and over and over again.
It makes me dizzy, sick to my stomach and depressed...
all of this back and forth.
Now I feel the path has once again ended
and I am left standing alone.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
I glimpse upon crimson ribbons.
Streaming gloriously, in horrid scenes.
Their beauty costs a price of pain.
A feeling bathed, in bitter sweet.
Wherefore does your hearth give?
Nurture from fiery ****
To kindle my faltering flame,
and bolster me to my feet.
Ode to you my crimson ribbons.
My memoir symphony,
throws fists on razor edge
and tunes the song my nerves dare not sing.
Set loose with heavy hand.
Furry far unseen.
Again I see the crimson ribbons!
Not owned... by me.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 12:39 AM UTC
We stole the night together
Held together by a tether
Telling stories as we went
With a list of movies we had to rent
We played with each other's hair
A quite inseparable pair
We shared all our troubles
Promising we'd be doubles
And we'd bolster each other's souls
Until our hearts burned down to coals
But
Then we drifted and we struggled
Battling demons that left us puzzled
Until we realized
They're easier to fight together
Than alone
-hopefully your best friend
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 8:16 PM UTC
breakfast is the most important
meal of the day
and eating a good breakfast
does most assuredly pay
there will be plenty of zip
in your body tank
the cereal and toast bolster
you'll truly thank
arise from your beds early
get into a good breakfast feed
and the day will be started
with the right stomach creed
those who don't imbibe
in breakfast look rather lame
and tend to have the appearance
of a hollow window frame
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
I have so often wondered more,
Who wrote you in my destiny.
The question has cutely lingered about here,
In the newly glorified days of my life.
You seem so carefree to me on the outside,
But you are a lovely-lovely angel in the inside.
We must learn patience & conservancy from birds,
They travel across oceans to breed in the seasons.
I enjoy gazing at your pretty name,
Just like I stared at stars in the clear night-sky.
A date will bolster the waiting time,
But we will keep in touch with you till then.
Such is the grandeur of the feeling we have for each other,
We are so steeped in love that it has seeped into our blood.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 3:33 AM UTC
*
Cord our arms with steel
Bolster our hearts with fire
Fill our minds with light
Drag the veil from our eyes
We have endurance and strength to fight
We have mercy and we have passion
May we learn the wisdom to choose what's right
May our eyes weigh, measure, and ration
Call it hope, poem, spell, or prayer
May it be a boon for those that care
To rise and challenge, to stand against
Control by precedent and ********** by consequence
*
May 23, 2021
May 23, 2021 at 12:27 PM UTC
you’re not adams apple
the fruits from tree of the knowledge
of good and evil
in the centre of the garden of eden
in genesis
yet at you
the round oranges of this afternoon-town
i stare
and my pate gradually
becomes pregnant
the wind that comes after
having a touch of your lips
puts the waging of its tail on my forehead
and my guava-leaf begins to melt
thus my hardware-business is going
into liquidation
the physician to the king is telling
it’s the symptom of an awful fever attended with
the morbidity of the three humours of the body
used… and used… and used…
your smile has not yet become
stupid
so from where the lamp-posts of the
town start
there are the cutlets
and the bolster
they are not the only ones
to utter the last words
about the pill
i’m too
in this summer
trying to decorate
the gate of my cage like wedding ceremony
if any silent dew-drop comes
to prepare and feed me
my birth-day frumenty
but i’ve no tongue
at all
all over the face there are only the eyes
and to the fate of my staring-at
has ever
so much blessings been available
Sep 10, 2010
Sep 10, 2010 at 5:36 PM UTC
Me my
Nancy here
we boisterous
and lawyer
jive Me
my Nancy
strange in
suit but
host innuendo
that court
make a
case point
with rhetoric
and bolster
decision in
Me my
Nancy favor.
