"entail" poems
Loyalty...what exactly does being loyal entail? Well that is hard to put into words.
Some may say that being loyal means "down to ride " or even "Iwill never cheat " . Its easy to be loyal when what your being loyal to is at lifes mountain top...
To me real true loyaltycomes when you see some one at there worst and/or lowest point. And you still stand tall by there side .loyalty is being there when no one else will or even wants to be .loyalty is seeing helplessness and hopelessness and embracing it as a oppurtunity to give a hand up instead of a kick down .
Its loving some one the same amount wether its the superbowl or the tolietbowl .loyalty to me just comes naturally and is the absolute right thing to do. It means no matter what happens they know they have you.
Loyalty is the foundation on which every relationship and friendship is built around . With out loyalty life is meaningless and feels as fake and lonely as it .
Loyalty at times can be hurting even withering but at that exact time be rewarding ..loyalty is shown at lifes highs n lows ,in all shapes and forms
..so in life if you can find another person that can be truely and honestly loyal back to you ..it gives you the sense that it was all worth it ..
We all need that one person. That no matter which of lifes path you journey either up or down wrong or right ..you know unquestionably will with out doubt be there for you and when you see that the road traveled leads you to a dead end you have them to point you in a new direction
Mar 20, 2020
Mar 20, 2020 at 7:51 AM UTC
Are we fated to dance to the same tune alone in our separate universes?
Is it true that we must silently keep to our preordained curses?
Are we destined to swoon at the beauty of the moon at differing time slots?
Why were we given invisible ink to connect our lives' dots?
Must it be that our lives revolve around the whims of the sun?
Isn't it ludicrous that we won't see the intricate webs we've spun?
Was it the plan that we exist only in our minds and hearts?
Why do we have to tolerate starting when the other's ending and end at the other's starts?
Has it been written that we can only afford to infinitely chase each others heartbeats?
Was it foretold that we're trapped in a singular notion that never really fits?
Is the game set as such that we can never emerge as winners?
How is it that the ocean was made out of our tears that flowed from rivers?
Why is it that with our entirety we believe but do not know?
What's the reason for the path made clear but we're too afraid to go?
What does it entail to possess the very least but yet you covet it the most?
How do you pride yourself in something but not allowed to boast?
Why do we frantically scramble to piece together jagged shards?
Can't we just play this blasted deck of lousy cards?
Is it destiny or cruelty to have found then lost?
Why does it seem absurd that we have all its takes but can't afford the cost?
Is it the thoughts that **** or the emotions that debilitate?
Is it the challenges we take on or the curveballs we anticipate?
Why bother when sheer folly is all it seems to be?
Why tarry when the heart is free and the mind is ready?
Is it ridiculous to have found myself still very bothered?
Is it wrong to question fate that had always bound us tethered?
Why is the good always bad and the bad becomes worse?
Is it true that the harder we fight, the deeper we immerse?
Has life turned to be but sad little rhetorics?
Are we but performers on stages coerced into theatrics?
Is it time for me to surface this one-man submarine?
Will it be so that if I do, my journey would then begin...?
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
The biggest coward is man who entail a women’s love
with no intention of Respecting her .. !!
She had a summer Smile ..
which hid her winter frown ..
she had not moved from her place ..
Though she was burnt down ..
In her radiant glow ..
Dark was his face and ..
the darkness of her fear absorb the light of Love ..
She could hardly believe that she was alive ..
She hid her being low ..
His heart and soul were bent upon this all ..
She drew herself up as bravely as she could ..
She doesn’t want to ..
be destroyed yet again ..
All she wants to is break free from her pain ..
But to do so ..
She needs to get rid of her fear ..
“Come,” said the Man, “give me your hand, I will lead you to the world of Trust.
The Respect you deserve.”
