"denizen" poems - Hello Poetry

"denizen" poems

<>¡<> o denizen of yonder pond you are so brave of me so fond your wings are crystal beauty's grace you're here then gone without a trace your body shimmers oil's hues mauve and purple green and blue tho I love you as you are I'd rather view you from afar tho your love you'd like to share please don't fly into my hair! <>¡<>

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Jun 8, 2015

Jun 8, 2015 at 5:28 AM UTC

<>¡<> o denizen of yonder pond you are so brave of me so fond your wings are crystal beauty's grace you're here then gone without a trace your body shimmers oil's hues mauve and purple green and blue tho I love you as you are I'd rather view you from afar tho your love you'd like to share please don't fly into my hair! <>¡<>

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There are many constraints that are beyond our control. They often fight to define the boundaries that we are able to overcome. However, it is our experiment with our lives to figure out how to resist. We are not powerless even though we have no power. We are not losing just because we are lost. Our will to affront the usurpers of our life’s freedom is our own weapon. We must have the conviction to overcome the norms of definition That fight to establish who we are and where we fall within our own societies. We must not succumb to the norms of definition Of a Hispanic, a first generation American, an urban denizen, A middle class or on the verge of poverty individual, a minority, or a foreigner. We must find a way to resist even if it leads to our end.

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Aug 14, 2011

Aug 14, 2011 at 7:34 PM UTC

emanuel-martinez

Affronting the Usurpers of Our Life's Freedom

There are many constraints that are beyond our control. They often fight to define the boundaries that we are able to overcome. However, it is our experiment with our lives to figure out how to resist. We are not powerless even though we have no power. We are not losing just because we are lost. Our will to affront the usurpers of our life’s freedom is our own weapon. We must have the conviction to overcome the norms of definition That fight to establish who we are and where we fall within our own societies. We must not succumb to the norms of definition Of a Hispanic, a first generation American, an urban denizen, A middle class or on the verge of poverty individual, a minority, or a foreigner. We must find a way to resist even if it leads to our end.

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So primitive that it should be criminal like a limited pyramid of minimal innocent citizen, inhabitant, or denizen infinite vision and mission subliminal principled, committed and disciplined addicted to the privileged derivative affirmative velocity, motive inquisitive inhabiting, uninhibited, where prohibited

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Feb 6, 2014

Feb 6, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC

Denizens of a Dark Derivative

So primitive that it should be criminal like a limited pyramid of minimal innocent citizen, inhabitant, or denizen infinite vision and mission subliminal principled, committed and disciplined addicted to the privileged derivative affirmative velocity, motive inquisitive inhabiting, uninhibited, where prohibited

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1344 Not any more to be lacked— Not any more to be known— Denizen of Significance For a span so worn— Even Nature herself Has forgot it is there— Sedulous of her Multitudes Notwithstanding Despair— Of the Ones that pursued it Suing it not to go Some have solaced the longing To accompany— Some—rescinded the Wrench— Others—Shall I say Plated the residue of Adz With Monotony.

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2.8k

Emily Dickinson

Not any more to be lacked—

1344 Not any more to be lacked— Not any more to be known— Denizen of Significance For a span so worn— Even Nature herself Has forgot it is there— Sedulous of her Multitudes Notwithstanding Despair— Of the Ones that pursued it Suing it not to go Some have solaced the longing To accompany— Some—rescinded the Wrench— Others—Shall I say Plated the residue of Adz With Monotony.

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To sit on rocks, to muse o’er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest’s shady scene, Where things that own not man’s dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne’er or rarely been; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold; Alone o’er steeps and foaming falls to lean; This is not solitude, ’tis but to hold Converse with Nature’s charms, and view her stores unrolled. But midst the crowd, the hurry, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel and to possess, And roam alone, the world’s tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; Minions of splendour shrinking from distress! None that, with kindred consciousness endued, If we were not, would seem to smile the less Of all the flattered, followed, sought and sued; This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!

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2.6k

To sit on rocks, to muse o’er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest’s shady scene, Where things that own not man’s dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne’er or rarely been; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold; Alone o’er steeps and foaming falls to lean; This is not solitude, ’tis but to hold Converse with Nature’s charms, and view her stores unrolled. But midst the crowd, the hurry, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel and to possess, And roam alone, the world’s tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; Minions of splendour shrinking from distress! None that, with kindred consciousness endued, If we were not, would seem to smile the less Of all the flattered, followed, sought and sued; This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!