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 8:52 AM UTC
Stretched out on my table
bound gagged brunette
I admire the bolster && ****
Svveet midnight scales
vvith a tang that never disappoints
You are my Thanksgiving
my slash Queen
My ruin runs deep & cold
vvith it
I vvill **** everything You knovv
Once done carving
I remove Your pearls
and keep them in my pocket
for a future moonless stroll
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 3:14 AM UTC
Twirl- twirl twist
As whirls your hands
And swirls your head,
Jump – jump leap
To bolster and strengthen
Your scrawny knees,
Jiggle ~ Jiggle Waggle
Move from side to side
Wave to and fro
Mar 30, 2011
Mar 30, 2011 at 9:31 PM UTC
about aboutness thematizing themes
flowers need not say, marching into war--
enraptured gaze their petals open far
to seek horizons conjured from a dream.
they grow to measure limits of all selves,
become the symbol-meaning recombined
--plucked to toss an emblem for the mind--
humming under captured sun, ecliptic quell
paper cups of burning blood becoming sky
bolster or efface the heart before its fate,
poetic flare leaves hunger unappeased--
the ruthless earth imbibes its digest dry
as interspiral helicals of age
assume finality's supernal ease
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
The pavement is full of spurious persons,
Training each other to pretend they're eclectic,
Using differences to assert the vilification of mankind.
Cross from them stands the truth,
Perspicaciously watching
The hedonists
Be not heedful,
Listening to their speeches full of trifling, inconsequential consequences.
A furtive plan snakes from the mouth to the ears of the truth,
Manipulating it to bolster the lies.
The belief that everyone deserves rights
Akin, alike, homogeneous, to the human nextto him,
Is brought down with the laud, the praise, the inception of the end.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 7:54 AM UTC
Take the "La" out of Label for they are more than a diagnosis,
They are fathers who have immigrated to a new country while hiding the schizophrenia they battle just to uphold employment,
They are mothers who sustain households while silencing themselves for their family's protection,
They are sister's who step up and raise siblings while charading stability,
They are brothers who mask realities to rejuvenate positivity,
They are families that have undergone generational trauma to pave a path for a brighter tomorrow,
Disabilities - mental illness - mental health - are not deficits of identity; they bolster morale and resilience in the BIPOC community.
These are the students that fight the notions of normality to reduce the stigma,
These are the scholars that rewrite the narrative in pursuit of decolonizing the education system,
These are the individuals who are representing an ever-growing population,
These are the souls that have abilities which surpass the medical confinement of their disabilities.
Apr 23, 2021
Apr 23, 2021 at 2:19 PM UTC
I would that I could clasp hands, at once, with every diasporic man
And our hands could merge and rise up as a single fist
And all the subjective shades of our own colors and the
Daze of our own druthers would be shed in the process
Yes, I find that I absorb the pain around me like a fine osmosis
That unifies the minds forged in our generation’s social suffering
And I wish my skin would grow akin and reflect a synthesis
Because there is no bliss when men bisect people into “us” and “them”
I would that I could turn my insides out and transform my ***
Organs, as a moth does surge inside a closeted cocoon
Only to emerge with wings and the power of new found flight
And I wonder if I too could sing the perspective of new heights
Because there is only ******* in a world where those who
Share the same ****** shape cannot share the same heart
Are condemned to be kept apart by taboos viewed through institution
Started by confused men, afraid to admit that making love is a free art
I would that I could push my hand into the ground and grow
Roots that drive deep, past the sand, beyond the rending flesh
Of our loved ones’ bodies and mesh with the immortal earth
As if I could bolster, with my chemical composite, the site of true birth
Because when the mightiest of the world’s glories can be
Bought and sold for the price of arbitrary ******* figures
Written in the blood of forests, in the torn face of mountains
Then we can stop ignoring the forlorn thought of dark days before us
I would that I could bring back all those lost before their time
That a rhyme could sting the cold cheeks of slaves who never
Saw a western sunrise comprised of multicolor, of many brothers
That I could brush softly the minds of couples buried not together
And scream to them that time left some bereft of victories
Yet to shape their scene, yet to substantiate their dreams
Then I would quickly reseal the doors of slumber that guard
The restless dreamers of the past before revealing the
Horrors of societies stepping once forward, then twice back
Yes, before the haunting words of hateful choruses should
Ever shape their reposeful, moral-less, and peaceful sleep
For the hopeful eyes of soulful passing activists should never weep.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
Fear fuel my courage
Pain satisfy my thirst
Ignorance foster my wisdom
Worry nourish my repose
Hate nurture my love
Dysfunction furnish my direction
Failure bolster my success
Brokenness emancipate my soul
The agreement with my heart
The strength to turn anguish to strength
The desire to find light from darkness
The Quintessence of hope
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 1:21 AM UTC
Five:
Chairs surrounded by one empty table
they too, free and unassuming
Empty.
