"bothers" poems
Touch it: it won't shrink like an eyeball,
This egg-shaped bailiwick, clear as a tear.
Here's yesterday, last year ---
Palm-spear and lily distinct as flora in the vast
Windless threadwork of a tapestry.
Flick the glass with your fingernail:
It will ping like a Chinese chime in the slightest air stir
Though nobody in there looks up or bothers to answer.
The inhabitants are light as cork,
Every one of them permanently busy.
At their feet, the sea waves bow in single file.
Never trespassing in bad temper:
Stalling in midair,
Short-reined, pawing like paradeground horses.
Overhead, the clouds sit tasseled and fancy
As Victorian cushions. This family
Of valentine faces might please a collector:
They ring true, like good china.
Elsewhere the landscape is more frank.
The light falls without letup, blindingly.
A woman is dragging her shadow in a circle
About a bald hospital saucer.
It resembles the moon, or a sheet of blank paper
And appears to have suffered a sort of private blitzkrieg.
She lives quietly
With no attachments, like a foetus in a bottle,
The obsolete house, the sea, flattened to a picture
She has one too many dimensions to enter.
Grief and anger, exorcised,
Leave her alone now.
The future is a grey seagull
Tattling in its cat-voice of departure.
Age and terror, like nurses, attend her,
And a drowned man, complaining of the great cold,
Crawls up out of the sea.
41.9k
"Friendship day"
A growing trend
To recognize, appreciate
and celebrate a friend,
Had many friends,
co-traveled the journey
Many left when paths bend!
A question bothers today,
On this friendship day,
Can all be named as "friend"?
"Friendship for companionship"
and
"Friends for benefit"
These terms mostly fit!
But the picture is not always grim
Some stars hidden mostly,
light the life,
Whenever it's dim!
Friendship cycle too is
sinusoidal,
"Friendship in hardship"
and
"Friends for life"
Proved the best!
These types are rare,
but in need, such friends
are always there!
True friends don't need
an earmarked day,
They are together
Irrespective of distance
in the night and day!
True friendship doesn't
really need an occasion,
Whenever they meet or talk,
life becomes "A celebration!!"
Since friendship is reassured
in this way,
To all my friends from HP
"HAPPY FRIENDSHIP DAY"
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 10:45 PM UTC
I read that he lost a suitcase full of manuscripts on a
train and that they never were recovered.
I can't match the agony of this
but the other night I wrote a 3-page poem
upon this computer
and through my lack of diligence and
practice
and by playing around with commands
on the menu
I somehow managed to erase the poem
forever.
believe me, such a thing is difficult to do
even for a novice
but I somehow managed to do
it.
now I don't think this 3-pager was immor-
tal
but there were some crazy wild lines,
now gone forever.
it bothers more than a touch, it's some-
thing like knocking over a good bottle of
wine.
and writing about it hardly makes a good
poem.
still, I thought somehow you'd like to
know?
if not, at least you've read this far
and there could be better work
down the line.
let's hope so, for your sake
and
mine.
22.6k
i'm biracial
no i'm not an oreo
no i ain't your zebra
i ain't the best of both your worlds
i ain't mulatto either
i am white
and
i am black
living my life with a sense of inequality
my race always seems to follow me
no matter where i'm at
white people have jokes
black people have questions
my hair appeals to some of you
while the rest of you have suggestions
who said i needed you to tell me who to be?
who said i needed to explain who i really am underneath?
striving to be normal and thriving to be equal
i just so happen to be a white girl
that knows what it's like to be black
and that bothers a lot of people
my race may not define me but it is apart of who i am
so yes i get offended when you refuse to understand
that i am what i am
black and white
white and black
light brown complexion
***** curls front to back
a strong black woman resides inside and it's she you see
a white woman is there but will never be
but i never deny my lines culturally
because they are me
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC
There's a colonel in most every town
And chicken he does know
But the youth of today are not finger licking
They're licking of the toads
When they run out of their drugs
They must run out of their minds
When the toad lickers come a licking
Best to run and hide
Yes, they've found a brand new high
When their *** is running low
The poppy fields have all run dry
And the cow patty mushroom is no mo
The city kids head to the swamps
Just hopping at the thrill
Grabbing at amphibians
And licking them at will
With every tantalizing lick
Trippy little colors do they see
Pass around the froggy
For another lick if you please
But who am I to judge
As crazy as it looks
Could it be as bad as crack
With one lick and you're hooked
I have this nagging question though
That bothers me to this day
Who was the first to lick the toad
And say this taste okay
~ribbit~
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 6:55 AM UTC
Those who escape hell,
however, never talk about it,
and nothing much
bothers them after that.
