"containment" poems
Crazy passion fast deep soul kiss warnings word breathe reckless love devastated desk art struggle pinstripe attempts drunk ghost lost wind beauty hunger soul smile elegance latte knowing containment bond ink shallow identity measure chaos stumbling darling life dance frenzy sweat hole paper haunted only dreams ****** vandalized scars Achilles proceedings bare deep still pain inside lied courts darkness wind step empty rocky soul whisper eyes alone wrapped inside Athens love smile abuse truth lies time mind bungalow knowing liar violated Pandora’s entanglement flashbacks ****** self-preservation private suit weakness baklava hide lips ******* played deserve hold earth destruction haunted coffin judgment dreams hands eternity sleep sunset lips hidden kissed desire champagne stars taint lovers fallen what **** PR glistening intense echoes seeing taste depth care finally beach rolling salt binding heat lost quietly resumed park come believe myself arms world you skin love stranger now
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
Swept into a space too small to hold me.
His eyes put me there at first glance.
The containment welcome as I had to catch my breath.
Mesmerized by the shape of his features!
Oh what a beautiful man he is.
Everything about him screams alive.
Swept into his land of him and the pleasure he gives.
Held close by his attention and sweet words.
His allure carefully crafted with his heartless soul.
Mesmerized by his amazing mouth and touch.
Oh what a beautiful man he is.
Everything about him screams desire.
Swept into his land of lies and deception.
Confusion is abound as I hit the ground.
No longer blind to his games and fake love.
Mesmerized by my inability to make truth real.
Oh what a beautiful man he is.
Everything about him screams need.
Swept into his land of pain and sorrow.
Reality is so hard to maintain in my mind.
His web woven in captivating moments.
Mesmerized by the memories of us in love.
Oh what a beautiful man he is.
Everything about him screams mine.
Swept into his land of closure.
My feelings slowly matching the reality I despise.
The need for him fills every inch of me.
Mesmerized by how weak I've become.
Oh what a beautiful man he is.
Everything about him screams player.
Swept into his land of done.
He won't give any part of him to sooth me.
Nothing he has is for me as he is over it.
Mesmerized by my lack of composure.
Oh what a beautiful man he is.
Everything about him screams deception.
Swept into my land of reality.
He is gone and I am so alone.
Cut off from the ability to find new love.
Mesmerized by my denial of his lack.
Oh what a beautiful man he is.
Everything about him screams ouch.
Becky Jo Gibson 2-26-16
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 3:32 PM UTC
http://m.wikihow.com/Unhook-a-Bra
Pinch the eyelets but oh so gently,
To properly unhook the device to safely release paradise
From it's containment chamber.
This be one of many secrets to unlocking
The mechanism that holds some of the happy things
The human body artist conceived
To perpetuate the
Species.
According to the internet,
To extract joy to the world correctly,
Depends upon both your station and your
Positioning.
Thus, it helps to have GPS,
Which most men think is that pointy thing
Between their legs,
But is not.
Given the laws of gravity,
And other natural limitations,
Sadly that utensil of little avail
In this surgical operation.
If one desires to release the tension
Between the connectors of the protectors,
Guardians of her heart,
It will be necessary to
Let your fingers do the walking.
So cut and paste the title above,
In your web browser place!
Do your homework or risk feeling
As petite as a schnauzer.
Seems your natural tendency,
Righty or lefty, matters in this endeavor,
Of which I was unawares, oft pressing the incorrect lever.
This, the likely cause of my spectacular
Teenage
Fumblings and failures.
Had I known that fact,
In the days before the Internet,
Surely I would have brought along my
Catchers mitt
To step up my game.
Sage advice the article provides:
*Get a bra, and practice, practice, practice!
It gets easier with experience.*
But methinks that is a bit of a
Risky adventure,
Lest you be seen boy,
Practicing upon yourself,
Or even a dummy,
Dummy!
So cut and paste the title above
In your web browser,
Do your home work or risk feeling
As petite as a pocket schnauzer.
But the most important tip
This wealthy article of information provides,
The conclusion.
