"deletes" poems
Most of us are familiar with
The escapism from pain.
For an easy and cheap solution
Or because of advices of the
Doctors, psychologs;
Most of us get a cheap piece of matter
Triggering the oscillation of dopamine,
Making most of us addicted to them
As well as being harmed
As the result of their side effects.
Even the teens intoxicate things
Causing these things.
Some of call this signalling matter
Nicotine or alcohol.
Others call drugs as well as
Medicines having great side effects on
Our psychology that means
Our minds, feelings and importantly
Our souls.
How these piece of matter
Deletes your pain?
Simply, by affecting your
Biologic structure.
This causes the cage of
Emotions and behaviours
Freezing your actions and thoughts
As well as mostly
The cage itself.
This stabilization of actions therefore,
Decreases the capability of
Varying the actions.
What you can do,
You are capable to do.
Capacity is the power.
Lesser power lesser creativity.
All in all
Nothing more than robotic step
You all do in all.
By lesser creativity,
What you do becomes
Completely addiction.
No good, no bad;
Only the robotic step
You all do.
So subject becomes object of
External distraction.
In the hellish world,
You are distracted to hell.
A piece of addictive matter
Ends with
Painful robotic suffering
Until you fade away.
But the music, music, music
Is the harmonious effective vibes of
Yourself.
This music can do anything,
Instead of freezing you only if an only.
This music can do anything,
By transforming the self by
Twisting you through making you
Its beautiful voice.
We classify the music
In account of its causes.
But material cause is not the music.
Instead, the elegance of meaning
As well as the shining effect
Is the music.
It is the music that will
Create the best in us!
Make the best of us!
Hold the best of us!
Than you may say,
I want music but this is poetry.
Than I say,
Poetry is the music of the words.
It is the music of life
Will the shining ray of creativity.
It is the music of life
Will the kingdom of heaven.
Its the nectar in form of music
Being the music of nectar,
Becoming the nectar of the music!
Music creating music
In seem of poem.
Catch it, follow it!
Better than any drugs.
Music creating music
In seem of poem.
Say it! Sing it!
Better than anything!
It is the best, you desire!
We call it, you are welllllllllll...
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 10:32 PM UTC
**** you” She writes
and deletes it
“I’m Alone” She writes
and deletes it.
The best thing about texting is the delay
It’s not that you don’t say what’s on your mind.
It’s that you don’t say the FIRST thing on your mind.
I’m tired.
I’m tired, and I’m lonely
But most of all, I am a bad poet.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 10:34 PM UTC
A loving father and husband
To provide for your family
Heading to office
When birds greet
Dawn with chorus
Hark, hark and hark
Back home, sitting
Over a computer till
It gets pitch dark
Bearing a workload
That could cause
ED if not a heart attack,
You make sure luxuries
Your wife and
Off springs never lack,
To indirectly ram home
Your love for
Your better half
As a broad day light
Is stark.
But when your marriage
Lost its ****** spark
Her resolution shattered
She sought love
Behind your back.
You failed to sensitize
Her about her beauty
Your number one duty,
Also sometimes making
A paradigm shift
You were not
A bit naughty.
Out of line from a
Henpecked husband,
You failed to defamiliarize
That do not you realize?
You should have made her
Feel an object of desire
That was what could have
Rekindled the flame
And the fire.
When you make
Love to her
Think not what
Makes you buckle
Under depression
Such as lack of promotion,
Ego-rocking feelings
Must not distract
Your attention.
You should ever try
To scale ****** new height
Every night.
Workaholic, unless
You jog, jog and jog
When you go to bed
For her you will be
No better than a log.
To the dump yard
She could throw you
A broken toy
Unless you afford her
A joy
Cuckolded by a man
On the wrong side of a boy.
With someone else
When a woman gets into bed
She deletes you
Out of her soul, heart and head
That is why,
As her husband, she denied
You a go ahead!
Mindful of this fact
It is not too late
To fix a date
Stop your
Fate to lament!
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 6:33 AM UTC
Silence is the seconds after she sets her phone down and before he texts her back
She keeps it on vibrate so it doesn't wake me
That's pretty polite of her
I think it's cute she thinks I could fall asleep
My teeth tingle the good *** tingle when my head board shivers
Maybe memories
Maybe foreshadowing
She has different sighs
Ones for when she's sad, angry, overwhelmed
His texts and our hugs have the same sigh
That's how I know she still loves me
She says his name in bed
We both pretend it didn't happen
It's better that way
I keep her warm for him
She keeps me...
