"dedicates" poems
If I let my eyes glaze over just right, I get a nice film quality picture.
I hover out of my body- like a mad director, evaluating what we've got, I snip the film strips from my memory, franticaly re-piecing together the story.
I didn't get the shots I wanted.
I feel hollow and sick.
Playing and re-playing the scenes where it all went to the dregs.
Maybe if I were paying closer attention- I could have gotten it right.
I could've rearranged the shot list- so "major life accident" was at the end of the movie- not the beginning.
Sorting through what we're left with,
I hear no mellow music scoring my mothers choked sobs.
No soft glow to hide the harsh lines of grief described on her face.
The bottles of liquor weren't props.
And when the sound of silence rendered her breathless-
no one was there to yell "CUT"!
I grit my teeth and hold back my seething anger at such a **** writer.
This is not a sci-fi film.
No alien plummets to earth eager to turn back the sands of time because there was a fluke in the configubobulator.
Not a romantic comedy,
where his smashed body miraculously recovers and my mother, him, and all the kids pursue their dreams as a family of comics on the road- The jackson 5 of stand up!
No inspiring action film where the government tests a bionic exoskeleton, connects it to his brains nervous system, and after wild success he dedicates his life to intergalactic vigilante work, as well as a remaining a reliable family man.
There's no sending it back for re-writes.
There is no 1 hero to lean on.
No villain to hate.
Only us.
I hope one day, it's enough.
I hope one day we have a film we can be proud of.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 7:20 PM UTC
You always said you wanted
To be an aerospace engineer.
Someone who dedicates their whole life
To something so far away
Something they can never fully have.
I know how painful a life like that can be.
Because I'm already living it with you.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
It's sad
that the one man to tell me he loved my body
was the one man
who was the worst for me.
It's sad
that the one man I wanted to give my heart too
decided destroying it was easier
then loving it.
It's sad
that the one man who dedicates songs and poems to me
is the one man
who I can't seem to fall in love with.
It's sad
that the girl who needs me to love her
is the one person
I can't seem to find love for.
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 11:07 AM UTC
Wait with me. Wait for the world to exist.
Wait for what she will tell us.
True, our breath echoes the sea’s
sweeping tide. The inky bleeding
of saltwater that calms and soaks.
Drenched, this collective exhale.
I’ve always preferred silk over velvet;
that’s what the sea is. Silk over velvet.
The moon has seen every unholy rite,
her glare is cast cold. Over the Mysteries,
over me. Every pulse of her is lapped
up by the sea beneath. This shared breath
is echoed in the sea is echoed in the moon;
the universe folds itself. Lives inside a gasp.
Wait with me. Wait for the world to exist
by her own rules.
Our stars are fading like so many discarded
loves. The world is tired, she crumbles
our castles. Crumbles our convent,
exhausts our goddesses. Daughter of life,
who slipped through Death’s doorway;
she sinks below. A seasonal existence.
Sunset spills red on the horizon, dedicates
her evenings to us. We exist by her signal
and her permission. She stretches her skin
for the moon. Lays herself as a blanket
on which night may sleep, cradled and safe;
a nest of stars. We all seek Dawn’s relief.
Wait with me. Wait for the world to exist
in anger, in yellow, in rain.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 9:37 AM UTC
He’s sitting there, Beats on music bumping
Losing himself in the rhythm letting the flow
Psych him up, his coach walks over and yells
At him GET YOUR *** OUT THERE. He takes
Off his headphones the final beat bringing
Back a memory
He was sitting there, the coach told him to
Take the bench, the other starter was out
There, where he should be. Gym class picked
Last again told he ***** no one wants him.
He’s tired of not being good enough he vows
To never let it happen again. And so he dedicates
Himself, pushing, driving, putting in the work
Needed to be a star, almost giving up
He never did
The ref looks at him and tells him to step up.
He steps up to the mat, he skates to the line,
He breaks from the huddle, toes the invisible
Line, steps up to the plate, steps Up next to his
teammate, steps up to the foul Line
The whistle blows
He shoots for the legs, he passes the puck
He throws the spiral, he throws his hands up
He swings his bat, passes the ball, takes the
Shot…..
He pins him in 30 secs and wins the championship,
He puts the puck in the back of the net for
The win, He throws another touchdown
Pass, He pulls down the most amazing catch
He crushes the ball for a homerun,
He kicks the ball into the net, he swishes
The ball, nothing but net
They call him the legend, champion
The monster, invincible, hall of famer
They ask how he done it?