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Applied rouge on the cheeks Tied a glittering necklace round the neck Putting heavy makeup, Over the stubble on her shaven chin, She looked into the mirror Through its cracks, saw a million bits of her/him Those images sneering at each other She felt trapped in a wrong body, With its contours n’ longings mismatched “Where do I belong”? “Where do I fit”? These questions plague her incessant A rough stone with sharp edges Too hard to be chipped down Cast aside by the mason That can never go into the making of a Cathedral She walks around in haze Life seems a twisted maze Each time she tries to claw her way She sees only walls that hems her in Before her lingers the stygian mist Phantoms of darkness surround her The winds of change swiftly blow Seasons come and go But she is tied down in her chains An anomaly of creation A curse and a taboo Swallowing stigma and abuse Each day waking up with a start Knowing that she is neither a woman nor a man But a non binary... an accursed TRANSGENDER Inviting snide looks And sniggers from onlookers People call her a ****** One divided between the selves A hapless denizen of an inhospitable world Disowned even by parents Though flawed and far from perfect She is human, one of a kind And needs to be seen through the eyes of God!

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Dec 1, 2018

Dec 1, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC

Applied rouge on the cheeks Tied a glittering necklace round the neck Putting heavy makeup, Over the stubble on her shaven chin, She looked into the mirror Through its cracks, saw a million bits of her/him Those images sneering at each other She felt trapped in a wrong body, With its contours n’ longings mismatched “Where do I belong”? “Where do I fit”? These questions plague her incessant A rough stone with sharp edges Too hard to be chipped down Cast aside by the mason That can never go into the making of a Cathedral She walks around in haze Life seems a twisted maze Each time she tries to claw her way She sees only walls that hems her in Before her lingers the stygian mist Phantoms of darkness surround her The winds of change swiftly blow Seasons come and go But she is tied down in her chains An anomaly of creation A curse and a taboo Swallowing stigma and abuse Each day waking up with a start Knowing that she is neither a woman nor a man But a non binary... an accursed TRANSGENDER Inviting snide looks And sniggers from onlookers People call her a ****** One divided between the selves A hapless denizen of an inhospitable world Disowned even by parents Though flawed and far from perfect She is human, one of a kind And needs to be seen through the eyes of God!

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Dennis was a citizen A denizen, a resident Of somewhere near a motorway A hideaway most opulent Ensnared amid the railway And trail ways for motorcars A haven from the modern day The takeaways and trendy bars But shattered in the summer morn His rest was torn by hammering Invading what was once inert So to his curtains clamouring He banished each to either side He threw them wide with knuckles white And saw in front of his abode Across the road, a building site A certainty within his mind Did slowly wind his purpose tight And with a grim determined jaw Across the floor he took to flight Descending stairs without a care His morning hair resembling A dandelion set to seed In need of disassembling He strode across his dining room And snatched a broom which lay by chance Against the table by the door And held before him like a lance He mounted his beloved bike A cycle like no other made And on a builder set his sight With all his might and unafraid He charged his foe at quite a rush And with his brush, the builder smote And leaping from his trusty steed He did proceed to stop and gloat Before resuming in his spate The builders mate did turn and run To raise the dragon, JCB It roared with glee and wheels spun So Dennis, though his ears resound With just the pound of noble heart Did firmly stand and face the beast His brow was creased and feet apart He struck the creature savagely And stubbornly with just his head And that, according to the news Was what the paramedics said The End

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Apr 5, 2013

Apr 5, 2013 at 6:30 AM UTC

Modern Fairytale

Dennis was a citizen A denizen, a resident Of somewhere near a motorway A hideaway most opulent Ensnared amid the railway And trail ways for motorcars A haven from the modern day The takeaways and trendy bars But shattered in the summer morn His rest was torn by hammering Invading what was once inert So to his curtains clamouring He banished each to either side He threw them wide with knuckles white And saw in front of his abode Across the road, a building site A certainty within his mind Did slowly wind his purpose tight And with a grim determined jaw Across the floor he took to flight Descending stairs without a care His morning hair resembling A dandelion set to seed In need of disassembling He strode across his dining room And snatched a broom which lay by chance Against the table by the door And held before him like a lance He mounted his beloved bike A cycle like no other made And on a builder set his sight With all his might and unafraid He charged his foe at quite a rush And with his brush, the builder smote And leaping from his trusty steed He did proceed to stop and gloat Before resuming in his spate The builders mate did turn and run To raise the dragon, JCB It roared with glee and wheels spun So Dennis, though his ears resound With just the pound of noble heart Did firmly stand and face the beast His brow was creased and feet apart He struck the creature savagely And stubbornly with just his head And that, according to the news Was what the paramedics said The End

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How cool I was with undercut pretending then Mohawk playing rugby pretending brunching with fab hipsters pretending enjoying arcane debates about particle physics pretending and social justice pretending loving tall beautiful black boy pretending and playing Tetris til dawn or napping on the couch pretending in fashionable Old City coworking space pretending cuddled alone as rain struck clear panes windowed walls facade pretending that was my life once, author in a zine pretending, cheese day denizen pretending amid all that a sprawling vacuum of identity pretending and isolation pretending despite lunching with a priest I met pretending online or long, meandering walks to the park pretending with Mr. Wiggles and biking up Passyunk pretending through the market that smelled of live chickens and grease bemoaning my loneliness pretending at row-house holiday parties hosted by midlife fairies & queers pretending with dreams with drugs pretending alcohol *** and roof deck skyline views pretending pop up gardens live music filling midsummer streets pretending same streets filled with seasonal dirt artisanal water pretending bottle cap eyes cigarette **** nose garbage mouth snowman melting away pretending going the way of brotherly love. How cool I was inhabiting my urban life pretending I was there.