– billiondays
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
I always wondered why people frowned at me
Without reason or apparent controversy
Until I was told, against all odds
That supposedly my face is the cause.
"Resting ***** face" is what they call it
They say my eyes glare out of their sockets
And honestly this makes no sense
I have to come to my own defence.
*Are you mad?
Are you sad?
Are you okay?
I thought she hated me...*
Yes, it's true, I've heard it all
Somehow I'm the one who takes the fall
For any petty issue that's produced
From your misreading! It's no abuse!
What? No, I'm fine. I was just thinking.
Why are you always pick, pick, picking?
Just leave me alone. I've done no wrong!
What do you want? Me to burst into song?
Do you know how much effort it takes to keep
A smile on my face while I'm falling asleep?
If it bothers you, don't look at me.
I'm really not trying to mislead.
Look, I'm sorry if you're offeneded.
I just think it's time that this has ended.
I don't want to lose any more friends
Because the way my face naturally bends.
Please understand that I don't mean
The expression my resting ***** face puts on for me.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
Left myself behind for Thy sake
Modify me through soul's remake
O' Lord! can't be more of a betrayer
Still though, I yearn for a divine remake
My heart is in Makkah
My heart is in Makkah!
Eyes can't bear watching, but none bothers
I ask for protection, for me and my brothers
Extreme suffering, such a cruel massacre
I ask for Jannah, for me and my brothers
Over our heads have we turned ******* n waste
I ask for purification, for me and my brothers
None cares for the sufferers as though not human
I ask Thy attention, for me and my brothers
My heart is in Palestine
My heart is in Palestine!
I plea to be bathed in the divine henna
In the home of the Prophet, madina madina
In the land of peace, make me offer a prayer
For me, my fellows, in the heart of madina
Revive once again the brotherhood amongst us
Like them ansaris and muhajirs of madina
Can't wait but for a chance or an opportunity
Offering myself forth, take me to madina
My heart is in Madina
My heart is in Madina!
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 8:45 AM UTC
You are annoying
For you are toying
This mind of mine
Or the other minds of nine
Stop being silly
'Cause it bothers me really
I hate you for it
I don't seem to like you one bit
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
In one night of these nights, I don't know what happened to me
Oh Lord, I am filled with dakness...how can this be ?
Earth and the heavens are closing in to me, theres no way I can flee
I have fallen, a devil without wings,
A demon who's heart has forgotten something called "The light"
A prisoner with not much to say, a prisoner held by strings
And the sun I see has given up her might...
She does not shine, radiate or any of these things
My eyes cry out as I see the others,
Walking blindly through the flames, not anyone bothers
I have become stuck here because of my sins oh God.
"Does this criminal deserve your forgiveness" I'm thinking
I have confessed my sins, but I am still sinking
But today, oh Lord I want to come back, from the darkness cast by this cruel Sun
My heart is broken, my mind is confused, my lungs feel like being pressured by a ton
I am drowning here, can't see anything
Except for you oh my saviour, my king
So I speak out with the last breath
"Save me, and I will try to fix my behaviour"
Even if you resurrect in hell..the pain of death can be felt well
~ Umi
Dec 24, 2017
Dec 24, 2017 at 6:30 AM UTC
the feelings of hurting i've been
having since you told me the way you work
are not the worst that i've felt all
my life. it bothers me that you've gone,
and it bothers me that i'm only bothered,
not dying.
i loved you in a way i've never
loved another soul. i loved you to your core.
i loved you as a being in a faulty body.
i loved your past life's symptoms...
still do.
i feel overly sensitive
to the sun - just by rays and not
by warmth. i can soak in the warmth, i can
feel reborn if i keep my eyes closed.
i can see the blood red, begin
again. i open my eyes and i'm all
blood red and even my breath
hurts my skin.
you told me you were akin to disease,
like your own, but toward me,
and i should have made it more clear
how well i would handle the word "terminal"
if it was you who directed it at me.
to be honest i would love nothing more
than being restricted to bedrest,
afflicted with you.
you have every permission to
eat at my brain like a poison.
burn my heart with equal parts fire and acid.
i'm asking you for it. i'm asking for you.
i'm calling for you and you hear me. we see
each other, stare. you don't answer.
you wanted to clean me up, dust the
dirt of you off me, wipe the mud from my eyes
that you think surely must be keeping me
from seeing clearly. but there is no mud, just
my own dark circles. i am clean
though i stand in the deepest hole i've
ever dug. still you scrub. my skin goes
numb.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
We live in an underwater bedroom
Just she & I alone all the time
But I don't mind
I don't miss the world and it sure as hell don't miss me
Knowing that I don't have to long for her company
Is all that I need
I can watch the water ripples play across her face while shes sleeping
Her chest rising and falling while deeply breathing
She helps me fall asleep
And we sit in our underwater bedroom keeping each other sane
I'm in love with the ways she says things as they light up her face
We don't know how we got here
But we are grateful that it was this place instead
It bothers her greatly, those thoughts always fill her head
She drifts away sometimes
And when she goes I cannot find her, like she's floated away
All I can do is sit in my chair and wait for her to come back
I'm so terrified
That my lovely underwater lady will drift away from me
And get lost in her mind that can encompass her like the sea
I know that I can take it
But I also know that one day soon
I'll loose her to the thoughts that keep her company
And when the day comes
I know that I will watch her vacant eyes as water so blue ripples on her face
And I'll sit in my underwater bedroom, made for two
With only one to really fill the space
I'll curl around her frame at night and feel the warmth of her skin
Never allowed to see her face light up so bright again
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 1:03 PM UTC
Any phone call bothers me anytime Simply because that's me anytime,anywhere,and everywhere ..... I like people to call me , but Not as they want .... Phone calls are great and wonderful ,but They should be in their accurate times .... Some people have their phone-calls for just have funny things or For just bothering others ................. A phone-call is pretty thing when A caller means it well .
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
Everything is a blur
Yet I take another sip
Friends around,
laughing
Nothing bothers me,
for once
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
The day you died I went into the dirt,
Into the lightless hibernaculum
Where bees, striped black and gold, sleep out the blizzard
Like hieratic stones, and the ground is hard.
It was good for twenty years, that wintering --
As if you never existed, as if I came
God-fathered into the world from my mother's belly:
Her wide bed wore the stain of divinity.
I had nothing to do with guilt or anything
When I wormed back under my mother's heart.
Small as a doll in my dress of innocence
I lay dreaming your epic, image by image.
Nobody died or withered on that stage.
Everything took place in a durable whiteness.
The day I woke, I woke on Churchyard Hill.
I found your name, I found your bones and all
Enlisted in a cramped necropolis
your speckled stone skewed by an iron fence.
In this charity ward, this poorhouse, where the dead
Crowd foot to foot, head to head, no flower
Breaks the soil. This is Azalea path.
A field of burdock opens to the south.
Six feet of yellow gravel cover you.
The artificial red sage does not stir
In the basket of plastic evergreens they put
At the headstone next to yours, nor does it rot,
Although the rains dissolve a ****** dye:
The ersatz petals drip, and they drip red.
Another kind of redness bothers me:
The day your slack sail drank my sister's breath
The flat sea purpled like that evil cloth
My mother unrolled at your last homecoming.
I borrow the silts of an old tragedy.
The truth is, one late October, at my birth-cry
A scorpion stung its head, an ill-starred thing;
My mother dreamed you face down in the sea.
The stony actors poise and pause for breath.
I brought my love to bear, and then you died.
It was the gangrene ate you to the bone
My mother said: you died like any man.
How shall I age into that state of mind?
I am the ghost of an infamous suicide,
My own blue razor rusting at my throat.
O pardon the one who knocks for pardon at
Your gate, father -- your hound-bitch, daughter, friend.
It was my love that did us both to death.
6.6k
Hurry now, it’s leaving soon
Car door slams, gravel underfoot
And from the boot
Grandmas lil helper is lifted
Oh! Where did it go?
Wind twists scarf to snake
Released from frames captivity
I stoop and tug
Under your foot, Gran
She shuffles,
Ties it firmly around tiny shoulders
Bright colour against delicate skin
Paper thin, both,
One for beauty, one to hold the blood in
And may it hold the blood in,
Just a little longer...
The train awaits,
Monstrous,
Steele stark against surrounding bush.
Matt has a sausage,
Mum bothers about tickets,
Both fuss and fizzle,
I press lips firmly together
Deciding then and there
Never to let entertainment turn to stress;
It’s more than it’s worth.
We’re to be in the engine room,
The rest will be left behind -
As something faulty.
Matt lifts Gran up;
She’s tiny,
She’s flying,
She’s in.
And then we’re all in.
Crammed.
We stare longingly through grimy glass
At empty carriages
Can’t we be in there? It’s all a bit stuffy.
There’s a fire along the track
But we don’t go any further.
The smoke streams out over forest.
And jerking and bumping,
Dipping along,
We reverse back to whence we started.
Petrol fumes and smoke fill our tiny cocoon
Here, let me help you
Passenger to passenger,
Fellow human,
Compassionate eyes.
Gran has a seat;
She sways while we lurch.
Deep within
Railroad country
I make believe
I know something
Of the girl
Of the Plannies;
That sacred connection
To land and sky,
To Native country,
To Golden Macrocarpa
I stare over hills of tree ferns,
Kawakawa, Wheki, Punga
And, knowing no other,
I feel this land
Majestically
My own.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
*** *** *** ba-dum da-dum]
The Cuck walked up to the cocktail stand
and he said to the man running the stand...
"HEY!" *** *** *** "Got any *****
The man said "Go away you filthy perv."
"Cocktails is all I've ever served!"
"Why don't you take a hike?"
The Cuck said "Go ***** a ****
The he strutted away! [struttin' struttin']
He gotta get paid! [by the hour]
Gotta go to work! [at Trump Tower]
... 'Til the very next day.
*** *** *** *** *** ba-dum da-dum]
The Cuck walked up to the cocktail stand
and he slapped his **** onto the stand...
"HEY!" *** *** *** "Got any *******
The man balled his fists and said...
"Why don't you go get a pocket toy and ***** that you filthy pervert who can't get laid so he comes and bothers the cocktail man because he has no game!
How about you go to another bar and stop acting LAME!"
The Cuck said "Your sister wasn't lame."
Then he zipped up his pants [waddle waddle]
as he strutted away [got the zipper stuck]
but that's all okay [showing off the package]
Till the very next day.
*** *** *** *** *** ba-dum da-dum]
The Cuck walked up to the cocktail stand
and he said to the man running the stand...
"HEY!" *** *** *** "Got any ******
The man got ****** then he started to smile.
"Come on, fellow! I bet you haven't had ***** in a while."
Then they strutted away [my **** itches]
but that's okay [they don't care they're *******
watch out for snitches [shut yo **** mouth]
'Till they arrived at the trap house
*** *** *** *** *** ba-dum da-dum]
"Here you go sir, she'll make your **** stir
She's even got a sister you can **** next to her!"
The Cuck's mind began to go....
"How about.... no!"
"But I like this place...
It makes my heart race...
and it would bring me joy....
it would make my day...
do you think we could...
do you THINK we could...
double team your wife so you don't have to pay?!"
Then he scrambled away! [zipping up his pants]
The man was angry in a trance! [hope he tied his shoes]
He even left the ***** [why'd you do that]
Instead he ******* the Cat.
*** *** *** *** *** ba-dum da-dum]
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 9:43 PM UTC
It has been a tough month.
With health issues, school difficulties
and do not even mention family problems...
So there has been some triggers
and it is just been stressful.
I have been pretty depressed
and feeling very vulnerable
and really wanting to cut.
I feel really like I have to act like everything is fine
and cannot talk about the things that are bothering me
with the people who I would really just like to talk about it with.
Which kind of leaves me feeling
hurt and resentful and
not wanting to trust.
I feel like asking for help is so difficult
and you can only do it so many times
and be rejected before you just take on this attitude of fine
**I do not need your help anyway -
I do not actually need anyone's help
and I will manage perfectly fine on my own.**
Except that is not how it works, you do not manage perfectly fine.
You try harder at not feeling feelings
IRONIC
being that feelings were something you worked so hard to feel!
you start not talking about anything that even remotely bothers you,
you put a band-aid on everything you are struggling with
and act like things are OK
when in fact, on the inside,
you are screaming and wishing,
hoping that someone would hear you.
Enter more hurt and resentment
.