He never gave up on that vow and he
Step up
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
A Woman Will Wear Her Emotions On Her Sleeve, You Can See Her Feelings On Her Face. So If A Woman Dedicates Herself To Her Man By Providing Him With Loyalty And Trust, The Man In Return Should Give Her The Satisfaction Of Knowing That No Woman Out There Is Capable Of Replacing Her.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 3:09 PM UTC
“Lord help us remember that freedom isn’t free.” -Anonymous
Ready
Aim
Fire
End of the Civil War.
President Abraham Lincoln dedicates a day to remember those brave men who have fallen on the field of battle in a pool of their own blood.
For their country.
Ready
Aim
Fire
World War 1.
Soldiers come home in body bags
Or without their own legs.
Arms.
Or eyes.
Men come home with stories they’ll never tell or ever want to think about.
Most men stay where they have fallen.
Ready
Aim
Fire
December 7th, 1941
Japan bombs Pearl Harbor killing well over 2,400 soldiers.
June 6th
1944
American boats touch the soil of Normandy Beaches.
73,000 pairs of American boots run along the trenches.
Most of them never leave.
Ready
Aim
Fire
1950 to 1953
Americans were shot at and killed in Korea.
Hidden in the bushes,
Korea only battled with ambushes.
Ready
Aim
Fire
A conflict in Vietnam from 1955 to 1975.
“Do not shoot unless shot upon.”
One of the bloodiest wars American’s have seen.
Men came home to be welcomed as villains
To be littered on and verbally **** upon.
Many men committed suicide.
Ready
Aim
Fire
September 11, 2001
Hijacked planes flew into the World Trade Center’s and the Pentagon.
War has broken out against Al Qaeda, the Taliban, and other armed rebels.
War is out in Iraq and Afghanistan.
A shot in the dark for those men and women who get shot in the dark,
Peacefully in their sleep.
By men they have trained.
Vehicles blow up and lives are taken every day.
Ready
Aim
Fire
During an average day in 2013
22 war veterans commit suicide.
Every day.
Thank you.
Ready
Aim
Fire
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 8:11 PM UTC
When helping people without a self-centered cause,
Righteousness shines to its true potential.
If not thinking about how that deed satisfies you,
Your soul is on the right path to grace.
Always aid individuals without greedy intentions,
And you will glow through virtue.
The virtuous person dedicates peace to everyone,
Helping just to assist people in a world of imperfections.
When integrity stands tall in a holy way,
God will offer you light in the afterlife.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
To maunder on this dusky, dubious trace
where one becomes lost and is never found
again; deafening his ears from the sound
that cries for help how to flee from this race
Unworthy and obtuse, last is my place
but no one heeds, as a snow falls on mound.
Now tell me how to stand tall on the ground
as I start quitting on this hurtful maze.
But then, my Father soon replied, "My child,
come to my arms, I bring you protection."
From that I ascertained a Father's love mild
who hears and accepts my imperfection,
who dedicates His life just for my earn.
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 7:09 AM UTC
He's gotta be tall, dark and handsome
be chasing stars or have some
heart, passion and art
with moonbeams in his eyes
He can serenade just breathing
pass you the world within his greeting
contain the spark to start a blaze of tomorrows
He should be an open book
Speak the truth with just a look
The candle and the mirror reflecting it's light
No questions asked, he should be solid as stone
fill you up and make you feel at home
be the one who dedicates every song to you
He could be Mr. Right
but nothing's black and white,
he's Gray
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
well here it is:
as a good-hearted crazy boy as I am
I can be fixed only by a woman
on the last gear of speed
like a herd of mustangs in gallop
to the abyss or to eternity
a woman who dedicates me poems of hate
in which I'm the last provincial old man
the princess can fall in love with
but actually the joy is shaking whitin
any time she feels me arround
a woman dressed only in swords of Toledo
who can sing on a sword like Mariza
making me climb on the walls
like on the Chinese Wall on the moon
a woman that resists any melalcoholical drubbing
on rithmes of sirtaki with Zorba the Greek
with her heart blowned out of her mind
carelessly throwned like underwear through the room
a long-time woman to lead my way
and night in sleep and life in death
and my god in all its demons of beauty
with the most innocent baby smile
a woman that on the last outpost of her ******
like a wild goddess will laugh and explode the night
as if as if ordering
the happiest end of the world
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 7:44 AM UTC
He dedicates his life:
movements,
rest,
presence,
heart,
to a temporary individual that seemed permanent.
She dedicates her life:
movements,
rest,
presence,
heart,
to someone else.
Her love is poisonous; he drinks it as if it's pure, but chokes on the concentration of lies and deceit.
(men are trash?)
(what are woman then?)
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 12:36 PM UTC
There is a girl inside my head
Running round and round
In a pretty black dress
If I write about her, maybe she could rest
Here goes nothing, let’s put it to the test
—————————————————-
Her name is Beth, she’s a fragile mess
But she’s beautiful in every sense
She plays guitar and sings with her heart
Dedicates her entire life to art
She’s one of a kind, the prettiest star
The serious moonlight in the dark
—————————————————
If this poem is ****** than excuse me
I never really wanted you stop running really
Nov 18, 2020
Nov 18, 2020 at 4:14 PM UTC
I want to be your best friend.
I want to be your love.
I want to be someone you can trust.
Someone you miss.
Someone who can help you if you need help.
Someone who you let give to you.
I want to be your comfort, that someone out there will always love you whether you even think of them anymore.
That if in 20 years you are crying and call me up, I will be there to help you, no strings, no questions asked, no matter what you've done to me.
I want to be the one who would die for you.
And the one who will live for you.
Whether or not you even notice.
In the end, it really doesn't matter.
What matters is THAT I love you, and that everything in my life that I love will have something of you about it, to me.
And when I am far away,
In London looking at the old streets,
In India when I'm looking across the slums to the sparkling city beyond,
In Ireland when I stare at the sea from a moldering castle-
Wherever I am, whenever it is, I will think of you, and it will mean more to me because I knew you.
That's what I do, it's who I am.
I love the world through a conduit.
Through a person who has touched my soul.
And they get all mixed up, eventually, the two of them, until all the love I ever have, and had, and could have is for everything, all through one person who has changed me.
Every artist dedicates their work to something,
Every artist has their reason for the art they make.
And when you live your life as if it is art, you have to live it the way you do BECAUSE of something.
I will give you all I can, and ask nothing,
Because you exist and I can love the world by thinking of you.
The whole rose tinted glasses thing?
I know it means you see no flaws in the person you love, but it means something else, as well, to me.
Those who love the way I do see the whole world through how much they love,
And let me tell you,
THAT is why it is worth it.
Because the whole world is beautiful when you love someone like this.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 12:57 PM UTC
Tears
He says don't cry
Please don't cry
Tears fall
The pain so tangible
She could almost hold it in her hand
Suspicions aroused
This is her plight
How can anything be special now
Why put up a fight
His kiss, touch and words of love
All lies now nothing can be the same
He says the same things to another
The wound is deep
Trust turns to distrust
Heart bleeds as He lies
His poems He writes so eloquently
Dedicates them to her yet
Evidentally they are for another
Droplets fall caressing the soft cheeks
Remembering His love
How His words and touch transformed her
Now He loves another
Why does she stay
Why can't she just leave
He says because she loves Him
In His arrogance He is right
But You see
That is truly the bite
He doesn't love her anymore
In reality He loves another
She is now obsolete
Sep 10, 2010
Sep 10, 2010 at 3:23 AM UTC
your smoke lingers on my clothes longer than you linger in my life,
and I cannot rinse, wash, and repeat the cleaning process
to rid the stain of you from my mind as I can the stench of your cigarettes.
the first time I met you I mixed the harsh colour of you
with my white dedicates -and now I wear a cloudy grey.
my eyes have been washed out so many times
they're a new shade of brown I've never seen before.
I can't tumble dry the stained marble of my eyes
and I can't fold my sanity as neatly as I can my shirt;
and I can't put you at the back of my closest until I forget you exist.
(NJ2014) (All Rights Reserved)
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
How I enjoyed love seeing your face today,
the little acne around that perfect nose,
like a red beginnings stars.
And the golden and tiny hair on your forehead,
evocative breeze of an inspirited boy,
wearing a simple red shirt.
And those tender lips as dedicates roses.
you Angelo,
looking from those calm green eyes.
You the one I saw and love in an instant,
in a moment,
in an eternal moment.
Two Souls in a universe,
where eyes are blind.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
Destiny guards the door
to the sanctum most avoid
when the signs point away
to the dogma put to page
some would say the way is set
the path etched in the stone
trod by dedicates to the cause
not looking up beyond their lot.
The providence may be shed
resisted once the lot is cast
even when the writing posts
on the wall none can ignore
concession made to wisdom’s breadth
only a rebel would demur
to a calling few may hear
silent to all other men.
Ascension becomes the right course
soaring past the doom foretold
the loophole seized at last
while conceding kismet’s role
the choice is made to turn the key
bending life to transform fate
nudging open the gateway
by the fate we make ourselves.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180813.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 9:16 PM UTC
Her thoughts are her treasured feelings
words that run deep-rooted through her soul, which she can never say out loud.
So she wrote letters for him
He said;
**** all the letters you gave me.”*
it felt like a bullet slowly struck through her chest
then suddenly went deeply fast into her beating heart
How painful it is,
no one will ever know.
How dumb of him
to think that her letters, her cherished thoughts of him rather, were ********
She doesn't always share her feelings
especially not with someone whom she dedicates her thoughts into
but when she does,
regret is what she always gets back in return.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 6:36 AM UTC
You gave me a giving tree
ironic, a little.
I gave you a poem.
ironic, a lot. there's so many about you that
you have never read.
You seemed to know exactly what I needed
In order to stay in love with you, I
needed to know why,
and that's why.
He said it's impossible to love without understanding;
we are lonely creatures who cannot
dream each others' dreams.
How can we love?
we give.
we give until it hurts and then some
until we gave it all away without even understanding
WHY we are in love, or
WHY we even started giving.
Is that love? is it love if we don't
understand
what we're even getting into?
How could someone like you fall for a
girl(?)
who dedicates her life to figuring out why she's
beautifully in love with you
all she knows is to live, she has to give
and she doesn't even know if that's true.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
I don't think I can do this thing
That thing everyone longs for, dedicates their lives for, dies for.
I don't feel comfortable enough
Following paths ending where they start.
I don't like to chase, I can't keep up.
I'm shy,
Scared,
Disorientated.
When everyone judges you
Especially you
Days pass,
yet dreams stay the same.
I feel the same.
Reoccurring thoughts,
Making me walk in all directions.
Often going the wrong way, always getting lost
Won't you lead me?
One more path.
Will you take my hand?
I don't really want to come back
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 6:24 AM UTC
And he so nonchalantly calm
Conspires to convey
Direction of his true heart's bliss
Epiphanies at play
With words, with wits, he conjures worlds
Waving wanton wand
Infuses eyes with magic
World not seen as planned
He dedicates his carolling
To the spirits, the divine
He prays to mercy, love and peace
In every luscious line
O Beauty, devotee of bliss
Tell me how you see like this
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 7:40 AM UTC
He imprints the garden outside,
He drowns them in my waterworks,
He left me eternal tulips,
Ones that don’t die off with time.
He dedicates me old lullabies,
He reads me literature by the seasides,
He reminds me to look up at the skies,
And there’s where he’ll be.
He meets me at weird times and places,
He’s like old love in long houses,
He’s the love my God forbids,
Yet, I pray I’ll stumble upon him
When we make it big in life
In the subway of way too big cities.
Jun 18, 2023
Jun 18, 2023 at 3:40 PM UTC
Your eyes could kindle ash to fire
Your touch revive a dying flower
Your smile is like the sun at noon
I cling to the very essence of you
I long for you like a wolf for the moon
Oh creature of heaven that you are, take me soon
Words are my stock and trade
Yet I have none when with you I am faced
I am not a hunter I have no thrill in chase
I am but a cat gazing upon you a queen
You, whom are perfect and must be a dream
Oh can you truly be, all that you seem
Angels weep as you pass by
God gave up creating
After seeing the glimmer in your eye
Israfel dedicates songs to you
Though he knows he is not your equal
Sings of you wildly well, from his lyre in the sky
On the mortal earth below
Mortals too seek to bestow
Upon you, tokens of their love
In spite of jealous god above
You are the person
Whom all love
When you walk, you draw all eyes
Birds fall down from the skies
Or hungry cats miss their mice
Fixed upon you, are their eyes
And upon the sight of you
Newborn babies cease to cry
I think that you shall live always
For with you, life
Wishes not to part ways
You could tame the sky or sea
For even nature's beauty
Cannot compete with thee
Forgive me, I have praised
Only your appearance
Though your soul, is thrice as lovely
Your voice, a gift to all who hear it
And your anger, although rare
I would doubtless fear it
And of course, in others
You provoke a host of feelings
Ecstasy and joy
Why to explain
Would simply be
Blaspheming
And so my dear
We are here
The end of my verse
I wish you well
And pray do tell
You liked what you read here
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 1:22 PM UTC