"criticisms" poems
Brandon,
To see you grow up and turn into the man you are is a gift... A young man, smart, kind, thoughtful to others. I have no criticisms to offer you in regards to the path and choices you have taken and made. I feel swelling pride for you as I write this and cannot wait to see and hear the adventures you will embark on in your life.
Having you as my cousin touches me and reminds me that I have an impact on the world, and for as long as you have looked up to me as your older cousin, I will always feel a sense of responsibility and caring for you, invigorating in purpose, which helps craft the home in my heart. Seeing time pass as sand in an hour glass, I can only glance in retrospect and see the years and times as a family you have shared with us; if it were a scoreboard, a test, the sum of all of your actions: a resounding win or success story on all counts. You are a gift to those around you and your happiness and caring will change this world for the better as it already has changed mine. Thank you for being my cousin, but more so for being the person you always are. You are a blessing and a light. Don't ever let anybody tell you otherwise or believe differently...
To end my letter to you, I will leave you with this: I can't wait to grow old and share more time with you; to go fishing, to go camping, to carry on our family's traditions and dinners which are so special among families, to share this chance to be alive and breathing, and to share our hearts with others. Go forth Brandon. Go forth and share your love with the world. Light your torch and burn it. I love you Brandon.
Your Cousin,
-Kevin
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
I can't wait till I'm awake..
Plugged into the wall.
Nothing noted until the shell of the capsule
collapses under the weight of your trembling hands.
No there is no notation for what was said between us, just figure-less voices and a strenuous pain that strained our throats for the fear of nothing being communicated between the exasperated gasps of what was less than incommunicable silence.
Ugly is not a word but a feeling applied with meaning, applied to a certain truth about that metallic taste in my mouth, that tearful pain jostled in my chest and that consuming fear.
I know little of what this ugliness could mean other than it harbors shame in my corners. This shame is not inborn in anyone, but it builds it's presence as a drunken braggart who shouts obscenities and believes he is a prince of highest regard.
His ugliness is in what he slings from his tongue and his criticisms of all who in his mind toil about. But he is simply a angry troll with no heart and delusions of grandeur, frittering away time.. for time stands as an eternal judge and measure.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
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!
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 12:14 PM UTC
I Hate You, My Love
No longer together, in a world of madness;
Just sat alone, in my world of sadness.
So come with me, on this journey through life;
I'll enlighten your eyes and I'll open you mind.
Open your mind,
Open your mind,
Open your mind, to another kind.
Something new, old, bluesy or rocking;
Musically free, from you becoming damning.
Criticisms needed, if your work is wrong;
But you’re perfection in a glass, so I wrote you a poem.
Softly bang your head and break your neck;
Live a life of missed opportunities, but have no regrets.
Hold me in your arms, because I've become contagious;
Come die with me…nobody can save us.
And save us from what? This living Hell?
Your perfumed body has begun to smell.
No longer the fresh smelling roses from Heaven;
You’re disgustingly ***** since you let me in.
No longer a ****** do you think they can tell?
Your mothers lead you to believe, you’re condemned to Hell.
I see through your eyes, as you describe what you see;
You've now become a part of me
And now I've let you, smoke my ****
I've now shown you, all I need.
Everyday I'll write you a song;
Everyday the words will be wrong.
Everyday you'll see that you hate me;
Everyday we'll disagree.
Everyday I'll want to **** you;
Everyday you will **** me.
Everyday is a whole new day;
And everyday is wrong for me.
Everyday I kiss you with passion;
Everyday I get satisfaction.
Everyday we drift apart;
Everyday you break my heart.
Everyday I **** myself
And everyday I need your help.
Everyday you must die with me;
Everyday we must both believe.
So everyday let's both fall to the ground
And everyday the lyrics will crumble down.
Ashes to ashes and blunts to blunts;
Come die with me ***** you ******* ****
I love you dearly, but I hate your guts;
You drive me crazy. Completely nuts!
I'll love you forever, until I don't;
This is my suicide letter, now I have to go.
**** it I didn't go through with the plan;
Because of you ***** you held my hand
And told me that you understand
And told me that I'm your only man.
Can you not see how much I hate you?
Can you not see how much you hate me?
Why don't you believe, what I say is true?
Why are you here, when I told you to leave?
You’re a punk rocking beauty, but completely false.
You’re a grunge kissing psychopath, that I completely love.
I have to say I hate you, so I don't feel we’re too close;
But promise me Angel, you will never go.
(C)2005 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 10:01 AM UTC
So...there's this girl who's rather smart
that, when her lips begin to part,
drives me up the wall in a good way.
I sort of want to see her everyday.
She's usually busy though,
so I occupy
time with one constant sigh
until she calls and then I go.
I don't really know too much about her ---
she's Aphrodite's caricature! ---
no,no, that's a bit rash and inflated,
but in my stomach butterflies've congregated
each time her face comes to mind.
Severely interesting,
her hands are often clean
and she's never proved less than kind.
I think it might be good to write her a song
(I should've been writing this all along)
so that she'll feel sublimely delighted
and is happy, though consistently derided
by the upkeep of her garden's flora.
She could use a lot
of things uncommonly wrought,
like poems stuffed with anaphora.
*In time all the snowflakes will evaporate.
In time the sun will sleep under an iron leaf.
In time acetylene darkens human hate.
In time all time will seem quite brief.*
So, in honor of her I have created
this mediocre song so dominated
by use of the Yeats-stanza's rhythmic-rhyme,
offering it to her as ends to the crime
of my deplorable mannerisms.
I hope it's well-received,
being arduously conceived,
but I'll openly accept criticisms.
Coral, though you must (and do) work a lot,
work harder at those things which can't be bought
(i.e. relationships, love, and empathy)
for even the natural workaholic bee
requires mutual love.
Even while working
find a small moment to sing
this song. I hope it's enough.
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
I am behind a wall with no windows and no doors.
I feel trapped and helpless.
But inside this prison I am safe,
from the outside world,
which threatens to destroy me.
There is no one in this prison,
except for the prisoner (me) and the jailer(me)
Life in this prison is not pleasant.
The only company is the jailer,
but she is very cruel.
She taunts me with self criticisms.
Thus the isolation starts as a place of safety
but soon becomes a place of torture.
And the depression begins.
Inside this prison, there is a huge wall,
separating me from the outside world.
I reach out for help.
But the barrier intervenes.
I take a step forward. But there is no where to go.
There are no windows.
There are no doors.
There are people reaching out to me.
I can hear them, but I cannot touch.
Loneliness and fear shuts them out.
My fears of being hurt again
results in me being alone.
I must live my life with this fear of growing old,
unwanted and unloved and being on my own.
I have grown up with this barrier against other people,
stopping me getting to close.
I have this powerful feeling that if I let the barrier down,
I will be swirled away in a turbulent flood of emotions.
I cannot risk letting down my barrier and discovering
what it would be like in an intimate relationship.
It could be a relationship where I float in a flood of
joyful emotions with no barriers.
A flood where I float in bliss, happiness and love.
Not as I do now feeling only fear, helplessness and sorrow.
I grew up loving my parents, and fearing them a little.
They disappointed me, hurt, betrayed and abandoned me.
Now I feel afraid to love completely,
to protect myself from ever feeling this hurt again.
If I don't protect myself who will protect me.
So a life of isolation is what is in store for me.
I need to start digging a tunnel to get out of this hell hole,
to escape the darkness and find the light.
I have to stop blaming myself, for my family being like barbwire 'untouchable'
It is not my fault my mother was misguided, mistaken and confused.
or my fault my father abandoned us and died.
I know once I accept this I will find the light.
Free to live and love .
The first time in my life.
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 10:41 AM UTC
Anxiety reverberates through my body. My chest becomes so heavy that it feels as if a cinderblock has been lied down on it. All of my body's involuntary functions pause to listen to the demons that live in the back of my head. The demons announce to my anatomy that I have no worth, no value. The demons mock my lungs, "Why work so hard to keep her breathing when nobody on earth wants her alive." My body receives the criticisms and obeys the demon's demands. My lungs quit. I cannot breath. My mouth quits. I cannot speak, the only sounds escaping are soft screams. My ears quit. I hear nothing, besides the demons. My stomach quits. It tries to commit suicide by consuming itself causing me to curl into a ball in severe agony. My eyes try to fight off the negativity. They push the negativity out through tears, but it isn't enough. They look myself over in the mirror, trying to find some value. My eyes explore my entire body, searching desperately for something beautiful, something worth fighting for. They find nothing, but disappointment. My hands fight too. They find a blade and slide it across my wrist, a demon escapes me through the tear in my skin. My body feels a slight relief, but soon a different demon rekindles my self disgust. I let the blade dance across my body, over and over again, feeling slight relief each time. Eventually my entire body is bleeding and I am still only slighting relieved of my pain. My eyes work with my hands on the search to find a place to help the demons to escape. There is no place on my body left, that I could use to release my demons. My crying has stopped and enough demons have left my system to breath comfortably. I put the blade away, and slip into bed, my entire body aching. The physical pain is much easier to handle than the physical and emotional torture the demons would have caused. I lay in bed, trying to be as still as possible to avoid agitating my wounds. I cry to myself silently, because I know I'm going to have to rip myself open again tomorrow night. I feel numb enough to eventually to fall into a slumber. Will I spend the rest of my life rereleasing the same demons over and over again, just to feel unsatisfied and numb? Are my demons right? Is my life worthless? Especially considering I'm at my best either when I'm unconscious or when I'm numb? I am so tired of being numb. Agonizing numbness.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 8:55 PM UTC
Go through hell once, try to let go and forget.
The others come in, and there's the upset.
I'll be the bigger person, that job is done.
When it comes to getting praised and credit,
there is none.
Never knowing our right place.
You don't even have to say it to my face.
We are smart enough to find out what is said about me and everyone else there is no doubt.
But as the days go on,
and more is discussed as we say it and talk,
we forget who and what the problem is really about.
I walk this place alone, no problem there.
But you putting this weight on my shoulders creates you into being unfair.
There is no blame.
I feel no shame.
Since I said what I needed and did what I had to do,
and I handled with such maturity, discipline, strength and even,
I did everything and was very sane.
I won the game.
However, even if you are still very ****** off and horrified at what I did and if you don't agree, you have no reason to.
But I will be civil on you.
But for now on, let my decisions be up to me.
Where I go shall be seen in my eyes .
Perhaps my independence
will represent what you heard from the other side.
They were lies.
False criticisms, endless battles, force, and belief in no point of view but our own.
I may have frustration, anger, and obsessive talk,
but I have kindness to loan.
I have the right to lift off and release this pushing weight.
It's about the problem
not a persons annoying trait.
We all learned from this falling out,
even though I never received my apology.
I am over this and I didn't lose anything.
I can still breathe.
You learned so much from me.
Now, I understand everything, but I am not sorry.
I have words put in my mouth.
I have depression in my body and my head.
It's time for you to understand
the words that I said.
Now thank you for noticing
how I struggled with this weight on my shoulders.
Very heavy indeed.
I felt this weight that you all put on me went in and through my muscles and it effected me mentally.
It's now your turn to feel it.
And take in and accept your doing in this falling out that occurred.
You cannot let it push you down,
and you cannot let it make you trip.
So now,
you feel the pain I dealt with.
And even though I forgive without any sorrow,
I see now,
that you get it. I am right indeed, and you know
why I did it.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
In a word? Pretentious. Your presence stains the air.
Petty criticisms, as if anybody cared.
You think yourself an icon, and darling, ain't that darling.
To be completely honest though? I couldn't give a farthing.
Your lack of self-awareness paints your harlequin visage.
Your over-swollen ego? Nothing more than a mirage.
Your tacky two-cent romance leaves one little more than bored.
Precisely why is it that you think you should be adored?
Furthermore, diplomacy seems alien to you.
Assaulting inquisitions, implications, most untrue.
It does turn rather humorous, though, given your dull wit,
As oftentimes, you miss the point, for chomping at the bit.
Your eagerness to take offense makes conversation dreadful,
And seems to strip away any desire to be respectful.
