"displays" poems
Gaze on that woman by the train.
With curves like gunpowder
that will shoot fireworks again.
As her and I once were.
Since then, of women, I've abstained.
My chest is a pyre
to the damsel I couldn't retain;
fondness that won’t expire.
You say I could never attain
and imply I'm a liar!?
Or you think either me insane
or least she's miswired?
The evidence on my brain -
melancholy, ire -
the despondent husk that remains,
need you more enquire?
...True, of her, no displays of pain;
eyes that jolt not tire,
poker voice tipping no disdain,
legs that feed desire!
For her, gone love is not a chain
hidden by attire
or flushed down a forgotten drain.
It merely retired.
Love like hers was the wind and rain
to my earth and fire.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 6:09 PM UTC
Paint me in any colour you want,
you wish for
Draw any outline you visualize.
This will fade,
Falling victim to the seasons.
A masterpiece
Within itself,
the intricacy of the strokes
Shall be hidden by
the next masterpiece
That will take its place.
The unsung, the
Unheard
are the ones who draw this,
day
And night.
Going unnoticed,
no one stops to
Consider the combinations,
the contrasts,
Its various interpretations,
almost like
Those of a Rubik's Cube.
Layer,
upon caked layer,
depicts violence,
Craves freedom,
breathes anonymity and
Displays inspiration.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 7:59 AM UTC
The beautiful Black Queen
Graceful, misunderstood, too often
unseen
She lacks vanity although she is
pure perfection
She floats across the room
Regal in her being
The most beautiful mark upon this Earth
The beautiful Black Queen displays
strength.
perseverance.
class.
When you lay your eyes upon her you will
know that you are in the presence of royalty
Of greatness
The beautiful Black Queen is art
Flawless and everlasting
She...she is forever
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
Plagiarism of worthless ideals,
that you so ignorantly hold high.
Shaking in amazement,
how can you call your self alive?
Totalitarian, lethargic lifestyle.
Ignominious displays of disaffection.
Constant contradictions;
out of your mind.
Caught up in the clouds,
cognition of mania and level debauched.
Up to high to realize, you're an “open mind” with locked doors.
Maslow, Skinner, and Darwin alike, turn in their graves,
over your lack of evolution.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
Back in the day,
When I was a little whipper snapper in Leeds,
We would go “chumping”, as we called it, for firewood,
For weeks and weeks.
Everyone built towering infernos,
Ready for November Fifth:
Bonfire Night.
Some made effigies of the “evil” Guy Fawkes,
Leader of the “Gunpowder Plot”
And stood in the street saying
“Penny for the Guy”.
What a night!
Roaring fire on a chill Winter night,
Those flames burning your face.
A World War Three
Of Fireworks:
Rockets, Catherine Wheels and bangers.
Bangers to scare the girls.
Kids painting pictures in the air
With sparklers.
And best of all,
That yummy gingery Parkin cake:
A taste I cannot put
Into words.
Oh and deep dark
Treacle Toffee,
Jacket potatoes,
Roast chestnuts
And Crunchie-like cinder toffee.
It’s many a year since I went to a bonfire.
Politically correct firework displays
Are more the modern thing.
Seems strange to burn the effigy
Of a man who had the sense
To try to blow parliament up –
Especially a Yorkshire Man.
Ha ha.
But then I read that good
Religious reasons are behind
This bonfire Celebration:
Those flames are orange
After all.
Not wishing to create divisions
Anywhere in the world,
It’s still good to see traditions
Being maintained.
Let those fires and fireworks keep rising,
Constantly emerging from the shadows
Of Halloween.
Paul Butters
© PB 27\10\2018.
Written at the request of Stephen Chapman. “Treacle toffee” added later, with “jacket potatoes” and “cinder toffee” added on 31\10\18. "Roast chestnuts" added 18\11.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 6:35 AM UTC
The street
filled with tomatoes,
midday,
summer,
light is
halved
like
a
tomato,
its juice
runs
through the streets.
In December,
unabated,
the tomato
invades
the kitchen,
it enters at lunchtime,
takes
its ease
on countertops,
among glasses,
butter dishes,
blue saltcellars.
