"discarded" poems
The distant park
Was a graveyard of dead stars.
Each streetlight a system of worlds,
So many lives between each mote of light,
Indistinguishable in their unique love,
Bespoke hate, and the drama of the modern age.
Drunk laughter behind transparent
Double doors. Another hotel balcony,
Another cloud behind the canopy
Of marijuana eyes
To unsettle me from the crowd.
She points out, when you look closely
You can see the disorder
Amongst all constellations
Of life and love and litter;
Of discarded Coke cans
And temporary highs.
She says this is not a scene
To imbue the ****** of a present mind,
More to baulk at the incompletion
Of one thousand to-do lists;
A million reasons why
You should just stay inside.
She says you can see the human swell
Of ignorance, our city lights
Blotting out the stars
In a black ocean of broken politic
And irretrievable fault lines-
Divisions between us all.
Lives twisted with professional smiles
And eyes lit with stunning indifference.
Still, I have felt charity and warmth
On the doorstep of lunatics and fascists.
I have read the love of life
In faces of those who gave up.
I have recounted countless artists
Who saw beauty
In moments that precisely lacked it.
I have spent too many nights
In anaesthesia,
Fleeing each instance of feeling
And terror; all the tremors
That tell me I am still alive.
Continued to stare at the lights
Long after her voice
And the laughter inside had gone.
Heard waves in the traffic.
A world so large, so expansive,
It can never truly sleep.
Every broken heart,
Every war-torn land,
Every promotion,
Every one-night stand.
I wonder what would happen
If we all stood still.
If we all took one moment
To observe the motion
That unfolds beneath
Our static windowsill.
If we all took one moment
To recover our loss.
The wars that we won,
The feelings, forgot.
The hell we retain;
Our paradise, lost.
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 11:07 AM UTC
The child discarded in the storm was lost as lonesome sheep.
The flowers in the garden there did bow their heads and weep.
The tears that flowed did nurture and develop a perfect chrysalis.
And as the morning mists did rise a fragile butterfly hit the skies.
A magnificence of purple pause an emperor for a day.
The sun came out, burned out all the pain of rain.
The child smiled it's heart was made of joy.
As once upon a time the child was born a boy.
Glory and magnificence made magic from the raindrops craft.
For now the gorgeous girl child, she lived, she loved, she laughed.
(C) Livvi
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
Sometimes, the words don’t come.
The consistent stream of consciousness, ceases.
I am left with nothing to say.
There is a beauty in the broken mind.
Like an abandoned building taken by nature.
It is not that my mind does not work.
It is that it works too fast,
And I am left behind,
Scrabbling in the dust,
Desperately seeking a connection,
In the discarded fragments of thought.
I am fighting a losing battle.
I fear the white flag will soon arise.
And signal the end.
May 18, 2019
May 18, 2019 at 10:32 AM UTC
To see more and more
Every time, I used to sit at the train door!!
I didn't capture this imagery before
So, I kept my eyes wide open to store!!
Well, I must agree
You'll get to see
Wide angled views for free
All that I can recapture is a tree
And, It never stops surprising me
Meanwhile, the people who come to ***
Will mistake me for a ********
Thinking that I'd jump off to make my life Departed!!
They'll try hard to get me safe Guarded
Finally, they'll close the door and have me Discarded!!
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 5:06 AM UTC
Mine
6:48 a Wednesday
Two Weeks later
Then: Thanksgiving eve
5E; MIT
I sit at my desk:
stare out of the windows <
My skull
at the Chocolate Bock I just
Overflowed > all over my notes
on the Circe episode of Ulysses,
which I have not yet read.
20 minutes after I just ––
Went alone. Stood there, yes, alone
Above the porcelain enterprise
Taking that litmus test of humanity
Clear, I pass. Yellow, I fail.
It was rather clear I think
Honestly? I don't remember.
Two weeks ago, I stood there==
and came up with this phrase.
Standing there with special eyes::::
Seeing.
Came back to my room, I did, faithfully
Looked there below my second fridge
A plate sat. mine. On it: maybe food, maybe *****
Probably marijuana
Only the first my own
Who remembers?