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Mar 29, 2018

Mar 29, 2018 at 6:16 AM UTC

How cool I was with undercut pretending then Mohawk playing rugby pretending brunching with fab hipsters pretending enjoying arcane debates about particle physics pretending and social justice pretending loving tall beautiful black boy pretending and playing Tetris til dawn or napping on the couch pretending in fashionable Old City coworking space pretending cuddled alone as rain struck clear panes windowed walls facade pretending that was my life once, author in a zine pretending, cheese day denizen pretending amid all that a sprawling vacuum of identity pretending and isolation pretending despite lunching with a priest I met pretending online or long, meandering walks to the park pretending with Mr. Wiggles and biking up Passyunk pretending through the market that smelled of live chickens and grease bemoaning my loneliness pretending at row-house holiday parties hosted by midlife fairies & queers pretending with dreams with drugs pretending alcohol *** and roof deck skyline views pretending pop up gardens live music filling midsummer streets pretending same streets filled with seasonal dirt artisanal water pretending bottle cap eyes cigarette **** nose garbage mouth snowman melting away pretending going the way of brotherly love. How cool I was inhabiting my urban life pretending I was there.

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Sudden, as a bolt from the blue, Came down a humming bird, tantalizing Skimming down and darting up As an ever revolving top It reeled round and round Before it alighted on a shoe flower; That hung from a drooping branch In a corner of my front yard garden It precariously clung on to it Like a small pendent on a chain A sight so cool, now so rare That lighted up my dull spirits! Once they showed themselves up On almost every sunny day Promptly after the monsoon rains When the plants en mass in resplendent bloom Oh! How I love this tiny bird Not larger than a bumble bee Dressed in a cloak of gold and black Flitting round on fluttering wings It literally dances and pirouettes in the air Before descending down closer to its target Swirling, gliding n’ moving back and forth As if unsure of what it should do Then with a terrific **** and swiveling move It hovers close to hanging blooms Balancing itself sans any support And draws out nectar with its long needle bill When the zephyrs carry a sweet scent It flits from flower to flower And having enjoyed the ambrosial treat It flies back well satiated like a shooting missile My eyes fail to capture its lightning move As it goes whizzing through the lambent air Quickly disappearing like a mote of soot Losing itself in the vast expanse of the blue Being less than an ounce of fat So light, sleek and well streamlined It travels faster than the light of speed In a fleeting dash, moving out of sight Can any other bird rival it in agility? Or vie with it in its simple grace? How cute, this spirit of ‘disembodied joy’ This winged diminutive denizen of the sky! ,

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Jul 25, 2016

Jul 25, 2016 at 7:31 AM UTC

A Hummingbird in My Garden

Sudden, as a bolt from the blue, Came down a humming bird, tantalizing Skimming down and darting up As an ever revolving top It reeled round and round Before it alighted on a shoe flower; That hung from a drooping branch In a corner of my front yard garden It precariously clung on to it Like a small pendent on a chain A sight so cool, now so rare That lighted up my dull spirits! Once they showed themselves up On almost every sunny day Promptly after the monsoon rains When the plants en mass in resplendent bloom Oh! How I love this tiny bird Not larger than a bumble bee Dressed in a cloak of gold and black Flitting round on fluttering wings It literally dances and pirouettes in the air Before descending down closer to its target Swirling, gliding n’ moving back and forth As if unsure of what it should do Then with a terrific **** and swiveling move It hovers close to hanging blooms Balancing itself sans any support And draws out nectar with its long needle bill When the zephyrs carry a sweet scent It flits from flower to flower And having enjoyed the ambrosial treat It flies back well satiated like a shooting missile My eyes fail to capture its lightning move As it goes whizzing through the lambent air Quickly disappearing like a mote of soot Losing itself in the vast expanse of the blue Being less than an ounce of fat So light, sleek and well streamlined It travels faster than the light of speed In a fleeting dash, moving out of sight Can any other bird rival it in agility? Or vie with it in its simple grace? How cute, this spirit of ‘disembodied joy’ This winged diminutive denizen of the sky! ,

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Sunny day's may be sunny Yet inside always so dark. Cars all parked Like rows to chapels lonesome way's!!! Deleterious, Nothing hilarious, For thy eyes turn unfazed!!! A deluge of no accomplishments All walls stand to fail, All ceiling's to crumble No more derogatory jails!!!!! Despondency roaming the brick street of the old No desposters No more voters to trade papers For young and who they mold.... Thine denizen of thy own class Doth thou passeth the bill of health? Art thou truly alive? Canst thou SAVETH thyself? Think not that thou art free, Thou eateth Thineself meets thine own selfish needs!!!! Thyself shoots bullets of steel And steal cheapened goods Whilst small holes in thee hit and bleedeth!!!! Thy idols no longer stand Clothes bought by daddy From his first of the month paycheck Colored in crayon!!!! Thou followeth not even thy own commands..... Is thy love didadic? Of archaic to history's lesson's? Art thou to short on preaching? Thy words begin to lessen.... .

