"dulling" poems
Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?
You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns
And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.
A mouth just bloodied.
Little ****** skirts!
There are fumes I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?
If I could bleed, or sleep! -
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!
Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.
But colorless. Colorless.
15.5k
Every time I look at you
I can feel my whole world crumble.
The ground beneath my feet shaking
trees rustling, concrete cracking.
Buildings collapsing.
Every time I look at you
chaos,
devastation,
they always seem to follow.
Every time I look at you
I can feel an earthquake
erupting within my heart.
Shaking the ground beneath my feet
my walls crumbling
my senses dulling
my mind wandering
to a fantasy of you and me
Every time I look at you
the ground collapses
and I fall
and keep falling.
Because I know
that you won't be there
to catch me.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
The blood comes dilute, as if to refute
What is, or was ever at all
To challenge the must,
The is and the thus
The ever, the will, and the Fall
The Winter, the Spring, the Summer that brings
A freedom, an illusion anew
A time to recline--in dreams and unwind
The idea that you can, that you will
The will, O the will, O the untempered can
Of worms which one opens and finds
Full to the brim, before and again
"Reality"" which tries to unbid
The self from the mind
The meaning from line
The reason from rhyme
And the is from all time
Separates Us: from passion
From Trust.
From belief in ourselves
From love
From true wealth
From magic. From tragic
At least in true measure
Dulling the pain,
But denying the pleasure
The Roar and the Ring
A Hell of a Thing
To make the time pass or
To fill up Your Glass.
~D.B. Guy
August 15, 2011 12:11AM PDT
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
Queen of passion
Broken through love
She who gives all
Surely loses it all
Passions burning flame
No other flame may withstand
Burning out
Flame versus flame
Sad socrpio
You let a dull match in
Twig with no spark
Stealing your fire
Dulling her shine
Sad Scorpio, you know
Flame dulled
Stolen fire, a burning rage
Sad scorpio
Broken by a dull stick
Dull stick
Calls you dull
Sad Scorpio
Sad, sad Scorpio
Wishing to burn
She has been robbed
Flame stolen
Flame that once burned
All who challenged
Sad Scorpio
Steal your flame back
No.
You let him burn
He won't reignite your flame
No.
He burns you
Burns you up
Yet you stay, sad Scorpio
Says he is the only one
Who will keep you warm
No.
He burns you
Sad Scorpio
Steal your flane
Let him dwindle
Shine again
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC
She stood, amidst tutts, wore a mini skirt...
(From the first decade). Took a
Step forward, pioneering the teenager
Long fair hair, parted mid section
Cascading over her cherry cupcakes
Remembering first impressions aren't always
Accurate, they still berated her without
Knowing her. First appearances were all
They knew and could rely on...back then
Why would she wear a skirt so short if
Respectability meant anything, closed off
They too had been judged, time dulling
Their posture straight backed. Space lacked
Room to be filled with meanderings of another
Era, balancing her book atop red curls and
Speckled egg skin. Recalling the longing
Admiration of someone who dared to wear
Their inner choice on the outside
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:25 PM UTC
Time is ticking away.
The watch-chain sways in time:
Swinging and sweeping, weaving and waving.
They watch as time ticks on.
The sun is shining down.
The watch-chain spangles in the sun:
Shimmering and shining, glittering and glowing.
They watch as time ticks on.
The darkness is coming quickly.
The watch-chain disappears in the dark:
Dimming and dulling, slowing and stopping.
They watch as time ticks on.
But time is ticking away. . .
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
Shameful glaring.
Hateful words.
Always reprimanding.
Misplaced worlds.
Everything breaking.
All pain.
Stinging guilt.
Sighing rain.
Interests tilt.
Giving demons.
Having loathing.
Never bronze.
Ever dulling.
Disgraceful self.
Shame assigned.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
Holding on,
With the smallest glimmer of hope,
Finding ways to fight, deal or cope,
At 1st it seemed impossible
But slowly the realisation current issues were topical,
Lost friendships, breakdowns , communication errors and lack of self love,
One, two at a time or all of the above.
Dulling out the problems and hiding away,
Some amount of release when decided this way you did not want to stay.
Self belief,
fresh start, the one of new beginnings,
Learning to handle things before your mind starts spinning,
A release, you do not need others glorification to be worthy,
Worthy of love, respect, happiness, self security
A little motivation goes far, a focus just to start.
Look inside,
Reflection, a little self assessment,
The strength you had before
Somewhere inside you this is stored,
Make them changed necessary for you,
Stop allowing the colour which describes you to be the darkest blue.
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 4:32 PM UTC
Oppression, a monarch with a crown,
Limits resources in every town.
No reason to hasten, no reason to strive,
Content with meager offerings, barely alive.
With corruption and barriers abound,
Progress is hindered, hope is drowned.
The bright minds, afraid to take flight,
Chained to the system, a slave to the night.
No greater malice than silence so deep,
Stifling progress, and secrets keep.
Perfection in negligence, light in the shade,
Obfuscation the art, truth to evade.
The God that troubles, the tyrants that bind,
Crushing brilliance, dulling the mind.
