"enraging" poems
You think that smile will make it all right,
Do you realise you’re enraging my mind?
Think it’s okay because you believe your better, why?
Like that grin makes it okay to stay blind.
Because I’m young you think I’m dumb,
You count your manners on one thumb,
You speak out; you smile like I’m making fun.
I got a rage that will make you wish you were numb.
Anger, my rage erupts enough for me to lash out,
Punch the wall, should have been your face, ow.
You have directly affected my mood now
Brewing and steaming, to release I jot this down.
Now how do I get rid of this frown?
Apr 30, 2010
Apr 30, 2010 at 3:02 AM UTC
Her wolf was circling.
The ***** didn't even know...
she was being sized up
by an apex predator.
She elegantly contained this
knowledge of future bloodshed
within her own head.
Never letting that *****
out of her sanguine glare.
She remembers only echoes
of noises that accumulated into words.
Annoying,
ENRAGING,
words.
The wolf pounced out of her control,
but not outside of her desire.
The ***** made a beautiful corpse.
That angered her.
She walked away with a villainous
smirk on her face, and a tumor
of darkness growing inside of her.
The wolf trotting along side her.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
hand cranked
re-imagined 35mm slides
Rough Trade posters
on the wall
Pepsi and premade sandwiches
on the counter
aperture: wide open
he sees her often at the multiplex
there she flirts
from the third row; second seat
sheer blouse
hands in elliptical motion
pointing toward
silk chiffon shells
the invite in a tilt of her mouth
lip; gloss
eyes hidden from the light
a prayer before intermission
celluloid reliquary
reveals God's plans
lest her trifling with him
cause a miss in changeover
enraging his self-regarded audience
the walk back to his car
one long montage of her lacing up
May 24, 2023
May 24, 2023 at 10:02 AM UTC
turning her charms so slow.
he smiles,
in the wetness of his reward
cranking and cranking!
winding her in notch after notch
tormenting her to madness.
all her dreams melt into him
as his promised shards hit deep
****** after ******
his jagged edge cuts to bleed
her mind and body
leading her to a valley of darkness
bellows and cries
relentlessly in her crescent moon
the moans swelling
from the corners of her abyss
he stabs wildly
in the glare of her darkshine
leaving the streaks of fingerprints
across her window pane
devilishly in his detail of precision
distorting her pleasure in pain
the legs of her willingness spread wide
her Innocence weeps nectar
tears from the depths of her
obscene layers of unseen obsession
unfold the heated flower
of her awaken phoenix-fire
tightening the gaps of her resistances
enraging his beast to survival
forcing his fight for freedom
thrashing away
his ***** courage leading the way
she finally surrenders
to his death blows
in total disregard in retaliation
she strikes a venomous bite
to his throat and lips
her poisonous kiss
their last breath shares
perspiration's sweet scent of exhaustion
as their life force drains to one
from their lust of the battle
in their pursuit to win the war of passion
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 12:57 PM UTC
*i saw you
i saw your fiery eyes
it was like looking into a cup
unstoppably filling up to its brim
yours, abundantly filled with vehement grim
so uneasy it was conjecturing your mind
gave me a reason to unwind for a little while
tell my why
all the pretends and quiet sighs, enshrouding whats from behind
what it is there inside
why do you need to hide
thy precious heart with no choice
but to turn itself into an agitated smoldered iron
strengthened heart, furnished like art
you are a burning metal amenably hammered by many foes
far more drowned with the empty souls
where are you, where is the real you
how did your soul turn so blue
let me condole
drilling poles amidst the cold
rendering you a hand and something to hold
I will find yours
along with all the lost
long hoarfrost
waiting to be accost
along with the alley of souls
growling down the holes
in line, next to mine
unleash a shine, your spirit so divine
let your caliginosity be replaced
all be thy grace shall be embraced
this time, fearlessly
without minds controlling slavery
cutting the negativity and
ignoring life's declivity
see yourself walking through the flame
no more lames
without the shame and doubt getting burnt
stepping on with something learnt
now you are changed, well-transformed,
someone born to aspire, died meant to inspire,
honey you are retrofire, firing in the night sky
but not as heaping as an empty pyre
but as fierce as an enraging forest fire*
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 9:39 AM UTC
there is something good
and some light
in this desire
enraging my cells
with divination chanting
sculpting my shape
in violent curves
I don't recongnize the hues
of mornings
because of frenzy:
the new definition of gravity
along the lines
mesmerizing visions of
softness and caring
love is a whirlwind
in any language
a clear water
so you can see
how translucent
nakedness can be
hers is
the bending of space
to smaller and smaller
atoms of delight,
fusion, diffusion, infusion
it holds you tight
from the very centre
(heart&lungs)
when it breaks you
and then these traces
the swarming of photons
in the fabric of skin
sweet radiance,
energetic warmness
an arch, a cohort of waves
crushing everything
like cherries' sense
reality sense
roads' sense
a scarring refusing
to scream/bleed
defiance of stillness
music of laughter
sun raising in your hands
there is something beautiful
for the poetess in me
it just describes herself well
for the never-day
it transmutes
anything:
beauty into horror
horror into despair
despair into words
even thought into
singing birds
Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 4:44 AM UTC
*We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been, must ever be.*
William Wordsworth
stunning and stunned,
perhaps even life momentarily,
stunted angry but enraging confusion
this notion, stirs a commotion,
primal sympathy, spawns poem
not a broken totem
not a stolen token
hand writ, inked in pen,
no golems in a modem
to assist
this just pure human spoken
an omen giving,
notice total,
this is one true ether,
or either it is not!
this primal essential assertion
a conditional propositional
that it is natural for man
to be deep sympathetic to his kind,
*for which having been,
must ever be*
in Syria, snipers shoot children for sport,
in Nigeria, young girls to slavery sold,
the list, matter of many facts, well known,
needs not embellishment or addition,
the history books teach the children well
so vaunted primal atmosphere,
in these places,
are you absent, non-existent?
when primal was pre-creation,
spelled first as primeval,
in the era before the appearance of ratiocination
of life on earth
Prime and Evil,
was a combustible fuel of necessity survival
primeval became primordial,
man essayed to improve,
aging onwards himself to enlightenment
yet rooted in this prime number of humankind
is a cellular tissue that springs to life
in those who allow it, residence of the remnants,
original origin of the evil that can subsume
and assume
do not allow it
I can tell you I
will not lay quiet
for the murderers of children,
I have primeval hatred
the rage of primal sympathy denied
unleashed ten times greater
be wary when the best of us rises up
the snipers and the enslavers will die
by their own weapons
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
i asked you;
you lied.
i wondered,
"don't you trust me?"
i looked at you:
transparent, always a bad liar,
to the point where
it becomes enraging;
your lies mounting―
blatant, obvious
i looked at your sullen face,
felt myself grow bitter
i wondered,
"didn't our love once taste sweeter?"
i asked again;
you lied again.
i wondered,
"when did you regress?"
i wondered,
"when did we regress?"
it felt like
twelve steps forward, thirteen back.
maybe we're just meant to be
unlucky.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
Thorns in the hearts of millions and fear in the minds of billions.
Heard across the whispers of machines, spoken to the minds of onlookers.
Entrances carved into the souls of children by myriad opinions.
Young ones engraved with a memory, reared to despise terror as one would hookers.
Advance the agenda. Propaganda distributed; phones, theaters, televisions alight.
Losing our souls to the terror, we huddle in our whining and dining rooms.
Lips loose and battering what we don't understand, they're the terrors! Don't you understand?
Destitute is reason in the fanatics worlds away, yet in our very homes.
Encouraged to make poor our own empathy, as we seek them out.
Solace lost on our tongues we devour them, mercy removed from our bones.
Everyone knows we have to get them first, right? Right. There's no other route.
Right is confused with fear. They've made us just like them. Just like them.
Vie for change! Do it all you want, but you can't change them, not with sinful might...
Entrance them with modernity, educate them, sequester them, it's a farce, a problem.
Aren't we the beasts? Shooting missiles from a, "Wicked City," televisions alight.
Grand mess we've made, hypocrisy ten miles high, sin ten miles deep.
Right. Where were we? Who shot last? Compare past to past, continue the fight.
Already we're planning, where to strike next? Whack the hive, make 'em weep.
Vanishing like shadows in all-encompassing light the terrors disappear.
"'Enraging us again,' coming soon!" the sequel should be good next year.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC
A complicated conception.
Devastate my childhood. Corruption defiles ghetto neighborhoods.
Law enforcement never does what they should. Hopeless, sick, enraging, & shameless where I stood.
Probation violations they definately would. Patrolling *** offenders because they could.
No one in the system of courts cares or understood.
They don't believe my words, go unheard.
My tears are not a faucet to turn off & on.
Our trauma & sadness was real.
My feelings they can not feel.
My underage *** is illegal not for any pervert to steal.
© Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved,
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
Leaves alight
Ice in my veins
calmest crawling calamity,
Slowly enraging serenity
Ashen fall
Forever frail and perishable
An insignificant mass of beautiful petals
Crushed beyond repair
You don't want to hide it
You know what's there
I didn't do it for me
I did it for you
And that's what helped me bloom
I was gone and you were there
Repairable don't you see?
The holding ground of your roots is strong
You weren't affected by the storm
Show me daylight,
Show me warmth
Let my sweet serendipitous buds form
I would say it is the end of crumpled leaves
and worn out weeds
But truth be told
I will always be close to withering
So endure the inevitable
Entwine our pedicles and
Let's claim the soil together
Please never rely on weather
My bloom is more reliant
on the Sun than you might think
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 2:12 AM UTC
Filling the insatiable void,
Dragging myself around.
Dealing with stuff,
Putting a face on the exigencies of work.
A friend is wonderful.
Mateos sits with me as we weep into the emptiness.
And there are so many ways.
Anecdotes to deal with the turmoil:
Words.
But the madness of a moment transcends the present into a hostile reality.
The truth
- of holding what we love.
But the heart speaks,
Hear it!
Or lose it.
And all our cunning is noise when we hear its call.
Everything is clear.
With or without?
Feelings, ugly ones such as envy, jealousy and doubt.
Have their moment.
And peak.
Alone,
We are untouchables.
How enraging to see the one you love,
Unstiching the patchwork that was our cover.
For in an instant,
We are undone.
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 3:28 PM UTC
poetry composed in perfect silence
doesn't exist...
for there is no such thing,
perfect silence
there are no
noise canceling headphones,
a coachable prevent defense,
protecting my inner ears from
hearing words forced to the surface,
loudly spoken, up floating
unto the mind's constancy of enraging waters,
the highest definition of
mental disquiet,
the imperfect silence
frag grenades, IED's detonate,
all nicknames for the brain's multi-voices,
all argue raucous,
unafraid of exposure,
over~shouting to be heard,
freely secure in the
seeming silent privacy
of my brain,
mine owned
internecine mental slaughterhouse
and yet,
what I write down,
mine to keep...
my home,
and my mind,
an isle,
an atom of Earth
and flesh cells,
split surrounded by a
broad freshwater river
*the isle of the mind
spits fingers of land and voices,
injecting themselves into
the two~sided, belly~soft riversides,
forming bays and coves,
hiding places for
crafty human devices*
my poor mind,
mind it well,
as this sailing craft called poetry,
now, but a tiny ketch
to keep me afloat upon the
river surround,
while avoiding the backwash wakes
of larger enemy ships of state,
those who gladly drown me
for pleasure,
enjoying the pretending-to-be-quiet
internal screams denouncing
the myth of perfect silence
but the imperfect
poetry
born amidst
imperfect sleep,
the residual,
mine to keep...
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC
Death is a *****
Crime is an Itch
Demons are well Demons.
What is there to say about a demon?
how bout the fact that they lie to you about repercussions of power,
That when they allow you to use those
enraging abilities
that are death to you internally to externally,
They don't tell you that you
get unexplained bruises and cut on your external body.
They don't tell you that you (every now and then)
**** yourself when you use their abilities slowly and painfully.
They don't tell you that you start messing up in life and putting yourself out of the family loop because you crave their power and MORE...Then you get hooked on that single phrase "MORE" as if you can't get enough of what those Demons,
Offer you until it diminishes you
Life slowly but surely YOU DIE.
These Demons put a whole new meaning to "You are Your worst Enemy".
Darkness and Death is a familiar face to everyone at different Levels
but as you continue to grow and the more you use those abilities they offer you; the more
You **** yourself and the people around you without meaning or warning....That is why there is angels to help you fight those demons,
Their truly powerless abilities that they offer you.
So as a warning for people that crave POWER. DON'T.
But if you happen to crave the power that I once Craved watch-out for what power you ask for and be careful on who and what source you ask from cause if you aren't careful you could end up,
Hurting the ones that truly LOVE you,
Regretting Life and You yourself will be LOST!!
And Remember this one Phrase before you ask for those demons .....
"Death is a *****
Christopher Nathaniel Cartwright
Copyright © 1983-2010
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 9:56 PM UTC
Into wind, I turn a blistered face
Life draining, at a fierce pace
Is their any, saving grace
Please, remove me, from this place
Soon, my existence will leave no trace
Hopes dreams whishes life, erase
Absence of cool, calm and collect
Heat, the nurturer of life and respect
Now, the taker of my life, perfect
Dry, lifeless sand
Emotionless, killer land
There, I had to stand
An ocean of fire, in all its flare
Heat waves rolling, without a care
Drowning, desert sands so bare
Exciting, enraging, stimulating fever
All this excitement, in my stare
Fire lit, to warm the hart
Warm comfort, ease for start
Fire started, with desert chart
Life without love is like a barren desert but once the spark is lit love is like a raging fire.
Dec 24, 2009
Dec 24, 2009 at 11:46 PM UTC
Potentially we could exponentially expand the boundaries of our maps without destroying our surroundings just because someone doesn't know what our sounds mean, and what if she found me? Does it make a difference? Would you turn back time in an instant to make a different decision or would she make the same wicked choice you did? What if, for instance, no one met anyone and we just let ourselves be? Like if apathy got the best of me, would their lust turn to their agony? Would our trust turn to our suffering? No, our stability is crumbling and now I'm mumbling, stuttering 'cause it's ow you made me, but baby, I'm not complaining. Yes, what you did to me is horrid and probably a red-herring, and you're still here just to see how I'm fairing. I guess it was inevitable really. It's destiny; No escaping, and as enraging as it is, there is all sorts of ways of delaying. So where would we be, if we kept delaying destiny? Would I be happier, sadder, or just the same me?
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
I wish they could hear me sometimes.
I wish they could hear me crying in my bedroom over an idiotic boy.
I wish they could hear me throwing things left and right as I create a storm of my clothes over the latest thing that is enraging me to no extent.
I just wish they could hear me as I repetitively scream,
"YOU'RE SO STUPID" to myself over and over again until it is embedded into my brain and I feel it in my body.
But they can't. And they never will.
Deaf. That's what my parents are.
Deaf as they talk to each other with their visual language,
Creating a three-dimensional image that communicates all their ideas through art.
Deaf as they imagine what the music I love so much sounds like,
But all they can ever do is wonder.
Deaf as they can see me, but never fully grasp what my voice sounds like as I screech and howl for their help.
My screeches and howls are like tiny whispers in their ears.
My mom once asked me, "What is it like to hear? I wish I could."
But mom, I am here to tell you that your ears are blessed.
You cannot hear the monstrosities that exist in the world:
The sound of loud eating, the sound of two cars crashing into each other as both drivers finally heed what's happening, but lastly, the sound of your own daughter weeping in her room with solitude as she mopes hopelessly.
Mom, you're so lucky to have never heard that.
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
Tied together the strings were snatched,
a witch of which her heart detached,
the locket on her sleeve yet broken in despair,
love is true; always rare.
Love is a lie,
nor fair,
a cut this knife deep into my skin,
say a prayer I bleed and then begin,
I pray to god forgive thy sin on a sinners thought,
the decay from your words in my lungs as they rot.
I die another day and wake anew,
fresh on my breath the name of who,
who is distraught to keep the wisdom of words,
this knot in my stomach it churns and churns,
******* behemoth burn, burn, burn!
I die another day and awake to anew,
dead room doubt I held my breath then blew,
I sought another perk yet hiking up your skirt,
I crawl a blade up serine within,
inevitable and diabolic,
blood boiling up enraging and oncotic!
Harlots are one to come and blame,
no walk,
no talk;
you live in shame,
just another breath left from my tongue,
another puncture wound left in my lung.
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 8:10 PM UTC
I take the sharp end of the glass
To keep you from bleeding
And when humpty dumpty falls
I put him back together
I'm your freakin' fairy godmother
I keep your secrets
And rock you to sleep
With silent melodies and promises of peace
And it's draining
but I do it with a smile.
When I give you my heart
You take my lungs and kidneys too
Demand an eye for an eye
And make me go blind.
I'm Atlas with the weight of this
Enraging, heavy
existence.
Punished for I crime I did not commit.
I'm your life raft on the titanic
But instead of letting me
carry you to safety
you take a knife and cut away at me
thinking you could do better
and wondering why we both drown
You push me down and rob me of
my freedom
my life
my joy
And when I'm just a little bit cranky
You wonder why.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 7:36 PM UTC
Isn't it funny how we underestimate the power of our voices?
this sound that emanates from our throats, formulating words...
...are not just noises
Right?
I'm guessing it's pretty silly to assume that our voices are just perfectly placed noises, combining to converse with others, argue with others, woo others, defend others, offend others...
And it occurs to me that my voice, is not used the way I want it to be
instead, it's being limited. Limited to the sombre pleasures of others
entertaining people who probably don't bother, much about me
instead my voice is caged up, way up in my own thoughts
They say talking to yourself is the first sign of schizophrenia
do people who fear talking talk to themselves? Glossophobia they call it.
I say talking to others contributes to our enraging insanity
the society that conceals my voice, taints the will to be heard.
One day I got up from my seat in class to say a speech
I was surprised with what I was about to meet.
first came the silence, then the bafflement
people for the first time got the chance to hear my voice
Bewilderment? yes, Endearment? no
for what they heard was not the sound of a nightingale in the forest
but rather the sound of an emancipated prison screaming to the reaches of the farthest
The scene made me sit back and assess
my life looking back needed to be addressed
A voice isn't supposed to be internalised, is it?
But why do I struggle to break out?
Why is it so hard to let people hear my voice?
Why, why, why
My answer?
That's what you get when you underestimate the power of your voice.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 6:14 AM UTC
we all would like to sit upon a balcony,
overflowing with leafy companions,
and look out into the city, absently,
at the skyscrapers that fill the canyons;
and we all would like to float upon dark blue seas,
our tanned backs skimming the cool blue,
the sun's golden locks tickling our faces like a tease,
and, blissfully, there is nothing to do;
of course, we all would like to laugh uncontrollably,
with our beautiful friends with wild, beachy, bronze hair
and with bejeweled fingers that hold onto ours tightly,
while the loud sounds of the living city permeate the azure air;
nevertheless, we all would like a dark, rainy evening,
our warmth exponentially increased by a knit turtleneck,
and above, the moon emanates its blue light, pale and pleasing,
while we read a book about chance meetings, secret gardens, and a car wreck;
we all would like beautiful things, but life is more meaningful with the untimely thunderstorm, the unwanted acne, the enraging traffic ticket, unexpected endings, and much needed beginnings;
we all would like to not be alone in these things,
and we never need be alone in these things.
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 5:31 PM UTC
It’s my embrace you wish to know,
A man, a woman, a horse, an avalanche of show.
It’s adventure you wish to taste,
Well here I am, under your fresh fingertips,
Here I am, here I am.
You can grasp me into whatever you wish to escape,
and here I am, here I am.
Solid as the mind’s tricks. Here I am.
My papery embrace, I am so here, yet so far away.
Each movement I take, each time my euphoric world breaks,
Yes, yes, my paper embrace.
Rickety at best, I am so weak.
A rip of your fingers can suffocate me.
Crash! Crash! In the most gentle sound, my mind says,
It’s astounding how weak I am but how concrete my story is.
A single flame in a dark sea, or a fire enraging the seven seas.
It depends on how much you hold me.
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 4:42 AM UTC
You know I'm tired of playing this game
Always chasing the right girl away
All because I'm too blind and stupid chasing after the wrong
Why am I playing this ******* game
It's like I'm allergenic to the truth,
And just enjoy beating my self as if I'm slave
Like seriously what the **** am I doing with my life
Ruining it, maybe
Because I'm sure as hell ain't making it better
I mean look at me battle scares are bruises imprisons my body in the jail ceil in monopoly
Only if it were a game
But no, this real life
This is reality, what my life will be based off of
But stupid ol' me treat it as if it was a ************* game
Why can't I get it through my thick skull that is not a ******* game
Am I retarted or just that slow
It is as if my ******* chained my arms to the **** floor and threw away the god **** keys
What the **** am I doing with my god **** life
Why am I throwing it away as if it is worthless tool
Am I really that much of a fool
Just sitting down on this stool watching the clock tic
What the **** am I doing with my life
No seriously someone please tell
Cause clearly I'm not bright enough to know
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
☪ ☮ ☪ ☮ ☪ ☮ ☪ ☮
Bearded and furious, quoting some prophet
they rage in the streets of their failed nation-states
exporting dysfunction, subversion and violence
the hordes are empowered—they’re now at your gates.
They fume as they gesture, in ***** pajamas
and brood over battles from centuries past.
they **** for their Caliph in murderous dramas;
the next ****** tantrum will not be their last.
Republicrat/Democan? Satan to them…
They care not an angel what party you vote.
Your well-meaning efforts are lost in translation—
they’ll just as soon slit your good liberal throat.
Scandinavia’s day-dream, once Nordic, once bright
is consumed in the chaos and vanished as smoke.
Santa Lucia receives violent darkness for light
as statistics play dead to her national joke.
The Ishmaelite deity (Arabic sin)
is a vicious excuse for extreme misbehavior;
a wind of aggression, demonic conception
enraging dead souls against Jesus, Our Savior
Let destruction descend upon Mecca/Medina.
The angels rejoice—may the righteous side win;
for the judgement of God on an evil religion
proclaims that earth’s joy is about to begin.
While the minarets topple, midst filth and manure
in a cleansing display of immaculate hope,
the muezzins are silenced, the pilgrims are stalled
and the muftis are starting to mope.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:34 AM UTC
Engaging and enraging.
He’s beguiling and malicious.
His stare is dark and sinister,
But welcoming as arms wide open,
So jump in without care.
Make haste.
Because this faux happiness,
It will not last.
It will leave,
Only there to amplify
Your emptiness.
Don’t let words fool you;
Contrived and divine.
The worst isn’t over;
It’s luring you into the woods,
Into a hole,
With a plot that unfolds,
That reveals that you’re guilty.
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 10:07 PM UTC