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Jun 29, 2015

Jun 29, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC

Sunny days arent so sunny to me

Sunny day's may be sunny Yet inside always so dark. Cars all parked Like rows to chapels lonesome way's!!! Deleterious, Nothing hilarious, For thy eyes turn unfazed!!! A deluge of no accomplishments All walls stand to fail, All ceiling's to crumble No more derogatory jails!!!!! Despondency roaming the brick street of the old No desposters No more voters to trade papers For young and who they mold.... Thine denizen of thy own class Doth thou passeth the bill of health? Art thou truly alive? Canst thou SAVETH thyself? Think not that thou art free, Thou eateth Thineself meets thine own selfish needs!!!! Thyself shoots bullets of steel And steal cheapened goods Whilst small holes in thee hit and bleedeth!!!! Thy idols no longer stand Clothes bought by daddy From his first of the month paycheck Colored in crayon!!!! Thou followeth not even thy own commands..... Is thy love didadic? Of archaic to history's lesson's? Art thou to short on preaching? Thy words begin to lessen.... .

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Walked to the lake nobody around Watery clear mirrored no sound Fish made their move taken by surprise Divine Love entered the clearing in disguise Appeared from nowhere crossed time bridged space How did Love know where to find this place Knew from the start Love wanted her heart To make her stay from far away Destined to meet had no idea why Kind hopeful passionate romantic guy Foliage reflection silent forest clime A window a portal a wormhole in time Peeked through the veil past the Divide Clandestine link to the other side A kiss a chain two souls linked together A golden moment personified forever To a river where the crowds gather Followed invited welcomed her there Visualized materialized the crack sublime The crowd parted for her proof paradigm Her mission veiled her purpose oblivious Death lurked undetectable ubiquitous Invisible Denizen of Fear Behind in front at her side always near Waited for a mistake hoped for a lie A justified excuse to take her life Stalked her everywhere dragged her around Wondered when to take her down under The ledge behind the edge set up high Nowhere to hide Death always close by Steeled herself gathered her strength Lethal Weapon disarmed; Exigent Innocent Luminous Numinis shielded on all sides Taken to dark regions unknown unseen by eyes Brainwashed cornered Captive memory gone Stood her ground as Death stared her down Lured to the river hard cold fast water slid past “How Can I .... You, I Love You”, Death asked Brutalized left for dead her sentence repealed Death needed permission the plan revealed Passed back through the portal unscratched Delivered home safe to Divine Love at last

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Sep 8, 2015

Sep 8, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC

priscilla-e-looney

Walked to the lake nobody around Watery clear mirrored no sound Fish made their move taken by surprise Divine Love entered the clearing in disguise Appeared from nowhere crossed time bridged space How did Love know where to find this place Knew from the start Love wanted her heart To make her stay from far away Destined to meet had no idea why Kind hopeful passionate romantic guy Foliage reflection silent forest clime A window a portal a wormhole in time Peeked through the veil past the Divide Clandestine link to the other side A kiss a chain two souls linked together A golden moment personified forever To a river where the crowds gather Followed invited welcomed her there Visualized materialized the crack sublime The crowd parted for her proof paradigm Her mission veiled her purpose oblivious Death lurked undetectable ubiquitous Invisible Denizen of Fear Behind in front at her side always near Waited for a mistake hoped for a lie A justified excuse to take her life Stalked her everywhere dragged her around Wondered when to take her down under The ledge behind the edge set up high Nowhere to hide Death always close by Steeled herself gathered her strength Lethal Weapon disarmed; Exigent Innocent Luminous Numinis shielded on all sides Taken to dark regions unknown unseen by eyes Brainwashed cornered Captive memory gone Stood her ground as Death stared her down Lured to the river hard cold fast water slid past “How Can I .... You, I Love You”, Death asked Brutalized left for dead her sentence repealed Death needed permission the plan revealed Passed back through the portal unscratched Delivered home safe to Divine Love at last

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Does anyone else feel the moon follows just to mock with that waxing crescent pearly white smile? The necessary light of my nocturnal path; regardless of which corner I turn she's comfortably watching. If only she spoke of the sorrows she felt so to stop her nightly lamentations. She holds that smile as merely a facade one we all know but brush off as odd. Oh night denizen, your monthly repose makes me wish I were a star whose light you sang woes.

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Jan 1, 2013

Jan 1, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC

Does anyone else feel the moon follows just to mock with that waxing crescent pearly white smile? The necessary light of my nocturnal path; regardless of which corner I turn she's comfortably watching. If only she spoke of the sorrows she felt so to stop her nightly lamentations. She holds that smile as merely a facade one we all know but brush off as odd. Oh night denizen, your monthly repose makes me wish I were a star whose light you sang woes.

