"disgruntled" poems
I knocked the black
door knocker
on Janice's nan's door
and her nan answered
and said
o hello Benedict
Janice can't come out
she let the canary out
and we had
a hell of a job
getting it back
in the cage again
so I'm keeping her in
I was going
to tan her backside
but I thought
keeping her in
was more
of a punishment
on a day like this
o right
I said
looking at Nan's eyes
and her greying hair
and unsmiling face
but you can come in
and see her
for a few minutes
shame that you
have to be
without her though
so she walked
back up the passage
and into the sitting room
where Janice
was sitting on a settee
looking disgruntled
it's Benedict
come to see you
he is only staying
for a few minutes
so don't think
you can go out
because you can't
Janice nodded
and looked tearful
and her nan walked off
into the kitchen
I didn't mean
to let the bird out
I just opened
the cage door
to get it to stand
on my finger
but it flew out
and it to ages
to catch it again
and Nan was so angry
that she was
on the border
of giving a smacking
but then she thought
keeping me in
was more
of a punishment
so here I am
on a lovely warm day
sorry about that
I said
where are you going?
she asked
I was going to Jail Park
on the swings and slide
I said
I see
she said
looking at me sadly
what have you got
in the bag?
I opened the bag
it's that Robin Hood book
I bought it
in that junk shop
on the New Kent Road
she held it
and opened it up
and looked
at the words
and pictures
maybe next time
I can be
your Maid Marian
to your Robin Hood
she said
yes
I said
looking
at the canary
in its cage
that'd be good.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
The great hanging weak **** of India
on the map
The Fingernail of Malaya
The Wall of China
The Korea
Ti-Pousse Thumb
The Salamander Japan
the Okinawa Moon Spot
The Pacific
The Back of Hawaiian Mountains
coconuts
Kines, balconies, Ah Tarzan-
And D W Griffith
the great American Director
Strolling down disgruntled
Hollywood Lane
- to toot Nebraska,
Indian Village New York,
Atlantis, Rome,
Peleus and Melisander,
And
swans of *****
Spots of foam on the ocean
6.8k
I’m fine, thanks…
Is that what you truly mean?
Or do you mean
I’m tired…
I’m lonely…
I’m hurt…
Confused. Bewildered. Angered.
Disillusioned…
Skeptical…
Or maybe
I’m distressed…
I’m woeful…
I’m pathetic…
Lost. Vulnerable.
Infuriated…
Empty. Lifeless. Crushed. Tortured. Dejected. Offended. Afflicted.
Desolate. Desperate. Rejected. Heartbroken…
Tormented…
I’m scared…
I’m disgruntled…
Embarrassed…
Weak. Dreadful. Hungry. Aggravated.
Guilty… Shameful… Frustrated… Jealous… Horrified…
Overwhelmed…
Devastated…
Defeated…
Is fine ever what you truly mean?
Or is it a cover?
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
Jesus Christ, Lord Almighty
Expel my demons and watch them die with me
Satan Lord, Leviathan
Give my demons an interesting origin
Plague me with poets smoking joints rolled with rejected poems
Fill my thoughts with cockney accented thespians
Let them hold Academy award nominations from films long forgotten
Enthuse my self-destruction
Bring me goth kids brought up in wholesome homes
Bring me Art school students choosing to abandon their degrees
Bring me women aroused by smashed clocks
Bring me men aroused by awkward teenagers
Bring me Christians questioning their faith
Lord Almighty, God, Yahweh, Jehovah
Tell me the story of your disagreements with Vishnu
Let me see Moloch's disgruntlement and subsequent drunk and disorderly
Show me when Hera was seducing your nephew
Bring me into the world of the soap opera battles
Write to me Paris
Write to me Paris
I want to read your poetry
I want to read your mind
Sing to me Helen
Embrace me and we shall escape from torments
Heavenly and humane
We shall watch hipsters walk past us
Smoking Spirits and drinking poison berry teas
Let Adam grow disgruntled
Let children laugh
If, Lord Jesus, you grant me my wish
Send me a djinn with evil in his heart
Who's bound to be annoyed by my desires
Send me an ent to lift me above my world
Send me an elf to love me for all my time
Send me a mountain to travel over home
Transport me to Germany
Transport me to Spain
Transport me to New Zealand
Give me a free pass, one-way ticket to Darwin's islands
Write my story so that I collect new, unprecedented species
And devour the flesh of my find
Hide me in Antarctica with a monstrous creation of my own mind
Let me eat
Let me gorge
Then starve me
Show me Caligula
Show me Marilyn Monroe
Then leave me with Ed Wood
And force me to watch his films so that I may inherit my grandfather's fortune in comic books
Which, of course, will bring her to love me again
Oh Lord Jesus
Lord of Hosts
Possess me so that I may live again
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 4:56 PM UTC
Disgruntled bleached paper
Enveloped with it's poison
Perched delicately between ****** lips
Slowly devouring youth & beauty
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
**Whether it happens next... or this year
The vote
In memory of the last time I shed 'this tear'
And wrote... a piece
For the blood that flooded the streets
When in vain we sought
For calm... for peace
In a situation that was out of our control
A raging fire that almost engulfed and burnt all
When we all watched our motherland fall
Almost
When darkness threatened to blind all... or most...
Kenyans
When a neighbour would suddenly become a stranger... a ghost
Alien
Incited by the devil's seed
Damien
Brothers, sisters overcome by evil... greed
The same one...
That would then start a war... civil
And feed... off it
I, one individual Kenyan plead
That this time we say no to violence
We 'off it'
Let the disgruntled nurse his frustrations in silence
No blood for 'office'
And let us not get coaxed into foolish acts
To ourselves, we owe this
Let hatchets be buried away with the bones
Old ghosts can't haunt us
I shed a tear for peace this... or next year
Deaf ear to he that tries to taunt us
'Make the right choice'
I hope I reach many
And many hear my one voice
But this message cannot just be spread by me... so its 'we'
We can do it, and God wills it
Let it be
That we journey toward serenity
To a better tomorrow... come with me
The best way I can encourage my brothers and sisters
Is through poetry
For as a country and a culture we are destined to soar sky high
Thus... 'the pride of Africa'
We should always be
Peace.**
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 5:20 AM UTC
The doctrine lines,
The white brick walls,
Coffee creeps,
We still drink,
Our tastes have just changed,
Who took the last of the ******* sugar?
It's been empty for weeks,
But mainstays stay, mainly,
Another 24 hours,
Some look less,
Another victim of violence visitation,
Rattling sign, the wind makes it's appearance,
We made it,
Johnboy the ****** tells aboot,
His momentum,
Taking his mom oot to dinner,
He wore his tattoos on his face,
One cheek said sin, the other, ner,
Shakey Sam comes every meow and then,
Saying nothing has changed again,
Lights are flickering,
While Jesus Jane is on another rant,
You know, aboot Jesus and whatnot,
Atheist Jocoby just groans,
The coffee is a bit burnt,
So is my tongue,
New cats, alley cats,
Dogs and birds,
I couldn't tell you which one I am,
Emergency alarms a buzzing all around,
We just turn down the sound,
As it's another go round,
to speak,
I'm James and I'm an alcoholic,
Hi James,
Turn over turn on,
Hold hands with scumbags turned saints,
All because of the fire we got from a drink,
A smoke,
A burnt down life turned to building,
We hug once again,
And step ootside,
Open door policy,
And fire in the sky is there waiting,
Some run,
Some cry,
Shakey Sam wonders aloud,
Will his dealer deliver,
****** Johnboy calls his mom,
Jesus Jane prays,
And Atheist Jocoby drives away,
I put the sign back on the door,
And make a new ***
I want to hear that story,
Of how that newcomer once got shot,
By a disgruntled **** in San Francisco bay,
At least I don't need a drink today.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 11:03 AM UTC
Distressed, Dismayed
Disturbed, Disdain
Distant, Feeling Disconnected
Worlds Dislocated
Disgruntled, Disorganized,
Dismayed, Drained
Disarray Abounds
Dispersed into Nothingness
Dead, Ditto, Ditto
of Dance, Delight and Dreams
At the passing of my beloved
Death Draws Me In...
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 5:43 AM UTC
Dust motes and sweat stains
Faded graffiti over rusted steel plates
Advertising everything, from politicians to a massage parlor,
The engine roars disgruntled, in smoky rancor.
I stepped on your feet, said I was sorry
Tell me mister, could you tell I was lying?
Pushing through the rush-hour crowd
I finally found my footing and was proud.
Well, there’s something to be said for low expectations
A word of praise for cranky co-passengers.
