"brinkmanship" poems - Hello Poetry

When love was young and bore an immigrant Soul, how fresh and adventurous the years And brinkmanship, my rite, was took for grant, Aye, in my flotsam and jetsam, I spent no tears Which by and by a greedy sea of beginnings Has left no bounty, but cargo delivered or turned To wood adrift, which built but useless things, Children love tossing in fires bonny burned. Here I lie, on the waters edge, searching— For something to contain my emptiness, My wanderlust, but like shy waves lurching, I wrestle now, toward land, not loneliness. Though I spent my life as a flag unfurled, A disembodied soul is without this world.

When love was young and bore an immigrant Soul, how fresh and adventurous the years And brinkmanship, my rite, was took for grant, Aye, in my flotsam and jetsam, I spent no tears Which by and by a greedy sea of beginnings Has left no bounty, but cargo delivered or turned To wood adrift, which built but useless things, Children love tossing in fires bonny burned. Here I lie, on the waters edge, searching— For something to contain my emptiness, My wanderlust, but like shy waves lurching, I wrestle now, toward land, not loneliness. Though I spent my life as a flag unfurled, A disembodied soul is without this world.

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Oct 26, 2013

Oct 26, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC

When love was young and bore an immigrant Soul, how fresh and adventurous the years And brinkmanship, my rite, was took for grant, Aye, in my flotsam and jetsam, I spent no tears Which by and by a greedy sea of beginnings Has left no bounty, but cargo delivered or turned To wood adrift, which built but useless things, Children love tossing in fires bonny burned. Here I lie, on the waters edge, searching— For something to contain my emptiness, My wanderlust, but like shy waves lurching, I wrestle now, toward land, not loneliness. Though I spent my life as a flag unfurled, A disembodied soul is without this world.

When love was young and bore an immigrant Soul, how fresh and adventurous the years And brinkmanship, my rite, was took for grant, Aye, in my flotsam and jetsam, I spent no tears Which by and by a greedy sea of beginnings Has left no bounty, but cargo delivered or turned To wood adrift, which built but useless things, Children love tossing in fires bonny burned. Here I lie, on the waters edge, searching— For something to contain my emptiness, My wanderlust, but like shy waves lurching, I wrestle now, toward land, not loneliness. Though I spent my life as a flag unfurled, A disembodied soul is without this world.

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Jul 26, 2012

Jul 26, 2012 at 12:34 PM UTC

When love was young and bore an immigrant Soul, how fresh and adventurous the years And brinkmanship, my rite, was took for grant, Aye, in my flotsam and jetsam, I spent no tears Which by and by a greedy sea of beginnings Has left no bounty, but cargo delivered or turned To wood adrift, which built but useless things, Children love tossing in fires bonny burned. Here I lie, on the waters edge, searching— For something to contain my emptiness, My wanderlust, but like shy waves lurching, I wrestle now, toward land, not loneliness. Though I spent my life as a flag unfurled, A disembodied soul is without this world.

. When love was young and bore an immigrant Soul, how fresh and adventurous the years And brinkmanship, my rite, was took for grant, Aye, in my flotsam and jetsam, I spent no tears Which by and by a greedy sea of beginnings Has left no bounty, but cargo delivered or turned To wood adrift, which built but useless things, Children love tossing in fires bonny burned. Here I lie, on the waters edge, searching— For something to contain my emptiness, My wanderlust, but like shy waves lurching, I wrestle now, toward land, not loneliness. Though I spent my life as a flag unfurled, A disembodied soul is without this world. .

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Sep 29, 2018

Sep 29, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC

. When love was young and bore an immigrant Soul, how fresh and adventurous the years And brinkmanship, my rite, was took for grant, Aye, in my flotsam and jetsam, I spent no tears Which by and by a greedy sea of beginnings Has left no bounty, but cargo delivered or turned To wood adrift, which built but useless things, Children love tossing in fires bonny burned. Here I lie, on the waters edge, searching— For something to contain my emptiness, My wanderlust, but like shy waves lurching, I wrestle now, toward land, not loneliness. Though I spent my life as a flag unfurled, A disembodied soul is without this world. .

