"chases" poems
She weeps not for the shore
As distance creates a shadow
She embraces the current
Becoming the wave
And gently pushes her sea home
She chases not the sun
As the day is put to rest
She is the moonlight
That cradles the stars
Tightly to her *******
She yearns not
Her pain-streaked tears
That fall below her feet
She is the soil beneath her toes
Her pain now colors the tree
She worries not
The flowers' bloom
Or the leaves that fall like rain
She is the wind
That will kiss the ground
And sweep it all away
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 3:32 PM UTC
She loves me she loves me not
I love her but she loves me not
She has placed my feeling into a bind
I think I deserve it the way I played with her mind
I love her but something made me stop
I became infatuated with another and I think I really love her or maybe not
We have an idea of what love is
We're 2 young souls who barely even knows
Though we are chasing every little thing we see
Like pups who chases after bees not knowing these bees will sting
We play together and lay together
We play fight and we bite
But
Here comes something better they popped into our sight
Now off with something better we didn't try to fight
I love her she loves me not!
Now she loves me and and now I love her not
Puppy love last forever but it really does not.
-V.v.V. Ds
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 6:18 PM UTC
The Sun is in love.
The Moon is in love.
But what they have is a forbidden love.
The Sun chases the Moon.
The Moon chases the Sun.
But a force greater than that forbids their love.
They will never reach each other,
No matter how hard they try.
A Romeo and Juliet story, once again.
They know their bond won't last very long
Because the Sun and the Moon have a forbidden love.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC
There is nothing more unsettling
than a teenage Christmas.
The coming of age
when adults find their inner child again
and you have to try and get rid of yours.
11 is fine.
Part of you still believes Santa put the presents under tree.
12 is also okay,
just a little less pixie dust stirs in the stomach on Christmas Eve.
13, 14 and 15 are tricky.
You don't want to look babyish by getting too excited,
so you shrug it off and ask 'Santa' for a mobile phone,
a laptop,
a TV,
until by 15
you ask for the most 'grown up' present of all.
"I just want money."
The words burn your lips and tongue like acid,
a yearning for the sensation of a gift you can unwrap
tugging in your rib cage.
You can't buy that.
16, 17 and 18 are Christmases tinged with nostalgia.
Little ghosts of the younger you run down the stairs on Christmas morning,
feet clad in slippers and Power Rangers pjyamas askew,
whilst you follow in procession,
almost a funeral.
It's not that you don't like Christmas.
It's not that you don't love your family.
It's not that you don't feel a fire light in your belly when you bite into a mince pie,
it's not that the battered Christmas videos your family replay each year don't still make you smile,
it's not even that you've gotten too old for it all.
Have you?
Slippers and tiny fists batter against advent calender doors,
begging you to open them.
When you're 19 you do.
You let them out and let them rush to rip open their presents under the tree.
You let them eat their selection box first before dinner.
You let them cry when the Snowman melts
and you let them laugh and not mock heave when your father chases your mother with mistletoe.
You let the ghosts become holograms you can play in your mind like a projector and slides,
no longer a need to leave holly by their graves
but a chance to remember and smile.
You let them be happy.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 10:08 AM UTC
Breathe here, stare there
Gorgeous people everywhere
Mind chases, heart races
Breath-taking men with briefcases
Black suits and coloured ties
Witty minds with pretty eyes
Pulled up socks, polished shoes
Ink pens, all blues
Strong souls, real men
Captive in a cemented den
Pick one or pick seven
All good as heaven
Hard working, on time
Romantic talks with wine
One sings the other cooks
Charming words, ***** looks
Unexpected, unsure
My boss makes me lure
His Lamborghini, his yacht
Finest of the lot
His dimples, his hair
His tantrums I can bear
Surprise gifts from his side
Strong feelings, stronger vibe
Look here, look there
Gorgeous men everywhere
Single girls form a line
Take them all, boss is mine.
-Zainab Attari
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 8:22 AM UTC
*The dark sets in
Her mind is calm,
She sheds the skin
Of social harm.
Her heart beats slow
Then picks up the pace,
No longer below,
Peculiar grace.
A falling crown
But safer now,
A crippled heart,
But not to drown.
No more cries
No tears of pain,
Only joy
And wild rain.
She shuts her eyes
And breaks away
From all the lies,
A diamond ray.
No more burning
In her soul,
No more hurting,
Lips unsewn.
A beautiful aura
Of dark and light,
The night will fade
Into the bright.