Next to it: an empty prescription bottle
"It's some medicine for Asthma. I don't even
_have_ asthma!"
"Classy **** I am; I've never bought a shot glass.
Just use discarded prescription bottles."
An experiment @ the sink: exact: 2.0z. On the dot.
Turns out that's 1&1/3 of the standard—The ritual
We make it. And have made it.
For years now together after midnight
[or so]
4 years. Soon it will be
Maybe I shall leave; probably not
but harken back, that fortnight, less 6
To that evening. Orange and purple
Effort sublime but not enough:
Lost to a team of Freshman.?!
~If only:~
"Tripped mad-laundry shrooms",
6 and a half months ago
Two men sit in the corner of my room
I know one; the other spoke
2-weeks-later: sticky keyboard
I am not sober, but who is?
Last night. Remember those videos?
reminded me that *** can be beautiful:
After basically 2 years: I almost forgot.
x-art.com. December 6, 2011
I have a perspective now:
It is not the same as yours
it is not and, by necessity,
can not be the same.
But I see it. Stephen Daedalus
calls it immature—lyrical
but **** you, James: it is mine!
I am. Will always be.
Will have never been.
But, God/Goddess **** it now!
I am: I See.
I try!
~D.B.Guy
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 3:23 AM UTC
on a sea strand,
have you watched empty shells
mercilessly tossed from sea to shore
and from shore to sea?
often I shrink and reduce to such a shell,
with jagged and broken edges
colorless and empty
among many a debris cast on the shore,
i lie half buried under the sand
waiting for some mighty wave
to wash me away
all the way to the sea
how tedious is my voyage
shuttling from him to her
and from her to him
unable to openly confess
who weighs more
on the balance of preference
through how many alleys and by ways
I have wandered, questioning my identity!
am I a puffer fish, being toxic
the fisher men have discarded?
a jarring note in a discordant symphony?
I wonder....! I often ask myself!
destined to grow
in mercurial climes,
planted in arid shallow soil
with the tap root trimmed,
branches pruned,
growth denied,
I, a stunted bonsai!
still I dream to be a towering tree,
that in profusion gives fruits and shade!
a ****** aspiring to be a Goliath
a hollow reed,
longing at once to be the singer and the song!
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 9:41 AM UTC
I move through life like swimming in the sea
Many a storm has battered me
Waves of destruction I've managed to outrun
It's as if I was created to overcome
My stories are many I'll let time tell
How I went to sleep in Heaven woke up in Hell
Choices gain voices some cause more pain
Standing trial with a smile I still remain
A young boy who dreamed a future bright
Staring into space embracing the darkness of night
Solitude my lover we raised hell
Became a monster amongst demons I did dwell
No limit I took it to the brink
Heart so dead all I did was drink
Drowned that boy did my best to destroy
Used up discarded like a toy
Shadows of me lay in the past
Here we go again will this new me last?
Lessons learned I feel no doubt
Can only play the cards as they're dealt
All is fun till you're staring down a gun....
One of many things I had to overcome....
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 12:45 PM UTC
Tonight I will fall down upon my knees
To pray before the goddess of enchanted ebony
Her divine rays of dark beauty I embrace
Bathing blissfully in her enigmatic grace
I enter the sanctum
Her sacred place of healing
Ecstasy consumes me
Enraptured by the feeling
When the Moon of the Black Goddess
Shines Her light upon me
Then the Love of the Black Goddess
Drowns the world around me
Tonight I worship at the Temple of Her Light
I sacrifice my flesh to the goddess shining bright
The fire in my soul erupts and sets aflame my mind
On holy nights like these when the cosmos re-aligns
I enter the sanctum
Her sacred place of healing
Ecstasy consumes me
Enraptured by the feeling
When the Moon of the Black Goddess
Shines Her light upon me
Then the Lust of the Black Goddess
Burns the world around me
I submit myself to Her, naked and unguarded
Prepared to be consumed and then possibly discarded
For in her presence, all the evil in our pale existence
Vanishes from memory in a single instant
I enter the sanctum
Her sacred place of healing
Ecstasy consumes me
Enraptured by the feeling
When the Moon of the Black Goddess
Shines Her light upon me
Then the Mists of the Black Goddess
Shroud the world around me
The Moon of the Black Goddess
Cast thy spell upon me
The Moon of the Black Goddess
Looming right above me
The Moon of the Black Goddess
I give my flesh to worship thee!
For the Moon of the Black Goddess
Is the only place
I can find peace!
When the Moon of the Black Goddess
Shines Her light into me
Then the Tune of the Black Goddess
Becomes the song to set me free!
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC
Sweet Butterfly, with wings now dry 'tis time to break away
and light upon the leaves of dawn while weeping willows sway,
not reminisce 'bout chrysalis discarded yesterday,
but treasure life, with colors rife in nature's cabaret.
Sweet Butterfly, you sometimes sigh "terrene so strange and new”,
but take a chance, with winged expanse of fairy-like bijou,
to taste delight in random flight, to drift beyond the blue
and then collect her naked nectar, sipped in morning dew.
Sweet Butterfly, you question why the breeze is seldom soft
when swirling you, your wings askew, while floating free aloft.
Some seem to find their peace of mind believing gods have coughed,
but others, downed, have often found more freedom when they've scoffed.
Sweet Butterfly, you needn't cry, the fields are full of clover,
and meadowlands bare braided strands that winds in waves flow over -
but if you fear that, more than here, another mead is mauver,
just flutter by, beneath the sky, unfettered flitting rover.
Sweet Butterfly, farewell, goodbye, you've left this world behind.
I oft gaze back along the track of flowers that you've mined
recalling days of light sashays and movements unconfined
that complement the firmament where beauty lies enshrined.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
Toilet paper,
You are the only one who
Puts up with all my crap.
You listen when no one else will
To all my groaning and moaning.
You share all my private moments
And follow me from the bowels of hell
Into the plumbing of despair.
Toilet paper,
You have seen my most private parts,
The dark crevices of my flesh,
Where no one will go.
And should I sneeze
You will wipe my nose.
You will take away my filth,
And your softness can embrace
The sewage of my soul
And the flakes of flesh
That my heart has discarded.
Toilet paper,
You are the only one I know
Who kisses my ***
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 6:20 AM UTC
please be impatient with me for I am Female, Age 19 Please be impatient with me. Three quarters woman in a body, a quartered quartet. The crying viola, off tempo, present but unavailable. The boys want me. The men, more, more. The women most of all. The American Girl dolls on the shelf dusty, witnesses to all my demander’s impatience to take, to own, possess & desire my poses all to pleasure them, wanting many morsos (small bites).
Then, when discarded, my body reeks of
con-f u s i o n. A perfect conjugation, an imperfect conjunction; Conning my mind into letting my body be-fused.
The dolls weep real tears in the city of my mind; flipping out, they too, are impatient with me, and flip me off for they have no good words to express their utter chagrin.
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
Inside my brain
There is a tornado
Spinning to infinity and beyond.
God only knows how fast.
My shoulders ache and my feet cramp.
My wrists click
And my eyes go damp.
Inside my brain instead is a monsoon:
A tumultuous storm that rages on.
Waves froth and smash,
Beating against the backs of my eyeballs.
Sometimes they find their way
Down my soft spotted cheeks.
My lashes float to the earth
One by one by one by one.
Would you collect them for me
Like discarded flower petals
Down the aisle of my soul's chapel
And press them into a scrapbook
Full of twisted memories?
Inside my brain is an H2O tornado
Like reckless rainstorm pirouettes.
My swirling view is blurred,
But every so often
I catch a clear picture
Of the glowing whites of your eyes
And I remember to fill my lungs,
Head above the water,
And breathe.
Twirl, twist.
Wind, mist.
But don't panic,
Because every so often
I catch a clear picture
Of you.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 4:40 PM UTC
.
