"detracts" poems
Blind is he who detracts
from the presence of carbon
and hydrogen fused
like twigs in a bird's nest
As the glow from the sky
weakens at dusk
so does the chutzpah of the feeble
weaken with doubt
Lines drawn with chalk may wither
But lines drawn with utmost knowledge
lingers like dried noodles
on the inside of a ***
As fall resides and winter is looming
The souls of doubters
wander without seeing guidance
The true believers shall never starve
From the first to the last
The righteous sally forth together
No journey too treacherous
Let there be garlic bread
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
She breaths octane
gas polluting my heart,
and paralyzes my emotions,
love straining to restart.
Blue blistering toes,
pneumonia-driven prose,
she aches the bone inside of me
delivering a cold.
Moving towards
my aching soul,
she finds my
emptiness, tenfold.
Gaseous toxic dust
confides within my lungs,
her selfish evil breath fills me,
permanent distrust.
She drinks blood through
my straw-thin veins,
detracts my serenity;
swallows it all the same.
Disfigured masterpiece discharged
and broken on a hospital cart,
you're jealousy tears me apart,
I wait for the autopsy chart...
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 8:53 PM UTC
Sick of the lies and hopeless dreams of youth
I'd give it all to realize the one and only Truth
Sick of compromising with allowances of regret
I knew you before we ever met
Because, inside, I'm you, you're me
It's been so since before eternity
A bit of the one inside the other
One and the same, we are the lovers
Duality, polarity, dawn the crystal clarity
Find the balance between mildness and severity
Opposites attract, but dissonance detracts
Seek to realign and catch it in the act
Before the balance shifts and tilts the scale
The Sun shines bright, the Moon glows pale
Yet each has its place, outside as well as in...
There is no Darkness without Light, no Virtue without Sin.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
*Opposites attract.
Sameness detracts.
Love fades.
Life wanes.
Darkness can warm.
Light can freeze.
Caught in life's cycles,
Spinning outward to the end.
Caught within a breeze.
Why is darkness treated with fear?
As much is done in the light as in the dark.
Much maligned our primal senses heightened we see no light in the dark.
Yet, in the dark we are rested, in the dark we test our senses, in the dark we are even, in the dark we are one.
Foul deeds may require the blanket of dark.
But the reaper calls at any time, ready or not he will come, his scythe sweeps and you are gone.
Light or dark, love or hate in each opposite you make a whole you.
In the light we see the dark.
In the dark we see the light*.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
There are faults along this desolate landscape. The concrete is falling away and stones litter the wide road.
Slowly, the rain starts. First with a light pitter patter and then later with hard knocks that dont let up. Slowly, the birds stop singing. They fly away. To the north, to the south or east or west, I do not know. I hardly felt their absence. It was the silence that made me lift up my head.
And what I see was the aftermath of an earthquake. The ancient colossal trees were snapped cleanly into half. The torrential rain was disappearing into enormous sinkholes. The collapsed buildings were ghosts watching over the dead city. The crowd has gone, so has the lights.
This destroyed land mirrors my destroyed mind. The birds have stopped singing. Everything is silent. And all I see when I open my eyes, is despondence.
*fault (fôlt)
n.
1.
a. A character weakness, especially a minor one.
b. Something that impairs or detracts from physical perfection; a defect.
c. A mistake; an error.
2. Responsibility for a mistake or an offense; culpability.
3. Geology A fracture in the continuity of a rock formation caused by a shifting or dislodging of the earth's crust, in which adjacent surfaces are displaced relative to one another and parallel to the plane of fracture. *
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
The impact assessment by
the assessor of impacts
detracts from
the initial
impact.
You can't unbomb a bomb and
when it's dropped
it's gone.
This is like unkissing the kiss and
'the Kiss'
is something
one should never
unkiss.
The tower.
I fall into it,
climb up
just a bit
sit
and decide if
I want a better view
because we're never satisfied
with the things we get into or up to
and I go through
life
like this,
unkissing the
Kiss.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 7:41 AM UTC
It's a vicious circle of love and hate,
Me and you, you and me,
Cutting the thorns off around stem,
The rose looks beautiful,
Set next to me, all the color,
Nothing detracts from it,
But it's so hard to get them all,
The sheers are quite wonderful,
An extension, just like your hand,
Careful watch, gliding effortlessly,
Following cues is easy, fact of life,
Before we be ourselves let's take one
Moment to try to think of something
Besides how happy we would be, right.
It's a thin line between masculine control
And making a women your prized treasure,
Like that rose if he takes more snips,
He can cut it down to "perfect measure,"
Have it to go with his set of trophies,
Whatever is the current prickly danger?
Fix it up, face the facts, your reputation flawed!
Until this rose is no longer so prickly sharp,
Makes it easy for me to have your cake and eat it,
In between your being yourself and odd.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 7:38 AM UTC
this critic is awkward,
sees the good, feels the grace.
how to say it, that the
mind wanders, that filth
detracts from the everyday.
that stitching can be rhythmic, and
never mind the capitals.
clever words confound,
googling interupts the flow
whilst dots are alaways
useful.
i have never done this before.
sbm.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
Perhaps all I can ask is that
I carve a path back to my apathy
although my atrophy's
divorce detracts from me
as my degrade is happening
and the capacity for happiness everlastingly lacking.
What is belief but misguided and
more patiently practiced blasphemy?
Yet here I am left with hands half grabbing,
for words gasping, I am practically asking.
Abandoned with no hopes left intact,
momentum caught in trappings,
vices snapping, I prolong a pain, adapting
and what sort of self congratulatory act is that, exactly?
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 7:40 PM UTC
The Poet's Life is a lonely life,
We chose this life you see,
We like our solitude and we like our
freedom to write away without anyone
around us you see.
Writing is our passion,
Writing is our life,
Most great poets and writers have depression
and are manic depressive and many take their life.
People don't understand us, they walk away from
us and many of don't fall in love because it detracts us from our writing life.
We are meant to be lonely and seek comfort in our writing and by words that can tell our story of our very lonely life.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
White; the enemy of individuality.
Sensitive to stain;
So glares any impurity.
The cause of light’s disdain.
A mount of perfection,
For all the unwanted,
Baring intolerable rejection;
Their impurities are vaunted.
Grey; the melancholy shade.
Permanently on the fence.
Sullenness being made.
Prosaicness from whence.
Agnosticism of colour.
No conviction for what it reflects.
With a deficit of vigour.
The reflection of all that detracts.
Black; the absorption of all,
The greed of light.
An entire life’s pall.
The enemy of white.
The face of the deep
The end of all things.
Light’s filcher to reap,
Before any beginnings.
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 4:28 PM UTC