"collated" poems
(spot the Carol)
These three kings of orient are
unfairly competing with one little drummer boy,
all dashing through the snow for the last boughs of holly
to lay them before the King.
Meanwhile three ships come sailing in
and certain poor shepherds leave their hot chestnuts,
each keen to hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace.
Later,
in Royal David’s city,
there are ladies leaping, pipers piping
and drummers …
drumming, apparently.
The restless cattle are lowing big-time;
no wonder the baby’s awake.
All have come to proclaim the Messiah’s birth;
the king-of-angels baby who out-shines any wondrous star.
A child born of Mary, on this most holy of nights;
born to give us second birth:
This is the Saviour who is Christ the Lord,
come to redeem us all.
‘Come – receive – your - king.’
Merry Christmas.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 3:50 AM UTC
*Sacramental Elixir & Illuminated Blues,
Experimental Flauntings Of Her Midsummer Hues,
Radioactive Eyes & Her Fairytale Lies,
Seductive Abuses Across The New Divide,
Vivid Intersections In Her Phenomenal Rage,
Shatterproof Reflections Splattered Upstage,
Midnight Passions Of Her Perplexed Lust,
Starlight Rains Glittering Hybrid Dusts,
Transitional Paradigms & Engineered Moans,
Theatrical Concoctions In Her Symphonic Tones,
Flirtatious Illuminations Under The Darkest Light,
Stained Animations Igniting Kryptonite,
Palisades Of Her Collated Reflections,
Cascades Emitting Her Sedated Projections,
Contraband Infatuation Resonating Magnetic Love,
Raving Constellations Provocating Atomic Dove,
Divine Catharsis Of Her Cupid Amour Eternity,
Valentine Bliss Mystifying Her Restrained Insanity,
Charismatic Futility & ****** Binge,
Cinematic Tranquility Emanating From Her Bulletproof Sins,
Neon Subways & Fragile Foreplays,
Sensual Arrays Of Her Red-Light Decays.
- 03:53AM -*
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 6:30 PM UTC
Inspired by the dream of the founders of city
Collated by planning of leaders and mayor,
Built by the muscle and sweat of believers
A Masterpiece fashioned for pride and for care.
Magnificent structures of bridges and tunnel
Faultlessly conjoined by highways of God,
Dreamt by the forebears of knowledge and passion
Crafted in concrete and sculpted in rod.
Towering edifices scything through city
Asphaltic motorways curving with grace
Estuaries bridged by elegant girders
Created by vision with tears on it’s face.
Fashioned by strength and belief in the promise
Fashioned by fortitude's strong hand as guide,
Crafted by people's belief in tomorrow
A Vision for Auckland and nation with pride.
Marshalg
With the Wellconnected Alliance.
AUCKLAND N.Z.
(Inspired by the animation on a good Mayor’s face)
6pm,14 February 2013
© 2013 Marshal Gebbie
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
Collapsed beautiful,
undefined and sharpened,
collated in the fatality of eyes;
yours.
I am slipping underneath
your eyelids, dust
trapped in kaleidoscope dreams,
Our words match, do we? Do we?
My joints mix between the blue and greys
of your optic landscape,
strengthened enough to resurrect
sunken ships. Submerge thought.
Fallen perfection, put the maps away.
Escape. Blink me out.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 1:12 PM UTC
We kissed us
A fine windy evening
So warm and gentle, yet thrilling
We grasped, we held, we touched
It felt quite eloquent
We tasted each other bitterness
And sensed each pain we had
We mourned, we grieved, we gnawed
We had our eyes slightly closed
Time's told to stop ambling
The universe dropped dead
As goddesses were gazing
We kissed us
We collated each other laxity
We created another rhapsody
We possessed as we became one
Jan, 28 2016.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 6:12 AM UTC
Tiny little parcel
All wrapped up and waiting to be
Undone.
Sitting quietly
Under the shade of
Resentful
Ambiguity.
Cautious scarred and wry
(smiling)
insecurity
See me sitting calmly
assembled
All parceled up and wanting
Waiting
To be unpicked
Carefully
Hand stitched
Calling softly (upon deaf ears)
To be untied
To see what lies
Beneath each fettered
Layer.
Role player
This small and softly spoken
Box
Of being
Seeing nothing
Feeling everything
With wary
(doleful)
Soulful eyes.
(closed)
Dreaming of being
(open)
I am token
Bundle
******
a pile of sticks
untamed.
Paused upon the ground
unsound
Aspiring to to be burned
In order to
(feel)
spurned.
This collated stack
Of feelings lost to the numb of
Being wrapped up and tied to the self.
A book full of stories
Unnamed.
Pages upon pages
Loose words
Collected
Piled and falling
Upon a dusty
Neglected shelf
Too much of the self
Not enough of the other.
Resting.
Worn out
Dog eared
Belayed by fear.
Waiting
Wasting
Hasting
to be undone.
To be unknotted
Frayed
Displayed
Vast volume
Unspoken betray.
Hold fast
This minute
Package
Lying restless
At your feet.
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 4:07 PM UTC
Seconds, minutes, hours, days, and weeks have passed,
How much more times I’ll glance and stash away?
As I sulk here, see me flip the pages
Of this nicely-collated calendar.
Counting down the moments I’ve raged aghast,
Clearly, this distance I can’t laud to sway;
Seeking too much on familiar faces
Just makes me miss you, so peculiar.
But then, this muse can’t bear this sweetest past
As the radio keeps on playing The Fray,
The last time we’re close, we target aces,
Wishing to go together so far.
Atop the sky, airplanes that appear rushed,
Oh, I can’t wait for yours to land and stay;
Permit me to write this, don’t file cases,
Poetic license is familiar.
So until then, I bid you my luck fast,
You’d have to remove the world’s mind of gray;
And I shall pray as you head down to places,
Don’t worry, I support you from afar.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
...Woolen sleep mask
atop a wolf's muzzle...
the amplitude of retention
and snap.
Storifying vibrations/impressions...
collated for pickled dreams...
lives?
Konstantinos Mark
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 11:49 PM UTC
The cracks appeared but
they were not like those
that you see as you walk
a pavement, chasing the
gaps that parted, each
cemented slab,
they were more like
shattered pieces of glass
that formed on a marble
floor as you threw down
the champagne flute
hurt, angered
passion rearing its head
a mixture of pleasure
and pain
relieving the numbness -
the pleasure
reliving the past -
the pain
Lipstick marked partial
pieces of glass, matching
the blood that began to
seep from her hand as
she collated the pieces
scarring the floor
droplets fell, she brought
her palm to the side
taking up the blood
into her parted lips
loosely letting go of
any glass in
the palm
of her
hand
On her knees she lifted
her body
slowly
he took his Prada shoe
kicking her
a blow to the stomach
knocking her
to the floor below
she missed the glass
table
by mere inches
saving her head from
a similar blow
As he walked
away,
he flicked his cigar
unfinished, on her
barely clothed body
and from a distance
spat and cursed in
his mother tongue
"Puttana!"
"Ti disprezzo!"
She kept her head down
her hair knotted in
the smashed glass,
picking the stem of the
hollow flute, she
threw it
flying through the air
hitting him,
to the shin
*"Son of a *****
The words, pulsated
through the air
bouncing off all four
walls,
she held no regrets
she had become accustomed
to the repercussions of her
own counter attacks
she didn't even quiver
They had fallen
convicted criminals
of passion and pain
numbness
reality a daze
blood and fire
alight
Neither left the room
until the following
morning
whiskey bottles emptied
clothes disarrayed
blood on the walls
In this fight between
passion and pain
neither would leave,
abandon this disrupted
****** up ship
"Stay!"
the only word she
would murmur
when all was
said,
and done.
© Sia Jane
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
Created armour that was bullet proof
Science created a pill that was bully proof
A little pill filled with happy magic
But when magic lay to waste
Pill-takers travel in haste
For the wondrous worlds filled with magic
Will collapse and crumble,
Tip over and tumble
For the bully's words will once again
As assured as ink within a pen
The bully's words will wreak havoc
And with no pill to make you feel numb
Words like 'Hey spastic'
Become shells that ricochet off the soul
Into a heart that is filled up with holes
To a point it crumbles
and as tragedy is tragic
collated poems collect dust
like iron sets with rust
the bully's words destroy worlds.
Created armour that was bullet proof
But there is no material
Nor kevlar in this world that is ever
strong enough to shield
from hate, from anger and from words.
For every bully victim within this world,
For every damage soul within this world,
For every hurting heart on Earth,
Just know the pain felt,
The damage dealt
Absorb into the very soul,
Shattering the existence
Despite attempt at resistance,
There is very little can be done,
Except believe that one day,
The heat from the burning sun
Gives comfort enough
To live on,
To breathe in,
To breathe out
And to see tomorrow.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 6:35 AM UTC
There is a department in my heart
that deals with sadness.
This department is non-inclusive
a strict code is adhered to.
This department in my heart
has collected and collated all
The pain, malice, despondency
this broken heart and soul has experienced.
Sadness has my soul in handcuffs
hapless, anxious I retreat into
myself, seclusion, on lockdown
starkest bottled pain is shook.
Harnessed, hardened and shelved
with madness the sadness is in retreat
It'll return though, it has to
It's been called depression
I'm a weather front!
With gladness I'd take the pain
the badness from my heart
and send it away
but there's more room in a broken heart.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
Answer us true
How old are you?
Are you boy or girl?
Close your eyes.
Do you see a fire or a whirl-
wind? How much have you sinned?
Given a choice pick
red or blue?
Given a choice pick none or new?
Picture yourself in the woods.
Do you see a horse or a mare?
A rabbit or a hare?
Is it a half empty or half full barr-
el? Have you ever thought to ****
Do your dreams end in flight
or fall?
Do you fight when held up
against a wall?
Do you stand up strong and tall?
Or hunch down,
make yourself small?
Do you like your peanuts sal-
ted? Do you like your coffee malted?
Do you fidget when you eat?
Tap to music with your feet?
Is your happiness fleet-
ing when your life has you beat?
Do you gaze directly at the sun?
Shade your love from
coming undone?
Do you largely have fun-
ctional relationships?
And last, not least, has come:
What do you think of your dear mum
and dad? Did they turn you good or bad?
Now we've collated your results.
You're [insert personality type here]
I hope now it's all so clear,
this box in which you fit best.
We've emailed you this score lest
you forget the results
of your Personality Test.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 5:50 AM UTC
i do not write for love of words, for you, or for me.
i write because it is possible to do it for its own sake.
art, you know?
independent of you, it is of value to me
outside of me, it disrupts the universe
all on its own
noumenal
only a few thoughts and motions
arbitrarily parsed and collated
randomly encountered
analyzed
and discarded
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 1:59 AM UTC
How long before you see it
You have spent years occupying that ringside seat
Observing everyone of my victories and every defeat
Every step towards each foe collated with incinerating heat
every move in clear detail down to the faintest heartbeat
You've been there for it all
And yet you find it quite the feat
To understand that I want you in this ring with me
In here with me where the fight is thickest and no longer in the stands with the on looking fleet
In here where you and I together can face anything...throwing synchronized punches as potent as concrete
In here where your voice and your touch can immediately heal me back to my feet
Your effects have me standing even taller and more graceful than the most slender athlete
I want you ms. Anonymous
My princess, my queen, my everything
At the end of our bout
With all our foes on their knees
Our hands will be raised as the victors
With the entire ring becoming ours doing as we please
And as a symbol of our fight, and the obstacles we beat
I'll place upon your finger a ring...
Our love finally complete
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 4:03 PM UTC
Like a small drop of ink,
Dense in its heart
Sharp in its tone
and round in its rolling
the words collated together into a sphere
of intensity
and fell upon me, splattering like the raindrop;
dissolving as easily as the ink in water
it diffused and became one with my language.
Today, I learned you.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
The Matrix is created and rated
parts of the system waited
Located and related parts of it
collated and deflated
Using the tree to fabricate its dreams
Illusion of the Maya, nothing as it seems
Automation of its product, things to conduct
Here and there, the parts of the Magickal dream.
The force of the beam, rats ran in a stream
The energy used to conduct to create the 13 theme.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 3:46 AM UTC
With muddled hands all aligned
we fought the chains that confine
our hope for an equal world.
The brutish pain has been hurled
in our general direction, years and years;
collated tears and tears, unchanged.
Created division between poor and rich,
as though the poor aren’t human
reshaped and modelled to, look like,
speak like, act like but not quite, like human.
The brutish pain has been hurled
in our general direction, years and years;
collated tears and tears, unchanged.
We are human,
trying to turn the page,
trying to create a change,
so that the story continues on…
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 7:00 AM UTC
I've collated my various poetryverses on one website nottoopoetry.com
Oct 24, 2023
Oct 24, 2023 at 3:41 AM UTC
What it is
is neither love nor hate,
collated tattered spirit
scaped a folly
of indifference
-a brave-face disingenuous-
and all to keep it safe
spread the weight
about the skeleton
re-christened it acceptance,
... enchanted
by this eloquence
I lollop on my way..
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 4:17 AM UTC
pain is a permanent marker
unremovable like coffee stains on carpet
undoable like stomach knots
unalterable like bad surgery
unwanted tattoos tell the truth
reminder of pain imprints in flesh
indelible ink writing on private parts
ingrained in memory like ***** rings around a tub
surgery scars reveal new skin
entrenched in the brain
pushed to the back of the mind
pain recorded, hidden, collated, undeleted
recycled every 14 days
triggered by foul smell, bad tastes and bitter tea
badly drawn with a pen
pain is a permanent marker
forever and binding
Jun 7, 2020
Jun 7, 2020 at 11:59 AM UTC