"cautioning" poems
How come your body of warmth
Boulder of boldness and hope
My limbs in vain, fold
In and out of its hold
Smoothness and strength
Making me hang stealthily below
As the muscles in your arms
More than tickle, grip, supporting my back
Frolicking, commanding every enclave
Exploring this landscape with precise measure and expertise
Cherishing every arch, every curve, every carving
Like the greatest monument,
You guard me against all elements
And every time you press this lips
Cautioning against the unleashing of nirvana
Tinkling with mere existence
There's a launching of infinite catharsis
Even when this land becomes regimented and bound
Enclosing every possible escape
Encroaching, expelling the very efforts to liberate
You pause in front and gaze into the power of my eyes
Extracting every trace of repression and restraint
Canvasing, surveying the infinite value of this place
The conqueror, the lord, the trustee of this land
Has come to stop pondering the chase
He's built the greatest monument, he never planned
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 11:15 PM UTC
one
two
three
He lied to me
only wanted my virginity
made me feel like i was infinity
...
Except the times he abused me
one
two
three
He yelled at me
called me names and obscenities
creating all my insecurities
...
Only to build me into what he wanted me to be
one
two
three
She saw what he did to me
manipulated and broke
she warned me of his problem things
....
But i didn't listen to her cautioning
one
two
three
Mama he cheated on me
nope didn't take my virginity
but broke me down and created insecurities
for the girl he wanted me to be
only to go on and leave me
...
one
two
three
He cant hurt me
I'm stronger now and better see
I should have listened to my mama
when she told me
That boy is no good for me
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
He feels the terrible urgency of aging,
a foreboding, a sense of something
left unaccomplished
which constantly
claws at his thoughts when he should be
enjoying what life he has left.
It's a cautioning
that the time allotted him to find
an answer, to seek fulfillment,
is escaping him.
What has he done with
his life to merit existence on this orb,
to warrant another sunrise,
another soft rainfall?
Such questions go without answer.
--
Sep 30, 2011
Sep 30, 2011 at 9:46 AM UTC
The heavens is your throne
The earth your footstool
Earthlings you molded
From clay and then ribs
You gave us some of your air and the right to breath
All I have belongs to you
From my lovely nose to the marrow in my bones
All these you own
So why do I keep getting your attention?
Why do you even care or bother to take away my fears?
What can I offer you when you have it all?
I know what's right and hear my spirit cautioning just when I decide to do wrong
I push you away
and when I do your absence creates a presence about me
A presence that takes over
whenever I refuse to listen to the voice of my conscience
I try to hide
In my folly I feel wise
Forgetting you are omnipresent.
How beautifully have you painted the rainbows!
You landscaped the earth with the flowers and tall trees
The wild geese and birds you never fail to feed
You whose hands are stretched out towards the earth
On Whose palms I sit
Please don't turn your back against me
It’s your face I seek
I have failed you once again
all my promises to you I am too human to keep
Forgive me Lord
I fail to mirror your attributes though a spitting image of you I am
Please let Momma and Papa tarry
If only till three score and ten
Let them relish for tirelessly they’ve toiled
fill their hearts with foy as their third generation in the arms they carry
You asked that I ask
Cause you are equal and more so greater than the task
One more thing I ask of you
when they you call unto thee
That their exit be as they wish
Most peacefully as they bid your footstool goodbye
You know all things and even before the world begun
It was powerless to hide its end from you
You don’t only know the end from the beginning;
You are the beginning and the end
to my humble plea I beseech you, your precious ears do lend
~r3d~
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 4:18 AM UTC
Like everyone else, these September downpours have me grumbling,
but secretly, I couldn't be happier.
Rain has come for me, my saviour from the skies,
Cautioning, encouraging restraint.
Thank you rain,
For hiding everything from everyone.
For masking tears,
Blurring fears,
And keeping me away.
I am still so vulnerable,
But I want to stay strong, and am trying so hard.