Alas, I too indulge in pettiness from time to time,
So please, enjoy my grievance set facetiously to rhyme.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 11:20 PM UTC
I have often accepted the criticisms of others,
A self fulfilling prophecy
That has left me shaped and moulded
Into the grotesque mutation
From the blueprints crafted by society.
I seek validation,
Doors that are unlocked
So I can walk into a persons life
Without having to hide the possessions I have
Under dust covers and dragging them in the dark
When they are fast asleep and can't see.
I want to be able to re-ignite the glowing embers
In my soul
So that the flames burn away the cobwebs
And the neglect of my former self.
I made the inevitable mistake of using petrol to accelerate the ignition
And now everything is falling apart,
One little piece at a time.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
The most comfortable and easiest relationship
I have ever had is with my own self-loathing.
It’s almost natural at this point to expect failures.
The whispered criticisms rise in my mind,
A crescendo of hatred and mutiny,
Quieted only by the sound of my door opening.
Soft footsteps shuffle across the carpet and ***** clothes
Stepping over unfinished homework
And an unraveling purple blanket made of yarn.
The din in my mind reminding me of faults,
Failures, stupid conversations I have had,
And every insecurity my subconscious can think of,
Stops completely as I feel the bed dip beneath your weight.
I wait, as still as I can be, for the feel of your hand on my hair,
Brushing it back, out of my eyes with a smile.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 5:07 PM UTC
All I’m beginning to feel is pain. My mind is buzzing and throbbing because I’ve shoved it out of sight. My chest aches from a diet of fried foods and breathing toxic conversation. My ears sting from biting criticisms my parents present of: homosexuals, the homeless, drug addicts, hippies, and myself. Ten days trapped, with no escape but my mind. I should have prepared better; brought armor and weapons, but nothing cuts through the opinions of the ignorant. Nothing can expose the lies they’ve fed themselves.
My mother loves “people watching” she says, but only from a safe distance. Far enough to see the grit, but not the despair.
My father is fickle, brooding and American. He can’t look foreigners in the eye and scoffs at language barriers.
Together they make assumptions: drug addict, idiot, fornicators, harlot, thief, terrorist, local, wealthy, foreign. Maybe they’re right to assume the negative; maybe they’re right when they say all the homeless are drug addicts. I hope not, I maintain faith, faith in the beauty of life, in the inherent differences we all possess, not in a God they say, says no to: liars, and ***** and prostitutes, and druggies, and the tattooed, I run, from them and their prayers, and arrogance and conclusions.
Smite me, parents, your darlingdaughter.
I’ve been all of those.
I lie to you, hide my true self, to spare you.
I’ve smoked ***
I’ve drank underage.
I’ve been a ****
I’ve been called a **********
I’ve loved the idea that love is real, whether you’re gay or straight.
You **** my faith, force in your ideals and chain me to a cross you’ve built yourselves of hypocrisy, of hate, of misunderstanding, of fear, of criticism. I struggle to get free. Defend my principles, play “devil’s advocate,” when you know as well as I, I’m not playing. I’ll prove it, be more than you’ll allow, do more than you want.
I’ll find more love than your Christianity-tainted mind can fathom.
I’ll explore the depths of the mind you’ll never know.
I’ll remember the love you made me forget.
I’ll make love to men without a ring on our fingers, and feel no remorse.
I’ll tattoo my body, to show the world the beauty of my mind.
I’ll buy a Koran because I see its beauty.
I’ll attempt to understand others.
I’ll give to the homeless, even if they’re drug addicts.
I’ll love everyone that’s real, because I can. Because it’s more important than God or war or assumptions or generalizations, or patriotism.
You think I’m rebelling?
No. no. no. I’m just living.
