"curtail" poems
There are no right answers.
The sky rejects the birds, turns them
over to gravity,
embedding them in the concrete and dirt.
The grit refuses to become a pearl,
just as the wound refuses to heal
and the flesh eats itself.
The market sees a sudden spike in
sales of Champagne and cyanide.
Coordinated efforts seek and fail
to curtail the rising tide of violence
in the nation's dreaming.
You realise that this crude, barbaric language
that you can't understand
is your own.
Beauty glitches and pixelates.
Frightened, furtive confessions of love
are unheard over proud, visceral
proclamations of hate.
Tongues divorce mouths.
Every now and then, a voice
inside your head says,
'Thud.'
The measures of sanity become
more quantifiable and
totally arbitrary.
The horizon
tightens
like
a noose.
It doesn't matter if this is wrong.
There are no right answers.
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 4:40 AM UTC
I waste myself for you, oh page.
I battle sleep and demons and
Face what I would otherwise
Curtail, for the simple act of
Filling you up.
I trap everything that I am
Within you, page. A web for my
Foggy thoughts, dew caught like
Tears, crystallising the opaque
Within my life.
You are the recipient in my mind,
Oh page. Brain chatter forced into
Structure, a soldier. Almost a child.
You **** me like an alpha, my borrowed
Pleas at your feet.
And so I tread you like infant snow.
Each print a scar, each word a brittle
**** stem. Your silence a truth beyond
My own and whatever I say
Will pollute it.
So I walk round in circles. Tiptoes
Like sparrows, piecrust shapes in
The snow. I walk in circles to not
Carve a path. To hide my meaning.
Don’t follow me home.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 7:53 PM UTC
Soon
my weekend will never end
my night will never disolve
my party will never curtail
but for now I dream
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 7:05 AM UTC
At night I sleep alone
Mending heartache like stitches sewn
To no avail
As dreams of you prevail
My heart just couldn’t curtail
The ember of your embrace
An ember that’s now displaced
Or one in which I’d misplaced
Will it ever be the same
As November came
And I was left in pain
Craving you again
Will I ever be the same
As December sang
And January rang
With A heart scarred
and left shard
Will we ever be the same
As February drained
And March rained
For its we i wish to be
There is no we
she responded to me
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 11:56 PM UTC
1231
Somewhere upon the general Earth
Itself exist Today—
The Magic passive but extant
That consecrated me—
Indifferent Seasons doubtless play
Where I for right to be—
Would pay each Atom that I am
But Immortality—
Reserving that but just to prove
Another Date of Thee—
Oh God of Width, do not for us
Curtail Eternity!
1.9k
It was always from the same breath
you were called both ***** and hen.
The cue from on the hoof words jarring.
They wanted to curtail your pride
to wrestle ambition,
chide even your Soliloquy.
By the soak of the covert
all she wanted to was wash
the dust from her feet,
proceeding to use a pumice
she recognised the endless toil.
Submitting to the widening silence,
her cochlea impressed -
the whisper of what it was to hear a stream,
the disciple's quest - now her inner strength :
wading courage, sharpened focus
the weathered course, she longed to know.
Tally Crane ,Oak and bream
the amble of time proceeded
mindful her shawl swept
towards a larger cycle .
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
Never frail, as you fail,
Keep your dreams firm, never curtail,
Keep moving don't derail, even if you trail,
Towards your dream, Keep walking like sail.
From my childhood highly rejected,
Without realizing myself, became isolated,
Something kept me **** slowly elevated,
A day came, with convenient wins, I blasted.
Delayed success put my life exalted,
Delayed failure kept me halted,
Someone knocked the door forcefully,
I opened to see him doubt fully.
I am your dream, he continued and told,
Put this mindset on the hold,
Get up, where you fell,
Get back to your work, all is well.
He told I am there, never worry,
Get up you can, but never hurry,
Success tastes like a sweet cherry,
From me if you become, more scarry,
I worried, my life was on a halt,
Failure was a painful pinch of salt,
I thought my life was on an end,
Later realized, it chisel, in the making of a legend.
My goals constantly delayed,
A question really kept me frayed,
I planned to give up and get back,
An inner call replied me to take up & come back,
With my life, failures played,
To my personal call, I obeyed.
A voice told me, don't leave! Don't leave!
Keep working on, believe! Believe!
To the life, never become a prey,
Like a champion, always rise and stay.
I understood slowly,
Failure does not mean to give up,
Failure means the courage to get up.
You sleep to rise up,
You fall to stand up,
You fail to rise up.