This downpour, this baptism,
Washes away weakness, and temptation,
And may tip the balance the right way;
Move me further from Summers' indulgence
Into abstinence, and resolve.
I am ever grateful to the Gods of Rain,
Who saw what I needed, and supplied,
They may save me from myself.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 5:00 AM UTC
The bard spoke this night to me with concern
Cautioning should I write a sonnet fair
It would in the pages of history burn
Yet I'm pursuing the course with heaps of dare
Thy hand is set to work to prove him wrong
This composition will not in ashes fail
Determination is my consort song
Syllables ten to each line to couplet tail
A challenge put forth by musketeers three
No doubts yet have arisen of deftness
In completing the task given to me
The bard's classic form will cause no duress
On this journey one has taken a bet
The end product is now forever set
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 6:37 AM UTC
Looks at me
Quite pistol whipped
Cheap *****
A taste on my lips
Speeding down
United States
Federal Highway 1
I dream that I am
Dead in each ditch
I pass
David Bowie deep cut and
I want to be free like this forever
I try to explain
Using these letters
Cheapening
It just for you
Dutch courage
Nudging me
Neon Strip Bar Glowing
I'm a quiet person
Keeping to myself
But
Born a fighter
Hard fists scarred
Dirt under my nails
I never fail
To wake up
Hung over
On her words
Cautioning me
To slow down
Smoking ***
Playing darts
With old timers
And drunks
People and places
Long forgotten
Bloodied then
Whitewashed
Concrete
Wide awake
Always Dreaming
Dead asleep
In the driver seat
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
Painkillers fallen all around me
In every direction, I lay amongst them
Such a terrible sound was made when they spilled
Painkillers fallen all around me
Woken from my slumber
I put one in my mouth and do not deal with the rest until morning
Painkillers fallen all around me
Such a safety to have so many unswallowed
But how will I feel when they run out?
I count the number as I pick them up
Like a clock ticking louder with each second, cautioning, that my pain better be gone before the time this bottle is finished
Not until now did I realize the luxury of sharing a family bottle
Painkillers fallen all around me
They fall so my tears don’t have to
But I’m not fooled by their innocent appearance
I know they are a bargain
A trade for a temporary mend,
So my heart can quiet its hurt for a little while
Painkillers fallen all around me
But why do they want to **** my pain?
Why can’t they see that my pain is a part of me?
Can’t they understand that without pain there is no living?
Why do they want to **** me?
Painkillers fallen all around me
Making it so easy for me to ignore my sadness
I can live in this world if only I let a part of me die
If I stop trying to sing my story
If I smile when I want to frown
If I let the painkillers do their job
Painkillers fallen all around me
They wouldn’t have fallen if the **** bottle wasn’t so hard to open,
Making me prefer to leave it uncapped
There was a time when I never cared that the bottle was sealed
Oh how I envy that now
Where can I find the strength to close the lid?
Painkillers fallen all around me
Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 3:16 AM UTC
We missed our chance.
But it’s not a problem: we gave it all
All came back sighing, lovestruck:
Then mutinous alliances recalled,
We fled.
Now, cautioning and antennae’d
Weary, we crawl upon hot lava
Yet still we wave.
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 5:32 PM UTC
I should come with a ******* warning label,
cautioning others about my tendencies
toward self-destruction,
and warning them of the consequences
of choosing to get too attached
to the inevitable time bomb of me.
I try to warn them away,
but they don't listen,
or they brush it off as nonsense.
"You shouldn't love me," I say,
eyes deep with grief
because I know the truth of the words.
But nobody heeds my ******* warnings,
so I'm left stepping over the remains
of us, having to live with the knowledge
of what I've done.
****** I tried to tell you.
But no one ever listens,
they refuse to believe.
And in the end I'm left having to watch
you shatter, knowing I'm the cause.
I tried to warn you.
You should've listened.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
Call me paranoid,
or clairvoyant,
or a desperate seeker in need
of a kindly wink
who gets blank
stares from the battered
courtyard
plot of Black-eyed Susans.