In quiet desperation, with hopeful elation,
This poem, a message, a call to liberation.
May it strike deep, may it shake the ground,
May it expose the corruption that's found.
May it pierce through the veil, and bring forth the light,
May it break the chains, and set things right.
The oppression, corruption, and silence enthralled,
May they all fall to the might of my words so bold.
May it be a catalyst, a spark that ignites,
A revolution, a change in sight.
I hope my poem strikes a mighty blow,
A wakeup call, for all to know.
The power in words, the power to call,
I hope my poem, I hope my poem kills them all.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 5:33 PM UTC
It's as though through letting ideas slip away into nothingness
I've died countless times:
unrealised, unfulfilled, unsatisfied.
Their last scream of agony devoid of substance,
reverberates through me,
Reminding me that
I've neglected to death that which could've filled me.
I sit alone quietly watching,
An ego of sand trickles down
each grain a like on a tweet, a seen video.
Aren't they really smart? The people who make these things?
Promised to make me golden,
And I am, indeed.
Just as cold and saleable as that.
NO no,
I keep trying to claw my way out.
It's taking too long, why isn't it working?
Hands getting weaker?
Nails dulling out?
Or maybe I've never had anything sharp on myself to begin with.
The worst is that I'm not alone in this
And most of you seem content.
Living being made to obey
With grains of dopamine being thrown around
as we dance to catch each in our mouths.
Not much different from these poor animals at the circus.
Let's cut this short.
Aim big and don't expect a praise or prize soon after you start.
People aren't brands and brands aren't people.
Let's learn to enjoy the ride more than the destination.
Good luck, I believe in me,
I believe in you.
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 9:58 AM UTC
Maguire said: "Help me to help you!"
desperate measures
loud voices vie for unholy green
human bleeding punching bags
shaken brain, dulling wits, eye blur.
What's it all for? Gawd almighty dollar...
Better? A ten o'clock scholar.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
those quiet
lonely nights
when long shadows crawl over defeated days
and the red orange sun drowns beneath dark waves
a resonant loneliness
washes over me
dulling love and light
and hope
like the slow deliberate movement of the clock in the kitchen, hands that mark the passing time between jade scarabs
like the soft lilt of a sparrow left outside my window, alone in the twilight
as a church bell doles its distress, slow and deep in the distance, breaking the still darkness with its lament
water cannot cover the spectre of memory
I pour another whisky
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 11:58 PM UTC
It's hard to breathe.
Waiting for a white light but there is only darkness.
My head spins.
Maybe I took too much this time,
Maybe instead of dulling the pain I ended it.
Thank God I woke up.
I don't know if I'm ready to go.
Not quite yet.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 7:26 PM UTC
Encased, as an oil painting,
behind a plane of glass.
Years of exposure dulling the canvas,
no funding to restore the brightness
of the subject's lifeless eyes.
They lay dormant, cloudy,
From a lifetime of accumulative debris.
Transferred between people, buildings, countries;
Memories on display for brief intervals,
Then packaged and returned to storage,
As if they were never your own.
People shift, distorted, beyond the coffin of glass.
Their movements hazy,
The shutter speed slow.
Colours muted,
Sounds muffled,
Melting into each other.
An abstract watercolour, waxing and waning.
Low resolution projections on a dimly lit screen -
A theatre seating but one.
Jun 29, 2022
Jun 29, 2022 at 4:36 PM UTC
heavy dark curtains
tired swollen eyelids
hideout under duvet
sound of passing car
-
craving the dulling freedom
in the blurry paradise of nights
begging; let me in
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
slow tiredness infiltrates my body
dulling the senses.
and dragging my limb downs
into the abyss
darkness surrounding me like a blanket
taking away my thoughts
numbing the feeling
it's a complete shutdown
the crown has fallen long ago
so this is no longer my town
just a ruined place
that lost the race
it couldn't keep up the pace
a place I dare not show my face
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 4:11 AM UTC
It's so wonderful to feel mountains of emotions so moving in oneself
It creates valleys and volcanic eruptions
That warm the body so thoroughly you believe you may melt
Into a puddle of overwhelming love and joy
How beautiful it is
Like golden sunshine, warming the spots in between the tree branches Full of leaves in late spring
It eradicates the ashen hue in your veins with lavish reds
How warming to the soul to feel a tributary of trust
So deeply embedded in the wholeness of a love
Shared between two people
A strong sense of wanting to better yourself blossoms inside
True love bears vines and trees of fruit in the soul, mind, and body
It paints the dulling colors of the world so glaringly gasping to the eye
Filling one with colors
And out of all the feeling kinds
Color feeling is the loveliest one
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
a striking slice along the creamy white
freckle galaxy that is my thighs
is this what i've become?
a dab of crimson, slow pour at first
then a scarlet waterfall, perfect picture of my pain.
why did i do this
throbbing pain, dulling my senses
my mind is numb, almost at ease.
it hurts, i knew it would
gently easing cotton over wound,
bittersweet burgundy blood, feeding into pristine purity
what have i done
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 9:36 AM UTC
Poetry is the string
looping through and
weaving out
the needling pain
It knits a beautiful
patchwork, coated with
colorful patterns
our fingers trace
threads of our lives
create designs
a shining::
shimmering::
or dulling
our emotions blend.
