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Nico Julleza Nov 2017
In all ado
ten months in misery
It wasn't me
nor was even you
shrills at the back
of my aging doors
I mind my business
As you—
you only mind yours

Red laces tied to leave
forget twas before
Nothing—
nothing was concealed,
we leered in uncertainty
As we're losing—
losing our vast imageries
our bond was never—
just never denote to be

Cease by now
of these tortured schemes
lashing out and say
"wish it was all a dream"
departing to nowhere
as each wing soars
and all of we— all of we
used to be lovers before
and all of we— all of we
used to be lovers before
#Love #End #Cease #The #Misery #Bond

Poems for a Cold November

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
Alyssa Underwood Jan 2016
I would have taken the easy path
But that would leave no room for glory
I would have picked out a comfortable life
But that isn't God’s kind of story

I would have followed a prettier road
But missed the most beautiful way
I would have clung to familiar things
But lived out my days in the grey

I would have chosen what’s stable
But grown cold, apathetic and bored
I would have sought out earth’s riches
But lost all that in heaven is stored

I would have liked more successes
But not learned so quickly of grace
I would have seen myself praised more
But given up knowing God’s face

I would have tied all my loose ends
But not known it’s He Who brings peace
I would have wanted for happier times
But traded a joy that can’t cease

I would have opted for normal
But not tasted rare delicacies
I would have preferred a man’s love
But been robbed of Divine intimacy

He’s chosen for me the high road
More jagged, more narrow and steep
So now I must travel this difficult way
Ever knowing it leads to the deep

Now I must choose to cherish His path
And trust Him to walk with me there
Now I must hasten to take up my cross
The fellowship of His sufferings to share

For one day this life will be over
And all my afflictions will end
It is then I will see what all this is for
In my Bridegroom, my Savior, my Friend
~~~

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."
~ 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

~~~
Dead Rose One Jun 2015
Lush is the quietude
of the late Saturday afternoon,
rich are the silencing sounds,
as variegated as the shades of greens
of a man-seeded, nature-patchworked lawn

rays reveal some bright,
some yellowed spots,
all a potent color palette

resting worry wearied eyes,
untroubled by the gentle fading light's illumination,
that soon will disappear and seal officially,
another week gone by

the lawn,
acting as an ceiling acoustic tile,
absorbing and reflecting
the varied din of disharmonious
natural sounds orchestrated,
an ever present reminder
     that true quiet
is not the absence of noise

I hear
the chill in the air,
insects debating vociferously
their Saturday evening plans,
the waves broom-swishing beach debris,
pretending to be young parents
putting away the children's toys for the eve

the birds speak in Babel multitudes of tongues,
chirps, whistles, clicks and clacks,
then going strangely silent as if all were
praying collectively the afternoon sabbath service,
with an intensity of the silent devotion

this moment, i cannot
well enough communicate,
this trump of light absolutes,
and animal maybes,
that are visually and aurally
presented  in a living surround sound screen,
Dolby, of course,
all a plot of
ease and gentility,
in toto,
sweet serenity

here to cease,
no more tinkering,
leave well enough,
plenty well enough
for Sally and Rebecca, who love the lushness best....

JUNE 2015
Alyssa Underwood May 2017
I saw a path and ran ahead
I nearly lost my way
Your mercy caught me by the arm
To Your side You bid me stay

I put my hope in my own plans
Which soon around me fell
You stopped me short upon that road
And said, "Rest and all will be well."

I'd surrendered all, but to my foe
Enticed into the briars
You turned his evil schemes instead
Into refining fires

I couldn't see my helplessness
Until my legs were broken
Till Shepherd's hands caressed my wounds
And healing words were spoken

You picked me up and carried me
And made me feel Your favorite
You held my head against Your chest
Until I grew to savor it

You tended me with gentlest touch
Then soothed all thought of fears
You sang forgiveness over me
And washed away my tears

There is no one like You, Lord
On whom I can rely
In loss, in danger or attack
You hear this poor sheep's cry

It's You Who keeps me from real harm
Who watches my coming and going
You shield me with Your strong right hand
From darts the enemy keeps throwing

You said to all who trust in You
You would give perfect peace
Enough for mind and heart to rest
To let all worrying cease

So, Lord, I trust You with my life
Your Shepherd's heart is pure
Your purpose for me's guarded well
And Your deliverance is sure

Please teach this sheep, Lord, how to wait
And strengthen me to stand
To put my hope in Your desires
And to love Your sovereign plan

You lead me into fields so green
Where streams of life are flowing
Where healing winds blow oft' and strong
And choicest fruits are growing

You set me free to hear Your voice
To follow at Your call
And even through the dark, cold nights
I'll know You've arranged it all

Yes, storms will come with battering rains
With hail and gusts and thunder
But these are meant to beckon me
To Your wings to pull me under

For it's in the darkness of the storm
My grip's most apt to tighten
And when my heart beats next to Yours
All earthly burdens lighten
~~~
Tammy M Darby Jul 2013
On the molded plastic black keys
Tip- tap tipping away  
Smiling wickedly
With self-satisfaction
Words deliberately in a sociopathic array

Crazed Eyes agleam
Thoughts rambling across the planets
In and out of reality
Both far and away

Each letter vibrates with its own life
The deranged wordsmith's release
So the clicking and typing
Systemic vacant sounds
Never seem to cease

To the mad poet
The combinations of descriptive words
Overpowering
Promotes the disease
Hypnotizing
Beguiling
Calling in a sweet voice
To the mad poet
In letters A to Z


This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3),

Tammy M Darby
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
I saw a path and ran ahead
I nearly lost my way
Your mercy caught me by the arm
To Your side You bid me stay

I put my hope in my own plans
Which soon around me fell
You stopped me short upon that road
And said, "Rest and all will be well."

I'd surrendered all, but to my foe
Enticed into the briars
You turned his evil schemes instead
Into refining fires

I couldn't see my helplessness
Until my legs were broken
Till Shepherd's hands caressed my wounds
And healing words were spoken

You picked me up and carried me
And made me feel Your favorite
You held my head against Your chest
Until I grew to savor it

You tended me with gentlest touch
Then soothed all thought of fears
You sang forgiveness over me
And washed away my tears

There is no one like You, Lord
On whom I can rely
In loss, in danger or attack
You hear this poor sheep's cry

It's You Who keeps me from real harm
Who watches my coming and going
You shield me with Your strong right hand
From darts the enemy keeps throwing

You said to all who trust in You
You would give perfect peace
Enough for mind and heart to rest
To let all worrying cease

So, Lord, I trust You with my life
Your Shepherd's heart is pure
Your purpose for me's guarded well
And Your deliverance is sure

Please teach this sheep, Lord, how to wait
And strengthen me to stand
To put my hope in Your desires
And to love Your sovereign plan

You lead me into fields so green
Where streams of life are flowing
Where healing winds blow oft' and strong
And choicest fruits are growing

You set me free to hear Your voice
To follow at Your call
And even through the dark, cold nights
I'll know You've arranged it all

Yes, storms will come with battering rains
With hail and gusts and thunder
But these are meant to beckon me
To Your wings to pull me under

For it's in the darkness of the storm
My grip's most apt to tighten
And when my heart beats next to Yours
All earthly burdens lighten
Do I have a tongue,
Can I speak too?
In this strange world,
Am I a human too?

Do I have a heart,
Can I live too?
In this strange land,
Am I alive too?

In the midst of Oblivion,
I search my visions,
I once used to dream,
As a young teenager,
In Sea of Paro s
I try to remember,
The faces of people
I had once lived with
Father, mother, brother
Of all those people
I had once called family.

I came here as girl,
I am shared in the family,
I born plenty children,
I am sold and re-sold
In and around
To any men who
Can afford to buy,
I am kept but
Seldom married,
Each street have
it's own paro,
They all have
But the same story.

After some years
I cease to exist,
For the people
Who bought me
I am an old cattle
Who no longer
give them pleasure,
I am now a burden
A liability soon
To be shedded..

They don't throw
me though,
They leave me alone
In a small room,
I have become a mother
Of a girl or two
I have new family
But no identity
fits me ever,
When I come here
I became a Paro,
When my times up
I die a Paro!!

Paro is short for
Pardesi, a foreigner,
I am the girl
Bought for men
From another land
Into there land,
To born son's
For there motherland.

This is ordeal of
A soul that once lived,
Now it's just a body
With no role,
No fiction this
It's a real story
A reality of some
Distant land !!

That land for you
Is so very strange
Where eight young man
**** a pregnant goat!
And the strangest
thing is they
go away and
Roam scot free..!!

Soon the elders in the village
Will have a big meet,
They will give compensation
To the owner of the goat,
And free from the sin
There precious young boys
The martyred goat
Will also have new name,
And so it will soon
Be christened to
A new species of
"Paro"-
a first of it's kind
A Welcome from
an animal world!!

And so I ask again
Do I really exist?
What form of life
Do I have here?
In this strange land
Are they human too??
Does even a little atleast
A thing called
Humanity exist???

Sparkle in Wisdom.
1/8/2018.
https://www.theguardian.com/global-development/2018/mar/07/india-girls-women-trafficked-brides-******-domestic-slavery

Wrote this poem after reading this article.
Logan Robertson Jul 2018
A black crow's darting eyes
spans the wheat field
and an orange pumpkin patch.
She sees
tall grasses of brown
seedlings,
bristling in the wind,
soon to be bushels of grain
and a pumpkin pie that she never savored.
She sits, atop her tree perch,
at times warm and storybook,
hidden by tree branches,
and at times out of harm's way
and infamy.
Her friends, the sun, and clouds in concert,
dancing along.
Her other friends bring alms and smiles.
Life is so good at times.
Down the road sits a mill
next to a waterfall
and a cabin,
with reindeer horns
hanging above the doorway.
She is in her element, happy,
carrying for her nestlings.
Back and forth her parental eyes dart
the hilly fields, a smoked filled chimney, and her babies,
all crawling with sustenance and awe.
Storybook.
A mother feeding a worm to her baby.
Storybook.
Off to her side is not a blind eye
watching her,
scary stick figures of
straw tucked under red shirts and hats,
with a tied tinfoil strips dotting
her eyes and tease.
Scarecrows, cease.
At times life is good nature, hand in hand,
knock on wood.
If only life could be circumspect.
Than darkness filling the light
and a stutter of life.
For a sad page is turned,
pause
... tears.
Then, feathers fall.
Hers.
The sound of a thud.
Silence and tears of her friend's swelling.
A baby's cry, missing her mother.
More orphaned tears.
Who would be this despicable?
On that rogue day.
A kick of a donkey,
an ***,
one bad rock on her path,
breaks the air,
as three little elementary kids were walking along
to school.
One, me, with a rock in his hand,
taking aim at her perch
and the death of the black crow's pages.
I confess.
... Bless me, Father, for I have sinned
it has been fifty years since
my last confession ...
a Tom Sawyer-like childhood gone worse.
I repent.
Some fifty years later I think of those first cairns,
including stealing the reindeer horns and milling
my brother and sister's storybook.
Waterfalls
stream tears, and a sorry boat
rowed downstream
sadly
thereafter.

Logan Robertson

7/25/2018
I will go where the swallows go,
following orange sunsets and
amber wings.
I will search for bottled letters,
written in the dawn of future,
for something more than bottomless worry.
I will go where the swallows go,
sleeping in the marshes' hollow,
I only hope for tomorrow.
My lungs may burst as I cover my nose and mouth,
I give my strength to the waters now.
With its will; I could too, learn to fly.
I will go where the swallows go,
because where they lead, I do not
know, but it's something better than here;
a being to cease my
fear--
Swallows are a meaning of love/hope
All feedback is welcome and appreciated
ConnectHook Apr 7
If you could only let it drop
we would not need to bear it:
that holy hoity-toity
illiberal burden you announce
from where you wear it.

Would you then be able to live
with your fellow citizens:
fellow toilers in rhyme
buying gluten-free time
at Whole Foods
US; your citizen-neighbors
online cloud of witnesses
Looking at used Subarus
and paying our dues
with you
at the dealership.

Could you only see
through deplorable eyes
and love with a deplorable heart
you would appreciate the art
of the real deal,
loose the seal
of your own apocalypse;
let love reveal
landscapes your pride
has kept hidden for too long.

If you could let your hatred drop,
Slough off the smug and the sneer
If you could stop
signaling to your own
long enough to know REAL diversity, and live
perhaps you’d give
a thought to your own fallibility
lost in a forest of woulds, failing to see
Your neighbor’s Tree of Life. . .
But you are busy perfecting strife,
screaming Timber!
before the axe has even been laid
at the root of your poetry.

If you knew, as the rest of us
how often you have shouted thus
you could understand why
we tend to ignore your warning cry.

Perhaps it could be feasible
to stop blaming
that orange source of all unreasonable
derangement, cease from naming
your neurotic projections
as they are unscrewed
to reveal another inside:
crazed conspiratorial Russian doll
of your own
discredited obsessive offended perpetual alarm.
PROMPT #6: write a poem that emphasizes the power of “if,”
of the woulds and coulds and shoulds of the world.
Cné Feb 2018
4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it  will pass away.*
~ **1 Corinthians 13:4-8
Happy Valentines Day! ❤️
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
Even if love is never returned,
never even received,
it is never in vain
for love never fails

To love someone
though you mean nothing to them
may seem too cruel a burden
for the heart to bear

But the only thing worse
than not being loved
is to not love

And so the greatest tragedy
of love spurned or lost
would be to stop loving

For to cease loving
that which causes us pain
would be to let the pain win

But for as long as we love,
really love with Christ's own heart,
no matter what else happens
we win

Love without pain
remains unproven
and therefore is meaningless

But love through pain invokes
nothing less than the miraculous
and inspires even the incredulous

Only continued love
can redeem the pain of loving
and only a Perfect Love
can heal love's scalding wound
~~~
Sometimes the only way left to love someone is to forgive them and let them go while still hoping and praying for their very best.

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."  1 Corinthians 13:1-8a

"And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him."  - 1 John 4:16
ryn Sep 2014
Elephant in the room*, shoo the hell away!
Don't stick around; I wish you wouldn't stay

Don't mess with my head, inciting all I feel
I don't need you here, I want to heal

Stop blaring in my ears, your noxious lies
I'm sick to the stomach with my pathetic cries

Resist flapping your gigantic ears
They simply just fan the rage in my tears

Quit blocking my view with your sheer enormity
Get out of my thoughts so better I could see

Halt your incessant skin rubbing against my sores
Chafing me raw on top of my existing scores

Pull out your pointy tusks, they poke and jab
I'm bent in many places; I don't need more stabs

Take your infernal rear out of my face!
I'm self-destructing, counting up the days

Cease your retaliation, leave with no protest
Go find and sit yourself in someone else's nest

Drop your intentions to stomp me broken
I'm mangled enough; almost misshapen

End this mindless rampage...please
Let me iron myself straight, in peace...

Dear elephant, have you gone?
Thank you for the blight of my time, you've spawned
haley Oct 2017
The trail of a wedding dress
The flower girl holds with tiny fingers
Clutches

We too hold the endless stain of blood
On white t-shirts
On nights that scatter blue trees over black heart
Alight by shooting stars
The mother tells her child
Unwilling to unlock the truth

The truth
The truth those stars
Don't grant your wishes
They grab them
With scarred scratching hands.
Alight,

The damp stitches in the soil
Cemetery symmetrical to hospital
Those shooting stars circling
Like a vulture
Speeds towards dead carcasses
Still, the murdering star will not cease

To break bones
That have already broken
To take lives
That have already been taken
To burn
What is already charred

Today
It smells like not your favorite food for dinner
It smells like having to do your math homework
It smells like burning books
It smells like gnawing on your own skin for feast
It sounds like tired, howling machines
Spurring and sputtering, never-ending their onwards trek

Swallowing distances and with it, nameless faces
Nameless places
For nothing has gone without the occulent scratching hands taking hold

Today the earthquakes of death
Don't make the land shake anymore
For it has learned to cope
With the desolate cemeteries filled with mute bones

Today burns like gasoline
Looks like intestines decorating destroyed doors
Today it rains curdled crimson

Tell me shooting star
If the child liked  jam on his toast
Did he snore?
Did he like math? Or english?
Shooting star doesn't know and neither the bombs.

As bodies fall from trees
like rotten plums.

The world was born in blood
And has not ceased to suckle its wounds
Endless blood thirst, Endless war
But not endless skin to bleed
lX0st Mar 2015
Doctors say
Once you reach the age of maturity
You will cease to grow;
But how does that explain
The heights that I reach,
The expansion of my heart,
Or the width of my smile
When I'm wrapped in your arms?
It doesn't.
It is your love.
chrissy who Nov 2012
There are certain times
Like when I’m sitting up
In the wee hours of the morning
With tears running silently down my face;
Or when I’m sitting at dinner,
But I’m not really at dinner
That I just…
Need you.
I need to know you’re there.
I need the warmth of your arm,
You sitting next to me.
I need to know I’m not alone.
It’s times like these
That I want to call you.
Hear your voice
Hear you pick up the phone.
Hear that it really is that easy.
But I know that I can’t.
You wouldn’t pick up.
The line would go dead.
For me anyway.
The lightning bugs outside my window
Would cease flickering their tails,
The sky would slowly turn
It’s breathtakingly beautiful rose,
The world would awaken
The symphony would begin
And still
The phone
Would ring.
dan d Apr 2013
We're all as dead,
as burned out,
as the stars that shine
above our heads.

We may shine as bright
and as blinding
as the sun
before we die.

Yet mere points are we,
in time and in space,
and the sum of all of us
is not enough
to illuminate the darkness,
the ever-growing darkness.

Not all shall die
and cease to shine
before their light
has reached our eyes.

But the night sky glows
with faded echoes
from long ago
weary from their journeys.

And so to shall we,
in time and in space,
traverse infinity
merely hoping
to illuminate the darkness,
the ever-growing darkness.
Are you out there my Friend.? ? Somewhere The Wind is blowing..? Where your footprints are gone as soon as left. No one to know. No one Knowing.?
       Are you in the Wind? ? A voice, distant, lost in the swirl of snow and Autumn leaves.? Your way Home...unknown.
       The next step taken, but down what path.? Will it lead through this wood, or wander Forever this Dismal forest of Bramble and Thorn?
    Crows with eyes bright. No shelter in sight. No sheltering insight.
Plucking at your at your sleeves and dress. Catching your skin, bleeding you like a priest with a fleem. Leaving you wounded and hurt., weary and wary.
       If you stand still but a moment., cease your struggling, stumbling and listen. you'll hear my voice.
On the Wind
Calling you Home.
Safe within the walls and warmth of my arms.
Mike Virgl Jun 2017
I think everyone dies
I truly do
Every time they close their eyes
They remain motionless for hours
Until they are revived

Do you disagree?
Clearly you do
Care to show me your proof
So that it may sway me
To a more accepted pasture


"Well what of their vitality?"
"They still move and shiver"
"And they breathe as if alive"
"Surely if something died"
"Their movement would cease"

Yes, their heart beats, and yes, they awaken
But I truly think they, themselves, leave

Why do I arrive at this?
You mean how,
Through a simple observation
I suppose it, at least, to me
It began like this:

When blackest blanket with yellow dots encircled
The sky and the heavens above
I found myself watched and groped by the air
For someone was watching me
When nobody was there.
My Friend said to make my poem flow more instead of rhyme I disagree but here you go I attempted it.
Sara Kellie May 2018
And in the silence that's often deafening, I hear my heart that still beats.
Reminding me of more pain to come, disguised as truths we are their lies.
After all these years there's no surprise.
Whispered softly into your ears, we are the makers of salty tears.
One day your heart, cold, blue and torn will cease to beat, when death is born.
Life's light will fade for one last time, up through the clouds your soul will climb.
A breeze from the graveyard whispers death but that's ok, I hold its hand.
A smile in the dark I understand, the effort you've shown, this was all planned.
Congratulations to you, my life is through.
Tired, so tired. Wondering if I have the right number. Waiting for it to be called.
Bison Feb 2016
It feels I've been sleeping for far too long.
It's time to cease this dreaming.
It's time to wake up.
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