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 3:46 AM UTC
Perky ******* & Pouty Lips
Now I'm thinking I am, your typical male
who loves beautiful women, and all they entail
tall or short both, make my heart do flips
but the things that I, like for sure
it's alright if, they're somewhat demure
are perky ******* and pouty lips
a personality, is a wonderful thing
it would be cool, if she can dance and sing
don't mind playin poker, and bettin those chips
a sense of humor, with a snorting laugh
always willing, to give you half
umm but I crave perky ******* and pouty lips
I love watching them, when they come and go
swingin those hips, to and fro
make my heart beat do, a couple of skips
but look at those ******* and that **** mouth
causing a disturbance down to the south
god I love perky ******* and pouty lips
Gomer LePoet...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:26 PM UTC
spring's vivid carnival shall soon prevail
she'll be frocked up in the brightest attire
her floral shades so striking of detail
gardens being clad by stunning avail
flowers displaying such a colourful shire
spring's vivid carnival shall soon prevail
every aspect of the rainbow there to sail
glorious blooms that we can admire
her floral shades so striking of detail
the wow factor e'er innate in her trail
a seasonal dressing of which we'll not tire
spring's vivid carnival shall soon prevail
great visuals she'll pleasingly nail
on painting in a sensational palettes fire
her floral shades so striking of detail
seeing what the fashion will entail
we'll be gobsmacked with its garb's quire
spring's vivid carnival shall soon prevail
her floral shades so striking of detail
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 9:36 AM UTC
Total me a dream
Find me, a corner of an eye
Save me, the turn of chaste, in whim
And poise, me is a reason to be why
A house...
A character of decency, we delve long and tight
A stirring hour, we hope is beyond a days shroud
Taken with the memory, of sincerity to share might...?
A place...
Found with the eyes of wonder, we make for ourselves
Chance heiring, in the name of a vice's pace
Of coping how, and the semblance of seclusion, a wealth?
A room...
For sign's of witness, particular to shadows of change
Wealth is to be the common, the thought to let liberty mushroom
And become a friend, of worth in loyal sates; however strange...
A step...
Forward with communion to entail even the solitude, we meant
For a night's angel, and the demands of couth we select for wit?
See the composed guide me to the strength I know, is more sent...
A stone we should know...
Passing all to follow the method of our following
Promise and privilege, in the seem, to wish once upon a time to owe
Swept away with the today we accept, is a now in the hallowing...
Jun 28, 2023
Jun 28, 2023 at 8:50 PM UTC
A rich man's son inherits want
with no desire to work hands bare
Gives the job to another man
to look out from his easy chair
A poor man's son inherits grace
born of toil and sweat of his brow
He adjudged of hard earned merit
pushes on what body will allow
The rich man's son inherits greed
with what malice it may entail
Thinking others beneath his station
for lack of character he does ail
The poor man's son inherits kindness
which with all others level stands
Then asks the outcast bless his door
to share the fruit of his two hands
Heir to what is the rich man's son
tender flesh that fears the cold
To the poor never gives his time
nor dare he wear a garment old
Inheriting, it seems to me
what no good man would wish to be
Heir to what is the poor man's son
strong muscles and pounding heart
Chipped of a marble character
beloved by all he touched in part
Inheriting, it seems to me
what all good men would wish to be
Tate
This is one of three poems I have converted to a new all video format well worth the look at what I feel is the future of our art.
Original all video version
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/1355765/
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
When I was younger my mom had a cape.
I used to believe she was some superhero that came and saved us whenever we needed.
And I can’t tell you how many times she came to my rescue.
Through scraped knees, broken hearts, blistered fingers and life changing conflicts, she was there holding out her hand.
I used to think my mother owned the world.
She had a way to make it seem like it stopped spinning when she tucked us in at night.
Like we were the only things that mattered when the moon fell.
She battled Love, proper balance and belonging for years. But I couldn’t be more appreciative that we were the motive behind her struggles.
She was a wrecking ball labeled with dedication.
Destroying buildings full of poverty and mental *******
And she even helped clean up the debris.
I’ve never seen anyone stand so tall after being knocked down so many times. It makes me feel weightless in knowing I have such a gravity shifting role model.
So this Christmas I won’t wish for anything for myself.
I won’t ask for anything to help sort out my troubled thoughts or materialistic struggles.
And I certainly won’t entail anything that strays from you being the subject matter of today.
All I do ask is that you Love yourself as much as I Love you.
You are the strongest, most intelligent and most inspiring woman I will ever know and I’m so lucky to be able to call you my mother.
I am forever cherishing you bringing me into this world and raising me the way you have. I take lessons from you daily and I’ve ended up more than fine.
Thank you, for being you.
I Love you, mom.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
I am the eccentric lovechild of a mother frondescent and a father evanescent
Sprouted through corrupted soul
Fed from the fish delivered free from a sea of blood and oil
Uprooted I drift in sunlight towards an amiable oasis nurtured by scribes
Roots form synthesis with a surface void of story
My blooms entail alternative motions ranging from the aspect of a chaotic notion and the transcendent shiver given with ceremonial moments
Traces of my lingering expanse traverse and terraform galactic sound gardens bursting at the seams with Gaia’s seeds
Wither, decay, destined to resume once in full bloom
Meandering with solar rays bonded by ebb and flow
The remnants of the last sun ray plague the wanderer who was born of sunflowers
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 5:59 AM UTC
With the world as your
muse
Your thirst grows for beautiful
views
That will take you to faraway
places
Into rare alpine air
Which will entail a climbing
thrill
But that caused your unfortunate
spill
Now in this incapacitated
state
You have your toil with a painful heal
And you have to beg the world to
wait
But the world will watch with endless eyes
As we have to laugh at our eventual demise
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 1:27 AM UTC
I met Sally on the hill with a nickel bag of ******
She didn't pay me in money.
Instead, information and a little persuasion made the baggie leave my right back pack pocket
***“Dollars could never have made sense of it anyway
We throw pennies away opting for the opulence that big bills entail
Retail will never amount to the amount I've blown on blow”***
Or so she said behind Louis Vuitton shades shielding eyes half dead
A ****** with a monkey on her back fed by a steady stream of opiates
***“I open this line of communication so you can see we lack foundation and stability and yet
We're trying to build a sand castle with all the powder we can possibly get
And if we're forced to forfeit that fortress, we snort more, still trying to forget”*** and with that she placed her sunglasses on top of her head
I stood back with my back pack and I finally understood
Why drugs will make you richer than working ever could
They bag a gram put it on the scale and tell you what it weighs
But they don't tell you how unnoticeable it is when your life slips away
We sell the dream, we sell the aesthetics
The drugs, the parties, the scene with guest lists
Invincibility
Pretty lights.
Fun. All a lie.
I almost fell on my face walking down the hill, staring into those blue eyes over my shoulder all the while.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:51 PM UTC
Mood stabilizers, they call them, but in some ways, they're more like painkillers for your heart. They numb the feelings so that you don't have the extreme moods you are accustomed to.
When you have a mood disorder, everything you feel is so much more intense, and so much more certainly snowballs out of control. That's most of the problem; the complete lack of control you have over your chaotic emotions.
But then you go to a doctor, and they give you happy little pills called stabilizers to do just as they're told to. Stabilize you. Normalize you.
Funny thing is, even with the little heart painkillers, you'll never be normal. Even if you keep up a fantastically ordinary facade, you will never be ordinary. You will always have those little pills in your pocket telling you that you are not good enough the way you are, that you must change.
Its a double-edged sword, these pills. Because some days you wonder why you can't just be you, why do you need these drugs in your veins, but then you remember the cuts on your arms and the painful nights where you drowned in your own tears and you remember why even you don't think the person you are is acceptable. Get better, Grace, be better, Grace. The words pound in your ears until you forget who you used to be and you are always striving to be something more, something better. You strive until it kills you.
You are stronger, you can beat it, they say.
What if I don't want to beat it, though, just want to have control of it? I never want to feel less than everything, I never want to feel so dull and numb that it kills me more than the pain ever did, I never want to beat myself, I simply want to be me but controllable.
Because right now I'm uncontrollable and that's terrifying.
Painkillers for your heart, numbing you until you can't feel anymore. But sometimes I wonder if I really want to feel numb.
Do I want to be me, or who everyone wants me to be?
One is safer than the other, but which one is really living?
Because all I want is to feel alive, but I don't know whether surviving will entail that.
Painkillers or killer pain.
That is my decision, one I'm not ready to make. Maybe tomorrow, when mania is not so close to my throat.
Maybe tomorrow, because I am far too afraid of today.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
BAREFOOT
I follow the road
of my father’s voice
journey with him
along white roads...over green fields
barefoot
to school & back
(shoes if at all...worn only to church)
picking up the cuts & scabs
stubbed toes
his going to school
would entail
in the early years of the 1920’s
only so much history to me
real
to him
his toes
knowing the wind
in the grass
for what it is
his toes
clasping a rock
fording a stream
Irish & poems
bubbling through his head
babbling along
the tongue
words thrown to
those lost summer skies
startling a blackbird
spouting his poetry
with poetry
of his own
(3 miles to school...3 miles back)
his mind a skimmed stone
dancing along a river
over unforgiving
stones
thorns attacking his feet
with undisguised relish
the vehemence of glass
glinting greedily
for the next footstep
the menace
of the twisted rusty nail
& its treachery
betraying the next footfall
as he walks over
the unremitting years
into my eyes
wide with wonder
listening to him
tell of himself
as a little boy
to his little boy
the me of then
my eyes now
following the road
of my father’s voice
as it wanders
barefoot
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 1:53 PM UTC
I’m the girl with the loudest laugh in the crowd, who warms the bodies of those who surround with happiness; the girl who puts on a smile and lights up the room, the girl who is there for everyone in their times of lonesome tears and times of trouble.
Within my laughs are cries of pain; among my lips is a dreadful control, constantly attempting to stop the quivering muscles; inside the bright room, the shadows wrap around me in their soothing embrace, drawing me into their abyss yet again; I’m the girl who wants to be comforted, calmed, and loved.
Notice me, and what I entail. Listen to my words, and try to understand their meaning. Look into my eyes and hear their quiet whispers as they spill out the secrets of sable struggles, a seemly sacrificed soul, and a sensibly sobered sanity.
This illness crawls through my brain, embedding the virus deeper into me, and stripping away all remembrances of my wholesome well-being. My body shivers and shutters despite the piles of blankets on top of me, or the two jackets upon my back. This physical cold is nothing compared to the grim cold running through my veins. I’m dawned with illness as my muscles shake and strain from the trifling weight of my own sorrow.
With each brush stroke, more hair comes out. The dark, twined mane falls on the floor of my bathroom tub, haunting me with judgment. My nails are peeled, the bags under my eyes darkened, the shine from my hair gone; all to feel normal. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, why am I doing this to myself?
___________________________________
eating disorders, bulimia, depression, lost, lonely, depressed, struggles, pain, coping, mia, ana, life
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
HouseKeeping
I want the Key
Not just the key
The master key
Unlock every door and more
Of course I act like I wouldn't care
Who had it or where
But secretly I want the key
And all the doors it unlocks
And all the rooms that entail
And the prowess of the detail
Nothing stops me
Nowhere
Cause I have the key
I unlock the doors
I don't wait for anyone anymore
Hush now don't say a word
Someone could be listening
Can I trust you'll listen later
Or will you name my crime
The dime you'll pass
To try and save your own ***
I understand I do
You do what you have to for you
So now that you know I won't deny
I've never been to keen to lie
I admit my crime
I give my wrists
To pay for all my wits
I don't regret at all
As the door closes and I fall
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 2:29 PM UTC
Strange times. When I speak of caressing your mantic lungs
I don’t know what I mean, but I know
I would hurl you under proper circumstances.
Darling, one whisper falls from a tree silently
so as not to wake the ghosts from their siestas.
Your robe has holes I can’t write of. I can fathom
getting there, what that might entail, wrapping,
as I am prone to, my fingers around your furry pincers
while I wait for you to read my rights to the ceiling fan
who whirls above our renovated combustions like the glowering
eye of our Lord upon the teary-eyed wicked.
I am not looking to escape through the window, darling.
I am diving for your diamond-in-the-rough, peeling off barnacles,
making moustaches of seaweed. You threw it into that ocean-
sized trough in which you drown lizards as way of
stress-release. I don’t know what I’ll do next.
The poor man. You give me your hand,
darling, and your robe, your robe is shiny like a pubescent star,
and it shimmies like a wagon piecing itself apart, as you
piece yourself apart, starting with your smile, which was always more
like a photograph of a dune in a textbook.
You give me your hand. It is a blue egg
dusted with microorganisms. I sprinkle it with our fragrance,
what’s left of it. I wish happiness upon your sleep-life, doldrums
upon your late-night haunting. I am tired and these
machines are so convenient, bringing me on all-expenses-
paid visits to the site of your burial. Or is it your sister’s?
I quote, my heart is like a walled onion.
The poor man is tired. It is not 1904 anymore.
You are not smiling anymore, darling, but you give me your hand.
You give it in a basket with parsley and cheese
and cut-outs from The Waterlogged God.
You give it almost grudgingly but I will keep it.
You tell me you’ve been dreaming again of train stations.
I wonder what that means.
I wonder about your eyes.
There are many spiders inside the wall, and along it,
and on the chandelier’s fingers, and inside the spiders.
I quote, a dream is worth a thousand dustpans, but you,
darling, are worth so much more than dustpans.
But I grow weepy, as stated. What do those dark blue lines mean?
Your fingers, darling, smell of a dark cloud in an electrical storm.
Your palm is a circus. Your nails ticket stubs.
That one’s from the alligator show. You dislocated your
throat. I had a plan. If you stare into someone’s eyes for
more than six seconds, you’ll want to lick them.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 8:20 PM UTC
Loving the abstract you
Now that you in flesh are
No longer here
(Many years,
So long)
Your hair unplugs the bathroom
Harsh words
Entail no tears
Your beauty lingers
Burned under my eyelids
And your perspicacity
Shields my fear
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 6:57 AM UTC
A thousand thoughts run through my head
Impossible to decode
What they entail
Like trying to tell where a water drop fell into the oceans swell
If it's not a blur then its painful as hell
Coals placed up and down my spine
Where does anyone find the time to get their feelings in line while keeping the appearance to be fine
I often sit in the darkness with the small light of hope
My mistakes woven thick into a rope
Tied around the tree grown by the seeds sewn into my head
To seek help is to burden others
To be myself is to over think
I can only take so much more weight before i finally sink
Id rather bite the hand that feeds myself
Id rather drown slowly than ask for help
My insecurities speak louder than anything else
With this shovel passed down to me ill bury my heart mind and soul
My body will be left to decompose outside of the hole
Maybe then the child I never got to be will grow again
Maybe then the worlds worth of weights will be lifted
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 6:25 PM UTC
broken shards of glass and snow
pick up each one blow by blow
mix my blood into the earth
paper tigers have no worth
set my sails to open sea
unbind the knots and set me free
I elucubrate my feeble quarrel
composed of petals, orchids floral
taste the crumbs and rusk abound
ne'er again to hear the sound
longing sighs and an exhale
and all the night could entail
but you care for dim shadows not
and dawn becomes long forgot
my words spill on pages flat
each sheet falls through the slat
my thesis burns by candle light
every sentence shifts more trite
but you remain my constant spark
and for a moment, hope embarks
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC
One day
Of tranquility
I ask for
My Sabbath;
I am asphyxiating
From the theft
Of my infancy;
Cheated…
Out of tenderness and innocence.
What is
Momentous
About these things
We twist our spines for,
From which we make sacrifice?
My Sabbath,
I need.
It shall entail
A calm oasis, a breezy field
Ice cold water, citrus scent
A billion smiles and sky blue eyes
Two welcome arms
For while I lie;
Lament for distance
Of fifty lives
That are not mine,
That aren’t my time.
My Sabbath,
A drunken reverie
On a cool, clear reservoir
Viewing the sea, drifting away;
My Sabbath
For only
Today.
Jan 5, 2010
Jan 5, 2010 at 12:39 AM UTC
Politer to fruit
In the name, of a toil's box
Sat by order's river, the irony we suit
To possess a stilled eye, which has savored not
Run, fool, run
Sown notice, of a quiet in the din
Of the jungle, we notice the hope of cunning
To save a charging guidance to what we have, for sin
Win, tool, win
Lead since, fed genius
Is a harboring cold, the driven nature of meant?
In the dim eye's I forgave, many tears come to season
Sun, who'll, sun
Avid in heat we prophecy, is a need's shame
Poised to entail all, the voice of method's begun
To make a wish in open seem, the order to a name
Sin, cool, sin
Token treasure, thunder in the east
So willed, for a moment to understand again
Looking for a chosen one, that we lost at a feast
Gun, soul, gun
Driven by horror and the beauty of childhood
Where a blind friendship with only a smile sung
Has come and gone anew, like a heart of would...
Halt and salt, why do you insist?
Savage as a paradise with a missing child can be...
A sign of the times, a sovereignty to ask, is a glue this...?
Miracles in a guilty eye, are we that we are, kindred's anarchy?
Jul 4, 2022
Jul 4, 2022 at 7:11 PM UTC
For so long while the rushing rivers broke through the dams resting below the bridge where we used to share the secrets that flowed out like blood oozing from your aggressive heart
I laid myself in a grave with the dirt covering my body but leaving my mouth to gasp the air that you controlled and seemed to restrict me from living
I've beaten my angry mind, trying relentlessly to compel myself that our memories together are ephemeral
But as often as the sun rises and as accurate as the tides roll up on shore
You are the moon dragging them there, a forcible action corrupting the truth to exist in a fabricated manor, overbearing, inescapable, we shared a time lapse I can no longer deflect from my remembrances
It was you who sent the raven to my window, perched up on the ledge, opening it's beak to formulate the sound that would entail a long and arduous torture of being in love with someone who could hardly provide me with so much as a smile
Instead a laundry list of tears flowed out of the machines, overflowing the surfaces with salty indications of an unhappy relationship
But evasive behaviors were your M/O
A constant recurrence of neglect, I watch the raven fly away leaving the chill breeze to ruffle my hair and scramble my thoughts
How could I breathe with the perpetual exhalation of carbon dioxide collecting within my lungs
The very breath you sent in through your imminent kiss that tore my lips apart?
The broken dam shelters all of the lost love and all of the mutual secrets that fled your lips and right into the ears of hungry souls begging for a reason to shatter me into pieces
Sleepless nights and dreamless awakenings
I cannot house these emotions any longer, but you won't leave, you found the key and the open door never fazes you
Why do I find you resting in my bed and smoking your daily cigarette on my porch?
Your hazardous fumes are encircling my already dazed confusion, filling my lungs with your cancerous habits
My thoughts grow as stale as the ***** I douse myself in, highly flammable, as you hold the lighter
You would much rather see me suffer in the memories than burn me to the ground and relieve my inner pain
You sadist.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
nothing could ever capture the extent of your beauty my love
your face like the night sky
your freckles as scattered as the foreign stars
and your eyes like the beautiful glowing moon
but your smile and your laugh
are what some would call angelic
but darling nothing could ever contain this
no camera lens could ever have it all
from your curly locks to your favorite socks
it could never hold it all
no poem could ever hold enough words my love
words don't even exist that entail as much beauty
as no song could have as beautiful a melody as your laughter
don't you see my love?
you are the epitome of true beauty
from your actions to your face
inside and out you are gorgeous
i hope the whole world recognizes this
and i hope you do to
for only physical proof can show how spectacular you are
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 8:30 PM UTC