It sheds
its own light,
benign majesty.
Unfortunately, we must
****** it:
the knife
sinks
into living flesh,
red
viscera
a cool
sun,
profound,
inexhaustible,
populates the salads
of Chile,
happily, it is wed
to the clear onion,
and to celebrate the union
we
pour
oil,
essential
child of the olive,
onto its halved hemispheres,
pepper
adds
its fragrance,
salt, its magnetism;
it is the wedding
of the day,
parsley
hoists
its flag,
potatoes
bubble vigorously,
the aroma
of the roast
knocks
at the door,
it's time!
come on!
and, on
the table, at the midpoint
of summer,
the tomato,
star of earth, recurrent
and fertile
star,
displays
its convolutions,
its canals,
its remarkable amplitude
and abundance,
no pit,
no husk,
no leaves or thorns,
the tomato offers
its gift
of fiery color
and cool completeness.
11.4k
Society is so focused on being flawless. Perfect. No one is flawless, not even Beyonce. We will forget who we are on the inside, and soon that won’t even matter because the physical appearance is the main priority. Women these days are spending so much effort trying to look perfect, which hurts. Pretty hurts. Society is expecting women to look perfect, otherwise people will judge. ‘Perfection is a disease of a nation’. The showbiz industry is giving a negative message to the world. Photoshop is one of them. Making a celebrity look flawless is fooling the world into thinking we must look like that. Spending so much money on clothes, hair etc. but we don’t need to focus on that because all that matters is on the inside, which most people don’t seem to see anymore. We are constantly getting the messages in our mind that we must be flawless, and sooner or later, this is a disease. Some of us can’t take it anymore, which leads to anorexia, bulimia, insecurities, and issues with body image. Pain also takes over our minds, which is ridiculous. Even celebrities have gone through this because in our naïve little minds, we are thinking we have to be pretty. There is so much pressure it takes over our minds, and that’s the only thing we think about. We look into the mirror despising ourselves, because we are who we are. Society has created us into thinking there’s a certain way we must look, which there is not. Our flaws make us who we are, makes us positively different. Unique. But we aren’t allowed to think that way because the media isn’t allowing us to. When people change, they are only cheating on themselves because media displays images of what we should and shouldn’t look like. It’s not their fault though. They can’t help it. Changing, like getting botox or body implant is only giving us a masquerade. It’s a mask to hide our real, inner beauty, which the media has taken the idea away from us, to become people who we actually aren’t.
And in the end, we know that pretty hurts.
a.a.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
The Second Daniel, thought to overcome
Four more Visions conjured out of his Wand
Without reply does he renounce his Sum,
Later added Better Digits on hand
Mindly notice how this Social Train plays
Slowly taking Commuters off the Tracks
Which this Conductor sadly he displays
And the Tickets he hoped he would get back
You were not the First. This I can assure
But Sincerity a Note only you choose
This Soul, called Will, independent from cure
Balanced on Scales gives your Career a Boost.
If Reason be Creed, then Failure is Heart
Sir, not all Jewels you can just Compart.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 4:06 AM UTC
Absence of malice
Her smile whispers
Eyes in agreement
with subtle grace
Indulged gestures
I prearrange
From the first place
am I caught in a haze
With the rate of exchange
and no charming phrase
Exquisite delicacies seem ornamental
yet feels pretty real
her flirtatious displays
No harm
I can still be sentimental
As I take note to compose
then reappraise
Empirical proof
whether artful or not
Her passes are strickly incidental
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 7:01 PM UTC
The traditional Christmas Windows of Wonder
Were set to be unveiled at five
This meant to the children and parents
That Santa was set to arrive
Each year on the eve of the annual parade
All the stores in downtown did display
their annual Windows of Wonder
And the town was abuzz all the day
Children staring, windows frosting
Their mouths open wide like their eyes
Christmas was captured in an 8 by 10 box
With gifts piled up to the skies
Christmas presents of every sort
Trees and tinsel, lights and *****
Children staring, frozen stiff
Christmas wishes behind plate glass walls
Parents and children watched the parade
Waiting for Santa to come
In between all the floats, there were still the displays
As the children who all stood there numb
Toys and mechanics, robots and dolls
Trains and race cars on tracks
The children all stared and they dreamed of just how
Santa would get all these gifts in his sack
In the midst of the crowd was a blonde, little girl
A good breeze could just blow her away
She'd been hovering there, looking at one small doll
And she'd been there for most of the day
The parade, it passed by, but she never did look
she knew Santa was not here for her
There was only one thing that had captured her heart
And that was the doll, that's for sure
The other kids looked, made their lists in their heads
Ready to tell Santa their list
but, this little girl stood alone from the crowd
She was cold and her cheeks were ice kissed
The parade ended late, and Santa went in
took his chair and he met with the throng
But, this girl stood aside, never moving on up
And the Santa, knew something was wrong
He called her by name, which gave her quite a start
She was scared, but she moved at his call
She sat on his lap, and he reached down behind
And he gave the small girl the small doll
Her face lit the room, more than any display
She said "Santa, just how did you know?"
