"confronts" poems
for Susan O'Neill Roe
What a thrill ----
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of hinge
Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.
Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls
Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one.
Whose side are they one?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to ****
The thin
Papery feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze man ----
The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux ****
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence
How you jump ----
Trepanned veteran,
***** girl,
Thumb stump.
23.5k
A scorpion stings my foot and injects its pain inducing venom into me. The pain spreads throughout my body and as I suffer the scorpion laughs at me whilst I stand underneath the blazing, desert sun with nowhere to go. This vast, empty, waterless desert with nothing to see but sand. Sand as far as the human eye can see, so much empty space yet I still feel trapped in the scorpion’s presence. A dry skeleton confronts me and puts a hole into my arm and ***** all of the meat out of my body until I am only skin and bones. My skin twists and knots around my meatless bones.
I scream.
I scream.
I scream, but when I do it sounds like laughter, so the scorpion and the skeleton laugh with me.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
1.
A broken path of pleasure,
Confronts my waking mind,
Skeletons line the carpet,
The path I seek to bind.
2.
Uncertainty surrounds me,
But so the way of life,
An infant artist,
An unconscious exuberance,
The perverse I secretly entice.
3.
Duel opposition's approach in unison,
Fighting for peace with each,
The true anima hides beneath the blood,
Narcissistic emotions naked on a beach.
4.
Forbidden in reality,
The dark caves of the primal soul,
The lost murmurs of effrontery,
Tortured desires repressed explode.
………………………………………………………
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 10:34 PM UTC
Kindness is not nice.
‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive
‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive
‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change
she’s cotton wool trying to soften the pain
but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface
ready to be blown away or pressed
under a muddy boot of disinterest
‘Nice’ is a damp whisper
a mouse cowering in the corner
hoping you will blink and miss her
lest she attract your notice
lest she presume too much
and cause a whisker of offence
Kindness is not like that –
Kindness pushes in, quick and nimble
a hero with no mask, unasked
unexpected, dodging the turmoil
leaving nothing unsaid and little undone
in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption
Kindness defies convention
Kindness carefully aims her weapons of choice
and advances relentless and regardless
of any and all obstacles in her way
Kindness perseveres all the love-long day
Kindness doesn’t delay
Kindness is gleeful for the chance of invasion
ready to disarm with expert compassion
with her regiments of patience
armed to the teeth with gracious
placing tanks of good faith on all fronts
Kindness confronts
Courage is her currency, boldness her language,
trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored
happily wearing all-weather clothing
for any and all unexpected storms
Kindness transforms
Kindness weakens all defenses
and challenges all camouflaged pretenses
Kindness pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds
and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields
she - blooms
Kindness is not 'nice'
Kindness isn’t in this for the likes
Kindness bites
She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight
Kindness never bails from the fight
never fails, never takes flight
Kindness is nothing casual,
nothing incidental
This Kindness is elemental
She is Avengers-Assemble,
End-Game-level
monumental
Kindness is not 'nice'.
Kindness is loving awe-ful.
Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC
Elevate the sound
Slowly and surely
you have to listen
smell, taste and touch
the music
Alcohol? Yes.
Drugs? Yes.
What kinds? All kinds.
60 people in a room w/ worn out walls
an unwanted male is followed by hecklers
the matriarchs have had enough
and bull him to the door
He doesn't want to leave
the party is just beginning
The clowns follow him
like wild hyenas
He fights like a lion
targets the clan of the matriarch
the young and weak
is it correct to aim the violence on the weak
because the strong is of the opposite gender?
Is it right to abuse the rule
Woman: the untouchable
People being to watch
w/ their dying spectators eyes
in another section a large male confronts the house owner
They begin their violent dance of limbs
Swarming bodies collide
violent outburst
chaotic music to accompany
I scream a devils scream
fighting everywhere
Another matriarch
she jumps on the crowd
using a whiskey bottle for a club
dancing on top of the twirling bodies of energy
A pit-bull barks aggressively
people start to jump out windows
everybody is way too high
The fighting stops
with the arrival of cops
nobody listens
their vision of authority thwarted
nobody is arrested
narcotics present
amphetamine fuel
We burned a cross in a large fire half an hour earlier
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC
Mockery forcefully tiptoes her way beyond the barricades of fiction, and confronts populated dunes where ambiguous legs protrude.
Are you a prisoner in this proclaimed age of democracy?
The branches of the trees are still, as we avoid the precipice of calamity in the name of upright citizenship.
Therefore, walk with me along the crumbling castle walls and you will learn that there is a familial bond which lies beyond vain constructs of presumed superior architecture.
I know that it is an altered state of consciousness, so it is important to share your perspective because it is a prominent feature.
It is the memories of the living who are tortured by unspeakable possibilities.
Tickle me pink with choreography.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
i see you
formulate in the sky,
until a permanent cloud remains,
for all to see.
You settle in a montaged dream sequence,
a sweeping sentiment of sweet innocence;
in the equilibrium of your natural habitat.
Just a rain clouds tears away.
A utopian notion,
broken reluctance inspired by emotions.
A colloquial calmness
confronts the surface,
we burrow
down,
deeper,
for the winter in preparation of the hibernate soul;
The harsh cold paradise takes toil into the parable.
In the midst of Nirvana with a frozen heart.
A lake remains.
The tears turn to rain and solidify likes scars.
The reign is over,
You melt into my arms.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 2:12 PM UTC
See that girl over there,
in the corner of the room.
She acts like she knows,
everything about you.
She talks behind our backs,
but she never confronts us.
Acting all that,
for her, it is a must,
But you've never told her much,
to do with your life.
And the words she says about you,
are only out of strife.
And when she speaks to you,
she says her words with a smile.
When we both know,
she's nothing but a liar.
Her face, it's doubled,
one in front and behind.
A face she puts on,
and one she tries to hide.
Because to all of them,
it's someone certain she has to be.
She's not truthful like us,
nothing like you or me.
But she'll go on with words,
the stories she's saying.
To her, it's nothing,
just a life with which she's playing.
Jan 4, 2011
Jan 4, 2011 at 5:40 PM UTC
skin confronts all alien worlds
accepts and rejects
the petals of the rose
and the thorns of its protecting
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
I dream of traveling
To northern Syria or Iraq
To join the YPG
Or Peshmerga
Peshmerga means
"Ones who confronts death"
To fight bravely
Alongside them
Knowing each day
Could be my last
Although it has been
Many years
Since I have fired
A weapon
(It was in an indoor range
With A Springfield M1903)
I just need some practice
I dream
Of fighting
With the YPG
In their just cause
Their way of life
Being threatened
The U.S. Government
Does not condone
Volunteers
From our military forces
Going to help the Kurds
That's fine
I just have my limited
ROTC training
I could train there
I'm fit
And I'm able bodied
And there I will finally
Be part of a community
The YPJ
Strike fear
Into the hearts
Of Daesh fighters
They fear they will
Go to hell
If they are killed
By the YPJ in battle
The YPG and YPG forces
Are courageous and strong
They fight a war against evil
All year long
You defend your homelands
Kurds of the YPG and YPJ
You did not choose war
It was forced upon you
Long live the YPG and YPJ forces
I pray you will one day live
In peace and security
And although
Many will
Not understand
If I die
At least I die
Fighting with
People I love
For their right
To live peacefully
Can you hear
The Ululation
Do you listen
To the YPJ's cry?
Long live the Kurds
Daesh fighters must die
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 10:34 PM UTC
Tired on the train
I listen
A young mother on her mobile
solemn faced but beautiful eyed
angrily confronts
her daughters father
with a maternal mantra
*How do I tell her
When I have all her tears and questions?*
I guess he keeps hanging-up
or the signal is lost
The words repeat
almost verbatim
and repeat
and repeat
No-one looks
everyone listens
And then in the vestibule
a smiling South African
recounts with passion
about the Jacaranda
turning Cape Town purple
around this time of year
...he missed his stop
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:04 AM UTC
I seem to think of nothing
I don't understand anything
without you letting
me, to pursue it
meeting you has completely
changed the way I see issues
that confronts my life
you are my last resort
solution of the issues
that borders my life
I seem to think of nothing
only you I can imagine
when I am seated focusing
how to approach events of life
meeting you is a blessing
when nature calls or sings
I hear your name in the air
Birds are not exempted
from singing
your beautiful personality
to the natural air
I seem to feel nothing
only what you told me
guides my feeling
and actions to the right step
though we've not met in person
you are always
in me as a person
who gives me alternative ways
of becoming a good person
I thank God for what I feel within me
and appreciate your effort for me
helping me to reason like a human
not just childish I use to have in me
like a pet living as a human
You are a great person I can ever
think to have in my life
jump I jump
smile I smile
frown I console you
because I owe you
happiness and consolations
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 6:45 AM UTC
727
Precious to Me—She still shall be—
Though She forget the name I bear—
The fashion of the Gown I wear—
The very Color of My Hair—
So like the Meadows—now—
I dared to show a Tress of Theirs
If haply—She might not despise
A Buttercup’s Array—
I know the Whole—obscures the Part—
The fraction—that appeased the Heart
Till Number’s Empery—
Remembered—as the Millner’s flower
When Summer’s Everlasting Dower—
Confronts the dazzled Bee.
1.5k
She’s radiant and glorious
Pure and gentle
But strong
Flowing hair
Soft eyes
A smile that would put the sun to shame
She’s neither too tall, nor too short
But stands just as high as a bride should
She’s confident and powerful
But open and loving
She doesn’t hide or lock her heart in a box
She is brave, and courageous
And confronts her fears and nightmares
She’s powerful and motivated, and yet she gives herself
She inspires and empowers
She never gives up or gives in
She has a heart that is focused on god and open to his influence in her life
She cares for others as much as herself
She loves, and does good
She battles evil in her heart, her speech and her actions
Her words are lifesaving
Her voice sings a tune more beautiful than any ever heard
She’s radiant, and enrapturing
Her beauty shines through simplicity and purity
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 4:12 AM UTC
A woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets.
She cries floods of tears and confronts her fears,
Yet she's labelled weak.
Weak, because she cries - or because she lies?
Because she actually cares or because she's just softhearted?
Yet - a woman is strong - if she cries
She portrays her emotions. She doesn't hold back.
Yet - when she's silent or doesn't show emotion -
She's weak.
Too weak to let out the pain? Or too strong to hold it in?
(To be continued)
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC
Sue walks in where you work
Whispers and looks not understood
Comes to see you as usual
As you are married to her
A week or so later Sue meets a new person working with you
Funny the woman looks like her
Still odd looks from people when she drops in
One day it hits her
You ****** her look alike
Only difference is she is 20 years younger
Worse than that she is a baby compared to You
Someone at worked clued poor Sue in
Everyone saw You together everyday at a lunch
Breaks, little brushups in the cooler
Married but that doesn't matter
As long as your **** is spewing twice a day
Come home expecting wifely duties
Don't touch her she screams
You offer Your most charming seduction
Fully expecting to not be turned down
Sue confronts the girl
She is but a child
Asks her if she has any morals at all
Of course she is sorry, it wasn't meant to happen
Your ***** is all you give a **** about
Not the child of Sue's ***** fathered by you
She is hurt far more than any
Teased at school
You dare ask why that is occuring
Your little ***** attends her schools church
As does her family
Does that matter to you?
You got your little **** wet
Now all you see is paradise
Not realizing the damage You have left behind
All the lives affected
Because of Your infidelity
You don't get it do you?
Your wife, daughter, her family, your family
There is more damage being done
Just so You can get ******
Enjoy Your life
You will be miserable in the end
Just don't look for any sympathy
When you find out what you lost
It won't be here then so don't bother
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 7:12 PM UTC
night dipped in moon water
trees mouthing words
a mist forming on the surface high
dew drops ********** on the cement steps
incense smoke filming the whole scene
a lonely flame
a gentle twitch
ahead of the hall
a seated statue
eyes downcast
ignoring shadows high on the wall
just a flicker now and then
breaths sliced down
pieces of vibration splinters
fishing
for light
instead
confronts
a high voltage
emptiness.
©Malintha Perera 2014
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
I will take charge of my life
and savor each moment that I have left
and let my wounds heal
as I open my senses to the beauty
that surrounds me as I make
my dreams become reality.
In my journey. . .
as I turn the pages I find
that braver is the one who overcomes
his desires and not just his enemies
because the hardest victory
is over self.
In my journey. . .
no person will have the power
to keep me upset or lonely and today
I choose to deepen my understanding of myself
and others and today I choose healthy
interactions with others and good
expectations of this day.
In my journey. . .
I choose to have purpose on earth
and I will strengthen my direction
with the words that I write
and the messages that I give myself
as those messages are the most important
messages that I could hear.
In my journey. . .
I affirm my personal power
now that we have met and I affirm
my capacity to give love to
and to receive love from this
very special lady who knows I have purpose
and together we celebrate the miracle
of being alive as she helps me
channel my directions.
In my journey. . .
She helps me to slow down my thoughts
and to change my perceptions and she gives me
the ability to handle all that confronts me
as renewed energy surges through me
and today she is the one that gives me the joy
of belonging and the quiet ecstasy
of mutual nurturing as we reach out
to one another's hands.
In my journey today. . .
I am still a student of life
and will not condemn myself
for inadequacies or mistakes
nor faults or failings as I focus
on beauty and virtue and goodness
because I have come so far in my journey
and still a way to go and with her
by my side it will go
nice and slow. Jon York 2013
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 3:30 AM UTC
Balding head, across the boulevard, catching drops of rain,
falling hard,
cars and trucks travelling fast, weather warning was plain,
for all to see,
watching the drops bounce off, where they land, the strain,
in him is obvious,
his coat sheds water like a duck, the burden he carries tight
to his chest,
he stops and moves and stops again, points prepares to fight,
shadows in the downpour,
he talks, then shouts maybe he likes the sound of his mighty
voice, all alone,
he stops and confronts a telephone pole, others pass by, not staring,
to get his ire,
what he held to his chest, was dear to him and had to stay dry, carrying
his shoes, high
so his shuffle was in soaked sock feet, he had his mannerisms, wearing
plainly for all to see, he only had socks on his feet
between him and the rain swept
ground and street.
He may have needed more, he was tweaking, maybe he needed less,
was it **** or worse, he was still walking and still cursing, confess
to the gods, he would make it through the day,
against the odds.
Doin' the Boulevard Shuffle,
it isn't hard, until you have to live it.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
Yet another attempt to recreate our trio of faces
A red rippled reflection reminds me of the time:
Two hands up
My visage confronts me as
One bitter taste of giving up reaches my lips
So close yet again..
Just one face missing
Aug 11, 2021
Aug 11, 2021 at 1:29 AM UTC
Those bouts of doubts
Don’t suppress them, address them.
Don’t speak to them, speak with them.
You can risk brushing away that stupid thought
That suggests you can get away with an
“I was misquoted.” expression,
When fleetingly acknowledging them at a convenient hour.
For you can’t pretend to
Not have heard your ‘inner’ voice,
Over and over again
Till the apparently feeble voice confronts you
In rebellion, from civil unrest –
Of voices oppressed,
Probably a yearning plea sprouting into
A voice that crosses all decibels.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
Dear lover,
Remember the tattered throw rug we laid on,
when I discovered your birthmark shaped like a tangerine
on the back of your knee?
We were velcro back then.
You told me I had eyes of indigo
and the corners of my cellars smelled of sweet
honeysuckle in the fire months of summer.
That summer, we marinated in our fresh air
that filtered the stale, standstill atmosphere.
Now, the toolbox on the broken shelf,
the set your tired father provided for you,
is rusting at the hinges.
Like you and me.
The saltwater my indigo sight produces, confronts
the bolts and twists,
corroding anything it touches.
Lover, this can be reversed by binding
our loops and hooks together.
Lover, the tools have not yet been used
and only you and I can discover
each other again.
Always,
Me.
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 11:50 AM UTC
Clear like a pearl of magic,
This silver eye
That looks down at us
In a world of it's own understanding
Makes love with the sun
When they come together
To embrace.
The moon is like a globe of love;
A synagogue of peace.
God's eye watching over us,
Keeping us safe.
God's face admiring us
With our beauty
As we act on his stage.
The moon is like a woman's breast,
Her heart, her soul,
Her eye, her womb,
Her ******
The sun burns with ****** desire
When the sun and moon come to kiss;
They become locked
In an eclipse of fire.
Mysterious
Like a blanket,
Like a golden fleece
The sphere of the moon sweeps across the sky
Like a quiet dream;
Floating like a ghost.
Wandering in jolting movements
As it sits in it's black watery hell.
As the moon sits
On a layer of haunting past,
Beauty, myth and adventure
It discovers the wilderness of ourselves.
It watches us making love,
It watches us when the world
Is at an end in war
And terror.
It confronts it with love and peace
And when we are in need of love,
Comfort and help
And his friends: the stars
Are at rest
He finds his own way of knowing
Where we are....
For those people who suffer the most
Are given hope,
Love and freedom.
And when the romantic moonlight spreads across
The lawn with silver shadows
It gives us pleasure of dreaming in silence....
©Jack Aylward
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 4:10 PM UTC