Never compare to your friends,
Life is full of injuries and bends,
Your life is lived on your own,
For a meaningful run towards a success crown.
You are unique! You are unique!
Failure is ultimately ubique!
Run your life on your own speed and ways,
Failures teach you success always.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC
Sometimes I fain would find in thee some fault,
That I might love thee still in spite of it:
Yet how should our Lord Love curtail one whit
Thy perfect praise whom most he would exalt?
Alas! he can but make my heart’s low vault
Even in men’s sight unworthier, being lit
By thee, who thereby show’st more exquisite
Like fiery chrysoprase in deep basalt.
Yet will I nowise shrink; but at Love’s shrine
Myself within the beams his brow doth dart
Will set the flashing jewel of thy heart
In that dull chamber where it deigns to shine:
For lo! in honour of thine excellencies
My heart takes pride to show how poor it is.
1.7k
The rule of the self is exalted above
any adherence to any thing/feeling.
Their notions of doubt ruling over existence and
is in the supreme station of reason and power.
It sheds the former existence of yesterday
inasmuch as we are always recreated.
The philosopher's stone which
can conceive of no other thought
except the originality of the self.
It drinks the seven seas as if a drop and
asks, "Is there yet any more?"
No authority save the intimate friend
can find its way here.
Every stranger is betrayed and
its chariot becomes outworn for the rider.
And when they look at themselves
they behold their powerlessness in
the face of every nation, which
simply makes them embark on
the conquest of their own heart.
Every listener is as a bullet to their
enemy.
Every truth is as a fallen warrior
for their Cause.
No wind is sufficient to curtail their
sense of direction.
Every human acknowledged is as a piece
of sand supporting their path.
There is no end to their perturbing of the skies.
The poem is unfinished as the scribe of
their tale is astounded by the
regeneration of their march.
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 1:45 PM UTC
Forgo Summer to Die in the Winter
its quite alright that your a *****
you should have never showed up last night
i thought I told you the score
repeat, repeat, repeat
a time or two before
dance this silly dance we do
back and forth
score for love, a score for secrecy
we should have never held one another that close
electric and morose
it's over and it can't be fixed
there is no coming back from abysm
instead I seek an important peace, within me,
and for us, for us
do you remember the us?
wait, i heard you
no longer an us
we are nothing
as you say, as you say, as you say
but I held out for respect of a friend
none to be had
you show me how that can be done,
more lethal than a loaded gun
sad me walks and walks alone, alone, alone again
you leave in silent steps
quiet tongue
as always
as always
no change
you say I confuse your truth for mean
you confuse my communication for gibberish
your ears go numb
you forget...
me
you act as if you don't know what to say...
to me
so much time to know me yet you remain amaurotic
you curtail and introvert
deaf ears, hardened heart
questioning the tears
telling me to not roll them out
you wouldn't, why would I?
berating, blind, black-hearted
forgiveness is but a lark
It was important
I tried to tell you
I am sorry you chose to miss it
this is going to hurt...
it’s yours
Jan 27, 2010
Jan 27, 2010 at 8:46 AM UTC
i'd like for you to fight
as i would fight for you
(if i could)
had the plates of my armour
not resumed the shelled perfection
of cowardice
i'd like for you to
fight
throw fury-fuelled punches
at the barricading fists
of something like fate
i
i'd like for you to
fight
curtail the cold blow
of circumstance
trump those phantom forces
dear destiny
every rigid bone man has erected
to create something tangible, cheap and ephemeral
of love
i'd like for you to wait for me
as i would wait for you
had i the certainty
the certainty of
a gallery of your faces
Vivid and quick to the frantic reaping
Grasp Of recollection
I’d like for you to mirror my gaze
Resurrect unfiltered feeling of affection
And woe begone worship
Tormented to swoons of silence
By cerebral guard with their spears of reason
Before it could reach the parting gates of my lips
I'd like to you to resurrect these thoughts
With the elixir of your tongue
Speak the words I dare to think
I’d like for you to fight for me
Wait for me
add premise to the promise
Come claim your rightful throne
In the hierarchy of this heart.
