"byers" poems
This one is for the girls
For the girls who wake up at the crack of dawn
To stare down the standards of beauty built by a society
Who says that your bones are more beautiful than your curves
That your ****** has more value than your words
This one is for the girls who go through their day
Expected to only to smile
Only to say happy words
Even if their world inside is crashing around them.
This one is for the girls
Who endure the side glances,
Because they don't fit into the cookie cutter
that has been so strategically built
By the media
To break down the strong mind of girls and to leave in them in a heap on the side of the road
So that the only time they feel beautiful
Is when they hear catcalls of the passers byers
Leaving them starving
Starving their body
starving their mind
Little by little killing the spirit that was once so strong inside them
And yet all concerns seem to be silenced
This one is for the girls who
Cut open the cookie cutter that has been created
To cut the independent woman down to size
Who carve out a door way in this cookie cutter
As a light to shine at the end of the tunnel
This one is for the girls
Who never lose hope
For the girls who refuse to allow their ****** to hold their entire self worth
This is for the girls who
Refuse to allow the mass media to tell them that they are not beautiful
For the girls who have become the shining star
For the girls who are still discovering their own strength as their wound heal
This is for the girls searching for hope in a dark place
Hoping to find stars in the sky that are close enough they can touch
This one is for the girls
Keep on going
Don't lose yourself in this world
Hold your head up high
And show them the strength of a woman.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
melting into mush
the ice cream cone
a party hat
crushed
ants
begin to gather
small black sprinkles or bugs?
how quickly the treat is forgotten
abandoned for scavengers
and the shoes of passer-byers
to oblivious to change their path
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 9:57 PM UTC
Morning dew, morning sun
Looking out on the morning run
Past 'Byers Keep' ’n' fields of wheat
'Shurlock row', 'Glebe farm'
Watch out little squirrel I mean you no harm
Sound of rubber coming from the tyre
Past the ducks, the stream, field ’n' 'Blantyre'
Beads of sweat on my forehead
I look up and smile
At one with nature, leaving a busy world for a while
Aug 15, 2023
Aug 15, 2023 at 6:15 AM UTC
The forest green of the trees
contrasts so greatly
against the soft pastels in the sky;
Did someone paint this neighborhood?
The odors of garlic & parsley
wafting from across the
charcoal street.
Hums of today's news,
all the latest gossip,
ooh'ing and ah'ing;
endless snippets of candlelight chatter.
Occasional dollops of light
peering up from sedans passing by.
Sounds of zooms
blocked out by the steady pulsating
of white earbuds.
Dogs yipping, sometimes a real bark.
Neighbors come and go,
reciprocating cordial hello's.
Street lights slowly coming alive,
for at 8:37, the sun has begun
its transition to slumber.
They always say,
TGIF, thank god it's Friday.
As day slips to nigh',
the crackles and pops of vinyl come alive
behind a slightly rusted window pane.
Tonight's secrets not yet revealed,
a couple strolls by
holding hands,
sipping coffees, decaffeinated.
A man drunk with regret
and a 40 in his belly,
he breathes a clumsy, "Hey."
Malted liquor questions,
their smell & sound, unmistakable gurgling.
Street lights now fully illuminated,
glances exchanged from
passer-byers.
He opens the car door for her,
and into the dusk they drive.
Vehicles come by in even
greater numbers,
and still searches the young man
for $9, a toothbrush, and a shower,
even cold.
Just another night of
just another day,
in just another city,
in just another neighborhood
on just another street.
Silence, loud, ominous silence,
filtering the senses,
the stories,
the magic;
Isn't ordinary extraordinary?
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
The break bell rings
and it’s time to enter into the second half of the day
a groan of disapproval hums in response.
A herd of young frivolous minds
bustle past each other,
through the narrow dimly lit corridors
like cattle, driven to their destination with a stick,
with which they measure aptitude.
there was always one window
that opened in from the receptionist office,
it would stick out like a sore thumb
obstructing the path of the already narrow corridor.
You had to watch where you were going,
You couldn’ t walk aimlessly,
or you would bump your head against it.
but that’s exactly the way I would walk in school
so the window was always like a reminder for me,
it made me wake up, it was like a reality check
it made me careful
It let me see where I was going
It was a wall of glass
where the light would set on it impeccably,
in accordance with the second half of the school day
casting hollow reflections of the passer byers.
When I would stare through it I felt like a porous version of myself,
as if my body had small cavities through which my soul had poured out,
Separate and desolate,
leaving a hollow memory of who I was.
The way I might appear in the mind
of someone who knows how I look
but does not know who I am.
I felt like, I am the way
the future wants me to be-
like a hologram of myself
being moulded out of light
that does not run
on the same frequency as me.
Through the thin frame of grey
that bordered the window,
the color of neither black or white
a transitional color, ‘in betweener.’
it composed my thoughts perfectly
and as I could see the other children pass through me
I realized, I can not let myself
Become a day in the life of someone else.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 1:55 PM UTC
My heart is a car that has gone off the road.
Smashed windows, broken doors, blown engine.
Disaster and distress for everyone involved,
yet so many go byers with only a small thought.
You are the ambulance coming to the scene.
Make sure the injured make it out alive.
Though the injured didn't survive,
And the survivor is mentally injured.
Never going to be the same.
Confused as to why she did it.
Why she jumped in front of the car, just to watch it go up in flames.
She knew he'd never hit her,
even with the perfect opportunity.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
Indeed there is still help out there. i have always thought life is a complicated issues until i met this great man the Dr Baba of [email protected], it all started when my wife and i had problems it was almost tearing my home apart our relationship was almost non existent until i lost my job all the problems were now compounded and my wife threatened and filed for divorce i had nothing to do and nowhere to go then i came across a post on the internet on how Dr Baba of [email protected] helped one woman who was in need, i never knew all this spell casters are powerful so i decided to give it a shot and i was surprised when he told me not to worry that everything will be alright i never believed him i had my doubts because my wife was a very stubborn woman someone very hard to convince so i did everything he asked of me and to my surprise my wife started begging me to accept her back that she didn't know what came over her and i was called back in my place of work and compensated and i was also promoted all thanks to one man Dr Baba of [email protected], if you are ever in problem or in need don't look anywhere else just contact this one man [email protected] and he will help you out in whatever situation you find yourself again i want to say thank you sir for all you done for me your son from the USA Audrey Byers
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 6:08 AM UTC
Every night,
when the sun disappears
behind the tenements,
I sit on my balcony
to witness
the sinister congregation
pooled under
the lone
flickering
streetlamp.
Fueled on petrol,
they holler
explicit expletives
holding their palms
high in the air
Heiling Hitlers
as they middle-finger
the scooting passer-byers.
And I think to myself,
what ******* fools,
they'd be the first to go
if the **** ever went down,
carrying their inked swastikas
like totally clueless mad clowns.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 7:32 AM UTC
We shalt Noel ourn favorite aria
A chorale of valiant rendezvous,
Overcome by ourn setting sun
Enchanted by ourn moon,
Fixated and elevated, by flying bolide's in the empyrean
Statue's of us to be built, with ourn amour' as its coliseum,
Dozy by ourn ardor spree, worn out from long heartfelt night
Covering eachother with balm, mollified by ourn spice...
The birds to maketh their fly-by, the bugs to creep on foot
The sand beneathe ourn locked feet, touched by the soot....
Her head on mine chest, as this she Whisper's ( I loveth thee mine rey)
I whisper back (I loveth thee more, reina of mine heart's display)
As tis
The passer-byers witnessed two angels lost in the moment
Forgetting the world ever existed...
Looking into eachother's extraterrestrial pupil's!!!!!
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC
this is not the body of the boy i knew,
they found your body;
it wasnt you.
Mar 12, 2021
Mar 12, 2021 at 12:24 PM UTC
Balconies are begrudging bearers of idyllic sunsets
Should they rest as nothing more they wanted
Would you sit there and wilt into the sullen, saddened laughter
Of another lonesome worrier wondering through their mind
Forgotten are the passer-byers in the wake of changing times
I've forgotten not the cool chirping air deafening my sense
No more are for the cradle's tulle warping around me
With gentle precision hanging amid a hammocked cornucopia
Graceful shining shifts from sudden places
High and crowded seen by eyes hidden in laces
May 13, 2025
May 13, 2025 at 8:50 AM UTC
Every morning,
Gloomy or not,
They find each other at the meeting spot.
A place for them,
A place for a pair,
Who love each other with no compare.
Why do I not have a meeting spot?
Doesn't my soul matter too?
My perfect boy means the world to me,
And I believe we are the perfect two.
It may not be Castle Byers,
A magical place in the woods.
But it could be the back of the school,
And isn't that just as good?
The Meeting Spot
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 9:41 AM UTC