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 2:05 AM UTC
There is this idea, this feeling you say:
A revelation of profound compassion
Riddled with crippling paramount tribulation
Dribbling with drops of pontification.
Thoughtfully and yet aimlessly kicking
Unctuously vacuous presumptions. Promising,
Eventually, to unveil brick by brick
This facade someday and assure me
The imprisoning edifice, with which you keep
Under lock and key, will be effaced
And naked, soon, someday in front of me.
Yet, here another day passes.
From curbside to manhole, up sidewalks and across gravel grit.
Then a squib toward onlookers window shopping
Glaring down at me as both they and you listen
To my dissonant and hollow caterwaul.
CLING, CLANG, BANG! Look at me I'm just a can!
Crumpled and malleable, a thin sheet of five cent aluminum;
Recyclable, reusable, just a means to a mans end.
Ah! But I am not what you think I am:
Within, a bountiful boisterous bloom, unravels
The arid breath of lies and procrastination you exhume.
Your insipid words fall vapidly in my mind like corroded rust
Gently drifting onto a lapping lake.
They are an erroneous ear infection boring my wits
And dulling my thoughts, a waste of time.
All of it bottled, canned, and manufactured
From within your ******** emporium.
Keep your bricks and mortar, think they retain your unctuous pride
While this time, for once, I kick the can curbside.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 9:27 AM UTC
She,
Thick eyeliner'd eyes
Racoon-rung, fingers slunk around
The overused pencil, smudged on her hand
And yet, it's not how she feels
More, how she wants to feel.
Oh, such a scarred star
In a sea of dulling graphite.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
when you found me, I was shattered inside and out
you slowly filled my cracks with your sunshine
until I was radiating light everywhere I went
but then I started shining too bright
so bright that I outshined you
and you didn't like that
so then you began dulling my light
exposing the cracks once more
until there was nothing left of my foundation
and I crumbled like never before
my happiness and shine turned into ashes
and you left me just as you found me, shattered
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
*we are carbon,
ashes,
craters,
two towers,
after.
rubble,
mist and manholes.
your eyes on a
cloudy day.
the aftermath of destruction.
we are leftover scratches
on gas chamber walls,
corpses,
cremations, and gravestones.
vision without glasses,
abandoned buildings,
the residual newspaper ink on
your palms.
we are static, crumbling nihilism,
aged hair, and dust sifting through
frost bitten fingers.
cavities, apathies,
blank television screens,
sketches, ghosts, absence,
dust, collapse,
driftwood.
we are driftwood, not enough
for a life-raft,
sometimes, where there is smoke,
there is no fire.
i guess it’s where we were always heading,
dulling, deconstructing, disintegrating.
after all, every thing
reduces to this.*
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea,
London has swept about you this score years
And bright ships left you this or that in fee:
Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things,
Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price.
Great minds have sought you- lacking someone else.
You have been second always. Tragical?
No. You preferred it to the usual thing:
One dull man, dulling and uxorious,
One average mind- with one thought less, each year.
Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit
Hours, where something might have floated up.
And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay.
You are a person of some interest, one comes to you
And takes strange gain away:
Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion;
Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale for two,
Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else
That might prove useful and yet never proves,
That never fits a corner or shows use,
Or finds its hour upon the loom of days:
The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work;
Idols and ambergris and rare inlays,
These are your riches, your great store; and yet
For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things,
Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff:
In the slow float of differing light and deep,
No! there is nothing! In the whole and all,
Nothing that’s quite your own.
Yet this is you.
2.2k
*Please don't leave me alone with these thoughts in my head
The monsters are coming and they're telling me I should be dead
They force down the blade, they slice up my skin
They tell me I belong in hell, and I should pay for my sins
Humming sweet tunes of death, I can always hear them
No matter how hard I try to ignore their sounds of torment
These monsters in my head they're tearing me to shreds
I want them to stop, with every drop of red, the voices become softer
I can barely hear them now, but they'll be back full volume all too soon
As long as they're still here, my mind will only get darker
I just want the voices to stop, I don't want to hear what they have to say
I want to tear out my heart and cut off my ears, I want the pain to end
These voices in my head make me ashamed of who I am everyday
I'm thinking of ways I could silence them, maybe I'm better off dead
My soul and body are becoming vacant and empty
The only thing still inhabiting me are those voices in my mind
The quick stinging pain of a cut is dulling the screams, but just barely
I'm already empty inside so all that's left is finding a way to die
I bought a new razor, I have my pills and a tub of hot water
When suddenly I'm hit with a memory, a memory of you
That single thought saved me from the slaughter
You called me perfect, you made me feel beautiful
I remembered your smile, your eyes, how you looked at me
I know you're hurting too, I'm sorry, just know you're irreplaceable
I'm fighting my demons, I'm locking them up and you are the key*
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 10:11 PM UTC