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 1:27 PM UTC
I used to think this a term for athletes
Late in their careers
Past their prime
Yet I sit here now
Looking at the pill dispenser
Filled to the brim each day
Not long ago I didn’t even own one
Until the litany of trials and tribulations began
A never ending trail to doctors
Blood and ***** tests,
CT scan, then MRI, followed by
an endoscopy and an Ultrasound
Now four separate ailments identified
The fifth without a diagnosis
Stealth, planning an untimed attack
No grandparents, parents, uncles left
A dear high school friend gone at an early age
My buddy for many years departed
Now this
My youngest brother passing
Far before his time
A two week cold or flu sapping my energy
Then some bug decides to invade
So I curtail eating, on mostly fluids now
I feel weak
And exhausted
And washed up
Andreas Simic©
Jun 17, 2022
Jun 17, 2022 at 7:24 AM UTC
Neptune's call
Hot is the Caribbean night
with added stars and the moon big as a Swiss cheese
on a velvety theatrical curtail.
I stood on deck leaning on its railing
dreaming of Jamaica as the ship slowly ploughed
white crested black water aside.
The ocean sang to me I listened intently and before
I knew it the sea had tried to drown me.
Had I fallen among sharks and see the fading lantern,
would anyone but Neptune have heard my screams?
I lit a cigarette, thought about my endless voyaging
from port to port jaded I was Neptune had read my thought.
This had to end before I got lost in hollowed eyed boredom
there is no place to pole-dance on as hip
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 2:45 AM UTC
Spinning in its apogee this world has lost its rhyme
It’s denizens deflecting and defacing precious time,
Sidestepping crucial issues and responsibilities
While elected fools to office flaunt abused integrities,
It’s all integral to disorder running rampant in the street
Where shades of retribution lead to fear of those we meet.
Where production slows to stoppage causing systems now to fail
And the single voice of sanity is the fool who yells "Curtail" !!
Gone to Hell the Good Old Days, gone the repartee
Lost communication in this world of misery.
Aleppo lies in ruins, unconscionably true
And blame imparts it’s levity on all including you,
The sin of ******* conscience where we turn the other cheek
Where ignorance is innocence as kids die in the street.
Blame Syria and Moscow, Blame Isis and the Yanks,
Blame everyone who turns the other cheek …to mutter quietly, “no thanks”
Blame ignorance, intolerance, the hate and Jealousy,
Blame God for his indifference and mediocrity.
Aleppo lies in ruins and the world just doesn’t care
For as Christmas joy approaches, we switch our focus there.
Isis is the apogee, the focus and the fulcrum
Isis is the dark abyss that treads the path to Hell
A Caliphate catastrophe inherent in equation
A tipping point reaction as respondents toll the bell.
Where East and West throw shards of death to strut the stage of destiny,
Where man tip-toes the edge of an apocalyptic end,
The rest of us stroll corridors of detached halls of apathy
Intent upon a peaceful life where violence rarely rends.
Aleppo lies in ruins in a patina of concrete dust
Children die obscenely in the rubble of the street
Obsession paints the hatred bright, on faces of the warriors,
Oblivious to the carnage they cast at Allah’s feet.
Aleppo lies in ruins, unconscionably true
And blame imparts it’s levity on all….including you!
M.
Hamilton NZ
9 December 2016
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
Honest people say what is true
The iron law - true things prevail
And not the lies that often spew
From diktats which our rights curtail
Opinions and ideas abound
What are the signs of truth telltale?
Follow incentives - search around
What ideas will our freedoms derail?
Follow ideas to where they lead
Think of the results - in detail
Talk and discuss - think and read
Stand for freedom. Let truth prevail
Does an idea centralize power?
Central powers will always fail
Though dictators may gain the hour
In the end - true things prevail
Bitcoin keeps the ledger true
Decentralized - on worldwide scale
Better money for me and you
Come join and let the truth prevail
May 25, 2023
May 25, 2023 at 9:23 AM UTC
Unhappiness hangs like a wet, heavy fog
Coating any random happiness with salty tears.
It hovers just above the ground
Snuffing every little hopefulness that glows.
Unhappiness is as silent as a winter’s dawn
That muffles all the birdsong
And the wake-up call of crickets,
And turns the beating heart into a drum.
Unhappiness is as painful as a
Finger slammed shut in a car door,
Where no blood streams out
But turns to purple underneath the skin.
Unhappiness is insidious;
Growing in the half light of depression
Like mushrooms in a lonely cave
That one really knows is there.
Unhappiness is as heavy as a cross
Laid across the shoulders of your heart
As you struggle up the endless hill
That suddenly appears before you.
Unhappiness is a dozen little ills
That mock your efforts to be healthy,
That burrow like a worm into an apple
And curtail the slightest possibility of joy.
Unhappiness is my middle name.
ljm
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 8:27 AM UTC
fragment of my life have shaped my persona
moments like sitting in the rain with my sister till my destructive parents
stopped verbally abusing each other
or when my temper got so bad i actually hit my sister, my blood, my savior
never again will i lay hands on a person whose heart i occupy
moments like when my childhood turned to reality
and my heart was mutilated by the devil on my shoulder
or when post traumatic stress disorder nearly killed my young liver
with a liter of *****
times i spent, years i wasted
on people who never wanted to understand me
to see me, and to care the way i had
moments like when my mom said she wanted to **** herself
and her kissing my forehead as she left the next morning
or seeing my dad throw himself away
drown in a bottle of liquor for too long
the weeks i spent letting self sustained emotions make my face hot
and soak my pillow with tears
nights where the thunder shook my nerves and nightmares prevented my sleep
or nights when the night was too dark that
only the shine of blood my skin was concealing
made my heart calm and my skin numb and my mind blank
the blade was my savior, my sanity
i look back on these moment
knowing ill never forget them.
having spent years ******* up so horribly
and hurting not only myself but people i care about
and gathering my feelings
and learning painful lessons
to be able to say i finally know what i want with my time
and i know how i want to spend my days
and i'm starting to figure out how i work, who i am
and how to curtail my destructive feelings
and moderate my impulsive actions.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
burning a flag is also a symbol, a symbol of freedom in the face of tyranny, a symbol of protest against a nation whos people have come to believe no longer represents their interests, or openly try to curtail their freedoms (like burning the flag)...it is a symbol to our military personnel that they have gone out to fight for freedom, so that we here in america can have the right to express ourselves without fear of reprisal. the flag is the personal symbol of every american's right to speak and be heard, and if burning the flag is the only thing that tyrants and their willing followers will hear, then i am a proud american who will burn an american flag to protest this tyranny
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 1:02 PM UTC
Everything I've touched has turned to gold,
A feeling that never gets too worn or old,
I savor every moment, every win,
With my opponents stuck in their unsightly bin.
The more they shout and flail their arms,
The more my inner soul it calms,
Their din is music to my ears,
It gives me pep; it takes off years.
My aims are clear, my skills well-honed,
As to their mob, they seem half ******
Supporting goals that folks don't like,
Wishing they would all just take a hike.
I've only started, the road is long
To fix our country, make it strong,
Instill a sense of pride and worth,
A gleaming beacon for this Earth.
Some complain I act the King,
With subjects kissing my eternal ring.
Do I care, not in a word,
But I do find the concept touchingly absurd.
Kings don't have the power I do,
Most don't even have the slightest thought or clue,
I instead can say and act,
Forgoing any nod to grace and tact.
I get things done, stir up the ***
Turn detractors’ faces crimson hot,
Hire my friends, cull the wokes,
With a flourish of the pen and practiced strokes.
Next to Putin, now that's a blast
To try and make a peace that lasts.
Get it done with strength and charm,
End this war, curtail the harm.
Then who knows - that Gaza thing,
What a headache with a sting.
Two thousand years of pain and strife,
Where constant bickering is rife.
But if a deal is to be done
I'm the go to, I’m the man.
The Nobel thing will be my prize
This will cut Obama down to size.
And after that may you well ask,
What shall be my next enticing task?
Greenland’s there, Panama for sure,
Forget the catch, it’s the chase that’s the allure.
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 2:35 PM UTC
As the light slowly etches away the night,
The colours slowly pop up, bold and bright.
They glisten as they finally reach out to their life source,
And suddenly life's denied of any remorse.
The gods have frilled their favorite planet for the grand opening of the year,
A cosmic intervention, a dimension of no fear.
And the trees rejoice, as they humbly accept the gift heavens bring.
And the trees rejoice, as it is the time of the venutian spring.
The planet begins to scorch as the mighty sun brings forth his might,
A new world is put in order, the day shines with the brightest light.
And the nights are shorter, who would want to sleep?
The season is young, brimming, tender and ready to reap.
The aura blankets the lonely planet, a radiance of sheer power,
Automating anything and everything that makes worlds what they are.
And the children rejoice, as they live their childhood like no one shall ever.
And the children rejoice, as it is the time of the mercurial summer.
The third quarter commences, the sun slowly begins to shy away,
The lethargy sets in, the rustling of the leaves fills the empty voids of the day.
What hath this sound done to the mighty Helios, for him to curtail his blazing steeds?
Winds humming, forcing the flame to succumb to their needs.
Orange and gold strewn on the open land, opens the gateway to a world azure.
Dusk dominates this time of the year.
And the winds rejoice, as they blow coupled with the soft rustling percussion.