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I remember when I first read Bukowski I thought he was a joke his poems weren’t even poems they were just a bunch of lines and sentences strung about like flimsy washing telling mundane stories about insipid things who was he to venerate Cummings (as if he had any of Edward’s profundity) and who was he to write poems about poets not writing poems or his simple lines propping up grossly defective and out of date words like jeroboams or how he’d drink (four-fifths a gallon of wine) then write more derivative lines who was he to live so long and write so much drivel and claptrap to other poets’ literary athleticism our darling Chuck was a pedestrian he was born a pensioner but never received a pension his poems flow like a river to no where and after reading them the first time I withdrew my poetic concern but then I read them again and then again and I realised I was in his poem’s stories and that foolish girl I knew that dense and brainless denizen of triteville was the heroine of his ‘splashing’ and his love for classical his love for wine and even his love for Edward matched even mine but most of all and here my rhetoric ends the moment I sighed oh yes when I read his poem yes you guessed it ‘oh, yes’ if not for his whimsical words or his misaligned wit love him for his grasp of regret and the sheer sentiment he can emit

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Nov 18, 2012

Nov 18, 2012 at 2:08 AM UTC

note on bukowski

I remember when I first read Bukowski I thought he was a joke his poems weren’t even poems they were just a bunch of lines and sentences strung about like flimsy washing telling mundane stories about insipid things who was he to venerate Cummings (as if he had any of Edward’s profundity) and who was he to write poems about poets not writing poems or his simple lines propping up grossly defective and out of date words like jeroboams or how he’d drink (four-fifths a gallon of wine) then write more derivative lines who was he to live so long and write so much drivel and claptrap to other poets’ literary athleticism our darling Chuck was a pedestrian he was born a pensioner but never received a pension his poems flow like a river to no where and after reading them the first time I withdrew my poetic concern but then I read them again and then again and I realised I was in his poem’s stories and that foolish girl I knew that dense and brainless denizen of triteville was the heroine of his ‘splashing’ and his love for classical his love for wine and even his love for Edward matched even mine but most of all and here my rhetoric ends the moment I sighed oh yes when I read his poem yes you guessed it ‘oh, yes’ if not for his whimsical words or his misaligned wit love him for his grasp of regret and the sheer sentiment he can emit

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This, my love, is the city of sin, This is where I am captured in. Come, take my hand and walk with me. Here’s the veil I use for other’s eyes, So none should think me sinful and surmise That I am the denizen of the darkest sea. A white veil to cover a soul of blame? You look at me and ask for my real name. Which of Satan’s conquests may I be? There’s my home: that’s a vanishing spire My years burn in smoke and pyre You wish to rescue but there’s no key. To save me, that’s your sole desire? Are you the moon to which I aspire? Come, leave my hand and you are free. Why do you not listen to me? You wish to rescue, but is there a key? For I am the denizen of the darkest sea.

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Apr 21, 2012

Apr 21, 2012 at 2:50 PM UTC

jagari-mukherjee

This, my love, is the city of sin, This is where I am captured in. Come, take my hand and walk with me. Here’s the veil I use for other’s eyes, So none should think me sinful and surmise That I am the denizen of the darkest sea. A white veil to cover a soul of blame? You look at me and ask for my real name. Which of Satan’s conquests may I be? There’s my home: that’s a vanishing spire My years burn in smoke and pyre You wish to rescue but there’s no key. To save me, that’s your sole desire? Are you the moon to which I aspire? Come, leave my hand and you are free. Why do you not listen to me? You wish to rescue, but is there a key? For I am the denizen of the darkest sea.

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Draped am I, across his chest and with heavy hands, him firmly pressed to me, in dark rooms; split with light. Legs are tightened and glazed eyes, bright. To feel his lips as they swallow my tongue, above heaving ******* of two so young, would be transcendent if he were mine and eloping as lovers in heat, sublime. A shadowed denizen writhing, elated, under a favourable mouth falling, sedated. Grappling, unfastened, vivacious and soft as against the wall pushed, and held aloft was I as a body, so virtuous - yet carnal and was held again with a hunger, infernal. Again were we guilty in a frenzy so vicious of a tantalizing ecstasy of resentment so delicious.

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Jun 26, 2014

Jun 26, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC

Draped am I, across his chest and with heavy hands, him firmly pressed to me, in dark rooms; split with light. Legs are tightened and glazed eyes, bright. To feel his lips as they swallow my tongue, above heaving ******* of two so young, would be transcendent if he were mine and eloping as lovers in heat, sublime. A shadowed denizen writhing, elated, under a favourable mouth falling, sedated. Grappling, unfastened, vivacious and soft as against the wall pushed, and held aloft was I as a body, so virtuous - yet carnal and was held again with a hunger, infernal. Again were we guilty in a frenzy so vicious of a tantalizing ecstasy of resentment so delicious.

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I got Jack Kevorkian in the trunk of, My 911 Porsche Sport With a leaky transmission and Lighter fluid in the oil pan to, Set myself ablaze because I'm the hottest killer in the game Just a poet Who pulls his threads of passion From the sickness in his pain The ink is blood that leaks out from my veins and, Scribbles musings so desperate on the page My mouth is like a leaky faucet but My hearts a busted watermain Flooding and empty room Drowning out the poor excuse of The boy I was In my wasted youth A denizen of ***** diner booths With napkin rhymes that in my mind Create the grand design of wasted time That draws pencil lines Sketching out This life of mine

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Jul 6, 2021

Jul 6, 2021 at 10:21 PM UTC

Streams From Consciousness

I got Jack Kevorkian in the trunk of, My 911 Porsche Sport With a leaky transmission and Lighter fluid in the oil pan to, Set myself ablaze because I'm the hottest killer in the game Just a poet Who pulls his threads of passion From the sickness in his pain The ink is blood that leaks out from my veins and, Scribbles musings so desperate on the page My mouth is like a leaky faucet but My hearts a busted watermain Flooding and empty room Drowning out the poor excuse of The boy I was In my wasted youth A denizen of ***** diner booths With napkin rhymes that in my mind Create the grand design of wasted time That draws pencil lines Sketching out This life of mine

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Heaven help the citizen the worthy to be denizen of Love inspired by Tennyson awaken from false hope! and Heaven help her poetry sincere insensibility the height of all futility to party like the Pope! Heaven help the serious who grasp that sweet delirious the simple yet mysterious is natures way of speaking and Heaven help our attitude to dwell in sleepy gratitude her longitude and latitude? a treasure for the seeking! Heaven help her doggedness the sluggish **** of fogginess the rhyme afloat in bogginess which pulls her reader down. and Heaven help the man again who treads the Old Shenanigan to find a wretched mannequin a fool in love could drown. Heaven help us everyone the world has lost it's sense of fun depending on the wealthy one to build amusement features and Heaven help the child within the haggard *** to see again to breathe the life which God has won and offers to all creatures!

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Apr 11, 2015

Apr 11, 2015 at 3:28 AM UTC

Heaven Help Her

Heaven help the citizen the worthy to be denizen of Love inspired by Tennyson awaken from false hope! and Heaven help her poetry sincere insensibility the height of all futility to party like the Pope! Heaven help the serious who grasp that sweet delirious the simple yet mysterious is natures way of speaking and Heaven help our attitude to dwell in sleepy gratitude her longitude and latitude? a treasure for the seeking! Heaven help her doggedness the sluggish **** of fogginess the rhyme afloat in bogginess which pulls her reader down. and Heaven help the man again who treads the Old Shenanigan to find a wretched mannequin a fool in love could drown. Heaven help us everyone the world has lost it's sense of fun depending on the wealthy one to build amusement features and Heaven help the child within the haggard *** to see again to breathe the life which God has won and offers to all creatures!

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The Dragon Bowels of earth emitting sulphurs' acrid stench, This denizen of darkness dank, Dragon stood with baited breath, Unfurling vein engorged wings, While peeking out for little things, As tasty titbit, He could nibble, Then a maiden strolling by caught this wicked dragons eye, Lost his hunger for his lunch, Fancied woman for his munch, This dragon was a little ***** Didn't fancy woman mornay, He fancied love this tragic dragon, Scuffled over smiling sweetly, As only dragon can, She was frightened totally and called out to her man, Her man he came to rescue her from this scary dragon chap, What a huge mishap, His lady ran, she rushed away, While man became the dragon's lunch! By ladylivvi1 © 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved) A little humour for you!

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Aug 26, 2013

Aug 26, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC

The Dragon Bowels of earth emitting sulphurs' acrid stench, This denizen of darkness dank, Dragon stood with baited breath, Unfurling vein engorged wings, While peeking out for little things, As tasty titbit, He could nibble, Then a maiden strolling by caught this wicked dragons eye, Lost his hunger for his lunch, Fancied woman for his munch, This dragon was a little ***** Didn't fancy woman mornay, He fancied love this tragic dragon, Scuffled over smiling sweetly, As only dragon can, She was frightened totally and called out to her man, Her man he came to rescue her from this scary dragon chap, What a huge mishap, His lady ran, she rushed away, While man became the dragon's lunch! By ladylivvi1 © 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved) A little humour for you!

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I am not a slave To your different stages Of human classification I am not a pale Caucasian In a white racist nation Even though this is a very racist Population I am not gender specific Just because I got a thick **** I am not gay cause I like a chick flick There are no chick flicks I am not a perfect American Not a patriotic idiotic citizen Not ready to stand and salute the flag I am not straight nor am I a *** Not a denizen of the masculine Or a queen of the feminine My ****** urges do not define me They do not confine me To little square boxes

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Dec 18, 2014

Dec 18, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC

I Am Not A Square Box

I am not a slave To your different stages Of human classification I am not a pale Caucasian In a white racist nation Even though this is a very racist Population I am not gender specific Just because I got a thick **** I am not gay cause I like a chick flick There are no chick flicks I am not a perfect American Not a patriotic idiotic citizen Not ready to stand and salute the flag I am not straight nor am I a *** Not a denizen of the masculine Or a queen of the feminine My ****** urges do not define me They do not confine me To little square boxes

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The old sod house, The west wind chit, chit, chatters the hinges, The door creaks to 'n fro, Vermin music to the denizen within. The old sod house on the hill, The windows were broken long ago Like old folks who've lost their 20/20. And the memories too have leaked Through that busted fenestration. Where most the year the wind is weir And long ago caught the laughter That onetime surely resided here. Hard to know who did lived there. There's only one that surely knows, I'll ask the wind. *This poem is a collaboration with joann alabsy who inspired its creation an contributed generously. Any and all short comings reside at my door.

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Dec 27, 2010

Dec 27, 2010 at 9:08 AM UTC

The old sod house

The old sod house, The west wind chit, chit, chatters the hinges, The door creaks to 'n fro, Vermin music to the denizen within. The old sod house on the hill, The windows were broken long ago Like old folks who've lost their 20/20. And the memories too have leaked Through that busted fenestration. Where most the year the wind is weir And long ago caught the laughter That onetime surely resided here. Hard to know who did lived there. There's only one that surely knows, I'll ask the wind. *This poem is a collaboration with joann alabsy who inspired its creation an contributed generously. Any and all short comings reside at my door.

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Heaven help the citizen the worthy to be denizen of Love inspired by Tennyson awaken from false hope! and Heaven help her poetry sincere insensibility the height of all futility to party like the Pope! Heaven help the serious who grasp that sweet delirious the simple yet mysterious is natures way of speaking and Heaven help our attitude to dwell in sleepy gratitude her longitude and latitude? a treasure for the seeking! Heaven help her doggedness the sluggish **** of fogginess the rhyme afloat in bogginess which pulls her reader down. and Heaven help the man again who treads the Old Shenanigan to find a wretched mannequin a fool in love could drown. Heaven help us everyone the world has lost it's sense of fun depending on the wealthy one to build amusement features and Heaven help the child within the haggard *** to see again to breathe the life which God has won and offers to all creatures!

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Aug 9, 2014

Aug 9, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC

Heaven Help Her

Heaven help the citizen the worthy to be denizen of Love inspired by Tennyson awaken from false hope! and Heaven help her poetry sincere insensibility the height of all futility to party like the Pope! Heaven help the serious who grasp that sweet delirious the simple yet mysterious is natures way of speaking and Heaven help our attitude to dwell in sleepy gratitude her longitude and latitude? a treasure for the seeking! Heaven help her doggedness the sluggish **** of fogginess the rhyme afloat in bogginess which pulls her reader down. and Heaven help the man again who treads the Old Shenanigan to find a wretched mannequin a fool in love could drown. Heaven help us everyone the world has lost it's sense of fun depending on the wealthy one to build amusement features and Heaven help the child within the haggard *** to see again to breathe the life which God has won and offers to all creatures!

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The shadow of a man shivers As Time clasps its withering hand, Becoming the shadow of a denizen land, Knocking on Death's door, Between the separate strands. Resurrection abundance; Find us in the shadow lands, Among the writhing smokestacks And the vegetable sand.

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Dec 22, 2023

Dec 22, 2023 at 7:32 PM UTC

The Shadow of a Shadow of a Man

The shadow of a man shivers As Time clasps its withering hand, Becoming the shadow of a denizen land, Knocking on Death's door, Between the separate strands. Resurrection abundance; Find us in the shadow lands, Among the writhing smokestacks And the vegetable sand.

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Efface the corridors of my mind, they no longer matter to my hands. My hands aren't in the reflection of my eyes, anymore. The ripplets of amalgamated rigmarole has left me disconnected from my own solace. (The truth of the matter is, I detest you all) Such a fiery passion filled with such repugnant result that only ensues regicide. Don't you see? You aren't the same as when I opened the door to Eden. Pusillanimous flowers froze under your cold dexterity and callous maneuvers as I tried, as an denizen of the air; in giving you fire. My animosity-indulged blood feel upon everything still. (Poor benevolent garden became the stage for fire and brimstone! Burn it all) The severance between rhetorician and denizen is the best that I can do to impart my desperation. God, what must I do to show the waters and the earths of my pain? Yet, I'm overlooked. (Yes, you are overlooked. Taken for granted). The black hiding under my nails is but testimony of how blood can transmutate to dirt. (You're too nice and stupid. I detest them all) Am I to believe that time along with my memories are my enemy? Then what of my sins and their justifications? What the hell must I do?! (Envy, Envy, Envy!) Why must I insist in speaking when those who must listen choose to turn their heads and ear like imbeciles to the slaughter? (Let them ******* die! why open your mouth, you idiot?) Scrupulous actions reflect my misery that can only explained through the pen. (Why must you waste your time? You were born alone, so die alone. Let the sky scream your name as the earth swallows your very existance and time effaces you from the memories of the inhabitants of the world. May all take a drink of the child's corrosive life and watch them atrophy and burn into nothingness)

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Jul 24, 2012

Jul 24, 2012 at 1:10 AM UTC

joshua-x-noheart

Words for the Mute, blind, and Silent: Killing time.

Efface the corridors of my mind, they no longer matter to my hands. My hands aren't in the reflection of my eyes, anymore. The ripplets of amalgamated rigmarole has left me disconnected from my own solace. (The truth of the matter is, I detest you all) Such a fiery passion filled with such repugnant result that only ensues regicide. Don't you see? You aren't the same as when I opened the door to Eden. Pusillanimous flowers froze under your cold dexterity and callous maneuvers as I tried, as an denizen of the air; in giving you fire. My animosity-indulged blood feel upon everything still. (Poor benevolent garden became the stage for fire and brimstone! Burn it all) The severance between rhetorician and denizen is the best that I can do to impart my desperation. God, what must I do to show the waters and the earths of my pain? Yet, I'm overlooked. (Yes, you are overlooked. Taken for granted). The black hiding under my nails is but testimony of how blood can transmutate to dirt. (You're too nice and stupid. I detest them all) Am I to believe that time along with my memories are my enemy? Then what of my sins and their justifications? What the hell must I do?! (Envy, Envy, Envy!) Why must I insist in speaking when those who must listen choose to turn their heads and ear like imbeciles to the slaughter? (Let them ******* die! why open your mouth, you idiot?) Scrupulous actions reflect my misery that can only explained through the pen. (Why must you waste your time? You were born alone, so die alone. Let the sky scream your name as the earth swallows your very existance and time effaces you from the memories of the inhabitants of the world. May all take a drink of the child's corrosive life and watch them atrophy and burn into nothingness)

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The difference between a cosmopolitan, Of which I am, And a "globalist," Of which I am not, Is in one's compassion & patience - In one's respect & understanding. A cosmo is a citizen of the world, A denizen of the planet. This is not, As some may mistakenly think, Some sovereign citizen nonsense. This is respect for the law - universal, Those enshrined & even those not. This is recognition of another's country & governance - Of their sovereignty & rights, in like identity. A "globalist" believes, wrongly, that there should be Only one "kind" of a world. A planet under one "supreme doctrine, Usually "manifesting" in supremacy & inferiority And the "erasure" of distinction. That one's "life" is superior Because of another's "inferior" "lifestyle." In "globalism," there is no compassion And neither is there patience. There is no respect for distinctions in/of life And no understanding for different lifestyles. Observe, and share your perspective - But be respectful. Judge, and share your verdict - But be understanding. In both the formations of them And in their subsequent deliveries. Otherwise, expect not to be seen or heard from.

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Jul 30, 2025

Jul 30, 2025 at 12:57 PM UTC

manx-kronos-pragna

Moles, In Near Blindless, Make Hills

The difference between a cosmopolitan, Of which I am, And a "globalist," Of which I am not, Is in one's compassion & patience - In one's respect & understanding. A cosmo is a citizen of the world, A denizen of the planet. This is not, As some may mistakenly think, Some sovereign citizen nonsense. This is respect for the law - universal, Those enshrined & even those not. This is recognition of another's country & governance - Of their sovereignty & rights, in like identity. A "globalist" believes, wrongly, that there should be Only one "kind" of a world. A planet under one "supreme doctrine, Usually "manifesting" in supremacy & inferiority And the "erasure" of distinction. That one's "life" is superior Because of another's "inferior" "lifestyle." In "globalism," there is no compassion And neither is there patience. There is no respect for distinctions in/of life And no understanding for different lifestyles. Observe, and share your perspective - But be respectful. Judge, and share your verdict - But be understanding. In both the formations of them And in their subsequent deliveries. Otherwise, expect not to be seen or heard from.

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In the once noble house, almost all is taken except The walls, the lath, now held on by a cleat of wood and lace that redeems the letcher, denizen of Sussex wetlands. Of late the chalet is latched only by hate, and the letch chats with outlaws in the storm's eclat of thunder far off. No knights or maidens remain, nor any ruler of demesne and the treasure is born off to other kingdoms. The well is dry and fields are bare. And in the end, all depart. leaving doors open to the wind and gate down to the woods. And broken the way down to the sea.

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Jan 8, 2025

Jan 8, 2025 at 12:31 PM UTC

In the once noble house, almost all is taken except The walls, the lath, now held on by a cleat of wood and lace that redeems the letcher, denizen of Sussex wetlands. Of late the chalet is latched only by hate, and the letch chats with outlaws in the storm's eclat of thunder far off. No knights or maidens remain, nor any ruler of demesne and the treasure is born off to other kingdoms. The well is dry and fields are bare. And in the end, all depart. leaving doors open to the wind and gate down to the woods. And broken the way down to the sea.

Continue reading...