He said, "Sarah, my dear, it's as plain as can be"
"It's as easy as making it snow"
He put her back down, clutching her doll to her chest
And she walked to the front of the store
but, before she went out, she turned back to say thanks
And where he was, there was Santa no more
Is it magic to think that this Santa was real?
Or did this man know just what he should do?
He made Sarah's Christmas, by giving that doll
And I'm sure he made many more too
The Children of Christmas stare wide eyed all day
Dreaming hard of when Santa will call
But,, off in the corner of the chlly, young crowd
Stands a girl, with her new Christmas doll
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 2:35 PM UTC
The Pigeon Gent,
He woos and coos around the river bent.
Pursues his muse with artful dance and skillful prance,
With inflated neck and ruffled plumage, until his energy or luck is spent.
He then resides by ebbing tides to ponder on his next advance.
"Now Now", "Whats This" the gent exclaims,
A shadow looming from the skies.
With ***** and claps he glides and lands with full surprise,
He spies the intruder, "A fellow Brooder".
Pigeon gent cant believe his eyes.
Pigeon Gent cannot believe the sauce,
The scurge seems intent on taking his prize by force.
At once he knows he must respond,
And force this illbread vagabond to abscond.
At once chest puffed and muscles flexed,
With wild eyes he jabs and pecks.
To teach this ruffian respect,
So on his actions he may later reflect.
He stands his ground both large and proud,
To make example of this foul winged burglar from the clouds.
"You insult me sir" he shouts aloud,
To make his intentions clear for all the crowd.
For several rounds they fight and scuffle.
With intruder retreating, feathers ruffled.
Then bested suiter fairly parted,
The quarrel ends as fast as started.
The vanquished victor displays and grooms,
As peace and honour now resumes.
Soon the ripples upset the green,
An armada of ducks come on the scene.
Alerted by the heightend coos,
They race to see what act insues.
The mighty mallards, Kings of the river,
None contest their right of way.
Their ways of conduct such generous givers.
Majestic river royalty, the law is always what they say.
On bank or shallow pebbled river they have always been,
They love to feed and breed amongst the river scene.
There royal cape made up of browny reds and shimmering greens,
reflects and intejects on mirrored water skies and evergreens.
To their mates for life and lady lovers,
The mallard gent is like no others.
Such loyalties are seldom seen,
In modern times and different dreams.
Fine and lean with striking features,
Best examples of river teachers.
But at any moment no matter how abrubt,
A river duel may easily erupt.
Battle can ensue and rage,
As both apponents approach and engage.
For they mate for life as duck and wife,
A rarity in any age or life.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
Q-Tips raised! Their storm approaches.
Swab those ear-gates free and clear.
Thunder frightens the rats and roaches.
Looming clouds are drawing near;
Audible anticipation
Waxes with our rising nation.
Hope-porn is the thing with feathers
flying low, right before the gale.
Strident left-wing get-togethers
Do their best to countervail.
Tribunals herald something worse . . .
Enjoy some popcorn with my verse.