Aug 13, 2010
Aug 13, 2010 at 8:36 PM UTC
do not feel the need to change your works/pieces because people on this site don't think you're up to par. I encourage all of you to keep writing
in whatever forms the words come to you. This is not high school or college. You are not being graded. Criticisms are welcome and considered but don't have to apply to your work if they don't fit in with how you think your poetry should be written.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
So familiar the sparks of inspiration about to bloom
Horripilation and several empty soup cans tip me off
My time has come to be prolific,
under the wise tutelage of my angelic spektor
Accompanied by the wailing hormones of pre-pubescent boys trying to sing into microphones
Teacher please, spare a verb? Where the ivy used to crawl up fragile arms sanguine for all intents and purposes
Dear teacher, nothing electronic works in my room anymore
Dear teacher, your students are all ******
Dear teacher, I retain your lessons as lacerations upside my skull
Sweet teacher, reposing just across the hall and sideways a spell
In a coffin of criticisms and carbon monoxide fumes
The love of a generation, a single blue rose, and a jar full of tea 30 years old.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
*Judgments everywhere
Criticisms you must bear
The wicked chuck you with hatred
Keep in mind, you are sacred.
Dejection and rejections
Standards set in magazines and televisions
From painful yet glorious birth
Why measure one’s worth?
Allow it not to scar your mind
Nor the voices blind
Wear the strength in your skin
Free the radiance within.
For He lavished you with gifts
His love uplifts
Behind the scene or on stage
You are beautifully weaved in His image.
-a.g.*
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
People will keep talking
But I don't have to listen
Others will continue to expect
And define my existence
They will try to take away
What's left of my childlike innocence
And even then, the things I do
Are still none of their business
How can I feel okay?
When they become restless
From me not conforming to their way
They only see it as reckless
Their shallow mouths spew words
Bringing upon damage that is endless
With the naive intentions to help
Yet, why do I feel more helpless?
Childhood criticisms cling to me
Leaving me defenceless
Whenever the guards of my walls
Become tired and careless
I thought it'd be easier to live
If I was just passive and selfless
Until I was driven to the point
Where I couldn't tell what was precious
I have now accepted that it is okay
That I do not share the same ethics
The differences found in me
Should not make me so apologetic
Aug 17, 2019
Aug 17, 2019 at 3:05 AM UTC
*daddy screams and shouts, eyes burning with rage
mummy cries tears bitter with sage
brother is scared, eyes wide as moons
we all agree daddy has gone through menopause too soon
on our faces, we brush aside this sudden burst
"it's just nothing," we say, "he knows family comes first."
but the sight of him consumed is etched in the air
trapping the three of us in trauma's snare --
his eyes were livid, veins bulged from his neck
pulsing with the viscosity of a lava lake
he burned like blue fire, the kind that burns too hot
destroying everything around it, leaving death-clogged smog
i don't know why daddy is so angry today
till then, in our room, mummy brother and i will stay
i have never seen daddy so angered and flared
so distant with fury, so paralysingly mad
i fear for this family, i never have before this
this fear scares me, so i will make a list
i hope it will serve to place some of my fears
into linear thoughts, before it rains tears
first, daddy has always been holy and kind,
on his chest a cross, you would always find
but as he grows older, with hair turning grey,
with valley-deep wrinkles and memories gone astray,
he seems to forget, that i am human too
with his words, he beats me, beats me black and blue
criticisms and 'bad bad bad' ring through the house
if only he saw, he is the wolf that prowls
second, daddy had been a family man
the kind that spends a fortune flying us over land
but lately, he's just been out of touch and sight
sins queuing outside the door, waiting to enter at night
he seems to forget when i was a child
the cards i gave him, the way i made him smile
but i remember, when his hair was still black
in our family, love and warmth was never in lack
time, stop. return my daddy back to me.
stop this affair, i beg you; don't let age run free.
don't run through your fingers in his hair like that.
don't paint his hair grey, don't make it fall away.
give me the daddy my mummy met, back.*
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
The enjoyment of eating,
Marvels of television's ability to drown problems,
Games to replace reality was all he wanted.
The young life,
Reality,
Offered everything emotionally diabolic to a growing, developing mind.
Through ridicule from elementary peers; fat, ****** stinky or stinker or something relational.
Through defensive mechanisms of accepting ridicule from family.
Through seemingly harsh reactions to a young mind’s spoken word;
A growing trait to hide thoughts, emotions, began.
Speak and be brought into pits of embarrassment, hurt and hate?
The enjoyment of hiding, an escape.
A life sentence in confined silence -
Everything
Internalized.
Problems, actions, reactions, actions to be, thoughts and emotions occurring and to be, all internalized.
Unaware the implications were to be damaging later,
He proceeded to master the skills to hide in plain sight.
An arduous battle,
An escape from confinement to undo the silence,
Creating immunity to criticisms and differing opinions began.
Not without heightened defenses to new pressures,
Success was found.
Attempts made,
Success found,
Won battles,
The internal struggle of war with self continues at dreadful paces.
Thoughts to control past silence must always be on the offensive.
Control the defensive,
The strong silence.
Perhaps always and forever.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
We live in an age where people patronize technology,
Where criticisms exist beneath deafening reticence,
Where every truth needs to be re-examined,
And where life itself is falling on its foundations and hinges.
Beliefs and opinions are held back just for a sense of inclusion,
Letting every genuine trail of truth left behind and ignored.
And yet people wonder, why is this generation filled with delusion?
The only answer is, the loss of connection with Christ alone.
Many of us call ourselves true believers,
But when it comes to actions, the appropriate term might be barbarians.
More often than not, we only practice sanctity inside the church;
And as the mass ends, we come back to our own sordid worlds.
We are indeed sinners in different twisted ways,
Corrupted by evil, and thus to Him we go astray.
Yet, He continues to shower us with eternal love and forgiveness,
And waits patiently for us to greet him in turn with thanks, and praise.
Indeed His love for us - His children - is eternal and unconditional,
That even if we are in nature imperfect,
In His eyes, we are nothing but absolute beauty.
For we are created in His own image, liking, and serenity.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 11:00 AM UTC
Last night I came onto the hellopoetry site to try to drown out my mom's death rattle in some good poetry. Quite a few people, good decent people who have gathered around me and supported me during this agonizing time and one of those sweet Poets was being verbally and mentally attacked by
LOGHAIN CARV'O
His criticisms were malicious and very hurtful and his taunting her was more than I could bare for a friend. She related the conversation to me and she was really upset. She told me what he said verbatim' It was way uncalled for. And she is not the only one he is doing this to. He's being offensive to the extreme.Calling her a peasant and telling her she couldn't write. And I'll probably catch all kinds of hell for doing it but I paid a "VISIT" to his site and left this comment and I Quote
"Stop picking on ---------You call this a poem. You have some nerve telling her she can't write and you write crap like this. Well 1 out of 82 reads isn't so hot is it. Come on and kick me a few times. I should be easy pickings for you. I dare you ******
Well he responded with and I quote
"It is obvious you do not have artistic vision like I, that or you did not read my poems and just came here in a petty attempt to demoralize I in retaliation to the criticisms I have revealed to most peoples "poetry" I wish to waste no more breath on my lessers. Just remember I when you see my talent spread out across the world. Remember how you showed the Greatest, most renowned and revered artist no support" End Quote.
Loghain carv'o also stated that "The community on this site is rather poor"
He also stated
"This site isn't exactly known for it's Grand Community"
So now I know he doesn't even mind kicking some one who is already down. and i for one would like to know since he doesn't like this site or the Real Poets why stay? If he doesn't like the"GRAND COMMUNITY" why the hell he's still here. If he doesn't like us "lessers' why be among us.
And I didn't even tell you the most malicious comments.
When some one attacks a friend I will respond. That's what friends do.
And Loghain carv'o is proving to be no ones friend. And his
GOD COMPLEX is offensive!
I SERVE ONE GOD ONLY AND IT IS NOT Loghain carv'o!!!
I only have one thing to say to Loghain carv'o and that is and I quote again
My visit to hellopoetry last night to get away for a moment from listening to my mothers death rattle, to read a few poems and find a little Peace for a few moments was ruined by you and your offensive attitude and comments and since i'm already in a living hell right nowI can find you some room here so come enjoy hell with me. Oh but I almost forgot you don't want to consort with us "lessers"
THE MIGHTY SURE DO HAVE A LONG WAY TO FALL LOGHAIN
YOURS SINCERELY
Paula
This is for you friend love Paula
You can dish it out but you sure can't take it!
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
My one and only love;
A man who never failed to make me smile;
Random negative issues, he ignored just to prove that he chose me for who I am.
Knowing him day by day makes my feelings stronger.
Yes! he's the first ,and should be the last, man that I will love day by day,
Only him can give the love and happiness that I'm looking for 21 years.
Under all the hindrances we've been we still didn't give up.
Seeing him everyday makes my day and motivates me to be happy with my life.
Sooner or later people will accept the both of us with out any anger, doubts and negative false criticisms.
Forever is not enough to love this person, who've been fathom all the flaws I've made.
<3
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 8:19 AM UTC
Chandeliers of childhood
Clink above out heads
The crystals glitter and gleam
Singing ballads about
the day we first met
But my ribcage is tattooed
with your criticisms
And my sharp tongue
has left crisscross needlework
Patterns that trace your wrists
We both dangle pearl earrings
from our eye sockets
As our daggers flicker endlessly
in our gaping mouths
I watch you
Stuff your ears with cotton *****
From the stack on desk
Collected meticulously
To block out my metallic clashes
My left hand tries to take the
cotton out of my own ears
While my right ear stubbornly
Stuffs them back in
And my dagger makes such a clamor
That my pearl earrings turn to necklaces
Patchwork lungs burning
From the effort
I hope the strands break
So perhaps a pearl or two
Can roll to your dainty toes
But the chandelier's cracking
above our crowned heads
And both of us are too busy with cotton
to climb the gleaming ladder
to repair it.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
Fear turning to sweat
As it drips down my face
Her eyes like daggers, clutching at my child
Upon her face is the rotten core
Of a cold hearted contempt
‘For what I have worked so hard to give birth to,
She scoffs at what is before her
Such a useless, untalented thing
She mutters
The criticism of my baby is almost more than I can bear
And yet as I hold back the tears,
Those threaten to drench my face
I look once more,
Into this demons eyes
Her vicious glamour has lifted
And there stands a woman who once gave birth to me
Holding the papers I have given birth to
Her devil hearted criticisms pierce my heart
But once I truly look at her,
And see what a pathetic
Old thing she has become
I take the papers back
And smile
For the demon in my path means nothing
My words mean more than hers
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 4:46 PM UTC
Now an annual autumnal literary festival visit
to our island redoubt,
the snow geese come honking down,
in linear formation
warning itinerant human beachcombers
of their arrival on the beach runways
of our sheltered island
This TripTik recommended diversion,
is a pleasure long anticipated by them,
seen as an intellectual rest stop,
with excellent sea snacks cuisined,
flying down the Eastern Seaboard
keeping Interstate 95 on their right,
an avian version of GPS
Our birds,
follow a minor route,
commencing in Nova Scotia,
the farthest north of all the species,
never making it to Mexico,
ending their travelogue in Georgia,
lest their true species be confused
with other kinds of Floridian snowbirds
Sit by my side they do,
one by one in assigned seats,
on the now scrawny grass blanket,
their attention span famously long,
unless a school of striped bass
seen on radar in the vicinity
I, on my Adirondack throne,
a poetry reading to intone,
with more-than-occasional audience input,
considered their right most fair
Critics one and all,
animated animal devotees of the arts,
unafraid to express their thoughts,
oft in unison or in
unharmonious John Cage
cacophonies of disagreement
Sadly, I only speak local seagull,
thus their effusive exege(e)ses and criticisms,
either damming or acclaim, indistinguishable,
their only "tell" is if
they stick around for
just one more...day...
That my poetry they did favor
was a conceit I feigned to believe,
loving their attention even if not deserved,
for in their service, and nature's too,
I am now trained to sit and wait,
a minor stitch in a famous tapestry,
for well I recall Milton's words:
*"God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best.
His state is kingly;
thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait."*
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
sometimes i wish i was deaf. then i wouldn't be able to hear your heart wrenching criticisms. sometimes i wish i was deaf. then i wouldn't be able to hear the failure seeping from my throat. sometimes i wish i was deaf. then i wouldn't be able to hear the harsh taunts of silence screeching in my ears. sometimes i wish i was deaf
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 1:29 AM UTC