And the winds rejoice, as it is the time of the erisian autumn.
The year opens to its close, a cloud shedding white precipitate,
has opened itself to the world in which people relate.
A blanket of frost covers all, a preservative by all means.
Few think of this as a time of redeem.
A solitary tree stands, below it, the dead memories of the yester seasons.
The night overpowers the day, rest need not need reason.
And the world rejoices, as it braces itself for the forthcoming year.
And the world rejoices, as it is the time of the martian winter.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
Putin signed a bill into law--
Another bill that will surely curtail
Freedom of speech, for violators
Could very likely end up in jail.
This is the most recent attempt
To stifle the freedom of thought and expression.
For years, such autocratic
Control has been Putin's obsession.
They say that it's an effort to make
Fake news disappear,
Although "fake news" is anything that
The government doesn't want to hear.
This is what it basically means:
Russia will not tolerate
Criticism of Vladimir Putin
Or "disrespect" of the Russian state.
Of course, that's just attacks on Russia.
Everything else remains the same.
Russian attempts to tamper with
Elections here will be fair game.
So American democracy
And institutions remain under threat
While Russian troll farms and Russian bots
Keep on flooding the Internet.
Will Trump speak out, or will he stay silent?
We hear how often he defends
Autocrats, and to hear him speak,
Putin and he are the best of friends.
-by Bob B (3-20-19)
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 11:30 AM UTC
incur a loss
of unpeakable horror
by magnitude alone
dance with one arm tied
and it's off to the races
once more
in what seems like forever
i sheltered the non-believer in me
from holding the spot...
an arthur-ragen type fashion.
the rain drops would applaud the ground
to truly advance
as they always have
subliminally begging
to settle my case
yet there is unease in the voices
almost as if to say:
we finally surrender,
perhaps you have overcome,
but once manifested
the silver will catch our tongue
any days and all days
and days just like today
when suspicions curtail
you will kneel as we prey
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
while luxuriating in the boughs aching
to imbibe solar raiment golden this summer like
february twenty first two thousand and eighteen
when old man took a mandatory brake
from mister sun spilling forth
unseasonably balmy temperatures
equated from this human drake
swallowed hard taking
respite delighting, holistically
lolling (nar gagging) obliviously par
taking paradise magical optical pulsations,
a desperate need to succor dehydration
that found me relinquishing
a coveted reading nook and cranny,
this explanation not "FAKE"
excuse withholding appeasing,
an unrelenting paroxysm
watering parched palette
**** ceded to abend
imagination immersion
linkedin radiant nirvana basking (like a robin)
while feeling spell bound by this warm weather
unseasonably tropic teaser came to an end
drew the analogy how indomitable
joie de vivre kneading love intend
ding, sans partaking draught found wealth
between bounded pages doth mend
moe so than any medication
(akin to placing a wager sparring rivals)
desire for on par,
when body needs replenishment of fluids
thus...deferring self
for healthy pleasant liquid to slake
in an effort to curtail parched mouth
felt as if being scraped
by a lab bot tummy sized rake
thence entire corporeal being
didst shimmy and shake
analogous within mine
so many dozen square feet parameters
thee earth didst quake.
thence upon gulping sweet pineapple juice
(to evade dole drums)
a poem yours truly decided to make.
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 6:39 PM UTC
Central Africa
Is being used As a war zone
To keep us away from it
As we can naturally
Fall back into the center of Africa
Whenever feeling unsafe
Like they would recede
To Poland and Greenland
In times of great hot need
They think they have us
All pinned down
With puppet black presidents
That get elected by black people
Only to take advise
From Europe and ignore
African voices
It is a masonic ploy
To keep the greenest
Natural garden of Africa
As war zone
To curtail our movements
And keep us locked up
In small pockets
For the finishing blows
it make no sense
Why the central Africans
Never find their peace
Those green lands
Could be farms
Of food to sell us
And cut high prices
It is a masonic plan
Against Africa
Using trusted leaders
©Taetso JoJo
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
There are people who are born
To mend flying wings;
The healing comes easy and tender.
There are people who are born
To curtail your flight;
And their uncaring ways,
rubs hard and rough on you.
Flying and soaring makes up for the times, we find ourselves dragging our mended wings on the ground;
Flying and soaring, up, high in the sky,
Makes us feel we are one with the world.
Let us remember the feeling we love,
Living as creatures who are meant to
Always Soar!
Soaring and Flying
We live up above,
Loving and Living as
We
are meant to
be:
One with The World!
J. Eduardo Ramos ©
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC