"diverts" poems
It tastes sour in my skin
The water diverts his eyes upon the curves
I rub them with my fingernails
The tips cried for disturbance.
The pebbled stones in purity
Spit out their dirt with every moist
The need to exhale the longing days
The desolation of their own race.
It stinks with the cover of my skin
No vinegar to pour on the occuring reds
No tablet nor capsule to jive the tummy
There, I'll groove with the ratio of water.
I left the leaves on the dirt
And yes, those gravel and mated things in the sack
Alone am I, here in my own nest
Watching the faded stars and grasping the air.
Neither can I reach the ultimatum
The shutters in me were all aware and trained
The body in rest be put in silence
For the war of itch diverts the angle.
(6/13/14 @xirlleelang)
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
Had I ador'd the multitude, and thence
Got an antipathy to wit and sence,
And hug'd that fate, in hope the world would grant
'Twas good -- affection to be ignorant;
Yet the least ray of thy bright fancy seen
I had converted, or excuseless been:
For each birth of thy muse to after-times
Shall expatiate for all this age's crimes.
First shines the Armoret, twice crown'd by thee,
Once by they Love, next by Poetry;
Where thou the best of Unions dost dispence:
Truth cloth'd in wit, and Love in innocence.
So that the muddyest Lovers may learn here,
No fountains can be sweet that are not clear.
Then Juvenall reviv'd by thee declares
How flat man's Joys are, and how mean his cares;
And generously upbraids the world that they
Should such a value for their ruine pay.
But when thy sacred muse diverts her quill,
The Lantskip to design of Zion-Hill;32
As nothing else was worthy her or thee,
So we admire almost t'Idolatry.
What savage brest would not be rapt to find
Such Jewells insuch Cabinets enshrind'?
Thou (fill'd with joys too great to see or count)
Descend'st from thence like Moses from the Mount,
And with a candid, yet unquestioned aw,
Restorlst the Golden Age when Verse was Law.
Instructing us, thou so secur'st thy fame,
That nothing can distrub it but my name;
Nay I have hoped that standing so near thine
'Twill lose its drosse, and by degrees refine ...
"Live, till the disabused world consent
All truths of use, or strength, or ornament,
Are with such harmony by thee displaid,
As the whole world was first by number made
And from the charming rigour thy Muse brings
Learn there's no pleasure but in serious things.
2k
deep pan cooking not hardeep cooking 21.08.18
monday started top draw
my venom going to spill
natalie is going to get poetry draw
forget girlfriends she will run for hill.
how dare she complain
when something is uncontrollable
insomnia through hardeep may rain
but freedom of speech not so honourable.
gabby and chloe showed they cared
how natalie was blunt
explaining hardeep was literally chaired
footage available now hunt.
onto shares and stocks
rodrigo learning how to trade
laughing off my socks
no barings even if bad bug won't fade.
nick and rodrigo in control
on boarder line ready to hassle
the biceps taking fall patrol
it was rodrigo not nick who liked mussel.
failure to the task
hunger will be plenty
one comment can not mask
hardeep can make something out of empty.
dans hands were magic
don't get confused
gabby refusal was award and tragic
like basic budget just amused.
was sally watching adverts
the aviva app dash cam i log
roxanne will need youtube diverts
it was a tin man not a brown dog.
nick explaining about travel
lands of paradise and greens
at airport all unravel
seeing face on all them screens.
legs up and over
natalie and gabby to exercise
hardeep with a nasty dig and sober
saying nick doing shopping add criticise.
natalie and hardeep getting louder
hardeep gets my crown
unacceptable all about curry powder
she bring herself not hardeep down.
going to end with a critic
natalie won't see no irony
vicious mouth and hyper-critic
its all add to cbb savoury.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC
The cat mews at the moon
It got the hint that soon
The moon would slide down west
Hide beneath horizon to rest.
The moon it can afford a rest
After romancing earth in jest
For the cat no rest is in sight
It has to hunt through the night.
But the cat has lunar allergy
Moonshine gives it lethargy
With eyes drooping and dreamy
It mews Beethoven symphony.
The mice they aren’t easy cheese
Don’t fall prey with any ease
They run and find the hole quick
Alerted by the mewing music!
The moon thus plays on cat a trick
Diverts the predator to music
To give its preys some respite
As the cat mews Beethoven in moonlight.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
While I am traveling back home
I wanted to write lengthy poem
Just to jot down - I am existed
Life is a unidirectional flow
flows with the massive force
where the power enough to
destroy and uproot yourself
in an unimaginable way if you
disagree - to certain principals
Yet it is funny - the flow diverts you
and showed up the way against
and dare you to go against
If a blink of a thought is the smallest
fracture of the flow what takes us
I will dive deep into the thought
just get to know - whether it has a way
to turn it up towards the freedom
I always seeking
The sad story is keep happening
like the everything else the truth
it also showing only the illusion
and lost me in a position where
I can't find the way back home
Then just like you awaken from
sleep paralysis - I get up and then
I forcefully convince myself - the destination
will be there in minute - so be normal
Now today I am in a position
Where I can't track down myself
In the pane of universe because
neither X nor Y or the so called cross
not helping me at all
Meantime you also diagnosed me
with the overthinking complex
I should not find myself
in the same place I lost myself
but yet can anyone please answer me
with out the exaggerated bogus
where this all go
after so many exhausted attempts of
breathing
As a foot note I want to say this
truth is also in my perspective
is an illusion where it comes
gives me the glimpse of that
everything is wonderfully
connected
Track me down and let me live
Or take me to the place I belong
© shanikayrs
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
The warmth
Of steamed, solids turned liquid
Thaws my frostbitten throat.
My solar plexus heats
Recalibrates my needs
And diverts resources.
Coffee provides what I do not receive
From a warm body gone missing.
My core solidifies, as clay in a kiln.
If I cannot have a hand to warm mine
A mug will do.
But if I cannot have you
Liquid is a poor substitute.
Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 1:35 PM UTC
The little lamb totters around on unsteady legs,
Pretending
That its limbs are sure and strong.
It diverts from the flock,
Frolicking and prancing around in the mud.
Oh! What’s this? Grass! Green grass!
Better grass!
It charges forward, fast as its scrawny,
Spindly legs can go.
The lamb’s almost there, when
BLAM!
Silly lamb.
There’s a wall there, you know.
No matter how hard you try,
You won’t get pas—
Oh. You did.
The lamb munches happily on this new grass.
It finishes and looks around.
It bleats in alarm when it sees
How far the flock has gone.
It bleats again, charges forward…
BLUNK!
Stupid lamb.
The wall’s gone and sealed itself.
KUNK!
THWUNK!
It won’t reopen.
Stupid, stupid lamb.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 5:47 PM UTC
In tedious fashion, as uniformly descried,
stumble these thoughts with bumbling pride.
And though they would, in sequence, march fluidly,
each solo intent breaks tangentially.
A web will insert with some links between chains
And focus diverts into scattering trains.
Manifest indeed, your yield must unwind
in cacophony, useless to the mind.
Don't think these excuses and don't think me excused,
nor elaborately spoken, nor plainly confused.
I push full comprehension in a manner unwise
because thoughts about thoughts are a thoughtful demise
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:26 PM UTC
Whispering winds
Shallow lines
Curved in simplicity
Engraved with agony
Gasping for air
Hidden beneath
Covered by shame
Coated by society
They scream
Together cry out
Some, selfless and true
Question
They ask her
What could cause my existence
She diverts attention
Hiding tears and truth
I need an end
I need bounderies
Block me
Stray away
I am no friend
Only pain
Step back
Think
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 21, 2010 at 10:42 AM UTC
choice is made
no more my widow
again to be a bride
my doubts abundant
you feel safe
this path diverts from mine
still
our love
remembers
*but now
not
too
close.*
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 9:19 PM UTC
Whispering winds
Shallow lines
Curved in simplicity
Engraved with agony
Gasping for air
Hidden beneath
Covered by shame
Coated by society
They scream
Together cry out
Some, selfless and true
Question
They ask her
What could cause my existence
She diverts attention
Hiding tears and truth
I need an end
I need bounderies
Block me
Stray away
I am no friend
Only pain
Step back
Think
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 4:46 AM UTC
The invisible cloak gently floats
Brought about by fleeting thoughts
As negative ions continue to flow
Lo and behold
A weighted coat now soaked
It's heavy presence diverts growth
Complex context controlless
Slight shortness of breath
Shoulders and neck show signs of stress
Remain calm as this moment will pass
Shake to break the chains that hold
Twist then turn throughout their folds
Simplified code creates new modes
Move into motion to lighten your load
Jul 12, 2020
Jul 12, 2020 at 3:57 AM UTC
stained hands scar rough lines upon the dirt,
reinforcing a framework built upon a thousand lifetimes.
held within such intricate lace:
forgotten tongues and faded memories,
each lost upon the sea of lines, worn away by time.
each cut and curve defines a single moment
chronicling innumerable loves and lies,
periodically marked by falling tears
of those caught within such carving task.
importantly, such daily work
diverts each eye unto the ground,
so that each ephemeral being, squatting,
carving on the dusty plain
ignores the twisted branches and gnarled trunks,
of the darkness crouching patiently
on horizons edge.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
It's clear
Here
That you have felt the seer
Of the gears
Against your ears and
Thought-
If She sits and hurts
And writhes and diverts
And cries and averts
Never asserts
Herself never exerts
Effort-
Again-she can't hope
Again-she can't cope
Again-a downward slope
Again-preparing the rope
Again-happiness out if scope
Again-you think
Can you see
That to me
You're what you should be
Perfect but she
Refuses your plea
But you still try
Because that's Love
Because she's your dove
Because she's above
Because she fits you like a glove
Because she's all you speak of
Because you can't help but fall for the girl with Scars
Because you have Scars too
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 12:14 AM UTC
We hold on to the forms we perceive with the eye... I'm sorry, I'm not trying to echo Buddhism, I continue:
We try to grab running water until our knuckles turn white, and we'll do this for 100 years and never realize the innate stupidity, still King Arthur searched for the holy grail of eternal life.
You ache and moan, twist and turn and even on the mornings that your wishes are granted your mind diverts and seeks to cling to something other. Something that you don't have, that something which injects a serum that will surely fill that aching cavity. Though that emptiness is a recess in the mind that avoids confrontation and betrays all the treasures in the world, even had they been given to you. And even if you acquired everything, you would hold your stomach as a child in hunger at those who seemed even happier than you though they clearly had less.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC
Distractions are structure
Today is today as long as I can remember to breathe
But tomorrow and the next day and the next
Become right now
When the air feels like rocks
When nothing diverts my mind
And I just can't
Breathe
I
Can't
Breathe
But I'm trying
I
am
afraid
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
I have done nothing to earn
the coveted gaze
your self discipline
eventually
diverts.
Just two pools of green
in a mound of pale flesh.
Nothing more.
Yes. Look away
fool.
Look away.
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 8:50 AM UTC
I mourn the loss of another unproductive day while drifting off to sleep every night.
I wake up in the morning and grieve for the past few hours of sleep that have ended.
Woefully **** and shower in contempt to the work that diverts whatever shred of energy I have to figure the path of shortcuts I must take to appear worthy of the hourly wage I use to pay my mortgage.
More days than not, I will find a ghost task to steal away from work to nap heartily between reruns of Star Trek and bowls of cereal - the tomb where my legacy is laid to rest.
The hours seem glorious while I'm distracted from expectations and responsibility. If only I could carry on this way with no interruption.
Regret and shame settles heavily when the expectations and responsibility commence.
Medicine only takes the edge off. I'm in the same line. I read the same magazine covers to avert eye contact with the old folks who wait days or weeks trying to get insurance verification.
So this is what it's like to be a grown up. Late bills, missed appointments, and a disappointed spouse. It's the worlds longest suicide.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 6:53 AM UTC
he grapples with that memory
fighting to hold every detail, every shade
as the pain from his arthritic bones diverts his thoughts even more
oh...the curse of age
he took for granted every sweet morsel
every sweet moment of time given
and this is life's retribution
if given another chance
would he let her walk away
for he knows, looking back
that she was the one
that almost imperceptible,
yet obvious look when one's heart is broken
this he remembers clearly
her eyes as he turned away
relinquishing his chance at love
if he only knew then
that the excuses he trusted
were merely the voices of uncertainty
and now
in his room of fading memories
and fictional dreams
he begs for another chance
in another life
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 5:09 PM UTC
Allyson was someone I got to know through words,
Be it fake or authentic,
Humans specialise in creating characters,
But when do characters stop being characters,
And represent a deeper truth of our own.
Maybe Allyson has been fabricated again,
Or that Allyson has been real all this time.
In the end, it's impossible to tell when,
Fiction diverts from reality.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 10:10 PM UTC
He tilts his head
To the girl walking past.
She diverts her eyes, she is smooth and fast.
His lips turn down
He takes a glance at the floor
And when he looks up, he is human no more.
In a second, he transforms
Hurt man to seething beast.
His minds are raging storms
And his hate is ready for release.
It takes only a suspicious look
Or a slight misstep
And his wrath is unhooked.
You ought to watch out, girl
For he'll get you, too.
Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 6:18 AM UTC
a cup transparent, a sight, a reflection
which one diverts like unbolted frames
in the air
a serene dawn will arrive
this vision is in a kaleidoscope lately
heat in sheets goes unfelt
this fear, it expands and loses, drowns and rests
a serene dawn will arrive
my serene dawn will
heat in sheets goes unfelt
until a pair of eyes out of the grey
pull confidence towards it
this juvenile center won't delay
it waltzes, forces me to dwell on
you're the brightest sun, the brightest shadow
it leads to me being in awe of you
-c.j.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 10:28 PM UTC
Do you recall the feel of an old crush
One from childhood steeping with affection
Whether lust or puppy love we know not
But the feel when you gaze my direction
Heart rate rises slow while my mind diverts
To innocent but covetous ponder
Oh to be loved by you my sweet darling
Would be a blessing I would not squander
Time passes and our thought process changes
Many lose the romance of a first crush
But somehow I am enamored once more
As when our hands touch I still seem to blush
I know my crush on you will never fade
My love is a childish crush in third grade
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 10:09 AM UTC
Joy is nothing but a fleeting moment.
Alike solar flares, it bursts with power,
then burns with the blinding blaze of hope.
It’s a light which diverts our attention
but then ceases after we’ve been misled.
It gives us a deceiving veil for reality,
a version full of languidly rotting bliss.
And just when we’re about to get used to
this fake, transient “truth” we cling to,
that’s when the torch in our fragile hands
suddenly decides to take its last breath.
We find ourselves in the same void again,
feeling empty and lost, without an aim.
We then desperately start seeking fuel
so that our fire of hope would burn anew.
We grasp everything that comes along,
we just want a source of hope to go on.
We just need a sense of balance in life,
something to make us believe we are fine.
And when we’re in growing utter despair,
our obscuring naivety won’t lead us anywhere.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 2:47 PM UTC