Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
TheRhymeRenegade Jul 2018
I guess it is a comfort
where I'm supposed to be
I always wanted a forever
and the pain it follows me
If I can't have it one way
I can always have another
And I can share with others
And be sure to pull them under

Making sure they're next to me
Whether physical or memory
I am not too good to beg
for accessory

As I live and breathe
I wear it all upon my sleeve
I put my insides on display
slice and cut and cleave
My very own defense
against my emptiness
I'm broken but I'm open
and full of tenderness

I just entertained a fantasy
and set that thing on repeat
My eyes started to water
at all the things you said to me
I fed you all your lines
and gave you cues and clues
only for it all to leave me lost and so confused
I rip out all the pages
from that day and back
so I don't have to focus
on everything I lacked

Making sure they're next to me
Whether physical or memory
I am not too good to beg
for accessory

As I live and breathe
I wear it all upon my sleeve
I put my insides on display
slice and cut and cleave
My very own defense
against my emptiness
I'm broken but I'm open
and full of tenderness

I hope you believe me but I have nothing to prove
I hope you are certain in your next move
I hope that I feel so good to you
I hope that I feel so good to you

Making sure they're next to me
Whether physical or memory
I am not too good to beg
for accessory

As I live and breathe
I wear it all upon my sleeve
I put my insides on display
slice and cut and cleave
My very own defense
against my emptiness
I'm broken but I'm open
and full of tenderness

I hope you believe me but I have nothing to prove
I hope you are certain in your next move
I hope that I feel so good to you
I hope that I feel so good to you
Do I feel good too?
Do I feel good too?
Do I feel good too?
OCD
I drew the second third line
A first fourth one is on deck
Knew I inked them finely fine
Still, I go check and recheck

Marvelously filleted corners
Cleave an unsettling sound
Put compass back on paper
Just to make sure it's round

Anxiety was bound to happen
To the fifth first line I go back
Again, I sharpen and sharpen
But I give up, made it all black

Perfection is not my liberty
But a numb skin I wish to flay
Half of my mind seeks symmetry
Yet the other  half  
                                 is    in
                                          disarray
ELK Mar 16
I catch a glimpse of myself
in everything
a miniscule glimmer
a tinkling whisper that floats into
my consciousness
I see it in wild beasts
who flash a feral grin
I see it in the wind
as it tears across the trees
It is even in the sun
when it folds into the horizon
"Like calls to like"
Some say
and believe it to be true
Clenched fists
choked laughs
trembling lips
A ravaged piece of me contracts
at the aching heart I know
is within that beautiful exterior
Perhaps, deep down, our soul is sewn
of the same material
Perhaps there is a single stitch
that binds us together
And all it takes is a single
snip
to cleave it in two.

-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
What brings us together?
What tears us apart?
touka Nov 2018
the first time I saw Algernon
I was sure, God existed,
but He'd looked away for a second too long
and Algernon was bred, born in that shadow
of the Lord's lashes

the first time I saw Algernon,
the world felt wider
and it all lead to his hands
every road outstretched to meet his feet

Algernon made my life feel precarious,
like it'd topple
delicate as a tightrope of cornsilk
and he tugged on it as so

the first time I saw Algernon,
his eyes bore into me
chipped away at me
like patient cleave to reluctant marble

if a feeling could be a man,
summarily, he was a wrenching kind of curiosity
just like when I'd have that dangerous appetite
to flip to the final page of the book I'd only just begun,
far too ahead of myself
just to see
pore over those unexpected words
though I knew it would only be trouble

the trouble with trouble
is that I am, in some sick way,
eager to see it

the trouble with Algernon was
he kept wise
and kept me none the wiser

he looked on me as a child would a bird with a broken wing
morbidly
I cannot help you, but for the sake
of my yet untainted conscience,
I will convince myself I can
and let you die somewhere I can see
like the final page

and the cats tongue I ended up on
the band around my finger
the bite that never lost its teeth

the first time I saw Algernon,
it was a repetition of motion
some calculated corrosion

like gnashing fang
and shadow
and outstretching road
and patient cleave

and he was much,
too much

like me
Steve Page Sep 7
Before you take up your blade, Sharon
who do you see?
Will you be cutting to heal
or incising to free
some carefully hidden,
some up-til-now unbidden me?

When you take up your blade
and test the fresh edge
do you have an image of a me
fixed in your head?
Can you see in your mind
a kinda-me roughly out sketched?

When you make your first cut
do you have a clear vision
of what I'll reveal
have you made your decision
as you press down and carefully cleave
with loving conceiving precision?

When you lay your blade down
do you see I've appeared?
Do you know I'm complete
when the excess is cleared?
Or when you sleep do you wonder
whether there's a less of a me
maybe a more of a me
silently waiting here?
You need to see Sharon Walter's art to fully understand this.  She cuts away at images to reveal something new.  Quite remarkable.
www.londonartist1.com
How
many
nights
did I
lower
myself
into the
well of
sleep
unwilling,
like a
sacrifice,
my
dreams
caught
in the
net of
morning?

How
many
nights
did I
chase
sleep
but fall
into
the nest
of insomnia?

Now
I know
the night
front
to back;
but
I am
more
interested
in you,

& the
empire
of dreams
that is
gifted
to you.

What
parades
through
your
drowsy
pavilion?

What
constellations
& what
wilding,
benighted
tangos?

What
incandescence
does your
brain
gather
in those
starry,
wheeling
hours?

I will
sleep
now,
& meet
you
in the
enchanted
ether
that
seethes
between us,

joining
your
wild
tango
of oblivion
with my
burning
tropic of
Aries,

knowing,
with
sorrow,
that
the
bright
axe
of waking
will
cleave it
all
away.
Marya123 Jul 28
Long it has been since I felt small
Within my tower that stands tall.
You'll arrive soon to break my steel
I don't know if I'll ever heal
Hurt me, **** me, cleave me in two
Cover me with lies, mask what's true
But- leave some of the crystal behind
So I can rebuild my state of mind.
Impending doom.
she remains anon Dec 2018
Gnarled heart
growing apart
from all I hold dear.
Branches to ribs, oh spears.
I am overgrown
yet never let alone,
twigs and leaves all split my bones.
Outside, looks so trim
but I cannot let him in.
Twisted beyond what is grim.
Forest forever,
wish him luck on his endeavor
to cleave a gnarled heart down.
Jenny Gordon Mar 10
Ah:  how to begin a new month, specifically the one which sees the seasonal changing of the guard.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXL)


Folk preach this "starting over;" talk fr'intents
Of "liberation," and I'm deaf in pale
Reply.  If marriage was that too, bewail
My hapless case, nor find I've aught defense.
"The bride weeps at her marriage bell--" for sense
Lo, Missus Browning wrote.  I cleave t'avail
To every bit I know, whileas "they" hail
Me wi' the call to erm, "let go."  Pretense.
"If any...be in Christ--" well, THAT is new.
I am just me.  Change is a horror, as poor
As aught good sense.  Years alter me in tour,
Not by my leave.  Oh no!  I yield unto
What I cannot resist, by halves, as twere.
And March culls Spring to 'gain:  renew.

01Mar19b
Shall we take a survey on how many actually welcome change?  I'll opt out.
Dave Gledhill Aug 2018
The eagle searches, circling, senses strum like spider silk.
Sorrow’s scent slides up on a sea breeze.
A solitary slave spits sullenly into the spray.
Silently, suddenly, the sentinel streaks down.

Beak breaks skin, breaches bone, crimson blots the ocean’s foam.
Defenceless, relentless, the bird blurs in a barrage of blood.
Banished, betrayed, the ravaged titan sways -  
between the rocks that form his cage.

His foe retreats; a closing caw as crooked claws cleave meat.
Head bowed in defeat, our hero strains as chains bind
hands and feet.
Enduring bonds cut deep and bleed him bittersweet.

Cast against the crags,
this castaway’s castigated cries call out
to no-one.
Chastised, he squints with hollow eyes
towards a lifetime of the bird’s reprise.
  
Furious. Fists flex,
thrashing against his fortress.
Face furrowed into a frown he flings forward
and for once finds his foot…
unfettered.  

Bindings broken, his bonds bite terra firma,  
as first a foot and then a hand finds favour.
Boundless, he bellows at the sky
as the flotsam of his freedom floats on by.

Reprieved. Aggrieved. He is restless in release.
An errant righteous line repeats.  
Relentless in its beat, it rings out like raw steel on teeth.
A ricochet that disturbs his sleep

“Is this victory, or defeat?”

Racked by reminiscence,
his reality and responsibility remain.
Warped roots rammed down
with rock-filled boots.
Resistance seems obtuse against such reoccuring fruit.

Reluctant, resigned, he rattles out a sigh -  
the last gasp of this transitory high.
Reaching for the rope and tack he re-binds the knots
that hold him back.  
With one last glance towards the past
he hoists his soul upon the mast.

Ceaselessly.
Senselessly.
The
sentinel
streaks
down.
Robert C Howard Sep 2018
Cupping my hands at the canyon’s rim
      I fill my lungs and release a primal call,
           vaulting the chasm to a distant face
     where another me answers back.

My cry’s journey spans a mere second or so
     but what stories could that echo tell?
          How can I know that returning voice
     is not the soul of some past or future kin?

         So many questions, so many mysteries!

How many suns and seasons have passed
     since ancient torrents began to cleave the plateau?
          When did the hawk’s shrill cry first split the air
    as it fished in the river’s howl and spray?

When first did the ancient ones walk
     a mile below the canyon’s rim.
         to kneel by the swift river’s shore
     and fill their cups with sustenance.

If you listen closely you will hear
     their voices calling in the restless wind.

The canyon’s colossal breadth
     can be charted in time and space
         but will always be shrouded in mystery.

So I stand at the canyon’s edge and sing
     and the canyon answers back
         but will hold its secret truths forever.

September, 2018
Eric W Sep 2018
Steal my words away,
in cryptic ways they have
always been yours.
And while the wave of yesterdays
fall upon me,
and I gather my courage,
you'll slip away like you do.
Let me know in what ways
I cling too strongly;
please don't leave as
everyone else has.
I cannot stand the absences
I leave in myself.
My knees have been sore lately,
begging, pleading
for my own forgiveness.
I will not (cannot) cleave
if unwelcome,
so send me away to feel
soft sand and sharp shells
while I sift myself in
oceans blue.
You'll discover stars alone
within and across and above
regardless,
so I beg of you,
if only for a little while,
stay.
Elle May 28
You lay in the battlefield of a Great War
Again and again
Reintroducing yourself as the rubble leaves scars on your cheeks
As your palms splinter and cleave
Those you have lost
Those who have lost you
There's snow piling on your lashes like powdered sugar
It is something you've written with a song in mind
A testimony, A prophecy
But if you were to squeeze your black eyes open
You'd see your red door, tire swing and toy box
Dante Leto Nov 6
My footsteps this day make no sound
As I walk these halls unhallowed.
Like a shade passing through corporeal bounds,
Hollow, holding happiness shallow.
Day after day I'm fading away
As my masquerade is breaking.
Frustration and fury, foreboding, that for me
Forever humanity's faking.

I stand amongst the normal and living
Their faces so hopeless, so broken.
Some may be friends, others have enemies
But for me no single one has spoken.
This place has turned strange, it's greying,
Decaying, my bane begets this Perdition.
The stench of a tomb from the rot that consumes
The doomed place ****** to a fission.

It has been my misfortune in which I delight
I'm accursed to blacken the sun,
To bring the ruin of all by devouring the light.
Now again has this cycle begun;
Darkness, disaster to dastardly droves
Debauched by a daemoniac foe
Who dissembles man to hide diabolic designs,
For what man dares brave the unknown?

I walk into the abyssal gloom
Of foetid and harrowing decadence.
The webwork of veins that trace every room
Betray the presence of an Asmodeus essence.
Is it me? Could it be that I've become so vile
That merely my presence defiles?
The pariah, it seems, is all I can be
In so sweetly tormentous a style.

It happens that here in my darkest hour
When I feel the facade is fractured
I see the bright purest light that breaks through the dour
Dark leading me to my attractor.
An angel I wonder, or maybe someone sent for
Me to cause me to blunder?
Perhaps today her angelic array
Was displayed for her spell I'd go under.

My hunger subsides in those crystalline eyes,
In their glow my bloodlust turns calm.
A warmth I feel, emotions belike,
Yes, foreign to me, I have qualm.
She is purity, surely there's a pulling toward me
Enduring my stubborn eschewal.
No tragedy to speak of, her majesty must be of
A flawless aethereal jewel.

How did I come into this sudden infatuation?
Enticed by the taunt of her lure,
Her perfection, it stalls me, indescribable exaltation,
Yet somehow this morbid mind's torn.
It's confounding, she's sounding profoundly arousing
And drowning my sense in her charm.
I love it, I hate it, that this consecrated
Divinity isn't met without harm.

How damnably refreshing my ambrosial dream
Whose glow can subvert the most heinous!
Her light can reveal worlds beyond what is seen
And the shadow I cast will sustain us.
A Devil, an Angel, together disdainful
In the eyes of the fools that surround me.
But I glimpse in that shadow a horror I now know
To mean that my Angel has bound me.

The light that shines forth casts a most vivid shade
Of this man-shaped form that I am.
But to my limbs were attached something of linear shape,
Like strings on a marionette.
What could this mean? Could it possibly be
Something I've been too smitten to see?
I've been such a fool to be blind to the truth:
My Angel is a Demon like me!

At this revelation I turn to the shrewd Enchantress
Who has been manipulating me from the start.
No shame, no fear, only with the most chilling deftness
Does she command the strings of this heart.
Of all the rotted, defiled, insidious, hideous
Things that dwell in my darkness,
Nothing more evil than this tentacled being
Can be conceived of in the depths of Tartarus!

Sensual, seductive, psuedo-seraphic shrew!
I'm enslaved by the lust she engenders.
Repeatedly beguiled by the lies that she used,
Still to those eyes I surrender.
The sinister spirit that taints all that's near it
Is an evil the both of us share.
She chose a prey who cannot be slain.
The challenge is an alluring snare.

As my Angel now dawns a horrific appearance
My obsession burns ever indomitably.
Apocalyptic, unquenchable, bloodbathed coherence,
Nefarious and haunting so ominously.
Darkness is ours! Eldritch bloodthirsty fiends:
Angel of Death and Devil.

The masks are peeled away, we're free
To cleave and bleed the world and revel!
poetryaccident Oct 2018
The blooms shroud what’s hid beneath
only shapes hint the concealed
as bright flowers distract the eye
from a crypt absent a hearth
last dwelling place for my heart
only the ghosts still dwell within
revenants that life will not cleave
disturbing memories long deceased
these echoes shroud by petal’s blades
blossoms placed upon the grave.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181018.
The poem “Blooms Conceal” was prompted by a picture of a house covered by flowers, a flower house of dreams.  The challenge associated with the photo was that the inspired poem would be a maximum of 65 words.  My contribution provides a darker interpretation of the theme.
Bob B Jul 29
Meet Francisco, an 18-year-old,
Born right here in the good ol' U.S.
Police held him in custody
For twenty-six days nevertheless.

Detention centers are certainly not
Five-star hotels in any form.
Frigid and crowded cages or rooms
And inhumane treatment are more the norm.

Francisco had his social security
Card and ID in order to prove
That he was really a U.S. citizen.
Border police still made their move.

Although someone spends many years
Elsewhere, our legal apparatus
Has to know that doing that
Doesn't change one's citizenship status.

They claimed that Francisco's identification
Information all was fake.
Of course, they have to find excuses
To cover up their big mistake.

Such "mistakes" are fairly common
When we have a president who
Says that what is true is false;
What is false, he claims is true.

Most people see through his dangerous lies,
But there are many who want to believe
Every word he says that offers
Support to ideas to which they cleave.

Stop atrocities at our border!
Stop treating people in ways
That NO human being should be treated!
Stop the processing delays!

Stop family separation
And caging asylum seekers as well,
As though to get even with them
Their lives are made a living hell!

How many more "Franciscos" are there
Who don't even make the news?
Whom will the president now attack?
Who is next on his list to abuse?

-by Bob B (7-28-19)
Ikimi Festus Feb 4
Insanity is the new normal,
Dude,
hate Without reasons, they different.
In to out
two becoming one flesh?
To hold fast?
To be joined to a wife?
That's all sht menh.
Holy matrimony no longer for
The straight, but hell yeah hallelujah the ****-gay-dudes, and others.
Advance we are,
This time the government dudes got it right,
The human right thingy bla bla bla, you know... emmm whatever, point is
we spreading true love Bro, same-*** marriages,
I trust the system,
No taboo in the idea dude, all is human nature.
Your life is yours
Take a shot to the head, if you wish
Jump from any desired structure on high or dive into the ocean thingy...
Yeah that's right
We answer to nobody, the government dudes said it has been a big lie, fiction game or somethingy,just To control our mind state.
Dude,
The heaven is here on earth paradise.
Dude?
Let's make money,
All means
Let's plus it,
And get ****** high like f
ck yeah.
certainly living by the golden rule of loving our neighbours as ourselves would be of no effect, they better stick to them business
Freedom! Freedom!! Freedom!!!
Hahaha
We finally free.

Meanwhile.
Greetings and Farewell words of friends,
they cleave in fellowship,
And soon to cleave in sorrow to aching  heart.
Final wave, in moment coming, all to disappears,
Beneath,
hush of silent tears,
Through thoughts disturbed current flows
"Why can't sorrow be so kind
As to hide away?"
Shall I hide from em what I am about to do?"
"FRIEND"
"The outcry of ***** and Gomorrah is indeed great, and their sin is exceedingly grave. I will go down now, and see if they have done entirely according to its outcry, which has come to Me; and if not, I will know."
My eyes, they weep, from bitter wings of fear
My fate is sealed by torture with no end
My soul, it cries, from icy streaming tears
The angels cry but no good luck they send

My will, it breaks, with harsh and brutal steps
My ears, they bleed, as I witness conceit
My back, it aches, from dread and hate I've kept
The demons shriek but give they no replete

Test fire and heat, as I journey through hell
Hold my head high and sing a battle song
The force I seek, all fear it shall dispel
With one fair cleave, I sever right and wrong

My fevered foe no longer posing  threat
So long, goodbye, none mourn the great sonnet
My English assignment was to write a sonnet so I did.
I'm gonna go dig up Shakespeare's grave now, and beat his dead body with a shovel.
Azurai Jul 26
I seem to always be in a constant state of fight or flight.
The worst part is that there's no one to fight,
and nowhere to fly to,
because the enemy is Me.
My own thoughts, my demons, they cling to me.
They've
     embedded
        themselves
                   into
                       me
like parasites.
Feeding off of my soul,
day in and day out until I am nothing but a husk.
The only way to escape the torment even for a moment
is to
    cleave
          my
             mind
from the present,
to float somewhere between this reality
and the one that the devil on my shoulder
tries to convince me is true.

But there's always still a part of me that holds on down below, in the present, in the real world, so that I can reel myself back in again. So I don't completely drift away like a kite slipping through a child's grasp on a windy day. Drifting on an updraft, whirling and twirling upwards and into the clouds..

    Hell...

       Maybe that wouldn't be so bad.

            Maybe next time, I'll just let go of the string.
Andrew Guzaldo c Oct 2018
“Life can have its share of tears and heartaches,
Malady and demise dolefully follows us in our lives,
Our souls exist with love laughter family and faith,  
Life’s secret of caverns like the songs in your mind,

The enclave of sand rock and lichen reflects well,
Of that was formed ever so enchanting the abyss,
Of the stone with its furtive outlets afore the deep brine,
As it passed by your name a fiery flower than created,

The arduous waves rose like a barrier in the Universe,
A canticle now well beloved all things ode to love,
Earth time sea island life and tide are subsequent,
The sea is the mouth to the universe and tells all,    

Flowers on the now spring unfold afore our eyes,
Observing us as if our passions are now in the begin,  
Arduous waves of the brine are now burgeoning flowers,
A courtyard now surrounded with passionate flowers,

We were alive together on a macrocosm heretofore,
Yet not alone when the hour of our demise befalls us,  
Our love was harvested as that of the fields of grain,
I the knowledge of the sea and you with gold lividity,  

Mine exists in the caverns of the soil and sand
Fear not my blossom of life the fire of our love,
Soon loving kisses will join as our mouths,
Cleave perpetually”
By Andrew Guzaldo ©  11/15/2018
By Andrew Guzaldo ©  11/15/2018      #Poem #131
I’m stricken by the sight of you,
You cleave my soul in two,
One side wants to have you,
The other wants to run!
don’t numb that brain silly boy

put it to good use



cleave in half

the line parsing

chest from

chin hair

        you’re a man when

        you say you are

save the streaks of palm-filth

dug-under nails broken

buried under dirtweight



what do you know of slippage

        —something  



****** as inch-thick glass

run through a filter

                        tossed aloft

                into

        the ceiling

fan  



I’m left for nothing of my efforts

it's dirt under the fingernail

        you can taste it

it's dirt


        taste it
dirt taste short attitude front survive life ride streaky

— The End —