A cloud falls from the sky,
a lead balloon of precipitation,
and cuddles the ground
like a long lost lover.
Dripping its cargo,
shedding tears along the way,
leaving a trail of damp memory
and a calm balm
for the Earth.
*And a candle flickers
on a lonely table,
as a pen drifts across lines,
filling meaningless words
that never
convey the depths of separation.
The flame flares
as a waft, a draft,
creeps in a crack under the door,
adding a poignant touch
to the melancholy of atmosphere.
Gripping the pen with delicate unease,
the hubbub drowns inwards,
doubt rises in ascendancy,
the pen falls,
like a discarded relationship,
and the meaningless words
stop.*
© Pagan Paul (21/11/18)
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 5:35 PM UTC
Start and stop
Up the street,
Turn 180,
Repeat the beat.
The gurus on
Confessional wheels,
Absolve our sins,
Emptying bins.
I swear
They swear
A solemn oath
Never to
Disclose the truth
Found in our garbage
By the brethern,
Garbage stinking
To high heaven.
Bottles, syringes,
Boxes, bones,
Peelings, plastics,
Old cell phones,
Discarded trash
From our homes.
Wrappings bleeding
Seeping ****
*By our garbage
Ye shall know us.*
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
I couldn't let him always have the last word
Watching as people died and killed in the name of his holy Lord
Who cares what happens to those humans?
But I couldn't let it go
I broke away from his pasture
Covered myself in ash
Was discarded out of the Holy Land
And became my own God
Being the black sheep casted away from Heaven
I learned what it truly was to be broken
Building myself up to put a stop to these
Commandments and scriptures set in stone
I overestimated the humans
They ran amuck with every power I lent
Turning my idea of love into lust,
Enjoyment into gluttony and greed,
Sloth, pride, envy
Everything I tried turned into another
Deadly sin
Now my name is said in destruction
Evil is a synonym to my existence
I guess I don't mind as long as things aren't mundane
Isn't this what I wanted?
Always a figure to blame,
These humans have taught me to not trust,
Have hope in anybody,
And how to go insane
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 2:07 AM UTC
They called her an attention ***** for the last time
As she put the gun to her stomach and pulled the trigger.
The fat girl
The bipolar girl
The depressed girl
The nymphomaniac
The airhead blonde
The discarded cheerleader
The broken hearted
The girl who cuts
The girl who cries
The girl who has a eating disorder
The girl who can't help herself
The girl who is always alone
The girl who gets yelled at
The girl who always gets *****
She just wanted love
But this is all she has
She has a cheating boyfriend
She has a horrible father
She has an abusive mother
She has a shattered heart
She has a numb mind
She has a lost hope
She has a sharp knife
She has a loaded gun
I'm sure they just wanted attention. I'm sure they were perfectly fine.
I'm sure they didn't need the helping hand. I'm sure they're just overreacting.
I'm sure she's dead. I'm sure you don't really care.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
Rusty nail by rusty nail the floors come down. Floor by floor
the old men of the old town slip away, and leave old shells
like the stone bread of Pompey. We board these windows
and bolt these doors and slate them in the young sun
for the hungry cranes, but I return in the twilight
of going home traffic when five o'clock lets loose blue collars
to fumble through the ruined rooms of time gone by,
I kick through our broken bricks. Their red dust stains
my shoes and wears on my cuffs. A hopeless hearth,
discarded news, a crippled doll with matted hair
and I all share the crumbling of the day, but only I
shall not remain come compline. Neither can I
pack these walls with me. So this is adieu
to former strongholds. To our old fidelity, adieu.
It is not fit to go forth less than brave, for
they built seven cities over Troy, seven worlds
not knowing where they stood so long the first
could not be said to be. The docks of Caesarea sleep
in the sea, and tourists sit for lunch
on the prone pillars
of Jaffa.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 9:09 PM UTC
My dear, if you were to cut me open,
to tear away my measly skin,
you would not find
the contents of an ordinary human being.
You would not find veins
or internal organs,
especially not a human heart.