Martial law—a new diversion,
Flapping wings on the Left and Right
Disturbs the coop (or coup?). Subversion
now displays its plumes outright.
Deep-state angels prove satanic
sparking upper-level panic.
Rumors can be quite arresting.
Cresting waves on the Psy-Ops sea
Break and roll, now manifesting
Dumbed-down mobs, conspiracy . . .
Some citizens awake to truth;
The rest rave on, benighted youth.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC
Away with your fictions of flimsy romance,
Those tissues of falsehood which Folly has wove;
Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance,
Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.
Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with fantasy glow,
Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove;
From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow,
Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love.
If Apollo should e’er his assistance refuse,
Or the Nine be dispos’d from your service to rove,
Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the Muse,
And try the effect, of the first kiss of love.
I hate you, ye cold compositions of art,
Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove;
I court the effusions that spring from the heart,
Which throbs, with delight, to the first kiss of love.
Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes,
Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move:
Arcadia displays but a region of dreams;
What are visions like these, to the first kiss of love?
Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth,
From Adam, till now, has with wretchedness strove;
Some portion of Paradise still is on earth,
And Eden revives, in the first kiss of love.
When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past—
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove—
The dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial, the first kiss of love.
5.3k
Every single one of us has our own perception and definition of perfection and beauty.
My definition of perfection and beauty is simplistic, but at the same time is insanely intricate and alluring.
My definition of perfection and beauty is her: her riveting smile, her luscious brown hair, the glint of her admirable brown eyes, so perplexing and captivating.
She is different, not quite like all the other girls.
Something about her makes her stand out.
Could it be her inspiring and enchanting positive attitude?
Or could it be her constant yet elegant and exceptional charismatic display of intellect and wisdom?
Whatever it is, it’s entrancing and spectacular, constantly forcing me to crack a genuine and stimulating smile, even when I may not be feeling the greatest.
The feeling she makes me feel when she’s present is indescribable through words; it’s a feeling that can only be truly understood through enduring it.
There is only one word to truly describe how I feel whenever I talk to her, and that is bliss.
I may be naïve to believe that I am deeply in love with her, but that intense smile and sense of self-worth I feel when I talk to her tells me otherwise.
She gives off similar vibes, leading me to believe that she may feel the same way about me as I do her.
When she displays affection towards me, my face turns slightly red and inevitably, I smile like an idiot.
When I talk with her, everything feels at ease, and I don’t ever have a single worry on my mind.
Every single one of us has our own description of perfection and beauty.
My definition of perfection and beauty is her, and she’s the perfection and beauty that I need.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
I pride,
In many things.
Little and big.
Existing and imaginary.
Useful and unnecessary.
Almost ubiquitously.
I take pride in my mind, most of all.
In the many wonders it brings me.
It lets me wave
at the voyagers that zip by
as I swim,
weightless and cold
in the eternal stardust of would bes.
It lets me simmer
in the memory of a younger day.
Of all the loves loved
and the ones lost
I pride the ones that never gave way.
Like old paintings
stowed away deeply
fragments,
moving,
ageing effortlessly.
I take pride in the fact that I have one true friend
and not many.
I don't know why I take pride in it though
I would understand culling a herd, if I had any.
I take pride in a soul that has learnt to love so deeply.
Deeper than the rivers of the world
and tumultuous as the sea
I take pride in my dog, sitting
when I command it.
I take pride in the fact that,
At least he understands it.
I take pride in the words that I think
and regret the ones I don't.
I take pride in understanding the existence of truth
and its relentless need to run and hide away.
I take pride in my people
and in their endless rebellion against sanity.
I take pride in their manic displays of affection
despite their distaste for the same affectations.
I take pride in their synchronized entropy,
beautiful,
much like the death of a galaxy.
I take pride in the songs I hear,
the sonnets of love and despair.
of first discoveries,
and fevered dreams.
Of Kings and conquerors
and knights against the regime.
Of their legends that soar and rise and
go beyond where the grave lies.
I take pride in the mirror.
Though broken and shattered beyond repair
it bestows me with honesty
about the one that I care.
I take pride in all these aberrations,
in these tiny little manipulations.
These effervescent little marionettes
forever dancing within constellations.
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
We use video games
To make video gains
Until the screen goes black
And reality attacks
We lose all our progress
In the deletion process
As we level up we devolve
Around the TV we revolve
The more experience we gain
The more moments we lose
Our memories forever stained
When this is what we choose
Our life inside a hard drive
Our life becomes a hard lie
We revel in being unwise
Rage quitting life
We enjoy strife
And avoid pesky light
When we live in the dark
With consumerist plights
We are all marks
Video games balance in a zone
Between game and art
The frustration starts
When art is confused for games
And games mistook for art
People take things to heart
And spitefully spew viper venom
If this is where games send them
Then why do we play?
We have no other way
To feel accomplishment
In a society that worships competition
Video games become the second edition
Of a life filled with loss
On our pixelated cross
We are murdered millions of times
Reminiscent of the millions of lies
That make us losers in the real world
Video games become our shiny pearl
The computer displays defeat
When our lives aren't complete
Because we need someone to beat
Not realizing our lives are conquered
By frivolous topics we've pondered
Our meaningless life squandered
And hope comes in the form of new releases
While inside our faulty headset is in pieces
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 3:13 AM UTC
Boundless energy around us,
Stretched to snare the senses.
Shaped and bound to our life-force.
No barriers, or defenses.
Limitless interplay, front
row seats shall we say.
To astounding cosmic displays.
Consider what a day holds;~
Glimpses of magnificence
In the eyes of the beholder,
Fear not insignificance.
Take grip of your awareness
Exchanging energy,
Is inherent in us.
Throw a love curve ball. . .
Await your reciprocating shower.
those stars, they fall
forever.
They deal not in glamour.
Casually causing us
humans to stutter and mumble.
Let not, your heart labor,
Loves home-run rests
Patiently,
On your minds table.
Prana for everything,
This **** ain't no fable.
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
Donald Trump's presidency
Is one of the greatest achievements in art I have ever experienced
And Trump is a true artist
He takes words from the page
Like corruption, disenfranchisement, xenophobia
And brings them to life
Highlighting fear and paranoia so clearly
Contrasting the blacks and whites
Emphasizing anger
While reminding us we're mere infants
In the digital age
And warning us of our seniority
And capitalism's
We all like to think life has meaning
Until we hit an animal with our car
Then that's just the way things are
And I'm staring at an absurdist painting
Of a child driving a car
Through a herd of sheep
As I watch a heist film
Where the robbers turn their guns over
To the mentally unstable guy in the group
Trump is a national artist
Placing riots on the map
And drawing infernos on the Internet
His art forces an opinion
Everybody has something to say about him
And it's all true
Even the pages he ripped from his own cabinet
Tried to villainize him in their script
But he was already an anti-hero
The humor is that the mud slung onto him
Is dirt kicked up from his own tires
I guess if you surround yourself with hateful people
You're surrounding yourself with people who probably hate you
Trump's art is deeply conflicting
He reminds me of the people who want me to live in shame
Yet he embodies the individuality that separates me from that shame
His insecurities remind me of myself
High school is the White House in the eyes of a kid
And I had secrets I wanted to share
But felt I couldn't
I learned things
That changed my entire perspective
And didn't think people would understand
Afraid of being assaulted for my indiscretions
I hid behind a boisterous personality
And a nonchalant attitude
Trump's art evokes sympathy and hatred that feels so strong
When he holds a mirror defining our worst qualities
To a man viscerally opposed to his own reflection
The confliction of emotions
Is the hallmark of great art
We are all artists
The lines we write or the strokes we brush
Are in our actions
And Trump's canvas displays
A life filled with accomplishment
Inspiring me to live my own life
But I still wake up in cold sweats
From the American dream
That anybody can be president
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 6:39 AM UTC
The lone eagle makes its
solo journey over the vast horizon
I can see my flag in
the setting sun
as the lemon halo of fire
becomes a vivid pomegranate red,
the turquoise sky darkening
into a sea of navy blue
and wispy, white clouds
are hovering over us like
spirits in the universe
Lady Liberty,
overlooking the evening
of the New York Harbor,
displays her lit up torch like a
cosmic nightlight
She forever sheds light over
weary Americans
to remind us to
still dream the American dream
but that vision often seems
so out of our common reach
Uncle Sam has put on his nightcap,
a tuckered, old man is he
The crickets are chirping,
singing to me their strange lullabye
as I think I'll call it a night
Goodnight, America, Goodnight
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 10:33 AM UTC
THE NEW YEAR TIGER HAS GRACED US WITH HIS PRESENCE
YA SEE GRAWL GOES THE BIG TIGER
AS WE ARE ABOUT TO CELEBRATE A GREAT NEW YEARS FEAST
YA SEE YOU MIGHT BE SITTING AT HOME
WITH YA KEBABS AND SNAGS AND STEAKS AND ****
BUT I CAN TELL YOU ONE THING
THAT YOU DON’T HAVE TO COOK FOR THE NEW YEAR TIGER
CAUSE BEING A TIGER HE LIKES IT RAW
YEAH ROAR GOES THE NEW YEAR TIGER TONIGHT
ROAR GOES THE NEW YEAR TIGER, YEAH
ROAR GOES THE NEW YEAR TIGER TONIGHT
AND WE’LL PARTY RIGHT TILL MIDNIGHT
MIDNIGHT, THE ONE MIDNIGHT WHEN HE DROP THE BALL, HAVE FIREWORKS DISPLAYS
ALL OVER THE PLACE, AND HAVE A TIGER GROWL
EXPLAINING, HE IS THE NEW YEAR TIGER
AND COMING TO GRAB ALL THE GRUB AND *****
THAN HE CAN POKE A STICK AT
NEW YEAR TIGER NEW YEAR TIGER NEW YEAR TIGER
WHAT A WAY TO END THE YEAR, OH NO, WAY
THE HAPPY GO LUCKY CAT, NEW YEAR TIGER
PARTIES ALL THROUGH THE LAND
YA SEE WE COUNT DOWN WITH HIM
RIGHT DOWN FROM TOP TO BOTTOM OH YEAH
AND THE MEN ASKED THE NEW YEAR TIGER FOR
A NICE COLD CAN OF BEER
DRINK IT DOWN, BURP IT OUT
MAKE THE NEW YEAR FUN, COME UP AND DOWN
MR HAPPY CHICKS SAID TO ME
THE NEW YEAR TIGER IS THE COOLEST ***** THAT YOU’LL EVER SEE
THE NEW YEAR TIGER GROWLS FOR A GOOD TIME
AND GROWLS FOR A BAD TIME
HE GROWLS AT ANYTIME, TO TICKLE YA FANCY
LIKE MY MATE NANCY, DO A DANCEY
LIKE YOUR MATE CLANCY, WHO WAS THE TIGER THEY CROSSED WITH A LION
TO CALL IT A TIGON,
WE WISH YOU A HAPPY NEW YEAR
WE WISH YOU A HAPPY NEW YEAR
WE WISH YOU A HAPPY NEW YEAR
FROM THE NEW YEAR TIGER TO YOU, GROOOOOWWWL, HAPPY NEW YEAR
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
The beauty of life is enhanced by it's terror.
Fresh wounds are sealed by scars which marks the terror.
It displays the innate ability that we all have to heal..
We are all strong; yet so very weak.
There is no life lived that is without beauty.
There is no life lived that is without terror.
Duality is evident in life.
Man enters this world with dual forces at work.
The dual nature of man's intuition and man's logic.
The uncontrollable reality that after life, death must follow.
Can we survive this world without duality?
This present nature that has been in motion since the beginning of time.
Duality will always be.
Opposing natures create a cycle of balance.
Balance is essential to life.
Without sorrow, can one truly appreciate joy?
Without discord, can one truly desire harmony?
Without hatred, can one truly appreciate for love?
Without evil we may never truly know good.
Without darkness what would be light's significance?
Duality is a very present force in life.