Not that the polite ones aren’t fun,
When they smile and roll their eyes like they’re so done.
And it’s not that I’d ever expect sincerity,
At 10 on a rainy Tuesday morning
I’m not a nihilist, or even much of a cynic by default
But at 10am, I take nice with a bucket of salt.
I put on my headphones, crank the volume up to max,
Sway to the shrill screeching of pirated tracks
I’m sorry, did you say something? I can’t really tell.
It’s not you’re uninteresting, it’s just that this song is swell.
And maybe I could’ve made more of an effort
Gotten to know your name, exchanged toffees and emotional support
Maybe you’d have told me your story, if my ears were free
Maybe we could’ve found something worth a keep.
But you see, mister, it’s not you it’s me
At 10 on a Tuesday morning, I’m not the best company.
I hope, tomorrow, you’ll find a co-passenger worth your time,
As for me, facelessness suits me just fine.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:47 AM UTC
Flavored hukkas are passed around,
Alcohol and paan bring the mehfil alive,
The Ustad ji sits down and flexes his fingers,
He knows he’ll be working all night.
Dha dhin dhin dha, dha dhin dhin dha
Na tin tin ta
Ta dhin dhin dha,
Move the Ustad ji’s fingers on the tabla.
While with a veil on her face,
And feet dipped in and henna-colored,
Lips in cheap red lipstick covered,
She unfalteringly, gracefully enters.
Her steps are matched by the chhan chhan
of the ghungroos tied around her ankles so slender.
Eyes set on her, feast on her youth,
Just right for the taste of all her customers.
Bejeweled hands placed on waist,
She stands at the centre of attention,
She lifts a foot, readies to dance,
And begins the nightly convention.
Skillfully, perfectly, sensuously move
Feet well-trained since childhood days,
Harmonizing with the timbre
That the Ustad ji creates.
Tin tin na dhin na dhin na
On the tabla, experienced fingers beat.
Chhan chhan chhan chhan,
She dances, repeating the rhythm with her feet.
Metal bells strike against one another
And chhan chhan chhan-a chhan she goes,
Making breaths prance and jump,
As she strikes on the ground her heels and toes.
Then suddenly she stops and gasps,
Over disgruntled, impatient groans she tries
to hear the sound that flows in, only to her ears.
Several rooms away, a baby cries.
Naach! A voice booms,
Arey naach! More join in.
A glass of wine is shattered by an irritated one.
But she stands still, clutching her chest, frozen.
One sways up to where she stands,
For the veil covering her face, his hands dive.
He uncovers her, but is blinded by the sight of her beauty
And her tears that fill her kajal-smeared eyes.
She’s shaken back to reality as she looks all around.
Her sparkling pall is off her face.
She sees all those drunk men who’ve paid to watch her dance.
She knows she has to make the sound of the cries fade away.
So she stomps her feet on the ground till it hurts.
Hair flying out of braid, bangles clanging,
Anguish replaces her innocent loveliness,
The music in the air is now shrill, jarring.
Her steps match with the tabla’s rhythm no more.
But she dances, planting her feet so hard they weep.
She silences every sound with the noise of her ghungroos,
Praying that the night will lull her wailing son to sleep.
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 1:11 PM UTC
I know about lying on broken bones, beading into my back.
She was missing something.
She was lying on hands searching through the trench coat of a bathroom romance, watching butterflies melt,
She was becoming herself
At four thirty am I write her account, embroidered in a diary of lullabies,
“this is what death must feel like, being left alone in a street screaming of footsteps and blacked out whispering.”
She threw deliverance, caked over old vengeance, out of the car window with daybreak’s kisses. She writes,
“I sit in the heavy sleet of the delta drowning in resurrection, grime from age wipes over me once,
twice,
The broken blood pools out of ‘I love you’s’ and islets.”
She slept with the darkness.
“Prayers don’t come for me anymore.”
She glitters, shivers, tactless as a teacup in an earthquake,
She is awake.
”I am awake.”
She documents God- "I feel God,"
- in herself. "In myself.”
There is a silence.
A burning, left, cold to dry alone,
This is for her.
Call it, my face, swathed in the impenetrable darkness when it is no longer my own, call it an aunt’s love when a mother’s doesn’t suffice any longer. Call it,
cigarette buds and elevator rides to death’s door. Call it power bubbling up from the violation.
This is for you; call it Cuban cigars, show tunes, and Marylyn Monroe;
call it misery. Missing, call it hues and paint, my life prostrated on a disgruntled canvas. Call it fate.
This is for you.
Call it liquor stains and tarot cards in a fit of ecstasy. Epilepsy, call it the most intricate balancing act of existence.
An unseen performance, a lyric with no voice,
“a cry in the night”
”a scream of supplication”
The hunters’ march to death, the Holy Grail’s melting between your fingers, civilization pouring through veins,
“death, destruction, life, happiness, Azrael, Abbadon, blood, Rome!”
“I don’t want to feel this!”
Call it whispers of unspoken meetings and witches in the night, threatening,
“I know you!”
“No you don’t! Leave me alone.” Recognition. “I don’t want to listen…”
She writes,
“I loved you…
On purpose and…you left me,
with,
myself.”
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC
DUMPY TRUMPY
Dumpy Trumpy
Sat on his ****
Lumpy Trumpy
Infamous ****
He is not a friend
To the left or the right
And has no live dog
In the political fight.
Dumpy Trumpy
Pats his own back
Bragging how he is
Way ahead of the pack
Of half-witted politicos
With nothing to offer.
He thinks he will win
On the strength of his coffer.
Dumpy Trumpy
Made a big jump.
His gold plated ****
Made a sickening thump.
He waved his money,
He figured it’s enough
To sway the competition
No matter how tough.
Dumpy Trumpy
His Mussolini face
Deaf to the meaning
Of public disgrace;
He figures that even
If the GOP rejects him
He has lots of money
He’s sure will protect him.
Dumpy Trumpy
Plays to the stands
Of wingnuts and crazies
In disgruntled bands.
He’s sure if he curses
The current regime
He can be President.
At least that’s his scheme.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
Where are all the anarchist tonight?
Have they all disappeared
under disgruntled lovers throwing acid,
bleeding misbeloved employees glocking no joy,
displaced juveniles servicing denial
at station number 3?
Where are all the anarchist,
my friends, the needles of hay,
stacked balefully, systematically
against the marginalized barn
side door beneath exit sign 4.
Where are all the anarchist tonight?
Have they drunk too many Molotov
and can't find the Way,
and instead burn car, smell bushes burnt
and forgotten the **** up?
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
crimson and magic
to splash without panic
in waves of compliance
for drugs made from science
and sorceress who summon the simple solutions
illusions! illusions!
of grander worth loosing
confusing the process will aid not for coptic
nor catholic
or elsewhere semantics
act frantic in panic
to sob without reason
treason! say treason!
the exit of reason
to wander in wander a fate beyond yonder
set ponder a path set by mind on the map
of solutions and systems
domestic conditions
yet wild apparitions
appear as conditioned - concerns
to a mindset as stern and subtracted
by fractions of actions repulsed by distraction
disgruntled reactions
supposing contractions
created the action
conceived from distractions
The reasons
let change be for seasons
while i stay the rock in the pond
either frozen not gone
as the watcher
still watching
content upon watching
exhaling the notion
that motions for movement
atonement! atonement!
with further consolement
atlas like the breeze of the gavel
let both parties ravel and tug
whether free or debugged
only mind over matter
unscrambles the lather
too see that is free
is like blind sight at sea
with the waves of conforming
to drown is informing
if not then be peace !
for all parties deceased
by a water so deep you could drown in your sleep
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 11:16 PM UTC
Is it just me?
Or do people not notice
Going to a crowded place
Different aromas wafting,
Emanating around you
They just ignore the sights
Painting their own pictures,
Telling their own stories
Colors invading your personal space
Encompassing you
With a foreign feeling
That creates its own thoughts
In your mind, sprouting
Like trees at the park
Pine needles softly tumbling onto your arms
Tickling each one as it flies away
From its home in the trees
Like a baby bird
Just old enough
For mommy to think he's independent
And there he goes, coasting downward
Until he haphazardly brings himself up
Not a foot from your face
And for a second
Those flapping wings
Sweep up pollen into your nose
Before it jets away
Where? The sky's the limit
But he'll go somewhere populated
Maybe someplace he can fly
Fly like a plane in an airport
Disgruntled passengers hustling
To their respective flights
To go on vacation,
Make it to a meeting, among a plethora of things
Their eyes on the screen of their iphone more than the world around them
All of them, ignorant to their environment
Almost as if they've never seen it before
Like the baby bird that was in front of your face
But how did you see those wings
But those thousands of people didnt
It's because they were too busy tagging
That tweet that wasn't finished
So don't ever feel like just walking
And watching birds
Means you're not doing what you should do
Because those people sitting in the airport
Are missing so much more than you
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
its all franchises
as far as you might see
burger joints, taco houses, and pizza parlors
dot the horizon
the whole lot
greasier than the pan
than the canola oil, a whole can of pam
its warehouse-sized stores
full of disgruntled
shuffling cheap trash
package to shelf
packaged for the shelf
in anticipation to sit
listen a while
under the low murmur
of the machine humming
you can hear ma n pop wailin'
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 8:43 PM UTC
Teen model Shonali Khatun strutted the catwalk as the audience cheered at a fashion show in Bangladesh's capital.
But Shonali is no ordinary model, and this was no ordinary show.
She and the 14 other models are survivors of acid attacks, common in this south Asian country, where spurned lovers or disgruntled family members sometimes resort to hurling skin-burning acid at their victims.
The fashion show, held Tuesday night in Dhaka and attended by fashion lovers, rights activists and diplomats including the US ambassador to Bangladesh, aimed to redefine the notion of beauty while calling attention to the menace of such attacks.
For 14-year-old Shonali, the event was nothing short of empowering. She was attacked just days after she was born amid a property dispute involving her parents, and was left with burn scars on her face and arms. She spent nearly three years in a hospital and underwent eight operations. Her attacker has never been caught.
"I am so happy to be here," she said. "One day I want to be a physician."
The models, including three men, walked the catwalk, dancing and singing and showcasing woven handloom Bangladeshi designs. The show was choreographed by local designer Bibi Russel.
Organisers said they hoped to highlight the fact that acid victims, too often overlooked, are a vital part of society. They deliberately chose to hold the event on the eve of International Women's Day.
"We are here today to show their inner strength, as they have come a long way," said Farah Kabir, country director of ActionAid Bangladesh, which organised the show. "I often take inspiration from them. Their courage is huge."
Bangladesh has struggled to deal with acid attacks in recent decades, and has instituted harsh punishments for the perpetrators, including the death penalty. The country has also trained doctors to treat such sensitive cases and attempted to control the sale of acid, but has failed to eliminate the scourge entirely.
In 2016, some 44 people were attacked with acid in Bangladesh - an annual number that has remained relatively stable.
"I am ashamed of having such things in the country," Kabir said. "Unfortunately, in Bangladesh we do have acid victims because of either gender discrimination or violence, or because of greed. And we want to remind everyone the kind of injustice that has been meted out to them."Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
"Don't be
disgruntled."
He said to the foreman.
"So what if the building
is going to be late."
"Often buildings
are late and they
don't have any offspring."
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 11:41 AM UTC
i care, i really do...
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...
no, i do...
i'm trying...
ha ha...
i'm just imagining what
that one word
looks like in Hebrew...
the...
ha-shem...
i.e.
the-name....
laughing, but at the same time
saying the definite article
over, and over, and over again...
the the the the... v'eh v'eh v'eh...
"point"?!
what point?!
calling a cactus a *******
cactus?
or calling it
an semiticl headscarf?
which is which?
a skirt just covering
the knee?!
better ask your women
to wear gloves...
i seem to enjoy the fact
that the most ****** part of
a woman, are her hands...
geisha hands...
and wrists i could look
at like i might an enjoy an hour
with a bottle of wine...
aha!
tell me...
what's the difference between
a didgeridoo...
and a modern, nordic shamanic chant
akin to to the berserker warcry
in one of
heilung's song,
notably
alfadhirhaiti
where the audience go mad
with fervor & fury...
because didn't you know,
they say:
don't take to d.n.a. ancestor testing,
watch what you absorb culturally...
from what i heard...
the ugly vikings founded
the city of Kiev,
so they must have passed past my parts...
hidden Baltic -
grazing mother of soured milk
that intermediates
a stasis prior to yogurt -
no wolves in england...
i'll pet a a fox therefore...
scoop and swoon -
the baronical patience of
a shadow admirer.;
even if the Jews have abandoned
Europe...
what the left?
is beside the origin of what
the crucifix constitutes...
even if the Jews abandoned
Europe, what they pressed was
the antagonism of Greece -
they pursued ancient Greece -
until the world, and all matters Latin -
stood to understand -
the Jews left Europe,
abandoning the pursuit of Greek -
penitent people, noble people...
until the library of Nag Hammadi
emerged from
the sands of both time,
and Egypt...
noble people... penitent people...
these Israelites -
these Jobs of disgruntled time -
Hiob, Yob, Hiob, Job...
i am barren in wanting to "forgive"
the Jews...
how they pursued ancient Greek
to avenge the emergence of
the Second Troy in Rome...
with Rome...
no Greek will stand on these words
with an Achilles heel...
the Jews pursued the Greek
revisionism of their testament
long enough...
as what Nero found hilarious...
i take to wind and soul with
a drunk mind,
but a sober heart.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
Distorted words from holy books,
hypnotized by the **********
Whirl the swords 'round our heads,
while making their incursion.
A snowball out of control
a firestorm a reining
beliefs too strong to see the winds
of peace within them straining.
We wake to fear, and fear, and fear,
and soon will come the numbing
left by the sound of egos blasts,
cadences of ancient drumming.
Bullies in the school yard,
disgruntled husbands batter wives
Too many with too much and still unhappy
ruining other peoples lives
Who then among us
will take up the banner now
and love themselves, change the world
unfurl their angry brow
I will move the universe.
I will love my life.
I will throw away the gun.
I will sheath my knife.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 12:33 AM UTC
If not to tempt the temperaments of lesser men, I shall bludgeon the object of our obsessions again, just to watch the reddened britches go un-itched, as my grinning is met with dissatisfaction, impacting the over expressed whining of gentle wimps, flailing, and stomping as disgruntled chimps, flinging feces from the cages again.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
i am ares: the god of war.
disgruntled by my own blood thirst,
in solitude due to anything but my own accord.
i fear this lonely and cold world; however,
i don't know how to have it any other way.
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
As a silly spoilt child
Disgruntled I grumble
Throughout my blessed life
Complaining about my loss
That God does not give a toss
But abundantly in my life
Scattered in my garden
Live deep hidden forests
Sacred special spaces
Forgotten mossy places
Things I can not see
In my soft mossy pastures
I am drawn into sound
Soft rich earthy ground
My meddling hands resigning
And my heart softening
To the treasures God is bringing
As a child I am sometimes
still screaming for what
I am not receiving
Even though chosen
But my loving Father
Always refusing to
serve me poison
But he keeps on giving
Life's unexpected gifts
Full of presents and parcels
An unknown cultivated Karma
A forgotten ignored pleasure
Actually look at all the treasure
Everyday a Christmas tree
If I could only look and see
So in my adult days
I learn to look on
In different ways
With a mossy heart
I nourished and softening
receiving parcels tenderly
passed down from heaven
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 10:12 PM UTC
Here I am with seeds you've planted,
Growing reckless.
And every word he says
I now despise
And every smile is soiled.
And every dream i had of him, now leaves me disgruntled.
And you've planted many seeds and they've just begun to bloom.
With every waking moment my mind is captivated by you.
And as his memory fades.
The stem and the petals die.
But the roots remain.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 8:12 PM UTC
I’m starting to believe that this nomadic lifestyle
Ain’t at all for the faint of heart
Thousands of places in so little time
Exhausted but I can’t stop yet as no one place holds extreme value to me
Footprints in the sand tell a story of where I’ve been
Darkness engulfs me and makes it harder to decide where to begin
Perhaps I should just ‘eeny meeny miny mo’ it
Since stopping isn’t nearly as important
Thoughts clutter my walkway like precious gems covered by a recent sandstorm
Disgruntled, I glance out over my shoulder
Listening for the whisper of the wind to call out to me
But wait… I’m getting a head of myself
That’s dangerous when you’re a nomad
Whatever is waiting around the next bend
A mystery waiting to be unveiled
Like a grieving widow, mourning her sanity
I run
Disjointed from reality
I feel no pain
Opinions stabbing me like shards of glass
Dripping with the blood of identity
I’m a fraud… and yet, on I run
The tears I’ve cried flow through this deserted land like the Nile
It’s ingenious
They nurture my steps
A suckling waiting to be fed
I travel the worn path
night and day day and night
Stopping only to mark my place
I’ve been here before
And I never even left the comfort of my bed
This journey of a thousand steps
Inside my ever restless mind
Feb 8, 2023
Feb 8, 2023 at 11:32 AM UTC