It is just really difficult
**I simply want to feel
heard
supported
loved.**
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
Now I reached the lands again,
Still dazzled and confused I was,
From the encounter with an Angel,
Oh how she had filled my twilight,
Unable to forget her divinely touch.
Magical touch had enchanted me,
Able to recall it from the voyage,
I stumbled when disembarking,
Oh it was the first time for me,
My thoughts would last along.
After so many days at the sea,
I planned of bathing properly,
Her illusion tricked me thereto,
Oh how her traces remained on,
Facing mirror, I stood perplexed.
Still unable to accept the reality,
I longed for that night to repeat,
Heart beats Angel in each beat,
Life staged a drama too crazy,
Unwilling to take the reality.
My body carries the vestiges,
I turn crazier with each bath,
Her lips' traces keep appearing,
Driving me mad is her memory,
God! Bring her to life once more.
I had my powers as a commodore,
I sent for the captain of my ship,
"What bothers you, commodore,"
And so he asked of me kindly,
Then I told him of her traces.
Smiling he told me yet again,
"I had told you to get married,"
I agreed this time and nodded,
"Alright, search for me a bride,"
Going outside, he smiled plainly.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC
I can manage to think myself into a bad mood,
And not just any bad mood
The kind of bad mood that makes you question life,
The kind of bad mood that causes a strife.
I get these gut wrenching feelings,
My chest tightens,
I can barely breathe,
And I cry without any real reason.
“What’s wrong with me?”
I ask myself as my hands begin to tremble
‘I’m insane’ I think
As my breathing hitches in my throat.
I was fine two minutes ago
And now I’m lying on the bathroom floor
Trying to silence my sobs,
So nobody else will hear.
The part that bothers me most,
Is I don’t have an explanation for why I’m crying
Oh no, please don’t ask
You’ll only make things worse.
I can’t explain it to myself
How am I supposed to explain it to you?
This is helpless, I’m hopeless
I even write this with tear-stained cheeks.
Nobody can help me,
I don’t even know what’s wrong with me
And that’s why my dear,
Overthinking will be the death of me.
– Overthinking will be my Demise // F.C.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
my face-wash is a whitening cream
but what if i don't want to be white?
what if i just want my skin to be clean
since when did white and clean begin to come in the same package?
are white people the poster-children of cleanliness
because they've washed their hands
with the blood of my ancestors?
*am i *****
because i have not?*
it bothers me when my grandmother tells me
that i am lucky
because i was born the fairer one of the two sisters
she says she fears for what i would have looked like
had my colored mother not fallen in love with a white man
mixing her ***** genes with his pure ones
to create a mix-bred child, who, in any case
was better than being born brown.
**it would have been a sin
for me to have colored skin**
i am still dealing with the remnants of my colonial past
because i am still afraid of telling my mother
that i am in love with a colored man
she will accept him because he is loving and kind
but in the back of her mind
there will be a little voice that whispers
wouldn't it have been better if he was white instead?
and i've heard a lot of people tell me
*"thank God your hair is the right kind of curly
not the frizzy, afro-like hair
wild and free
thank God your hair is tame
thank God your hair falls in neat little curls
(you got your dad’s genes!)
thank God
we can hold it
and mold it
into what we like
thank God your hair is the right
kind of curly."*
you see my mom escaped by marrying a man with white skin
but with me the cycle begins again
because he's two shades darker
and my children will be too
the white genes of their grandfather
lost
among the dark genes of their father-
with chocolate eyes and hazel skin
i am still struggling to see at my father
as one of "us" and not one of "them"
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 2:50 AM UTC
maybe the reason why I dislike Batman
and love the X-Men
is because Batman, gifted with money and power, chose his struggle
the X-Men were forced- they had mutanthood shoved upon them
and had to be crucifed as society pushed them away
hiding in fear and hatred of what they must face
the X-Men learn to adapt, they take what they have
and choose to be the better man, or the worse man,
but they take the fight that was given them
and the freakery that they were born with,
and they adapt.
Batman, however, was born normally,
did not have to run or hide, for he was privileged,
and he walked, walked straight into freakery
he took the burden others were throttled with
and laid it upon his own shoulders, crying 'woe is me'
whilst he went about the noble task of hero-dom
he made himself a fancy suit- he had been given
normalcy and he invented freakery in order to claim sacrifice
he did not need to give himself- he was an ordinary man
that laid down his life.