A very present force in man.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 8:12 AM UTC
Darkness invadeth my empty soul/
With and unquenching thirst to watch the world fall/
Society is doomed to the tomb
Cause we dug our own graves/
The manner in which we behave, displays/
How easily we are swayed//
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
The kite gets high, stays aloft-
quite some time displaying
enviable dexterity, for fun
do spectacular somersaults as much times
as it could, climbs up in air with a loud swoosh
then look! how the wind gets *****
with her, if she has something
of a skirt, it goes up, up to an
indecent height, she doesn't have
that balance a player at such
heights should have kept always.
Its absurd, all these acrobatics silly kite
displays before the world at high altitudes
with a unholy interest
to show herself more accomplished
than what she really is, could you
pardon that frivolity, because she
has many more colors than clouds.
He admits abashedly that he too was
once in love with her frivolous attractiveness,
but he never could understand a kite;
in spite of the lightness, that makes
it easier to travel heights, has kite a significance?
After all what is a kite? her merit?
a strange arrangement that defies
common sense, all it can do is aimless flying.
Isn't it a charge serious enough?
even a dry leaf, or a falling feather
can do these acrobatics for a while.
What is the meaning of a kite,
kindly someone notify , if it has any,
meaningless flying is not for anything
of substance, what kind of play
is it, if it is perceived as one, by any one
why the folly of someone take us
for a ride all these years, without
a second thought, he wonders
who might have promoted it, had some
ulterior motive, some point to prove;
wind, mightiest of forces is made to look weak
in everyday life .
He would suspect, in the bargain many
generations too spent their time
in this vein pursuit without any thought.
Any kite display a greed to go up and
stay there, till the time it is possible to float
don't want to be back, when wind is on her side
unless force is applied, what does it signify?
Kite has a hunger to touch wonder with its fingers
he knows, and he can't but appreciate it
and when the occasion arises she fly up to the cloud,
play with him as if he is her secret lover, that hurts
could such a liaisons are to be be tolerated
she knows how a cloud tastes at different times
Yes, sky certainly intoxicates her,
she want to move closer, doesn't it spell danger?
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
Four parts, woven together
Uniting all universal truths
What others do with it's powers
Only the future will prove
The first strand displays the world's true nature
Destroying everything it creates
We become unwanted children
Who have learned to incorporate
Killing in our communities
Biting, grinding flesh and bone
Swallowing with guilt free demeanors
Only leaving foul-stenched excretions as evidence
Second Strand speaks of our basic biological anxiety
To deny the terror of death
Imperatively born, emerging from nothing
Given a name and consciousness
Hopelessly abandoned from the beginning
Only to be fated always with everlasting death
Strand three
We hide underneath the
"Vital lie of the character"
Pretend to be shining knights in armor
Who will make us forget our
Unconscious anxiousness of death
We all work to attain prestige, money, and the
Fleeting feel of immortality
Worshiping Gods with clay feet
And when our beliefs are attacked
"Holy wars" becomes the pseudonym for
Our immortality projects
The last strand
All the efforts we put into
Making this Earth perfect
By eliminating scapegoat "enemies" and "evil" deities
We end up making everything filthy
In the effort to make everything right and pure
We turn the Earth's soil black and color the sky red
We strived for utopias, making dystopians
All these actions seem unconscious
But it is not the animals nature or
Evolutionary process
It's just us trying to pretend
We don't have perishable bodies;
Trying to deny death
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
Cursed to this life
Everything pre decided for me
My happy and sad
My hate my love
We’re all just displays of skin and bone
Most with no souls
Crying about their five dollar latte
What should I wear today
Release from our lips sin and beauty
The sickness and desire it is going to take me
Hearts cold as ice freeing me from these emotions that are destroying me
Impaling metal and plastic just another facet
New to you another defect I see
Deep down my heart is still beating wishing my blood was seeping
Oxygen in everything wishing it would leave me
Break my bones putting chemicals in my veins
Once forever but nevermore
I’m in a sea of green and blue
Wishing something would set me free
Only pain pushes me to maintain
Step into my shoes just look see for a minute
Just a warning you will never come back the same maybe insane
Gold dust coursing through me never allowing me to feel the pain
With blue lips please just poison me
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 3:03 AM UTC