I’ve seen sweet
grimaces and gruesome
grins locked in the fuzzy
outlines of a hinge
with its unused spins
perpetually
putting the bedroom
door ajar.
Cheerless chuckles
and twinkling frowns
bubble up
from the brown-edged
peels of paint
on a water-damaged ceiling
constantly keeping my looking-
back glass fogged.
They come visit, sometimes
smiling, often beguiling,
these faces who lurk
in this saddest of places
where I hold
their ghostly echoes
safe from the outside
voices cautioning me:
“Too many conjured guests,
even the prettiest
ones you’ve grown
fond of, eventually become
so much unfiltered noise.
Find and kneel down among
the moss
and lichen-covered pews.
“Put your whisper-burned ear
to the quiet-cool earth there
and hear her tell you,
‘Look up.
Look up. Share,
oh do share dear,
in the wonders of this infinite
and unpeopled blue.’”
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 6:35 AM UTC
by: W. A. Marshall
6-6-2014
the spherical motion
a pedal clicked in chrome
like pistons on a train
this continual flowing
equalized organization
of carbon-fiber, trickling over
soft tar and grit -
alfalfa dancing like
a thousand green strippers
for the pastured stallion
goldfinches with spring plumage
and red winged black-birds
calling,
cautioning the field
my escort into
the silent winds
a conflict that coerces
blood further inside
my swollen veins,
and my lungs and heart
labor to find fresh air
in a country of drivers
with disturbed faces
in vehicles that hurry by
fading into oblivion
but I and thou glide firmly
burning –
in the moment
of my self-contained
fire.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
Instincts shrink
when love is on the table
for instincts are for survival
And love is for a dying
in the grandest ritual possible
And although as my gut tells me
Warns me to be on my guard
Cautioning, my brain is mush
And so is my own heart -
Dampen my instincts then,
Love, have me be ******
Take all of my very existence,
Sacrificing survival on insistence.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
Oh thy sea,
Perched on damp rocks beside you,
Rocks slightly drier than my heart
Captivated, I come to you seeking solace.
Listening to music you are a maestro of,
Talking to the waves,
Revealing them all my,
Joys and sorrows,
Fears and inhibitions.
Prattling together like old pals lost in chat
Meeting o'er a cup of serenity
The cool breeze ruffles my hair,
Almost whispering "Hey, you are not alone";
The waves send my way slight splashes,
Waking me up from my daydreams,
All say I am lost,
I say I am searching.
As I lay by your shore,
With a heart pretty sore
You fill it with your wisdom,
I see you,
Clashing, chasing, fighting the rocks
You too do fall,
Only to come back again stronger
Not letting their strength,
O'erpower your will to rise higher
I see you strive o'er and o'er again
Cautioning me to not be hopeless
But to get up and try again.
- Shalini Jain
#Please post your comments if you like it or even dislike it. Would love to hear your views.
thank you.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
It doesn't interest me what you
do for a living but I do want to
know what you ache for and if
you dare to dream of meeting
your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old
you are but I do want to know
if you will risk looking like a
fool for love, for your dream, for
the adventure of being alive.
I want to know if you can be
with joy, mine or your own and
if you can dance with wildness
and let ecstasy fill you to the tips
of your fingers and toes without
cautioning us to be careful, be
realistic, to remember the
limitations of being human.
I seek this thing though I don't
know what it might be, so I spend
my time searching for that one
missing piece and perhaps one
day you will come to me and
bring with you that quiet peace.
Jon York 2017
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 11:06 PM UTC
“It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.”
― Oriah Mountain Dreamer
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
her body the bones of the earth
with a heart like an oozing slit
a goblin infusoria blur
smatter cautioning lips
on a golden head
and radiate a tumbling ludicrous halo
for a saintly gutted fish still making caviar
to feed blind kittens
a curdled soul warps the mind
the moon hiccups
a sky-rocket
and her kisses seal a destiny
with a trickle wetted mouth
and bulgy ****** exultation of love
like bellowing lungs
flesh falls
spirit flies
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 12:02 PM UTC
Masks and fiction we wear as protection
To keep us safe from vulnerable situations
Make-up we plaster as our happiness
The mentality of only you... no trespassing,
Because self-inflicted hurt is less agonizing
Than others getting to close to our truths.
Covering the life lessons with a layer of skin,
Cautioning any soul we begin to let in,
Keeping our mindless thoughts ever-dwelling.
This life promised happiness, tragedy, forgiveness.
But, in adulthood, it doesn't provide protection.
Rather, it hands us elders and guardians
That remind us vulnerability is unhooking your
Body from the steel-anchor of problems.
That the winds may knock you off your feet, but
We'll fly again as the water flows along the breeze.
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 1:39 AM UTC
Could it be other than as it is?
As you would have it, is how you'll
have it.
The very form of your have, and have not...split down prayerful hands.
The opening and closing of eyes survived by the peregrination of a
body...as you would have it, as you'll have it.
A remembrance undone with every blessed motion...cautioning the mind not to keep pace, not to intellectualize such a motioning.
Alas, it would be difficult to intellectualize the anatomical function of the body twenty-four hours a day...would it not?
Grace set against its only backdrop...
a haiku that refuses the trappings of a novel, as you would have it...
is how you'll have it.
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
Our eyes met across the hallway
Yours filled with a polite curiosity
My identity questionable
With a touch of nagging familiarity
I walked away
Merging into the crowds of uniform
Avoiding those moonlike eyes
Having a pull that draws me in
For a stranger
Your face seems old
Like it was carved into my insides
A promise of unforgetability
Who are you?
My mind searches its dark recesses
For answers which long since
Have been brutally wiped away clean
You find me easily
My scarred face hard to miss
Brows furrowed in confusion
You stare at my skin
Fingers reaching out
To touch the untouchable
A word forming on your lips
Evolving into a question
Nicole…?
Fingers clench the pregnant air
My body stepping back in fear
Too close. Way too close.
I’m cornered now
Your presence now stronger
Studying my face with shock
My trembling cautioning your movements
Tears place themselves
Delicately in the corners of your sight
Emotions running wildly inside your being
As you look into the eyes of a ghost.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
IT DOESN'T MATTER TO ME WHAT YOU DO FOR A LIVING.
I want to know what you ache for., and if you dare of meeting your heart's longing.
IT DOESN'T INTEREST ME HOW OLD YOU ARE.
I want to know if you would risk looking like a fool for love,
for your dreams, for the adventures of being alive.
IT DOESN'T INTEREST ME WHICH PLANETS ARE SQUARING WITH YOUR MOON.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shriveled from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain - mine and your own -
without moving to hid it, or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine and your own;
if you can dance with wildness and ecstasy,
fill the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic,
or to remember the limitations of being human.
IT DOESN'T INTEREST ME IF THE STORY YOU ARE TELLING ME IS TRUE.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself;
if you can bear the causation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine,
and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"YES!"
IT DOESN'T MATTER TO ME WHERE OR WHAT OR WITH WHOM YOU HAVE STUDIED.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself,
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
grey carpet, yellow wall,
brown table, yellow wall,
blue seat, yellow wall,
and a **** coloured stain on the ceiling.
_______________________
shoulders pressed inward,
hands between thighs,
hair hanging in front of
detestable grey eyes.
but details matter,
red hands must smear
a crude-drawn picture,
on strips of brown-clear.
blinding and white
burning the table,
ten pages in all,
a statement from Abel.
attempt to explain,
better yet confess,
inky black clips,
secret, sudden cess.
bottle green, cautioning;
two lives lost
to action unseen.
golden is youth,
yet blue is the feeling,
all colour gone, body reeling.
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 5:46 PM UTC