Instead, you would find a battlefield, with freshly made bomb craters
and you would find discarded bullets,
fashioned from spiteful words,
that were perhaps destined for use on my worst enemies
but were instead aimed at myself.
You would find the remains of a daisy field
with the left over petals
looking vaguely like feathers
that fell from doves
or perhaps even angels.
You would find memories of a tiny village
once colourful and lively
but swept away by multiple hurricanes,
that took all happiness and innocence along with them.
Blood would not pour
from my lifeless body,
but dark cigarette smoke would seep from the wounds,
and if you closely investigated,
you would find that the fumes were made up of
microscopic black moths
that had all my lies and promises
carefully written all over their feeble wings
For I am not a human being, but simply a worn out shell of one.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
Balloon floating
Free
Traveling the winds
Till the day
POPPP!!!
You are no more
Just a empty shell,
Lying,
Discarded,
Lost
Some where on the floor.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
In bed, I lay
upon my cushioned existence I stay
but outside the world's at play
birds swimming in the sky
and trees that gently sway
dancing the day away
and I continue to lie
the distant sounds
of yawning grounds
two parched lips
as the Earth does rip
let the rain come
so we may take a sip
heavens nectar
falls upon a discarded deckchair
striped like candy cane
blotched with the rain
scattered upon sandy dunes
could this be a monsoon
ironically late
but still worth the wait
paid patience admission at the gate
one ticket to wet wet wet
this is what patience gets
just need a raincoat
so I can appear in the matrix
how can you hate this
a neopolitan sky
dripping with colour
if I were a scholar
I could espouse on its many virtues
instead, I turn up my collar
and tip my hat
a little milk won't hurt you
an umbrella swung round a lamppost
and now I'm Gene Kelly
still wearing a raincoat
but dancing
romancing the moonlight
for night has snuck in the back door
like an absent teenager
but this too shall pass
soon the dunes turn to grass
and I too return to task
a new day
at play.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 2:35 PM UTC
I am not in the business of being you
or him or her or they
we doesn't even really interest me.
you hated me within the first 20 minutes
like a shallow predator
experiencing virginal danger
you have the limbic system of a prey
obvious to anyone in touch with their senses.
you were threatened-
you cracked a joke and among
the robotic laughter and among
the generic thoughts
I stood back, blank-faced
a novel piece of art you haven't the ability
to muster up the courage to understand.
aloud, I said it wasn't funny
which I'm sure your emptiness already betrayed
in a booming, and terrifying fashion
*(I'm an intellectual sadist-
I get off watching you squirm)*
you know enough, that you have no basis
that the status quo is the stale stream you do nothing but soak in.
you're superficiality is so pervasive
that your thoughts are unfilled, plastic
discarded long ago by anyone with stamina
(you're a carbon-copy of a Xeroxed person)
looking the same as the others of your degenerate breed
with much less vibrancy than the original
and far less worth.
your boundaries have been in place for so long
passed down by
generations
of
generations
of
generations
great-great-granddaddy's barbed wire is the only thing protecting your prejudice.
you're not funny- you're scared
ashamed and lonesome.
ashamed of the person you wish you could be
but don't have the strength-or the guts
to morph into
lonesome because even yourself is someone you don't feel close to
you are so basically human.
I have no pity.
for you are no Muse.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
after a bout of giggling,
we quietly discarded
whatever we wore
and at the other
bookend of the act
the tent unzipping
a luxury of clouds
drifting to a *****
moon full ripe heavy
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 6:55 AM UTC
I jumped in, right to
Pooling thoughts, I'd discarded,
Help me feel again-
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 12:41 AM UTC
You clipped her wings so she would fall,
but she learned to fly without your voice
to soar into the atmosphere.
You were her morning and evening star,
the guiding lighthouse on the shore;
you were her adoration.
You didn't understand that she truly loved you,
how much of her heart she gave to you that you
trampled on and discarded for your own pleasure.
Now she's going to fly
grow
love
be free
while you're still in your chains
of heart games and misleading.
In short, she's always going to
**be better
than you...**
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 12:55 PM UTC