The reason why that bothers me so much
is that ordinary men do not need to lay down their lives
they are not called to that future
it is not in their cards
he claimed his heroic deeds and choose to throw himself into the
furnace flames- while others suffered unwillingly
he chose it
he took their pain and made it less
'see, I can do it! anyone can do it!'
what makes the X-Men special is that
their mutation isn't 'deal with pain of superheroism'
it's some other power, but they have to learn how to be ostracized
not anyone can do that- they had to
their survival depended on it
Batman walked into the struggle of their lives
and declared himself a hero
though, for some, the declaration
was not in their words or actions, it was written
into their DNA, it was marked in their skin
by the brands of their oppressors, it
was pounded into every heartbeat shocked with electricity
they fought and hid their heroism their whole lives
for they knew- it was not something to love,
it was something to suffer with-
and Batman took that, he took the heroism
and he projected it across the night sky,
declaring, "I am Batman",
and it is something he can escape from,
he can walk away, he can walk away, he can walk away,
and yes, he chooses not to,
but what he does is steal from those who cannot walk away
his heroism takes the nails in the hands of mutants and orphans
and masochistically drives them into his own palms
crying whilst doing it.
rather than being forced to adapt and look normal,
he puts on a suit and prances through the night dramatically
he takes everything sufferable about being a hero
and tosses it out the window-
he takes everything noble about being a hero
and growls it in a dramatic voice, posing, in his fancy suit,
when he could be safe at home. why would you choose this
why would anyone choose this
be thankful for your ability to be safe,
that is the real superpower- the ability
to be normal, to have a home to go back to, to
have a normal purpose and a normal life,
and Batman is completely, utterly, ungrateful-
he wishes there were more,
while those born with 'gifts' would be satisfied with even less.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
Tech tonics and honesty following repeated offerings to beings I don't think, think that I belong anymore.
Not that it bothers me I'm used to feeding apologies to cretins who'd like to think they walk on water
I dropped the scene along with anyone I met that shed a tear or was met with fear at the thought of me in harm I think
I can't love again
And what's worse is that you couldn't care less
I'm not a monster, but you treated me just like the ones in your head, yet I told you things to doubt when you never should've
You had no business saying you loved me in the first
I fell after, I can't handle my emotions, thoughts, I've lost my confidence and I don't care enough to get it back.
Your now engaged to a guy you introduced me to. **** you.
I wish I could even hate you, but I only hate myself. WHY.
I wish for death, or destruction, or cataclysm, or flood, or plague
I'm an empty vessel, ready to become
Undone.
Hooray.
(Update I’m getting better)
May 3, 2022
May 3, 2022 at 2:13 AM UTC
I think it's sad where the poetry community has been going.
It seems as though deep, dark poetry isn't considered "good" anymore.
I wrote a "poem" called #Hashtag as an example of how braindead some people are becoming. As I write this, it has 44 views while the other 25 poems i've written in the past 2 weeks have max 23-ish views. I think this is completely ridiculous because poetry for me was once a place to escape the modern day stupidity and revel in the intelligence of literature. Now all I see are poems about computers and "some chick left me so I banged my side-chick". I cannot even begin to describe how much it bothers me that my poem "#Hashtag" has more views than my poem "From the Benevolent Ashes, We Rise!". It's absolutely appauling. I don't even know how to end this rant so it's going to seem abrupt but I can't continue right now or else I'll end up even angrier at poetry.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
The men, mostly wrapped in grey,
With knitted necks have nothing to say.
But sway out of the way of the others, passing.
Over there, on six, a man is checking
No one is asking, but he’s still looking.
His finger’s pointing.
Beside me, a beautiful lady, is waiting
Speaking softly to her lover:
“Not long now” – she whispers’, lower.
With late night morning upon our faces
We wonder why, we are here at all
Collecting colds, old age, and wages:
Before middle, old, and then the fall.
And then the sun appears:
It lights the seats where no one sits
I feel my heart beat miss a bit.
I see myself years ago.
Waiting for a train to go.
To take our family away, for free
For fish, chips, salt and sea.
All of us all, sitting there:
Our fathers 1950’s hair,
Our sixties mother thin lipped stare,
my sisters, bothers, and me, just sat there.
Frozen cold, with tears sticking in my eyes.
And for a moment I want back that time.
To start again, at another me:
No more trains - but more sea.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 4:23 AM UTC