Contents seized by ceramic tray of ash
bolster snow
inside; cold, hard wire support beams
--talking-- pass snow through.
Unseen pale ceramic-- butts, extinguished, moist
musty, odor-- silent, blanket
white, soft petals of
Spring between
wire spokes
of five good friends.
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 12:50 PM UTC
He danced in light, son of the Wind,
And colored the minds below.
She was too deep, locked in herself,
But he still had inarticulately tried
To convey his longing in light.
When he asked the girl
What her name was, she replied,
"I am the Marianas Trench,"
And he blinked, smashing lashes
In a vain effort
To extract an answer not forthcoming.
She gazed blankly, concealing
Three million dying hopes
Faintly sparkling within her depths.
He bashfully cast his eyes
Downward to conceal his own
Inner turmoil.
"I am the Aurora Borealis,"
He finally yelped as his fingers drummed
Notes in the tension between them.
A light flickered across her
Black eyes, flitting to his own.
Quickly extinguished, it
Carried within it her slipped
Composure and raw yearning.
He drew breath, and the coronas
Of his eyes slid to meet hers,
Blank once more.
Before she could bolster
Her dwindling courage,
He was leaving, taking with
Him all her color.
"Don't!" She pleaded.
Her cheeks flushed magenta.
He blanched, his eyes dark.
But he was far from her,
Shrouded in light
That could never color
The stone walls she built.
Miles high, she hoped
They touched his sky someday.
Until then, she was hidden,
Sound, and he was brilliant, lost.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 2:35 AM UTC
___Better to stand on my own two clay feet,
than bolster someone else’s crumbling tarsals and fallen arches.___
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 10:20 PM UTC
i suffocate people
with the love i have
i could never find
the right reason or
the right answer to
why a person should
be proud to be with
someone like me
oh for i am just
an unsightly human
made up of countless flaws
and i am nowhere
nowhere neutral (either)
*the disgust look
i put upon people's countenance
just by breathing*
so tell me, tell me
how does one accept
the love i have
when i **** them
as i cling to them
like a bolster at night
as i tie them tight
so they would not leave
as i breathe under
this flawed skin
*i shoot them with arrows
and they halt it with
their silvery sword*
oh how odd it is
of the fact that
rejection could ****
the cells in your body
and i will just be a girl
filled with love
for she would not have
to take people's lives
(but her own)
for too many love in a heart
creates a living sinister
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 4:49 AM UTC
Thirty years has somehow passed,
And most of that indecent fast,
With pain, with joy,
But from first to last,
Little change, My Boy.
Retracing the steps, from the first time around,
But by myself, with time to spare,
To think, to dare
The memories abound.
The flagstones are the same unique, crack patterned lane,
Of a life.
Enough remains to bolster my mind,
But the pain is warm, of the welcoming kind,
For every place had its time,
And every time its place,
Even if now it’s diluted by knowledge and grace.
For though tempered by time,
Some thoughts burn as bright,
Tennis court by day,
Kiss by those roses, that night,
For wherever, whenever, my travels might be,
Still a part of me’s here,
A part of here’s me.
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 8:13 AM UTC