16

When love was young and bore an immigrant Soul, how fresh and adventurous the years And brinkmanship, my rite, was took for grant, Aye, in my flotsam and jetsam, I spent no tears Which by and by a greedy sea of beginnings Has left no bounty, but cargo delivered or turned To wood adrift, which built but useless things, Children love tossing in fires bonny burned. Here I lie, on the waters edge, searching— For something to contain my emptiness, My wanderlust, but like shy waves lurching, I wrestle now, toward land, not loneliness. Though I spent my life as a flag unfurled, A disembodied soul is without this world.

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Nov 9, 2012

Nov 9, 2012 at 2:08 PM UTC

When love was young and bore an immigrant Soul, how fresh and adventurous the years And brinkmanship, my rite, was took for grant, Aye, in my flotsam and jetsam, I spent no tears Which by and by a greedy sea of beginnings Has left no bounty, but cargo delivered or turned To wood adrift, which built but useless things, Children love tossing in fires bonny burned. Here I lie, on the waters edge, searching— For something to contain my emptiness, My wanderlust, but like shy waves lurching, I wrestle now, toward land, not loneliness. Though I spent my life as a flag unfurled, A disembodied soul is without this world.

I desperately ransack Crumpled sheets and pillows Hunting for you At any time of day As the sun glares at me Shining rays of duty onto My faded features And bloodshot eyes When I can't find you Sparks bury under my skin But when I turn It's just the sunlight Turning me into liquid wax My eyes dissolve but I don't care They deserve to be punished You're always out at night I ring the bell so much That I get tinnitus But sacrificing my hearing Is all for nothing Because you leave my offering Bleeding in its temple The scornful God you are You want me to use pills To hunt you down but I won't satisfy your desires I know you like a game But your opponent Is apathetic towards life Your worst fear How can you twist numbness? So we intertwine A symbiotic relationship You need me to have you To exist as an action This brinkmanship Might push me to the edge But I can live on the brink Can you?

I desperately ransack Crumpled sheets and pillows Hunting for you At any time of day As the sun glares at me Shining rays of duty onto My faded features And bloodshot eyes When I can't find you Sparks bury under my skin But when I turn It's just the sunlight Turning me into liquid wax My eyes dissolve but I don't care They deserve to be punished You're always out at night I ring the bell so much That I get tinnitus But sacrificing my hearing Is all for nothing Because you leave my offering Bleeding in its temple The scornful God you are You want me to use pills To hunt you down but I won't satisfy your desires I know you like a game But your opponent Is apathetic towards life Your worst fear How can you twist numbness? So we intertwine A symbiotic relationship You need me to have you To exist as an action This brinkmanship Might push me to the edge But I can live on the brink Can you?

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Nov 3, 2018

Nov 3, 2018 at 7:54 AM UTC

annaw156

Insomnia

40

I licked my finger and raised it to the air. And set sail. due North. Tacked a bit east. sea spray lashing me down to the mast. I saw Ahab in the distance aboard a white monstrosity.He seemed quite happy. The years had been kind. A Fulfilled destiny. I envy him so to surrender. I tacked south. some strange feat but a mighty ****** am I. The wind at my beck the stars at call. sextant be dammed. I will rise where I fall. or sink. Brinkmanship my stock in trade. The wind remained at my back for a score and one. my shirt in tatters. Still tied to the mast. Howling banshees beckon me shore. Nevermore.

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Jul 11, 2013

Jul 11, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC

geno-cattouse-1

Home At Last

I licked my finger and raised it to the air. And set sail. due North. Tacked a bit east. sea spray lashing me down to the mast. I saw Ahab in the distance aboard a white monstrosity.He seemed quite happy. The years had been kind. A Fulfilled destiny. I envy him so to surrender. I tacked south. some strange feat but a mighty ****** am I. The wind at my beck the stars at call. sextant be dammed. I will rise where I fall. or sink. Brinkmanship my stock in trade. The wind remained at my back for a score and one. my shirt in tatters. Still tied to the mast. Howling banshees beckon me shore. Nevermore.