She keeps me
I don't go through her phone and read her text messages
She deletes them
That's polite of her
I don't ask about him
It's only polite of me
There's nothing more to be said
I get the good *** tingle when her phone vibrates
Not when it beeps though
Because if it beeps it's just her sister
And I don't want *** with her sister
She tells me I know things about her no one else knows
It's cute she thinks no one else knows
Can you count?
I can count
1 text 2 text 3 text
It's just like sheep
If the sheep were stealing your ****
She's not my ****
Just wanted to make that clear
She's his ****
I just stay here
I like it when she pretends he doesn't exist
It's polite of her
He exists
They say goodnight around three
When she turns her phone volume back up
I whisper good night
She pretends I don't whisper
I just hope if I have the last word she'll dream about me too
On occasion he turns her on
That's when we have the best ***
She keeps her eyes closed so she can see him
I close my eyes too
I like to imagine her eyes are open
Sometimes they fight
About me
We don't fight about him
She appreciates that I can hear it in her sighs
Sometimes his texts get frustrated sighs
Sometimes I get those too
Usually when I try and rest my hand on hers during silence
She doesn't like that
She likes him
Jan 24, 2011
Jan 24, 2011 at 10:52 AM UTC
I posted a picture on the internet today,
after handpicking the best of all.
While she is left with no choices,
so she walks on the roads that burn
carrying herself upon her feet that bleed.
I took my camera and checked up the lighting,
as I wanted the picture to look 'natural' and 'candid'.
A cameraman rushes to her to click a picture
as he is a magazine photographer searching for stories real.
I sweated and protested about the scorching heat
while I set up my camera.
She wipes the sweat off her father's forehead
on which the glabellar lines cease to exist,
while hers is carrying the roots and branches of it.
I held books in my hand to strike a pose
as my fingers laid in front,
whose nails I painted yellow for this summer.
She holds the handlebars of her bicycle she can no more hold or paddle,
her nails have painted themselves with the colour of mud.
I clicked too many pictures for me to count or recall.
Even after thousands, she remembered how many miles is home.
I captioned my picture
'No more lonely quarantine',
She hardly knows alphabets or words to even ask for help.
I swiped from filter to filter
selecting an 'aesthetic' one.
She drinks the pitch-black liquid,
they tell her is water,
without even demanding for 'cleaner' one.
I finally edited and made a perfect picture,
with my wide grin sealed with a gloss,
And the cameraman too asks for her to smile for once.
She with her deserted lips forms a curve that makes the cameraman frown.
He deletes the picture from his camera
as it would be disliked by all,
It got 1.9k likes,
The picture I posted on the internet today.
May 26, 2020
May 26, 2020 at 1:10 AM UTC
Is driving home from his part-time job
Answering IT phones for some college
And he flips a lady off when she pulls out in front of him
And he thinks "I shouldn't have to deal with human ****
And he thinks "When I get home,
I'm gonna smoke a bowl."
There's another message from his ex-girlfriend
On the answering machine
"James, why haven't you been fighting crime?
Why haven't you been saving citizens?
Why haven't I seen you flying through the skies
in your red tights and mask? James, remember
When you saved my life? Remember
When you saved the whole city? Why
Did you stop caring? You've been given all these gifts
And you sit around drinking, thinking
'I'll let someone else get this one,' but who else
Can leap tall buildings and lift burning schoolbuses
Off of screaming children? And who else out there
Has x-ray eyes, but a gentle touch? You're a hero
And you need to act like one. You're an *******
But a super one."
BEEP
"Thank God," he thinks
Deletes it
Pulls a six pack out of the fridge
His broad shoulders sink into the couch
On the news
Someone's been shot
Someone's been robbed
He turns it off
"Not my problem." He says
Finality in his voice
Finishing a bottle
"Passion is for the weak
Caring gives me the creeps"
In the distance his sonic hearing picks out a scream
His radioactive muscles tense
Ready to spring into action
The feeling of responsibility dissipates
Like it always does
"Not my problem." he says
Another beer is gone
Another message blinking on the machine
Her again.
Dumb broad.
If I'm invincible,
What is there to worry about?
If I'm invincible,
What is there to cling to?
If I'm invincible,
Why should I give a **** about mere mortals?
He calls his nemesis
"Let's go out later. Let's get wasted
And break things with our super strength."
He hits a cat on the way
Backs over to make sure it's dead
The night is a success already
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
cold turkey time
hid the remote in the linen closet
playing
alicia keys ‘fallin’ on repeat and
she ain’t got no chance
keep on fallin’ and she can’t say anything
except répétez après moi s.v.p.
and repeat we do
baby I’m crazy
in the bed is paper and pen
when inspiration says breather time
two tongues tonguing intertwine like two two headed snakes,
spilling ink and sweaty ***** and the paper is filling up fast
sleep begging and oil offshore exploration calming explosions
love her ***** poetry
and
how she deletes every “and” in every poem we ever writ
saying
“and if, you need an ‘and, ‘
the verse is weakly unclear”
we write in perfect clarity
cannot recall where the **** remote is hid
when she complains
i lover-whisper in each ear her,
turning her body over and over again,
in case I miss an ear,
"and and and and"
retaliation,
she sticks me with pen
"taps" the top of my head
with that yellow blue lined lady pad
saying repeat after me if you please en francais
"and and and onlylovepoetry"
sunday @ 5:13am sunday 'Sunday kind of love'
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 5:22 AM UTC
2:30 AM
*How are you?
I miss you
I hope you're doing fine
I'm a lost cause without you
Darling, don't leave
I'm sorry
One more chance?
I love you*
deletes
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC
I'll be where I belong someday.
Purple sky, red and green lights,
And the California sun rising up when I
Need the light the most.
I go through another falling out every **** year.
No primary and no old people I can go to.
Too many mutual idiots who adopt the ones I love and kick me out of the picture.
I'll take the photo
But I'm not the one who deletes it.
My heart and brain are my memory card filled with all the drama-less days of these **** cliques.
I can only make myself move on but
I cannot make you never exist again.
I get we move on but I don't know why I'm picked last.
It's either new people or other's who pretend they know and accept the real me.
It's just never how it used to be.
That's why I'm going to be in California getting away
From New Englanders who know me now.
Just let me grow first.
I suggest
You do
The same.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
. . .
Late at night
In what some might call the witching hour
Close your eyes
Let waters fall lightly on your neck
Under heat
May you feel
What screams you think are screamed dissipate
Feel, only
Hear no words
No words will trespass the line
Separating you and I
So two hands will have to do
Phantoms of time lost touch you
Do they remind you
Of the one, most haunting?
No ill will, no poison
Deletes love
Faith, I ask of you -- I manage whispers
Through static
Open your eyes
Tomorrow
While running around your day to day
May you find
The forever in love gone that's saved
As your fear
Palpitates
Warm memories flood through Winter's grave
Breaking peace
Into your war
Close faithfully forlorn eyes
Their dark delivers our tide
To our hidden coast again
Mute words from the black ocean
Written in the sand
Of the one, most haunting?
No ill will, no poison
Deletes love
Faith, I ask of you -- I manage whispers
Through static
Open your eyes
Can you
Keep the void connected and still move?
. . .
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC
sometimes i sit and text women messages free
of any ****** connotations.
other times i come across a chopped & *******
slowed + reverbed out version of a neoSoul song that i love.
she’s blonde and has a dumb thicc *** and
she’s a woman of few words and she was born
under a constellation of fire.
like i was.
her eyes are nearly unblinking
and they say less than her mouth
but i know
there is a sea
of symbol-sets
beneath those televised eyes.
how am i supposed to weave or write
when the joy is coming for my neck.
time is the measure of energy in motion
so i turn the dial wayyy down.
God is not a time-piece.
God is a flour mill -
shaped like an inside-out hourglass
in the background of XI Jinping’s latest video on
Tik Tok.
“Violent anarchists held a ‘Night of Rage’”
“Violent anarchists graffitied the Hatfield Courthouse.”
“Violent anarchists continue to attack law enforcement with lasers.”
gravity is hard on the feet and
hills are hard on the walking.
graveyards are a hard one for the memory
(if you believe your family is another pile of bones).
at least we have our three deaths to draw on and die.
1st when our last breath leaves us
2nd the last time someone speaks our name
3rd when Zuccman the Reptilian deletes our postumus, memorialized FB account.
where lies the heart of the enlightened without a mirror?
or when the three deaths are drawn and
it hangs suspended in purgatory like a
pack of Newports in the freezer?
or like a stylized hospital mask produced under
contentious labor practices and
shipped to America via air freight
passing over the Xinjiang province where crimes against humanity
are being committed on an industrial scale ----
The Uighurs NEED OUR HELP THEY SUFFERING A GENOCIDE
THEY ARE BEING ETHNICALLY CLEANSED!!
https://www.vox.com/2020/7/28/21333345/uighurs-china-internment-camps-forced-labor-xinjiang
Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 7:14 PM UTC
Likes the new girl in office
Adds her on Facebook,
she accepts.
Browses all her photos,
never comments.
Types in the chat box,
deletes.
Sees her with another guy,
disbelieves.
Another girl joins, the process repeats
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 10:50 AM UTC
Those fortunate enough
To be living without
Anxiety; believe
It is like a disease
But in reality
It is a creature that
Thrives in environments
Which tickle the senses
A pair of noisy heels
Can drum up fear in me
That clutches to my ears
Which rash and mulish force
The itch of a shirt tag
Consumes my attention
Deletes my feeling any
Other touch but that pain
An acid taste of foul
Street side food I received
From a pushy hawk
Stirs more than nausea
Such sensations are
Unremarkable to
Those anxiety free
Cause they don’t live like me
Where such surroundings
Have a vice grip on the
Mentally unstable
They cause a pain unseen
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
Born unknown,
died in a line.
The record is cold,
but the words are mine.
Infobox frame,
sidebar fate,
“Poet, creator—
Years too late.”
Bullet points rattle,
works in a row,
Hunter and Hunted—
still on the go.
Downpour drips,
Perhaps confides,
each one a map
where the silence hides.
Future unfinished,
program erased,
4-0-4 echo
in a ghosted space.
They tag my cats,
my Portland flight,
my lover abroad
in the sleepless night.
Systemic erosion,
philosophy’s bend,
freedom by water,
stone at the end.
But listen—
the archive won’t catch my breath.
It flattens the pulse,
but it misses the depth.
I live in the margins,
the breaks, the rhyme,
revising myself,
line after line.
The words I write
Save you time
More wrong then right
And now they rhyme
Stay in school
Stay off drugs
Writing’s cool
Avoid the thugs
But carve it deep:
no lesson’s true.
The page deletes,
and so will you.
Ink on the skin,
then paper burns.
Each breath a draft
that never returns.
Laugh at the motto,
recite the creed,
the archive swallows
what no one reads.
The headline fades,
the sidebar lies,
a poet dies
and no one cries.
Obit in draft,
a ghost in rhyme,
born unknown,
erased in time.
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 3:33 AM UTC
I
The morning traffic settles down
When the smell of chips create a haze
By the arts block.
Squawking fills the passageways
And now a familiar face taps
Your weary back
While you are drowned by stomping feet
And despite the try your mind clots;
The name deletes
And you’re left thinking it is Scott,
While all this time his name is Pete.
He didn’t hear it through the stamps
And we sit lakeside by the lamps.
II
Morning: you arise from consciousness
And faint stale smells of beer
From the night on Dublin streets,
A night you won’t repeat, unless
The moon reclaims the lands.
And of course the Paddy’s day parades,
That, one naturally assumes.
Just thinks of all the hands
Raising pints by the spades
In a thousand bright green rooms.
III
You stretched your arms above your head
And yawned at a class you’ve never hated
You dozed, and watched the screen revealing
The thousand boring images
Of which World War II was constituted;
Their burning qualities weren’t appealing -
They stung until the world went black
But the light crept up between your shutters
And you heard the backgrounds snobbish tutters,
Despite meeting them on Grafton Street
Where you exchanged drunken demands.
You awoke and cringed as you were aware
Of the tuft sticking up about your hair,
But instead of a fix-trip, to save your feet,
You covered it with your hands.
IV
You stared up at the flawless skies
That fade behind the Newman block,
Or often watched insistent feet
At four and five and six o'clock,
Or watched the fountain-spewing pipes,
And watched the swans watch life’s disguise
While you recalled wild fantasies,
Of walking down a college street
And opening your eyes to receive the world.
And now my eyes have been unfurled
And I feel like a god, a king
For I have seen an infinitely mental,
Infinitely wonderful thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
And treat the worlds like you treat the women
And hopefully both will give you lots!
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 12:37 PM UTC
Debauchery was in the air for all of us last night.
Neo hip hop stoner jive.
I once watched my friend break down into tears after
hearing a Phil Collins song while shopping for dinner
in a Louisville gas station.
Angela will get up and leave the room if The Reason by Hoobastank
comes on the radio and you still listen to Closing Time when you get ready for bed.
Weird phrases are hovering through the air.
I turned on the bathroom fan to avoid sitting in silence with myself and you ripped up all my potted plants and sold my favorite arm chair on craiglist.
I wake up sobbing.
You were chewing on a red pen, but i thought it was a twizzler. I worked up the courage to ask you for one.
The chainsaw love song of the jumping spider
makes the snare drums in your ears roll.
Its gold in the right light.
Even better in the under light.
I told you i think its weird that everyone buys shoes
and maybe some people feel about their shoes
the way i feel about my shoes,
Which is a good feeling.
I am writing this poem while other people
read poems that the have written also.
I am too anxious to ask people when podcasts become a thing
and what does it mean to be a podcast?
A friend once said it would be cool if your poetry professor
told you to **** off but its also cool when they get you a
glass of water at the poetry reading where you are writing poems.
I think the girl in front of me is writing a poem too.
I wonder if she writes about spiders.
I wonder if she is giving her mom a poem for her birthday.
I wonder if she drafts poems about how you make her feel but
deletes them before they burn into her laptop screen.
I wonder how you feel when you make me feel good and happy.
I hope that you feel like the way i feel when you make me feel good and happy.
I am glad we are friends. I want you to play piano with me on sunday evenings
so we can prelude into the perpetual strain of sunday to saturday.
It may, if we play loud enough, dampen the bodies of the
****** and doomed that we inhibit on weekdays.
I wish I could write poems that inspire your poems.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC
i am openshut basket case.
a real cool hand luke
who throws febrile shade
on all
the things.
step on the corona of my silhouette
and i wet gods red
with bottled up passive agro tactics.
king.
crown.
thrown
into
this ****
i didnt ask for it;
so, now im asking
for it.
i like to think i was,
once upon
a slick timespace,
******* whole -
instead of
flipped chan-
nel;
snow s t a ti c,
no signal;
running TVly
with bulls that pushpull the cool
that keeps me
from editing me out
with metallic deletes.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 6:59 PM UTC
The house alarm threw a fit,
Loud sound night red upset! If
she hadn't made it home after I glitched,
the alarm would still breath wail live.
But she pressed numerous soft keys,
like seven red green backspace deletes.
I couldn't remember the code,
I hug you, you scold,
you get down and say cold,
Listen Good Cole;
This is mine, not your home.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC
The brain controls everything no matter what the heart says
The brain dictates forwards and reverses,rewinds and deletes, you see results have proven this theory. I school
The brain looks exactly the same
Refreash and re-organise your mind wait as your next mistake elaborates its self
Endless all over your thoughts.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
*
Whenever you try to do a
"Cut and Paste"
of your faces in life;
It deletes the originals,
Giving all imitations;
It limits to your
Shadow faces
To be unshared faces;
To be unshaped faces;
To be unshaded faces;
It is your mirror
facing
one towards the ugly;
the other, as the elegant.
*
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
[email protected]
www.williamsji.com
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 2:48 AM UTC
She lays on her back
His lips writing a one way ticket
Out of hell, but only for a few minutes
She puts on her make up
And her big smile
For a moment, nothing's wrong.
She throws another shot back
There's too many to keep track
She doesn't want to remember
She makes mistake after mistake after mistake
Conscious and deliberate
Because she's desperate to fix it.
She stares at his pictures
With tears flooding her eyes
She grabs her phone,
She has to give him one more try
She waits and she wonders
How could this be goodbye?
She burns his pictures
Deletes his number
She doesn't want to remember
She makes mistake after mistake after mistake
Conscious and deliberate
Because she's desperate to fix it.
She's dangerous, reckless
Doing things she knows are wrong
She's hurt and she's broken
How can he not come around?
She gets lost in the *****
And all the guys who abuse
Because she's desperate to fix it.
She doesn't want to remember
She makes mistake after mistake after mistake
Conscious and deliberate
Because she's desperate to fix it.
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 8:15 AM UTC
Broken thoughts invade my mind
Atop an asphalt parking lot
In phrases I've since left behind
A few of them so long forgot
Still in between this yellow stripe
Where tired treads have left their mark
And apricots have tasted ripe
I stand here thinking in the dark
What comes of this in future days
When time has gone and love appears
Two hearts collide in full display
And happiness deletes the fears
If sunny skies are all we see
Beyond the edge of weathered fence
Will you now stroll along with me
Regardless of a past offence
Then come, let's run this narrow path
Your hand in mine, no time to wait
And live affection's aftermath
Before the time does get too late
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC