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Robin Lemmen Aug 2018
Let's consider our ending a sunset
Something beautiful not simply painful and sad
Let's consider our ending the sun going under to find a home once more
Let's consider our ending a new beginning
Regardless of if we need it or even want it
Let's consider our last goodbye the opportunity a fallen star
Giving birth to a new day, a new love, a new life
And let's consider our ending the moon falling over us like a warm blanket
A lonely companion through the night as we try and heal these wounds
And perhaps, if all is meant to be we will meet again
And we can consider the sunset not the ending but a beginning
幽玄 Aug 2018
Life is always too long,
but it’s moments are constantly shortened,
to a few scenes,
recollections;
memorable without
most of its landscape attached
blurred around the edges,
odorless,  
clocks without their usual cover—
refinement at least to a bare minimum,
left you of whatever pieces
that decided to remain
for forward
—reminiscing
something to remember: no matter how difficult a sudden shift can be, look beyond that to where you could find amity somewhere in the ambiance. whereas for some the opportunity to is forever lost, loathing behind a foreignness.

‘never take the moment to seize an opportunity for granted. you will live out your life with utter regret.’



we’re (merely) prisoners to our own demise



*title given from an ambient piece.
Bus Poet Stop May 2015
come to me,
my beloveds
with long nails
and squinting eyes,
spare neither
claw or hook,
delve and devolve,
critique and solve
the words of this prophet
scribbled on plastic
bus seats

give me
my due,
my comeuppance,
my downfalls

will me
to be better
or worse
if that be betterment

so eagerly
will embrace,
grasp, insert
your benailing fingers,
soften, grasp,
repoint thy claws
taking thy earnest joy
at pain inflicted
as my own
as long as you dare
just say something!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A bus poem
in honor of my invitation  
my digital birthing

April 8th, 2015
When a white woman is victimized they'll scour the streets, fan out, stop,
harass, detain, arrest any black man. Any one they can finger for the crime.

They say things such as they all look alike or something to that effect.

A black woman is abused they'll look around, see white males everywhere but they cannot find any suspects? None of them fit the description.

Why is that?

Yeah, that's right, it is because they all look alike! Too many of 'em. Can't arrest everyone now can we? People have rights!

Yep,
          I suppose they do...



As long as you consider them,
                                                        "­people,"  
                                                    ­                           -they have rights.
For those who bother to check..my father told me about the original T.V. media on this and I deduced the rest by a sheer enjoyment of the man. Love you AL.
Ylang Ylang Jul 2018
The Sun made it possible for us
to live and grow

However, in 5 billion years, the day of the judgement
is about to come,
when the Sun will swell and devour the Earth.
Our then-current state and our past
will be precisely reviewed by the Sun.
We'll be appraised of what we've accomplished,
and judged for our deeds
and all that stuff.

But,
the Sun had got the date wrong, because
we will ******* **** ourselves
way before this time.
Genious, that Borrowed Word I will Subscribe
From the Land of Prayer, thanks be to you
With this Device my Social Tracker bide
To stomp Hypocrisy for Friends so True
Yet in Earnings for my Dimed Attitude
This Child did more than just create
Is to be True myself; And pursue the Good
Past Stunning Hassles our Frustrations relate
Must I consider to promote to Prime
If only Assets my Wallet can fill
At least I return the Favour in Kind
And try to maintain my Loyalty still.
Now with that done, our Voices carry on
My Heart uplift; Though Feelings weigh a Ton.
#nischalshetty
Beautiful are the stars in the dim sky
When fireflies, in the silence of the night, shine
And the leaves dance with the tempest wind
As the clouds clad itself with darkness.

Beautiful are the things in life
Even if given with a horde of trials
Consider the roses robed with thorns
Or the cactus in the desert grown alone
On how they have dealt with life thus spines born
And on how their spines have made them strong.

Let the troubles opt to mist on its own.*


- qyf
---
Which of your Favourites you take to Trust
And hoping One of them will fill your Void
So Alone, though in Many you Adjust
Though their trifle pertinence you carry
Those Nerds ahead just consider you Strange
Yet Groupies counteract with their own Praise
Now who is Correct? They sit at the Lounge
Then settle to offer your own Fresh Space
That around your College are Ideals formed
When Some in Prayer may publish their Book
Took you as a Model; And Critics scorned
See their Used Lives in a Better Outlook.
You just have to Smile; And Happy you did
Fan their Frustrations of that Love you hid.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
If Eight Fanned Angels admit to his Name
And beg the Sullen Scroll to recompense
These Fortitude's Maidens learned to maintain
An Hour to decide which Fashion made sense
Loyalty alone may not win his Heart
Consider the Hours he has to consume
Now celebrate each other; Though apart
To golden yourselves and Pride you subsume
All of you - Beauty's Inner Chorus - Taste!
Taste and realise Other Flavours grow
The Bowl you feed in has more than one space
As other Jolly Princes dive for show.
Your Plum Prince still smiles. But go and decide
Which Heart to follow and which Heart to hide.
#daleysangels
Nothing turns this angel down
Excellence, in the flesh
And if they try, an evening gown
In satin works the best

Is beauty deeper than the skin?
Surely she'll impress
Instead of showing what's within
She forces you to guess

Eyes of gold been tarnished brown
By tears that have been wept
Dark and shining locks abound
Make up for shades not kept

Sin runs red in times of blue
Every angel's seen
Temptation's there to carry you
When you have lost your wings

Consider but the outside shell
For that is most well-known
Appearing to be straight from hell
To garnish feelings shown

How could she be so mean, you ask?
What makes her be so spiteful?
Why can't she see it's not a mask
That makes her feel delightful?

Lies frozen, held through time
In silent desperation
Hiding at the scene of the crime
A ****** confrontation

To free the memories from her head
Would unleash such a fear
She'd rather end the night instead
As not to feel him near

Ah, here's the one; the big bad wolf
That's haunted all her dreams
Whom proved too well by wearing wool
All are not as they seem

But I am ****, but skin and fur
And showing her my core
And telling her the parts that hurt
While donning nothing more

He's changed her mind, she's cast astray
But I could be the shepherd
To keep the hungry wolves at bay
As countless dogs endeavored

One light can only shine so much
Before the flame has died
To reignite it just a touch
Of love might satisfy

Surely there is nothing worse
Than feeling left to dry
Entrapped within a lover's curse
And never knowing why

Well, in defense of self-defense
I must admit it's snide
To hang a face upon the fence
Until you've picked a side

It's safe, my friend, just be yourself
Strip down to nothing hidden
And let emotion feed your health
By eating the forbidden

A heart must be coaxed from its hide
With tenderness and passion
In order for the passersby
To notice what has happened

From way out here it's hard to tell
But underneath a soul
That liberates a girl of twelve
Longs for a soul to hold

To hold would mean to carry, too
When harsh times rear their heads
To be the one to follow through
When love needs to be fed

But most of all it means to dress
With confidence or loathing
Just make sure you can impress
A saint in Sinner's clothing
Brain pictures
Luz Hanaii Jan 2014
Many think, I used to think this as well, that to be happy you must fill exalted and exited. When good things happen to us we naturally feel good and elated, it's a natural human response. Good things make us feel good and what we consider not good, make us feel bad.  A natural child and human response.

The sense of  happiness I'm describing here is not the mere result of a reaction to some happy event but is rather the state of being of our spirit, the acceptance that there will always be things that we have not control of, which we feel are bad and make us angry or sad.  True happiness in my estimation is being at peace, not letting our emotions, either good or bad determine our inner balance.

How many times those things I considered  bad, latter where the very things which help me learn and grow.  Experiences such as, illnesses, poverty, abuse, ignorance, depression, anxiety, fear... on and on, are nothing more than teachers, though we may see them as tormentors, when they first strike at us.

We are taught to live in this world using our five senses.  Therefore we estimate that happiness must be having good things and good feelings. We are thought to judge in order to survive in this world.  And that is fine up to a point, if we don't look before crossing the street, we take our chances at getting hit by a car.

We are taught that happiness is outside of us, we look for entertainment, material things,  and people to make us happy.  We look for support and words from others to value who we are, it is the normal thing a child does. It is the normal process of the primitive survival geared mind.

Some of us have not have the blessing of having parents that were happy within themselves, we've been verbally and physically abused, publicly ridiculed,  beaten, not validated/ignored, minimized and made to feel sick and disconnected etc... we've come from broken homes and broken people trying to raise us as best they knew how.  We are trying to heal and grow. We are all seeking to be happy.  We are all seeking support from an exterior world and from people, it's natural.  But as we mature and awake, we realize that no person, entertainment or thing can ever truly give you the happiness you need. We need to stop comparing ourselves with others or taking to heart their estimation of us. We need to revise and update the old programing in our minds given to us by our parents, school, the world. We have to learn to forgive others, love and accept our selves to find true happiness.  

I once heard a good example of what happiness is, which I had not considered.
Example below
*******
Look at your hand and observe how each finger is happy.  They don't ask for anything, they simply are.  Now if you were to hit one finger with a hammer the finger would stop being happy.  It would start to throb with pain and depending on the impact the pain would go away or stay longer.
True happiness is simply that, just being.

Revised @9/21/16
-Luz Hanaii
I revised this, for growth is not set in stone, my way of seeing things changes as I move on with time. There are different angles and ways to look at things. I understand that we don't all use the same eye prescriptions, my limited perceptions may not agree with yours.  Also that by me judging your way of observation as wrong, would only limit me and my growth.
poetryaccident Dec 2018
Allow me to consider boots
that accessory that fits the foot
beginning where the others start
moving on to higher realms

with a heel or lacking same
it’s the height that brings the bling
no matter the material’s type
exaltation is the game

not demur like other shoes
the practical is job one
protecting feet from the world
I put this aside in lurid thoughts

extending from the floor to knee
when the **** is fully seen
don’t stop until the joint is met
by the top of the bootleg

the calves will have another day
to strut their stuff on full display
at this moment they concede
the need to prance a fetish theme

now my thoughts have arrived
at the point where I may not lie
adoration of the footwear
is predilection I now share.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181221.
The poem “Consider Boots” was inspired by my adoration of the footwear.
Raygan Emma Jane Dec 2018
Do I even consider him a lover,
If he isn’t you ?
SelinaSharday Jul 2018
Who Am I!
Who am I to be!
Where Do I belong..
Where will I end up..

Why was I designed and what Do I live for.
Wonder why I am who I am..
  Wonder why I do the things I do.
    
People....
  I wonder why people judge the way they do..
    I ask how people hold on to the judgements and criticisms.
      I often see how people keep others in tight cages.
        I see the hatred and it often amazes.

Even with all the answers......
I'd love some favors, I'd Love some forgiveness..I'd love Grace.
It'd be so wonderful to love others as we love ourselves.
It'd be so Blessed should we let go and let God..
It would be so humbling should we forgive as we need forgiving.

See how we don't all have the same views....
See how we all don't believe the same things...
   See how we each reason and have our own logics.
    But can we all at least see we are all still human beings.
Who all needs those basic Things...
         Love! Redemption. Safety..Trust..Peace,,Understanding..
Food..clothes.. shelter.. and family and friends...
  Can..
Can we place ourselves in someone elses shoes..
Show some empathy..show some coompassion..
   consider what if you were me.
Live the best we can with the life we are given..
  Open the cage and let the hated free..
Give them To God let him Be..
What ever it is to them He wants to be.

S.a.m 2018 Protected!
We all have been given Life..we wonder what our purpose is..But can we all just love and let live..No matter what our differences..And Forgive and let others be forgiven.. "let God be God for those that believe he is Who He Is..
Kara Jean Jul 2016
I questioned tomorrow

Are you real or fake?
Am I afraid of you or do you make me stupid brave?
Do you love or hate?
Will you consider being easy on me?

Sadly, tomorrow had no reply

He just came

Day by day

Moment by moment

All I really can do is try to create my tomorrow today
Val Ajdari Nov 2013
Like a child enlightened by heightened curiosity,
So is a native poet by poetic luminosity.
A verse in sight and sound devoid of modern flair,
For poetic convention the poet does not care.
So, take this vague verse as one roaring rhyme,
And take it as verbiage very overdue in time.
Unjustly sunken voices the poet seeks to hear,
Battling a torrent history...above, below, and near.
This inquisitive writer infers a present too dismal,
As around an angry sea lies an origin; abysmal.
Rejecting fables history’s assassins inked true,
The writer seeks fair chroniclers, but wreckage was their due.
Sought is Illyria, a place far from here.
Land said "not to exist," but its roots still reappear;
Fabricated history most poets cannot fathom,
Quelled grandiose splendor serves political stratum.
Calling curious minds to ponder this heck of a theory,
First, consider the writer's roots with impartial query.
What the Illyrian believed in was a life well spent,
Not man-written "guidance" begging cents to repent.
Since Illyria’s rebel ship sailed onto history a fright,
Shakespeare's pen amorously inked the 'Twelfth Night.’
Around Illyria’s outskirts sly mythology prevails.
Modern Illyria’s pervasion of such mythology still fails.
So, how does one interpret Illyria’s butchered will,
As her Godless schism fibbing history faux fills?
Her feeble-minded native is essentially to blame
For their grand, deceptive role in the imperialist’s game.
Brutal eradication of Illyria’s vocal reason
Deem the native conspirator of ultimate treason.
So,  while the State buries the poet's piercing wits,
The treasonous dog barks, upon foreign command he *****.
The dog's filthy betrayal, painted by his foreign master,
Is an art to be repeated in future governing disaster.
In the European south roam these bad hounds of species,
Anatomical sketches of Europe's rear excreting feces.
A pile all imperialists eject with laxative ease,
A pile all imperialists still smear as they please.
Above Illyrian graves (those below made to inspire)
The ***** dog dances, blind to his own fate in fire.
This ****** work of art, not a site for you and eye,
Is an emblematic governance gagging an eerie cry.
As today’s political pawns (in corruption they engage),
Illyria’s distinctive scions remain fools on a stage.
Our bodies dance and sway like silly puppets at play,
Our minds confined to idiocy as the socialist's prey.
So,  a poet's jingle jangle on probing minds they should linger,
As besought are worthy scions who must leave behind a "finger."
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