In the hour of your desperate struggle,
Drooping
Ego
And
Crushed
Pride,
Ask for assistance from one more practiced,
Hopefully nearby,
Whose help usually comes with a charming smile
of touching condescension
For your male idiocy and verbal in-articulation.
*She, unawares, that you have got her
Positioned precisely where you want!*
For when you lift her up,
In a free state, the one Divinity intended,
and in your arms, enfolded and protected,
In one grand poetic gesture,
Sweep her off her feet,
Her surprise will be
**..
O
So Touching!**
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
what if someone kills alongside the highway
where
we left her to live or die, a life sentence
& when she gets a gun and kills
many men all in a row
is it serial ****** if every single one
looked the same, acted the same
said the same words, as the first one
is she really a serial killer?
(who made her what she became?
all of us did this to her)
perhaps she finally make a start
at disaster containment
to eliminate the plague
one corpse at a time
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 1:08 AM UTC
We're stuck within these bodies that we're dying to change
We are ashamed because we want to be different
Modified.
We cannot escape being called by "her" or "him"
It may not seem like much, but titles matter,
As do appearances.
"I want to be this", I say
"But you're not that." Society barks
That.
We crave to be that,
The opposite of "who we are"
We're stuck, truley
We feel as if we can't escape this, containment,
This restriction,
This prohibition.
That defines us.
We didn't choose to be WHO we are,
We didn't get a choice to become WHAT we are.
I am a "he".
I am a "her".
We are confined to be one gender, "ourselves"
How can we be ourselves if our looks are so decieving?
Are we not judged by our outskirts?
I want to be "that", On the outside
I already am, on the inside
Though, I'm jammed,
Wedged,
Lodged,
Embedded,
Fixed.
We linger in these false corpses
They burn at our courage and tear at our hearts
They puncture and pierce and leave scars and bruises in our souls
Because we cannot run from ourselves.
When society is against us
We remain still
Immovable
What can we do if our skin is a lie?
I am a "he" on the inside, a "she" on the outside
I am a "she" on the inside, a "he" on the outside
I can't escape alone.
I think I'm trapped
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC
My fingers bleed
as I scratch the inside of my skull.
Like cleaning out a pumpkin to carve,
removing pulp and fingernails,
and scattering seeds to be planted.
Vacant minded, a candle
placed and centered in my head,
illuminating my eyes
and putting color to my cheeks.
Tape measure stretched,
razor sharp snap back.
Graphite on pine.
Rusted teeth cut deep.
Being boxed in, yet waiting,
anticipating the metal nails to sing
as wood meets wood.
Plumes of smoke escape
the pine structure.
My candlelight depletes along
with oxygen. This containment
only serves to obfuscate while
holding a crowbar.
And the seeds planted above
linger in soil
marinated by wood chips.
All the while the vegetable
shrivels up and cries.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 6:51 PM UTC
There's a place between society and the wild
Where aimless bodies are piled
We call it the Wastelands
All creatures die of old age
Or hunger inside this cage
The deer are never hit by cars
For they never travel that far
The Wastelands use fear
That's what keeps them here
The Wastelands are a scary place
It's horrifying how nothing happens
It becomes too much to face
So we hide under satin
To provide comfortable resting
And avoid Wastelands testing
The Wastelands are a barren environment
Solitary coyotes learn from the cacti
Who soak up meager moisture
And become prickly to protect it
Never knowing if nourishment was near
They grew prickly because of their fear
We inhabit the Wastelands
We're trapped here
Where the walls of the city
Seem to mirror
The walls of the wilderness
So it's here we build our nest
But surviving is a constant test
Because we have useless hands
Here in the Wastelands
Wastelands
Interaction
Is reaction
Create a faction
And never leave
Even if love cleaves
It lies behind ramparts of containment
And the fear of society's arraignment
Even if peace calls
It stays behind walls
Of trees hiding predators
That keep us embedded here
So we ***** barriers to protect us
From the barriers surrounding us
We find our connections through hatred
And build teams around it
We made foolish deals with Satan
This is what we're amounted
Scavengers from both worlds encroach the Wastelands
Journalists and artists mine our souls
Vultures mine our flesh like gold
Taking what they need and going home
Our rabid mouths begin to show foam
From the frustration of loss
But inactivity is our cross
While we watch carrion feeders
Carry on eating
Our friends
Until we turn and look away
Knowing that'll be us one day
Because in the Wastelands
Friends are just creatures who are near
There are no animals to hold dear
We're afraid to lend an ear
When Wastelands use fear
The Wastelands are hell
Dry river beds tell of a time
When the rain fell
But now we're plagued by drought
You can tell by looking at the trout
They flop on the ground
Wondering where to wander for water
The cacti remain still
It's the Wastelands will
In the Wastelands we wait to die
Although we really want to fly
We're just afraid of heights
Which impedes our sight
Where we can't view over our own barricades
It's fear that prohibits our ability to elevate
And we see that the order is too tall
Back into the Wastelands we fall
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
A confinement to the street,
I likened it to a bliss of pain.
Not extended like an overrun episode,
But the anxiety is sleepless,
When yesterday approaches,
I wrap myself in the ignorance,
Homeless, timeless,
It grows and defines,
Coarses through my fundamental
Lapses,
A boy becomes an atitude,
I wish i had these experiences in youthful insurgencies.
Its someday in the week,
I lose the raptured schedules,
To hunger is life.
To thirst is life.
The misled winter wraps itself
On my frozen life.
A faint emergence of time
Resumes,
There in the shadows
I once knew a man,
The visions of him asking to feed
My souless self.
Stretched by insistent graces,
In a road of certain contrasts,
Gentle into the street,
I laugh; the revolving doors,
I cry; what or who i never was,
A certain kind of grace to be
Within the containment,
the poor, the restless,
bleeding my facades,
Shredding the faces I once knew
Destroying my world.
Once I sat upon a throne
Lost in the decimations,
I dont know who I am.
Keep walking.
Telling myself as the night freezes
I will be just fine.
Keep walking
Telling myself in minced
Thoughts as hope flutters against
Nowhere to go.
Keep walking,
The sun rises
And blisters on my feet
Calm the night as the safety
Of day lets me rest.
I will bounce back tomorrow,
And the streets become a ripened spring fruit,
Losing myself
And the art of loss
Is no disaster,
Not unlike losing my keys,
Not unlike losing places,
Not unlike losing names,
Until i reconciled myself
At the fork of the river,
Losing myself is not an art:
The beauty was in finding who I was meant to be.
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 6:09 PM UTC
People pacing, cattle station.
Racing to, the next location.
Jump on a crowded metal tube.
To get to work, your office cube.
You **** and moan, till you get home.
The box for your throne, is land on loan.
So set on containment and fitting in.
That we neglect our problems, with tonic and gin.
We drink to forget, all the things we regret.
We sit through each hour just to settle our debts.
See, life's not about living, not anymore.
It's about finding the time to settle our scores.
But time is running faster, than ever before.
Its nearly too late, just 12 years to the door.
We can't keep up, we thought we were winning.
But the reality is that the atmosphere's thinning.
It's getting harder to breath it's getting harder to see.
Extinction level event, that's all we'll ever be.
Each day we're alive is a day the earth's dying.
We need to take action, no point sitting here crying.
Stop single use plastics, that's the easiest tactic.
Stop clearing the forests, stop being dishonest.
The point that I'm making, that I'm hoping your taking.
Is get out of your head, less the earth gets put to bed.
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 10:56 PM UTC
✓My favorite weapon
✓Bikini ski boat
✓Fluorescent sand
✓Her eyes immaculate
✓Keys to the prophet's house
✓Emotional screening device
✓1 cup of sun, 3 teaspoons of rain
✓Third world treasure map & saxophone
✓Alternate flightpaths
✓Extra parachute
✓Mediocre Shakespeare
✓Poison pen letters
✓Getaway car & escape route
✓Ladies in waiting (in lingerie)
✓Subterranean lips
✓A pinch of film noir
✓Night vision
✓Antarctic scenarios
✓Fountain of remembrance
✓Policy of containment
✓Silhouette machine
✓Water wings
✓Pillow
Mar 14, 2025
Mar 14, 2025 at 10:12 AM UTC
I'm a captured tooth nerve
amalgam appeased
restrained in containment
by my keeper
then I can be a prisoner
escaping the jail
my warder has lost
the keys of control
on dark days
my fathoms swirl
in murky mass
infused with blinding kelp
on good days
my porthole shows
clearness of eye
the glass reflects well
just to confuse
my ores composition
is misunderstood
the translation
metamorphic
changing
minute by minute
hour by hour
these ones are buggers
my microscope
isn't good with definition
will I or wont I
who knows
my borders are contested
being diplomatic
I make pacts and treaties
no monicker is required
the tried and tested
gentleman's agreement
that will do
my margins
can be thick or thin
comments fit in
usually they range
between
insult and praise
depending on the mood
I oft go to open cut mines
to find common minerals
which are useful on a daily basis
real effort is called for
when I delve into deep shafts
sometimes gems are quarried
precious ones to behold
well enough said
a letter is to be written
dear meditative home
we're returning soon
if we're delayed
after hours
p.s. leave the porch light on
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 5:52 AM UTC
Natures dilapidated rhythms
Carves itself into the trunks
Leaving only an omen
To be enchanted by a passer by
This fellow lone traveler
walking into ceilings of emerald delusions
The saintly stones and the creaks of trowlbrooks
He can not help but to gasp even to deafened ears
Lulled into complacency by decades of broken legends
The anointed ones and their fractured promises
Still somehow a harmony of one lonely leaf called out to him
Echoes from an apocalyptic cavernous wasteland
All the worlds suffering adjoined in one single note
With the agony and punishment
of all the dehydrated souls
The traveler was resurrected by the choice to live in a world of sensation
Rather then some brick containment
He chose to let suffering be fall his confessions
With a symphony in one hand
And a chain saw in the other
He belted the incarnation of freedom
They all tumbled for the rocks
he , the saw and the beauty
The clashing cascade
A blessed rapture and necessary harmonic sacrifice
all to the gods of that ensure we never have silence
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:10 AM UTC
media says you
obey the new curfew
the men in black suits
drooped there blues just to hit you
oath breakers lament at the days of justice
glad that there gone, joyous warrior busts sit
in place of the ten in court houses and school pits
correctional facilities a mural of magnanimity
fasad removed infirmary's
making monsters of men once just true to peace
that's why I must say don't just police the police
put in brief question everything
even the words I'm saying
if all this **** hits
any resistance will be terrorism
any act will be justifiable in the name of containment
and no injustice
no matter how grievous
will need anything more to be welcomed
as the flag "to stop the Ebola"
50% chance of death to all infected
100% chance to rule the world
1% chance to have a peace of the pie
99% chance to die
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
It's everybody's job.
Détente, rollback, middle-ground.
Working it until an internal weakness is found.
Surround the town with wire.
Eventually their voices will tire.
It does not work with fixed plans. It does not take unnecessary risks. Impervious to the logic of reason, and it is highly sensitive to the logic of force.
For this reason, it can easily withdraw—and usually does when strong resistance is encountered at any point.
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 4:46 PM UTC
I want that thing between your legs.
the whole grand scale of it.
the promises of it.
the taste of it.
I need that thing behind your chest.
the whole of it
deepest of all of it
the containment of it.
I long to be that girl.
who has the flesh of it.
who is the being of it.
- just to be it.
I need that thing between your legs
I must serve it.
I must **** it.
I must have all of it.
If that's all of you I get
I must have all of it.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
You think your children are being educated
But they're actually being ego deflated
They aren't being taught
How to form a thought
Because ...
That's not good for the machine .
You hear the fringe word
meditation
As if it's some kind of voodoo
incantation
Instead they want you to be fed
A steady stream of entertainment
As a way of keeping containment
Off the Grid
Off the grid
The inspector said
We can't be having that
Regulations regulations regulations
Thats all he had to say
Truth be known ...
.....he was just a clone
Latest model on display
Notice how the men in blue
Are becoming almost savage...
....In their demeanor
As they are primed to follow blind
The Crooked Mind
Of the Master overseer
So totally convinced
That they never even sensed
They never were...
..really
A volunteer
Primed and loaded
Each one having been pre - coded
By the educators in the classrooms
That are
The soul burning incinerators
Burning away every trace
Of any human emotions
While swallowing down
Steroid laced
Psychotic mind bending potions
As the rest of us are being fed...
... instead
Of our daily bread
Mind bending views
Prepackaged news
To keep us all shuffled up
Off center
So as to totally confuse
That way we don't ever wonder
Why we choose
Once we find we're standing
In the line to buy the latest toys
Keeping our heads filled..
..with noise
That way
We don't have any time to think
As long as everyone behaves.
They'll never know
That they are slaves
No shackles , chains or wooden canes
To keep the masses in production
We have the latest must-haves ..
.... new introductions.
But time to sit and think......
That's not what the machine wants
Us to do !
That's not
In the latest matrix
Silencing the external
In search of those things
That should be ETERNAL
Will make you unfit for society
As your number is etched
Into
The overseers recorder
In this ....
...THE NEW WORLD ORDER.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 12:41 PM UTC
*Start 1
with bright light
imagining
unconfined
no inner or outer
a wish arises
for something other
any crumb will do..
with the finding
of that crumb
a jolt startles
from a slumber..
Start 2
with lowly crumb
imagining
containment
outer no inner
a wish arises
for boundary erasure
a merging with
bright light..
with the finding
a jolt startles
from a slumber..
breathwork: 12121212...*
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
With the first awareness of morning
I sense the kind of clarity elusive
at other times of day.
She is a singular breath, formless,
offering insight into the endlessness
of something pure.
Yet she moves away as thoughts come:
those dissenting armies that ***** in
to involve me in the containment of opposites.
She will not be held in place by argument.
I long for her when she leaves.
My intention is to attend to her when I’m able.
To be the gardener who loves the flower.
That she might touch me when she will
That she might find me, often
In the gentleness of contemplation.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
Walls and chains, walls and chains,
That is the metaphor for containment.
But do not forget that of your own mind
It'll lock you up and tell you lies,
Replaces emotion with logic
But the logic is just so chaotic
And you can't break free of this
In your mind, walls and chains are what you miss.
The mind is what convinces you to regret
Kisses and touches and feelings and yet
You know in your heart the feeling is true
Its like there's a war between the two
Walls and chains, walls and chains
They know nothing of containment.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC
I walk into this containment cell of lost souls
Groping around hoping to succeed towards their parent'a goals
We are all just playing another role
A building block under their control
But when you're the block that causes Jenga, heads start to roll
They'll throw you into a hole
Where you'll live your life like a mole
An animal in a cage, a box, a cell, that's the tole
Their real goal
To lock you up and maintain control
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
That golden color is no more valuable than a penny, fills each valley as its been for moments while there's nothing to hear out side of her ears other than mother natures breath. For now her discernment is a monster of despair that doesn't lay under her bed. She gazes at her joints while contemplating her lack of courage to remember that the tiger inside of her that lashes against all of the village will not be doing the same to her. The righteous act of stillness is what is motivation to put down what isn't really mine. The shiny pointed sculptures of paper that some know as a tool for creation named scissors, that need to cut inanimate objects, not my vessels containment for natural life. I let myself fill my cup with spirits that I don't drink, but bathe in.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 12:04 PM UTC
In area 51 they selected a large patch of desert
for their nuclear tests!
Fencing off the ground in a desolate spot
where they estimated.
The plutonium would come safely to rest
the experts knew best!
Many explosions were carried out in the fifties
no public knew the truth!
But one crucial fact about the contamination
as it lay in the dirt!
Worms were not bound by their fences
so undermining their defences!
How far would the plutonium have been taken
transporting the lethal load?
Birds to feeding on the worms in the earth
what was their contribution?
Too much secrecy and failed containment
and tax dollars spent!
It will end up destroying a once ****** earth
what now are the experiments worth?
The Foureyed Poet.
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 10:44 AM UTC