15

When his mother was dying we each said goodbye I was moved to tears. The funeral came and though I tried to remain stoic, English, I cried. Then he died, pulled under by umbilical cords, tied by my bloodied hands. When the service came I cried then too. My parents told me not to cry, as though it was an admission of guilt. Still I wept through the service, as though their sternly worded advice meant nothing. I sat and felt several tides of sorrow wash over me. I tried to clench my bowels when it came. Through the first I stayed strong, forcing the emotion down. The second wave made my eyes water; and whilst a stray tear dribbled off my chin I remained strong, forcing the emotion back down my swollen throat to maintain composure. The third wave came, and though I kicked and struggled to keep my head above the guilty waves I sank below My weeping, scabbed face betrayed the guilt of a murderer and finally I let go Allowing the full horror of what had transpired to engulf me. I drowned, my face covered by my ***** jacket. The priest offered for us to share a final moment with the victim before he was burnt to ashes And I, like the guilty party sat stock still, paralysed by the truth; that I, at that young age, had killed And whilst I swore that I would never **** again I collapsed adrift on a bitter sea of tears, Howling at the injustice that I had wrought. Later, when composure had been regained I felt a stirring in those clenched bowels. I sat down on the porcelain throne and proceeded to **** out a large and meaty **** I strained, my eyes watered, and my **** tipped to the edge of prolapse. Comforted, I wiped and then felt nothing. With humility I knew, that I was not noble Simon Daedalus but lowly Leopold Bloom. The same avenues corporeal brinkmanship that led me to that sad place Had led me to safety. It was at first a sad realisation But I’m happier now.

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Oct 13, 2014

Oct 13, 2014 at 6:00 AM UTC

Josh89

The Corporeal Man

When his mother was dying we each said goodbye I was moved to tears. The funeral came and though I tried to remain stoic, English, I cried. Then he died, pulled under by umbilical cords, tied by my bloodied hands. When the service came I cried then too. My parents told me not to cry, as though it was an admission of guilt. Still I wept through the service, as though their sternly worded advice meant nothing. I sat and felt several tides of sorrow wash over me. I tried to clench my bowels when it came. Through the first I stayed strong, forcing the emotion down. The second wave made my eyes water; and whilst a stray tear dribbled off my chin I remained strong, forcing the emotion back down my swollen throat to maintain composure. The third wave came, and though I kicked and struggled to keep my head above the guilty waves I sank below My weeping, scabbed face betrayed the guilt of a murderer and finally I let go Allowing the full horror of what had transpired to engulf me. I drowned, my face covered by my ***** jacket. The priest offered for us to share a final moment with the victim before he was burnt to ashes And I, like the guilty party sat stock still, paralysed by the truth; that I, at that young age, had killed And whilst I swore that I would never **** again I collapsed adrift on a bitter sea of tears, Howling at the injustice that I had wrought. Later, when composure had been regained I felt a stirring in those clenched bowels. I sat down on the porcelain throne and proceeded to **** out a large and meaty **** I strained, my eyes watered, and my **** tipped to the edge of prolapse. Comforted, I wiped and then felt nothing. With humility I knew, that I was not noble Simon Daedalus but lowly Leopold Bloom. The same avenues corporeal brinkmanship that led me to that sad place Had led me to safety. It was at first a sad realisation But I’m happier now.

28

It’s taken you’re fed up With politicized debate And the fools who do brinkmanship’s Scared world of hate. And the ghouls who eat babies As pawns in their game In their scrawny white penis’s Sad quest for fame. Where the sick sabre rattlers Cavort with their ploys Of destroying old satellites To show off their toys. To drape flags of challenge With threat weave inbound Across mantles of aspirants Desirous to be crowned. Intimidating tactics From they with the gun Against all the challengers Emerging at run. From China to terrorist The gauntlet’s thrown, You cross our line There's no mercy shown. And we little guys sit In our quiet, timid way, Whilst the gigantic ego's Jostling holds sway. Whilst the arrogant right Profess to have God, And the rest of us cower In fear, like a dog. And the sun comes up With a glorious show And the nuclear dust In the air is aglow, And the rich and the famous Are dead in their beds And the ***** and the cockroaches Nibble their heads. It’s all such a waste In a terrible way When the General’s pushed buttons And had such a day.... Marshalg Victoria Park Tunnel 10 February 2011

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Feb 9, 2011

Feb 9, 2011 at 7:19 PM UTC

marshal-gebbie

Sad Day for ***********

It’s taken you’re fed up With politicized debate And the fools who do brinkmanship’s Scared world of hate. And the ghouls who eat babies As pawns in their game In their scrawny white penis’s Sad quest for fame. Where the sick sabre rattlers Cavort with their ploys Of destroying old satellites To show off their toys. To drape flags of challenge With threat weave inbound Across mantles of aspirants Desirous to be crowned. Intimidating tactics From they with the gun Against all the challengers Emerging at run. From China to terrorist The gauntlet’s thrown, You cross our line There's no mercy shown. And we little guys sit In our quiet, timid way, Whilst the gigantic ego's Jostling holds sway. Whilst the arrogant right Profess to have God, And the rest of us cower In fear, like a dog. And the sun comes up With a glorious show And the nuclear dust In the air is aglow, And the rich and the famous Are dead in their beds And the ***** and the cockroaches Nibble their heads. It’s all such a waste In a terrible way When the General’s pushed buttons And had such a day.... Marshalg Victoria Park Tunnel 10 February 2011

47

When love was young and bore an immigrant Soul, how fresh and adventurous the years And brinkmanship, my rite, was took for grant, Aye, in my flotsam and jetsam, I spent no tears Which by and by a greedy sea of beginnings Has left no bounty, but cargo delivered or turned To wood adrift, which built but useless things, Children love tossing in fires bonny burned. Here I lie, on the waters edge, searching— For something to contain my emptiness, My wanderlust, but like shy waves lurching, I wrestle now, toward land, not loneliness. Though I spent my life as a flag unfurled, A disembodied soul is without this world.

0

Dec 20, 2014

Dec 20, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC

When love was young and bore an immigrant Soul, how fresh and adventurous the years And brinkmanship, my rite, was took for grant, Aye, in my flotsam and jetsam, I spent no tears Which by and by a greedy sea of beginnings Has left no bounty, but cargo delivered or turned To wood adrift, which built but useless things, Children love tossing in fires bonny burned. Here I lie, on the waters edge, searching— For something to contain my emptiness, My wanderlust, but like shy waves lurching, I wrestle now, toward land, not loneliness. Though I spent my life as a flag unfurled, A disembodied soul is without this world.

When love was young and bore an immigrant Soul, how fresh and adventurous the years And brinkmanship, my rite, was took for grant, Aye, in my flotsam and jetsam, I spent no tears Which by and by a greedy sea of beginnings Has left no bounty, but cargo delivered or turned To wood adrift, which built but useless things, Children love tossing in fires bonny burned. Here I lie, on the waters edge, searching— For something to contain my emptiness, My wanderlust, but like shy waves lurching, I wrestle now, toward land, not loneliness. Though I spent my life as a flag unfurled, A disembodied soul is without this world.

0

Mar 8, 2015

Mar 8, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC

When love was young and bore an immigrant Soul, how fresh and adventurous the years And brinkmanship, my rite, was took for grant, Aye, in my flotsam and jetsam, I spent no tears Which by and by a greedy sea of beginnings Has left no bounty, but cargo delivered or turned To wood adrift, which built but useless things, Children love tossing in fires bonny burned. Here I lie, on the waters edge, searching— For something to contain my emptiness, My wanderlust, but like shy waves lurching, I wrestle now, toward land, not loneliness. Though I spent my life as a flag unfurled, A disembodied soul is without this world.

Why...... " Why feelings and thoughts - of mine are unfeeble, And with an oft soulful cry! Never embroided in it's brinkmanship of A dwelling mirth !. often wondering of the days that gone by . Why being an unmindful 'Abu ben Adam ' often I embark on a distinct parody of bliss? Why my lips quiver,if destination is far cry. chasing my impounding fleet of wry smiles and daunting hopes to pursue, And for a few souls to succor !.

Why...... " Why feelings and thoughts - of mine are unfeeble, And with an oft soulful cry! Never embroided in it's brinkmanship of A dwelling mirth !. often wondering of the days that gone by . Why being an unmindful 'Abu ben Adam ' often I embark on a distinct parody of bliss? Why my lips quiver,if destination is far cry. chasing my impounding fleet of wry smiles and daunting hopes to pursue, And for a few souls to succor !.

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Jun 24, 2016

Jun 24, 2016 at 2:07 AM UTC

ravindran-g

why ?

13

( Sonnet ) When love was young and bore an immigrant Soul, how fresh and adventurous the years And brinkmanship, my rite, was took for grant, Aye, in my flotsam and jetsam, I spent no tears Which by and by a greedy sea of beginnings Has left no bounty, but cargo delivered or turned To wood adrift, which built but useless things, Children love tossing in fires bonny burned. Here I lie, on the waters edge, searching— For something to contain my emptiness, My wanderlust, but like shy waves lurching, I wrestle now, toward land, not loneliness. Though I spent my life as a flag unfurled, A disembodied soul is without this world.

0

Jan 30, 2016

Jan 30, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC