"disbands" poems - Hello Poetry

Shutter shutter Shaking hands Static storm strikes The world disbands Claustrophobic Engulfed in black Must push forward Cannot look back The world is gone Memories too Can't understand Is this world true But there is help They protect me We fight for a goal I cannot see Does time stand still Or move too fast Too long the struggle Not all friends last Into the light Beckoning hue Sudden breathe The world in view Focus ahead Devour the air Back in this world Thousand mile stare Thankful but sick Pleading to stay When will it stop Will I be okay Finally home Exhausted fried If this battle was lost I could have died

0

Apr 8, 2015

Apr 8, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC

ZacharyBinx

Spice

Shutter shutter Shaking hands Static storm strikes The world disbands Claustrophobic Engulfed in black Must push forward Cannot look back The world is gone Memories too Can't understand Is this world true But there is help They protect me We fight for a goal I cannot see Does time stand still Or move too fast Too long the struggle Not all friends last Into the light Beckoning hue Sudden breathe The world in view Focus ahead Devour the air Back in this world Thousand mile stare Thankful but sick Pleading to stay When will it stop Will I be okay Finally home Exhausted fried If this battle was lost I could have died

36

Marines call to say hello, impress. I'm over 35 but my boys 19. They could go: Hide! One moment spent tying a shoe, another dying, gunshot wound or poisoned food. Events in their mere chronology make no sense. And the details of yr dad's life don't either. Late night quiet cigarette smoker. But next day, the butts cleaned into the can. Who does that? Lady in a skirt or overalls rolled up - cigarette smoke. Now it's yr dad. Yr dad who watches for war. Even if Uncle Sam disbands, dissolves we the people will still be here and stay involved with North America. The purple mountains majesty and shining seas little people, big people, brown, red, and white. Addicted to action movies. Perhaps there is no choice. One must sit, sitting still as a buddha, sitting bull. I can imagine myself and all others - drivers, voters, runners - little fetal muscles at first. Metastasizing. What's it called when the cell at the tip of the ***** or organism, divides, and the ***** grows? It's called girl on a bicycle. I find I make no sense. Her **** a practicality to her, is delicious to me a miraculous sea lettuce or snapdragon. You've heard it before. A moral dilemma wrapped in robes and silks and odors. Yet, come close, and business beckons work gets done, life goes on, hair grows in, we go on vacation the Marine Corps calls, desperate for new fetuses to teach purposeful workmanlike killing I'll do my own killing, thanks, when violence comes to the neighborhood if I've got your back your back's gotten and if I'm on point, the point's taken. One world under God invisible with liberty and justice for all who Art in heaven what the hell's his name. Nemesis. Hysterical. The small war of an especially inept empire. The world's too big to swallow as the Krauts and Nips found out. Empire is self-correcting. Them dark-skinned mustachioed ********* who can't fix their own electricity seem to be kicking our ***** pert good. As did the ***** before them. All to the good. A good lesson to know and then we all become friends following the brawl. We apparently cannot skip the fight. It must be fought, and **** the girls.

0

Aug 10, 2015

Aug 10, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC

robert-ronnow

Marines Call to Say Hello

Marines call to say hello, impress. I'm over 35 but my boys 19. They could go: Hide! One moment spent tying a shoe, another dying, gunshot wound or poisoned food. Events in their mere chronology make no sense. And the details of yr dad's life don't either. Late night quiet cigarette smoker. But next day, the butts cleaned into the can. Who does that? Lady in a skirt or overalls rolled up - cigarette smoke. Now it's yr dad. Yr dad who watches for war. Even if Uncle Sam disbands, dissolves we the people will still be here and stay involved with North America. The purple mountains majesty and shining seas little people, big people, brown, red, and white. Addicted to action movies. Perhaps there is no choice. One must sit, sitting still as a buddha, sitting bull. I can imagine myself and all others - drivers, voters, runners - little fetal muscles at first. Metastasizing. What's it called when the cell at the tip of the ***** or organism, divides, and the ***** grows? It's called girl on a bicycle. I find I make no sense. Her **** a practicality to her, is delicious to me a miraculous sea lettuce or snapdragon. You've heard it before. A moral dilemma wrapped in robes and silks and odors. Yet, come close, and business beckons work gets done, life goes on, hair grows in, we go on vacation the Marine Corps calls, desperate for new fetuses to teach purposeful workmanlike killing I'll do my own killing, thanks, when violence comes to the neighborhood if I've got your back your back's gotten and if I'm on point, the point's taken. One world under God invisible with liberty and justice for all who Art in heaven what the hell's his name. Nemesis. Hysterical. The small war of an especially inept empire. The world's too big to swallow as the Krauts and Nips found out. Empire is self-correcting. Them dark-skinned mustachioed ********* who can't fix their own electricity seem to be kicking our ***** pert good. As did the ***** before them. All to the good. A good lesson to know and then we all become friends following the brawl. We apparently cannot skip the fight. It must be fought, and **** the girls.

56

And only when every prison in the police state has an art gallery only when hip hop sounds like a revolutionary sermon only when Congress disbands itself for lack of moral conduct only when condoms are jammed tightly into high school backpacks only when free speech isn’t subject to search and seizure only when housing projects get gated fences only when college athletes use pi to find the circumference of a basketball in their spare time only when food pantries exist in old NRA hangouts only when Monsanto scrubs clean every black cloud only when Noah comes back and transports two of everything to a protest movement only when a protest movement morphs into a diversity celebration and only when the U.S. government writes a 5,000,000 page apology for every **** ****** and Bill O’Reilly sentence uttered will I even consider having a picnic.

0

Oct 24, 2013

Oct 24, 2013 at 11:21 AM UTC

joshua-martin

Such a Nice Day Out

And only when every prison in the police state has an art gallery only when hip hop sounds like a revolutionary sermon only when Congress disbands itself for lack of moral conduct only when condoms are jammed tightly into high school backpacks only when free speech isn’t subject to search and seizure only when housing projects get gated fences only when college athletes use pi to find the circumference of a basketball in their spare time only when food pantries exist in old NRA hangouts only when Monsanto scrubs clean every black cloud only when Noah comes back and transports two of everything to a protest movement only when a protest movement morphs into a diversity celebration and only when the U.S. government writes a 5,000,000 page apology for every **** ****** and Bill O’Reilly sentence uttered will I even consider having a picnic.

38

The Circus gongs excite the Throngs in nighttime Never Land – They swarm to see the destiny of Freaks at their command, While Acrobats step pitapat above the shifting sands And Lady Fat sits down to chat and oozes charm unplanned. The Dwarfs in suits, so small and cute when marching with the Band, Ask crimson Clowns with frozen frowns, to hold a mutant hand, While Tamers’ whips with withered tips, throughout the winter land, Lure Cats entranced through hoops enhanced with flames of fires fanned. White Elephants in big-top tents boast black-tusk contraband To regiments of Sycophants who overflow the stands, But No One sees anomalies, and No One understands. At night’s demise, the dither dies, the lonesome Crowd disbands, Down dead-end streets the Horde retreats, their tattered rags in strands, And Janes and Joes reweave their woes, for thoughts of change are banned. To play a part in Three-Ring Art, I thought I’d try my hand – I mastered skills, I felt the thrills, I breathed and seethed firsthand – But destiny denied to me to taste a lifetime spanned With tightrope walks and trapeze chalks ... excepting second-hand... For alcohol provoked a fall, as if a reprimand, And now, a heap, I sometimes keep the ticket office manned...

0

Mar 14, 2013

Mar 14, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC

terry-oleary

The Acrobat

The Circus gongs excite the Throngs in nighttime Never Land – They swarm to see the destiny of Freaks at their command, While Acrobats step pitapat above the shifting sands And Lady Fat sits down to chat and oozes charm unplanned. The Dwarfs in suits, so small and cute when marching with the Band, Ask crimson Clowns with frozen frowns, to hold a mutant hand, While Tamers’ whips with withered tips, throughout the winter land, Lure Cats entranced through hoops enhanced with flames of fires fanned. White Elephants in big-top tents boast black-tusk contraband To regiments of Sycophants who overflow the stands, But No One sees anomalies, and No One understands. At night’s demise, the dither dies, the lonesome Crowd disbands, Down dead-end streets the Horde retreats, their tattered rags in strands, And Janes and Joes reweave their woes, for thoughts of change are banned. To play a part in Three-Ring Art, I thought I’d try my hand – I mastered skills, I felt the thrills, I breathed and seethed firsthand – But destiny denied to me to taste a lifetime spanned With tightrope walks and trapeze chalks ... excepting second-hand... For alcohol provoked a fall, as if a reprimand, And now, a heap, I sometimes keep the ticket office manned...

23

summer sky aloft a massive cloud bank disbands lacing into gills wind huffs make spastic punches cooling my agitation

0

May 25, 2022

May 25, 2022 at 9:24 PM UTC

neth-jones

00000 01

summer sky aloft a massive cloud bank disbands lacing into gills wind huffs make spastic punches cooling my agitation

5

She's the beautiful one. Wears Versace and French inhales myrrh cigarettes. Behind blinking veils lies the sun, While in her eyes, your mind forgets. Never miss a glance, Denounce mere recognition. An eager chance, Herein lies your new mission. Tempt her senses, She's unprotected. Take down defenses, Now you're connected. She doesn't think, she dreams. All she does is disappear. Nothing is as it seems, Your whole world, again unclear. Tender last words spoken, Dark nails red on fragile hands. Another dream broken, The chemical disbands. This (and you) Is (are) her gift. And this (and you) Is (are) her curse.

0

Aug 6, 2011

Aug 6, 2011 at 10:03 AM UTC

julee-lennox

Your Mission

She's the beautiful one. Wears Versace and French inhales myrrh cigarettes. Behind blinking veils lies the sun, While in her eyes, your mind forgets. Never miss a glance, Denounce mere recognition. An eager chance, Herein lies your new mission. Tempt her senses, She's unprotected. Take down defenses, Now you're connected. She doesn't think, she dreams. All she does is disappear. Nothing is as it seems, Your whole world, again unclear. Tender last words spoken, Dark nails red on fragile hands. Another dream broken, The chemical disbands. This (and you) Is (are) her gift. And this (and you) Is (are) her curse.

24

The sun cracks the sky where the albatross flies; the clockwork waves splash Lunacy, the morning haze disbands. Your patchwork raft, the labour, the scars; The salt and the spray assault the ballet: the majestic way you stand. Your teeming suitcase, a thousand journals, Their iridescence forms a compass gleaming north to your merits. Mountains ahead are distant, hills behind are old Marvel in awe, gasp as your youth floats passed, whipping up paths of sand. Grow and glow, perspire and expand, shadows are cast for eyes to follow a menorah of promised plans. Sand turns to brickwork, pebbles to mortar squint across the water and scuff a hoof lunge and press digits on freshly laid girders. Pull back the bow and aim, no doubt In grey-matter but a quiver full of knowledge, a diver in a mirage A bridge to greener land.

0

Mar 19, 2014

Mar 19, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC

zacolian

Stranded At Sea

The sun cracks the sky where the albatross flies; the clockwork waves splash Lunacy, the morning haze disbands. Your patchwork raft, the labour, the scars; The salt and the spray assault the ballet: the majestic way you stand. Your teeming suitcase, a thousand journals, Their iridescence forms a compass gleaming north to your merits. Mountains ahead are distant, hills behind are old Marvel in awe, gasp as your youth floats passed, whipping up paths of sand. Grow and glow, perspire and expand, shadows are cast for eyes to follow a menorah of promised plans. Sand turns to brickwork, pebbles to mortar squint across the water and scuff a hoof lunge and press digits on freshly laid girders. Pull back the bow and aim, no doubt In grey-matter but a quiver full of knowledge, a diver in a mirage A bridge to greener land.

22

1) The world scorns me Without reason No Blood, upon my hands The guilt destroys me, Without reason, Thoughts fight, sense disbands I am spinning in the mist, and Catching glimpses as I twist As spectres smother my existence Hiding joy and warping distance, Trivialities are manifest Drunk on self importance, dressed Clinically, and all in white Anaesthetists, I feel no light. Hold me now and show me sense I need a frame of reference, Joy, at times, will follow, after Let me know and show me laughter Show me love, And tell me if, Asking why’s A dangerous gift. * 2) We can never be free Or unshackle the chain Of cause, and effect We are never free From the consequences Of our actions, unless We break free from our mind’s archives Of shame, and unrest

0

Aug 1, 2011

Aug 1, 2011 at 1:53 PM UTC

Empty

I am spinning in the mist

1) The world scorns me Without reason No Blood, upon my hands The guilt destroys me, Without reason, Thoughts fight, sense disbands I am spinning in the mist, and Catching glimpses as I twist As spectres smother my existence Hiding joy and warping distance, Trivialities are manifest Drunk on self importance, dressed Clinically, and all in white Anaesthetists, I feel no light. Hold me now and show me sense I need a frame of reference, Joy, at times, will follow, after Let me know and show me laughter Show me love, And tell me if, Asking why’s A dangerous gift. * 2) We can never be free Or unshackle the chain Of cause, and effect We are never free From the consequences Of our actions, unless We break free from our mind’s archives Of shame, and unrest

47

Inhale the burn, choke and splutter; the walls sway, the roof descends. Pass the vessel and cut the rafters; the chair tilts, the table bends. Exhale the fumes, laugh and mutter; the floor shifts and window melts. Spool back, slow down the pitter-patter of those around; now talking faster. Words whizz past, spill and clutter, then echo round an empty chamber. Retract a thought from lingering over the tongue and through the closing shutters. Rooms disperse and feelings clatter with no impact on soft grey-matter your brain swirls, and body disbands. Through the barrel, **** the hammer; pupils shrink and heartbeats race. Fixated by a bold, young face the grin widens, the wall moves near and bubbles up in yellow blisters wood-chip cheeks and cracking fissures take flight and sober up halfway through the bathroom window.

0

Mar 21, 2014

Mar 21, 2014 at 7:33 PM UTC

zacolian

Divinorum

Inhale the burn, choke and splutter; the walls sway, the roof descends. Pass the vessel and cut the rafters; the chair tilts, the table bends. Exhale the fumes, laugh and mutter; the floor shifts and window melts. Spool back, slow down the pitter-patter of those around; now talking faster. Words whizz past, spill and clutter, then echo round an empty chamber. Retract a thought from lingering over the tongue and through the closing shutters. Rooms disperse and feelings clatter with no impact on soft grey-matter your brain swirls, and body disbands. Through the barrel, **** the hammer; pupils shrink and heartbeats race. Fixated by a bold, young face the grin widens, the wall moves near and bubbles up in yellow blisters wood-chip cheeks and cracking fissures take flight and sober up halfway through the bathroom window.

23

Grant me the pleasures Indulge me with fantasies The reality is acknowledged by me Believe me, I understand what you need I know, just the same, what I want I want to leave I want to leave you with your awful lips and Confused hands I want to be with someone who loves me Fiercely and passionately With someone who lights a fire Inside my body And demands I stoke it So it burns furiously for both of us I care for you You The one who has supported me for long Stretches of time But my desires lay with another Someone who feeds my indulgences Who disbands reality; My love

0

Apr 8, 2015

Apr 8, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC

lizabeth-malone

Infidel

Grant me the pleasures Indulge me with fantasies The reality is acknowledged by me Believe me, I understand what you need I know, just the same, what I want I want to leave I want to leave you with your awful lips and Confused hands I want to be with someone who loves me Fiercely and passionately With someone who lights a fire Inside my body And demands I stoke it So it burns furiously for both of us I care for you You The one who has supported me for long Stretches of time But my desires lay with another Someone who feeds my indulgences Who disbands reality; My love

22

From the shining heavens, to the depths of hell, are countless places, in which mortals dwell. People like me, who are simple and free, search for happiness, wherever it may be. Yet the obstacles are endless, countless and limitless. Every goal we set creates another one, harder. Progressing toward, the highest of the heavens, eventually even we, begin to falter. We see that the joys that money may bring, a life of pleasure, girls and spring, are ephemeral, illusory, temporary like the wind. A short term high, like drugs taken at a whim. These joys and pleasures, and the highs it may bring, Are no different from the crude, happiness of dreams. Experiencing them when either rich or poor, the difference is legality, for good or for ill. Yet the heavens are temporary, the joys are too. Whatever once brought us there, can bring us down too. Navigating the clouds, transparent as can be. Fragile like the pleasures that one enjoys within thee. Striving so hard to maintain this modicum of joy, we lose sight of it all, overwhelmed by turmoil. Eventually our attention laxes, our focus disbands, we descend to the hells, all joys out of hand. All the happiness we seek, seemingly gone from thee, we forget that their joys are as temporary as can be. Mistakenly seeing it as the source which we seek, we chase them relentlessly, bringing others with thee. Confusing ourselves, and others who follow me, we end up on a path, both hellish and heavenly. These conflicting experiences, strengthening within me, I become conflicted, as do others who join me. Soon we all forget, what is happiness and joy. Seeking a fleeting, temporary ploy. Deceiving us of happiness, the peace within thee, Eventually we die, no happiness within me. If only I saw what was in front of me. If only I overcame the senses which deceived me. If only I realized the truth of one, that both heaven and hell, are meant to be undone. We separate the two, splitting humans in two, where some enjoy good, and the rest make do. Mistaking happiness, to be the fleeting joy of bliss, we no longer see, that true joy is in this. Enduring pain, experiencing ease. Overwhelming the tribulation with true inner peace. From this all shackles become undone, for there is nothing, left to be done.

0

Nov 8, 2017

Nov 8, 2017 at 10:08 AM UTC

OnyxSea

Tribulation

From the shining heavens, to the depths of hell, are countless places, in which mortals dwell. People like me, who are simple and free, search for happiness, wherever it may be. Yet the obstacles are endless, countless and limitless. Every goal we set creates another one, harder. Progressing toward, the highest of the heavens, eventually even we, begin to falter. We see that the joys that money may bring, a life of pleasure, girls and spring, are ephemeral, illusory, temporary like the wind. A short term high, like drugs taken at a whim. These joys and pleasures, and the highs it may bring, Are no different from the crude, happiness of dreams. Experiencing them when either rich or poor, the difference is legality, for good or for ill. Yet the heavens are temporary, the joys are too. Whatever once brought us there, can bring us down too. Navigating the clouds, transparent as can be. Fragile like the pleasures that one enjoys within thee. Striving so hard to maintain this modicum of joy, we lose sight of it all, overwhelmed by turmoil. Eventually our attention laxes, our focus disbands, we descend to the hells, all joys out of hand. All the happiness we seek, seemingly gone from thee, we forget that their joys are as temporary as can be. Mistakenly seeing it as the source which we seek, we chase them relentlessly, bringing others with thee. Confusing ourselves, and others who follow me, we end up on a path, both hellish and heavenly. These conflicting experiences, strengthening within me, I become conflicted, as do others who join me. Soon we all forget, what is happiness and joy. Seeking a fleeting, temporary ploy. Deceiving us of happiness, the peace within thee, Eventually we die, no happiness within me. If only I saw what was in front of me. If only I overcame the senses which deceived me. If only I realized the truth of one, that both heaven and hell, are meant to be undone. We separate the two, splitting humans in two, where some enjoy good, and the rest make do. Mistaking happiness, to be the fleeting joy of bliss, we no longer see, that true joy is in this. Enduring pain, experiencing ease. Overwhelming the tribulation with true inner peace. From this all shackles become undone, for there is nothing, left to be done.

53

She looks so heavenly Behind my lenses she actef weirdly But I really fancy this sweet lady She kisses mine so delicately Once your nails digs in, I feel insanity creepin' They're **** amused while lookin' To us, they couldn't do what we're makin' Gladly getting down your knees You pray loudly with a microphone on your hand A sensation of a holy touch climbs up to my mind For some reason, my heart doesn't beat like they planned Getting inside the vacancies and your voice disbands Why don't they just tell us we're fools making this work When we are nothing but pretentious ******* faking how love looks You have gotten the idea of the papers you gave zeros ***** I've been here for a while and ran from every hook.

0

Oct 3, 2017

Oct 3, 2017 at 12:10 PM UTC

niklaus

Media love

She looks so heavenly Behind my lenses she actef weirdly But I really fancy this sweet lady She kisses mine so delicately Once your nails digs in, I feel insanity creepin' They're **** amused while lookin' To us, they couldn't do what we're makin' Gladly getting down your knees You pray loudly with a microphone on your hand A sensation of a holy touch climbs up to my mind For some reason, my heart doesn't beat like they planned Getting inside the vacancies and your voice disbands Why don't they just tell us we're fools making this work When we are nothing but pretentious ******* faking how love looks You have gotten the idea of the papers you gave zeros ***** I've been here for a while and ran from every hook.

17

Everyone’s only ever in love with the idea of her. They like her performance. She draws in many fleeting fans but not supporters. With her sight withering and her back stooping, what she has established as her foundational support simply disbands in search of new fun to feast on. In vain she sweated so harshly while dancing for their judgemental eyes that their idea of her melted off of her skin and she was left naked and alone.

0

Jul 5, 2019

Jul 5, 2019 at 11:31 AM UTC

nja

We are all naked and alone.

Everyone’s only ever in love with the idea of her. They like her performance. She draws in many fleeting fans but not supporters. With her sight withering and her back stooping, what she has established as her foundational support simply disbands in search of new fun to feast on. In vain she sweated so harshly while dancing for their judgemental eyes that their idea of her melted off of her skin and she was left naked and alone.

2