Her heart lights up
With ecstasy,
Happy, although
A tragic story.
The true meaning
Of being sad,
Lips grinning,
But not glad.
A peek of sun rays
Through the curtain,
A blinding haze,
A painful burden.
She doesn't want
The happy to end,
But in the daylight
She has to bend.
Monstrous faces
Without a smile,
Hunger that chases
Till the last dime.
The day drags on,
A hurting stab,
Her life is a storm
Without a God.
No rainbow or sunshine
In the light,
But colours so vivid
Through the night.*
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
Upon the cardamom hills, mountain goats,
ace acrobats, above the high rocks gaily prance,
I fell in love with the coy mountain mist, silvery dense
transforming each second, her wizardry in display,
her white cloak was spread above green tea gardens.
she sprung down in a hurry to meet me, excited
how soothing is her soft caresses, impassioned kiss
from the does she has learned a lot I can very well gather,
the fear and the flight to keep danger at arm's length,
purple sun, was curiously peeping down from the hills,
mountain mist pulling spicy cardamom scent around her
whispered to me, "Don't tell any one I am here
before cruel sun chases me out of the hills, let me
hide and play with the little ones of mountain goats
in the cardamom valley where he can never reach"
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 8:58 AM UTC
Two fine films: The Lost City and Blood Diamond.
I joined Blood Diamond during a village massacre
and said to my wife A gun in every home.
Those devils would think twice
before razing the village and seizing the boys.
A well-regulated militia.
The local militia the most interesting moment
in a strong film with motive (economic, emotional), action (chases,
fights) and a **** sexless love story.
Use of violence by the local militia for a limited purpose: protect the
community, the young
from the janjaweed. The crop from the ****
Limited scope and defensive posture
but armed and coordinated, cooperative, the men (and the women)
side by side.
Warriors at the gate, you will not run, you will not bargain.
Just violence = limited scope, defensive posture.
Great music. Cuba, Africa.
The Lost City, when the communists tell the club owner under threat
of violence
No saxophones in the band. The saxophone!
Invented by a Belgian--Look what the Belgians are doing in the
Congo!
When the state's violence is turned against the citizenry
for non-violent acts.
This quiet neighborhood, July,
undergirded by violence, force. That's a given--
any farmer, custodian, EMT will tell you that.
Without just violence
Gandhi's scope, and King's, might be vanishingly limited,
negligible (but not non-existent)?
Regarding King
the matter is simple -- he was non-violent but dependent upon
federal force to counter the South's violence.
No doubt without the larger force, the non-violent would be
overwhelmed by southern violence.
Here, non-violence was a tactic, not an ethic.
Gandhi, however, had no violent partner to protect him from the
British. Or did he?
1. There was the potential violence of the population, which Gandhi
restrained but could release which the British feared, and
2. It was the restrained (limited scope) violence of the British that
allowed Gandhi to exist rather than be extinguished--this restraint
was a (British) cultural imperative (limited scope) as well as
emanating from Britain's view of India as a protectorate and
valued citizen of the United Kingdom (defensive posture).
What about violence or threat of violence to compel compliance with
community
as in mortgage foreclosure, driving without license, drug possession.
Perhaps it is necessary violence to maintain orderly commerce, the
common space, and preempt bad behaviors associated with
otherwise neutral, private acts.
The defensive posture is the common good; the limited scope is
forgoing deadly force.
But the citizen, too, must maintain a disciplined, armed non-violence,
in case the state (the janjaweed) engages in an unjust, autoimmune
violence.
Hence, a gun in every home.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
I have a crush-no wait it's a liking
I do not know him in reality
Only through his writing
He seems to know his way with words
Which makes me wonder about his love
notes that must flow with admiration towards the girl he chases
An unimaginable distance separates us
Not only in miles but in understanding
He might be a lovely poet
But his lack of comprehension makes me worry
I have made a fool out of myself
In talking to him I have missed the obvious
His thoughts are written mysteriously and beautifully
But in his mind, I do not exist
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 1:47 AM UTC
Love trusts, lust twists
Love rains, lust drains
Love reaches, lust catches
Love couples, lust combines
Love retains, lust detains
Love relies, lust relays
Love cares, lust caresses
Love binds, lust blinds
Love floats, lust flees
Love belongs, lust longs
Love ascends, lust descends
Love fames, lust defames
Love creates, lust recreates
Love commands, lust demands
Love chooses, lust chases
Love boosts, lust boasts
Love at heart
Lust in mind
Love in lust is good
Lust in love is better
Love likes privacy
Lust looks for piracy
Love opens lust
Lust closes love
Love is slow, lust is fast
Love is steady and stable
Lust is mobile and fragile
Love is reliable, lust is liable
Love is long, lust is short
Love is homogeneous
Lust is heterogeneous
Love is defensive
Lust is offensive
Love is precious
Lust is pernicious
Love is supportive
Lust is supplementary
Love is refined
Lust is defined
Love betters life
Lust batters it.
Love has character
Lust has conduct
Love wins over
Lust weans out
Love combines
Lust divides
Love is cool
Lust is crazy
Love is peaceful
Lust is pleasant
Love is wholesome
Lust is piecemeal
Lust comes first
Love becomes best
Love is progressive
Lust is aggressive
Lust laminates
Love illuminates
Love is slow n steady
Lust is hasty n nasty
Love is dense, lust is tense
Lust is conditioned,
Love is air-conditioned
Lust is lovely to begin with
Love is lustrous to end up
Love heals, lust wounds
Love owns, lust disowns
Love is onus, lust is onerous
Love is basic, lust is allowance
Love conforms, lust confuses
Love binds, lust blinds
Be aware of love
Beware of lust
That comes like
wolf in sheep’s clothing
Let the fair blend
of love and lust
rule the roost
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 5:15 AM UTC
*sunset, sunrise hikes ~
Trillium on Blood mountain ~
true love song blooms
yogasutra song
hiking appalachee trails
with two i love
Rhodedendrons clap,
lush applause to Springer's call--
water in the sky
a tuskless walrus
chases me up the ladder--
crowds smile through glass*
.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
Running from that which chases,
Running from that which kills.
Hiding because there is no other option left.
Having a feeling burning, deep inside of my soul.
Not realizing what it is, not caring anymore,
Knowing only that it drives the body to run more and more.
To feel the touch that death will bring.
Driven on by only one little thing
that is called simply- FEAR.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
(To my sisters and brother)
I will always miss …
Our sunset ending quarrels
Our never-ending teases
Christmas’ shared carols
Warm hugs
Through sweet gazes
The sarcastic smiling faces
The growing-up races
Revenge taking chases
Greed over goodies to be hidden
In unpredictable places
And I will always miss …
Competitions and crazy bets
Singing hilarious duets
Of made-up songs in the shower
This innocence
Of our childish humor
Screamed from a room to another
That art of tricking eachother
To cleverly stay in control
Or wrestling over the remote control
And I will always miss …
Decades of shared history
Amplified joy and divided misery
Bursts of laughter on old tapes
Creatively imagined games
Of whirlpools in drapes
And goalkeeper leaps
Random costume parties
Daily role-play stories
Sega sagas from dusk to dawn
Alliances and conspiracies
Sisters, my lovely sisters
Wise, you have become
Loving wives, caring mothers
Soon, you will become
Make sure your kids relive
What we used to live
Their uncle will make you proud
Just like you fill him with pride
Brother, dear brother
I secretly looked up to you
As I grew older
I kept resembling you
It doesn’t matter
If you’re a little far
Brotherhood’s a matter
Of unbreakable bond
And I will always admire, respect, love and cherish …
Every single one of you
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
She chases homeostasis,
with assorted frantic faces.
She is home when her heart races
as she desperate fills the spaces.
Replaces
missing graces
with far places
dreamed in cases;
displaces
taken paces,
just retraces
lost embraces.
Baseless
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
I have found my Khal
The Moon of my life
My Sun and Stars
I will love him until the end of time
until the sun rises in the west
and sets in the east
He chases away the darkness
that is my feral mind
He brings in the light
He is the warrior who won my heart
he dared to love a frightened girl
and Helped bring out the strength in me
He reminds me of my strength
and holds me when I fall apart
Hand in Hand together we can make it through anything
He means the world to me
Without him near I feel incomplete
like part of me is missing
I cant wait to see what our future has in store
but for now lets take it one step at a time
And cherish our time together
*I love you
My Khal
The Moon of my life*
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
Deplorable and horrible;
Despicable, abhor-able;
It reiterates, evaluates,
Desiccates, and exacerbates . . .
It never fails, to fall too short,
But always fails as a support . . .
In an attempt to be freed, it misleads to bad deeds
And creates a hunger -- vacuous,
Yet, impossible to feed.
It chases the light away,
And it longs to be alone.
So I am so ashamed to say,
That in my skull,
It found its home.
So I'll fight and fight against it,
. . . But I'll always lose the battle.
It seems that even as I trudge ahead,
That somehow I still straggle.
It is the artist, I am the instrument.
Like a light bulb to its filament.
Every day I'm at the bottom,
Forced to climb back up the hill again.
But I think the day has come . . .
When I've finally stopped walking.
I've reached a door that can’t be opened,
And decided to stop knocking . . .
It's me and who I've become;
It's my actions and what I've done . . .
So, as much as I despise it,
It seems my brain, and I, are one.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
When the tale of the kite wraps itself around your neck,
And yet continues to fly, freely
You should now know that freedom to one comes at a cost to the other.
But you must wonder, as Jupiter and Zeus watch this storm,
that leaves nothing more than dust in their eyes;
It's funny how kites are a symbol of freedom when they are actually tied to a glass-coated cotton string.
The same cotton, that another boy who looks directly into your eyes could have worn.
It's funny how when one side of the coin is painted in platinum
and the other side struggles to know whether it's still a coin with value as it is being corroded.
Yes, they were one coin. Once.
The tulip blooms fade before the foliage dies,
every flower that dies is not reborn
But on the land it does, is.
When the flower is no more,
the green stem still remains.
But did the flower die from the wasp
that stung its nectar and perhaps even the pollen
or did it die from the feet that stepped upon
because they were inside the duststorm that disallows them to look at the ground.
Do all flowers that die are reborn?
How many flowers can one wasp even sting?
How many times can you stomp over one flower until it has no petals but only your footprints?
As you wonder,
The tail of the kite has been detached from its throne,
You look, as you wonder, if this is freedom or that was.
And another Hassan chases it yet again.
Aug 16, 2021
Aug 16, 2021 at 3:16 PM UTC
“Never trust a ginger”
she sings giggling looking at the red head next to me.
Her song is a pretty good representation of our friendship.
Throw in a ***** bump and some dorky dance moves
oh yea
that’s the definition of our friendship.
Laughing and dying at things no one else gets
actions no one else see’s
and mouthed words no one else understands.
That’s just a little inside view of our “love”.
“Never kiss a ginger”
It’s a little late for that don’t ya think
blackberry tea and coffee making her laugh till she dies.
Hysterics that break her down till she’s on the floor rolling
rolling down a hill and being so dizzy she can’t get up.
Oh but she’s a monster that chases you around
trying to tackle you to the ground.
Falling off the playground rail and hitting her head
just like in our story
so she lays there laughing hysterically.
All I can do is shake my head
“Never kiss a ginger…twice”
yea that’s a little better.
he won’t be telling my slightly stunned, amazed face its cute again.
The face we later joked about
mouth dropped to the floor
eyes wide.
Like did that seriously just happen.
Our dumb and quirky reactions to everything
exaggerated, excited yeses
and happy little dances.
"Never date a ginger”
I’m not nor have I ever…
where do you get these thoughts that run through your head?
Ok I can’t say much
my mind wanders to the strangest places
and leads us to the greatest conversations.
Like cops on bikes with prisoners in baskets
leading to Mortal Instruments characters all riding one bike.
I’ve no idea where our minds get these strange ideas and imaginings.
“Never love a ginger”
I never said I love him
don’t let your mind wander
dangerous things happen when our minds wander
anywhere from dinosaurs ruling the world to death
and the things in between are sometimes worse to think about
“Never like a ginger”
OI!
with this again
I don’t I promise there’s nothing there
now please shut up.
Yes, yes I love you now please don’t attack my legs again
I really don’t feel like falling on the floor
it’s not very appealing.
Uh-oh
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
When education was restricted
They ran to religion
When solace was stripped away
They ran to martyrdom
Loved ones fell
Hated ones rose
As hearts sank
To the depths of the maelstrom
Fueled by the unholy trinity
Value, vindication, and violence
Bombs decimate Afghan villages
With the precision
Of a needle hitting a vein
And as casually
As a contractor putting a dollar in his pocket
The rubble of their town
Lost in a mist of dust
The rubble of their minds
Lost in a mist of vengeance
The rabid dog chases the subjugated raccoon
The raccoon discovers a sacred hole and hides in it
The predator attempts to encroach the void
The raccoon quivers in it's sanctuary shelter
Finding relief as the hound becomes stuck
And laughs as the infected beast starves to death
But ecstasy turns to terror
As the raccoon realizes it's only way out of this hole
Is being blocked by the gargantuan corpse
Terror turns to sorrow
As the raccoon starves to death
Alone
In the dark
It's holy land now hell
For once it had protected the raccoon from unbridled rabies
But since the hound's death
It's Cerberus size obstructs all progression
Holes become graves
And prey are left to pray
For someone to drop a bomb and clear a path
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 4:45 AM UTC
Seaweed, steamy
piled high
on baked sand.
Fried flesh with
vacant smiles
attracting flies.
Seagulls scream
as dog chases ball.
Jul 24, 2010
Jul 24, 2010 at 10:50 AM UTC
I feel mean and nasty.
I cuss out everyone I talk to behind their backs, saying
'That asshole!'
Or,
'What a pussy!'
For no reason but that the caffeine wears me thin.
My only child-friend is Bubba the dog, who gives me those eyes,
'I've never tried watermelon before, please Jilly can I try it!?'
And, of course I say yes.
Dogs love you even when their food comes late.
He's a pit bull. I feel someone of importance when I walk down the street with him, you know,
'Move it, coming through with my friend the tan pitbull with the sad eyes! We don't have all day! We have to eat watermelon!'
He lays in the sun and I think of things.
'Why is he afraid of water?
Why does he step so daintily over obstructions in his path?
What does he really think of those
cats he chases...does he want them to sit down and eat watermelon with us?'
I want someone to eat watermelon with us.
Danny is at work, and the sun is high in the powder blue backdrop it calls home.
We want a watermelon friend.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
TEACHING TIMOTHY TO READ
( for Maureen )
She is teaching Timothy
to read
even though she
can't read herself.
Tongue firmly in cheek
she traces the words
with a tiny fingertip
that knows the story
off by heart she
could read it in the dark.
She is "pretending reading."
She has my every nuance and pause
by rote
making great efforts
to teach Timothy
the puppy
but Timothy the puppy
is more interested in
the un-thrown stick.
Timothy the puppy thinks this reading lark is
strictly for the humans.
"Once..." she begins
in a Fairy Tale-ish voice.
Timothy the puppy
barks in acknowledgement.
"Throwthestickthrowthestick!"
Timothy the Puppy's mind thinks.
"...upon a time
a long long time
...ago!"
Timothy the puppy looks
adoringly at his little mistress
with such an immensity of love and
licks her finger as it
travels over the words
the story's journey.
"Oh you..!" she scolds
"...are not even paying attention!"
"It's no good...I give up!"
she frowns at the unhappy creature
throwing the book away
in a prissy hissy fit.
Timothy the puppy
full of the joys of
a dog's life
( it's the only life he knows )
chases the fluttering pages
that fly like an exotic bird
brings Hans Christian Anderson back
his mouth full of words.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 5:42 PM UTC
This life
It is too simple
Too plain For a person like me
A person who seeks experiences
Someone who chases her dreams
I wonder what it would feel like
To dive in crystal clear water
Or watch a beautiful landscape
To jump from an airplane
And feel the adrenaline rush through my veins
To sing with the crowd at a concert
And dance the night away
To sit by the bonefire
Hearing the sound of the crashing waves
To gaze at the stars in an open field
Or gaze at the northern lights
To get lost in a big city
To experience both safty and fright
To simply live
In a world that is much bigger than the walls of my room
Bigger than my empty passport
Bigger than this simple life I lead
In which I could only experience these things
Through a dream.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 3:42 PM UTC
Autumn hill gather surplus shine
Fly bird chase before companion.
Colour green moment bright,
Sunset mist no fixed place.
The autumn hill gathers remaining light,
A flying bird chases its companion before.
The green colour is momentarily bright,
Sunset mist has no fixed place.
4.4k
(And I've been picking dandelions)
The rush of wind chases a wayward cloud
Over the foliage's luscious green mounds
It billows on its good fortune allowed
Feeding flowers leave stock's
roots underground
Petals bloom; centered bud's pollinations
The sun burdens and caresses at once
The bumble lost its edge to pollutants
Overcome in the tepid meadows grace
The seasons start to grow long and narrow
Encompassing the changing of our times
within their altering breadths; to and fro
It's shown upon the rocks face's in tides
She's beauty, ruffling with sents of sweet dew
And in her pluck, spring has become renewed
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 8:44 PM UTC