"evacuated" poems
/
Many days
I do not read any newspaper
Even do not see television
At all
Many days have gone
After You
I do not read any poetry
How to feel that since this morning!
Repeatedly hear identifying tunes on the air
Your arrival in the sky,
The air reverberates
Looks like another day
In the Paradise,
In another song,
Which brings the soul
The Aroma
Everyone is coming out
From all sides
Young Old
Babies Boys
Women Men
Everyone
Everyone is clapping
Singing the song of the same tune
This song is not the song of Rain
Not even a lamentation
The Southern breeze whispering your words
Slowly Said,
The Little Tailor Bird
No, No,
Not such a summer afternoon
Not even a hurricane warning
Each of the human eye
Follow the Eastern Sky
Tireless Eye
Watching the sun,
The Red Sun,
You went to bring dreams for us
From the Sun
Hundreds of thousands of people
In his next question
Hand with Flower
Shoulder to Shoulder
Today will be the day of strangers,
The poet will come
We are standing in the flowers
Fist full of dreams to take
Float in the sky with white clouds
My dreams are calling again
Today is not such an Autumn
But Still feel like an Autumn
Indeed,
The poet will come,
A poem in the New
Where each word will be spoken dream
Love to be evacuated
Poems that will repay
The debt to my Ancestor
Take revenge on thee
For their injustice,
Torture
Poems that would bring the stars
For our next generation
A poem that would bring the red rose for my darling,
Would bring such a smile to my mother's face
As Moon that smile
And that is simply killed false dreams
Will we ever Released
Sing Freedom Songs
The Poet,
My beloved Poet
You will come,
Will surely come
And will recite your immortal poem
/
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 11:11 AM UTC
Is it a mystical force
Within me
That shuts the streetlight down
As I pass beneath?
That quiets the crickets
As I stride by
At this ridiculous time of day?
Such silly girlhood notions
To imagine I posses that kind of power
And I thought those childhood fantasies
Were evacuated
Must be hiding away from the darkness
Behind my spleen
Undectable to me.
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
so i guess this is it,
the end of forever;
no one could've seen this coming.
the separation of past, present, and future.
past:
a smile from you
could spawn
a kaleidoscope of monarchs
in the pit of my stomach.
i fell in love
with the way you rested your chin
upon my head,
we were invincible.
i could have laid in your arms
for years.
i would have.
i had enough hope to feed a village.
present:
you tell me
this was long overdue,
that we're past our prime,
but there's no expiration date
on the sound of your laughter.
how do i explain to you
there are parts of my life
that move slower
without you in them?
today i am a quiet shade of blue.
future:
people will ask me
what was loving him like?
and i will smile and say
***it was as if
the sadness had never swept me
under the rug***.
i will tell them
how i felt whole,
how you gave me something
to look forward to.
i will tell them
how you lit a fire in my chest
and evacuated only yourself.
no words,
no warning,
not even the butterflies
made it out alive.
i should have known this was coming
by the way you always reeked of smoke
and bad intentions.
you see,
i confused you for someone
who would hold my hand
when things got dark.
i just wish i had some closure.
j.c.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 10:27 PM UTC
This letter, is to inform you, about a
bomb threat
that we received this, morning. Name of a Name
Unified Consolidated ISD,
a State-Recognized School of Somethingness,
Where Kids Come First under the theme of
All The Kids All The Curriculum All The Time
is committed, to the safety and education
of all our students and We Are Number One,
Go #Thundercatbears!, ‘Cause We are #All-Hashtagged
in Unity and Oneness. We also, want
to clearly communicate with split infinitives
And crazy commas all over the place
to parents about safety issues when they
get found out arise.
This morning, a phone call, was received,
by the receptionist at
The-Latest-Name-Held-in-Place-with-Velcro-Until-the-Next-Name-Change
Elementary School and Essential Spirit
Dreams New Dawn Progress Learning and
Technology Center of the Future
stating a
bomb
was present, on the campus.
After conferring with the Threat Assessment Team,
The Standard Response Protocol team,
the Chinkypin-Lizard Lick Police Department parked in the handicapped spaces at Tia Jolene’s Goremay Eats ‘n’ Bokays out next to the Interstate,
the cheerleader sponsors,
Facebook,
Twitter,
our attorneys,
and Superintendent Dr. Hamestus Goodoleboy “Spike” Ponsonby III,
the students were rapidly, and efficiently evacuated
to a safe area up in the football bleachers
where they would be more obvious targets
and the school was professionally and thoroughly
swept for anything suspicious and untoward.
During this time,
when no students were in danger,
another call was received stating that gunshots
were fired in the school. There were no gunshots,
fired in the school and
no children were in danger at any time.
Currently, we’re are is allowing students,
who were never in any danger,
to return to school as usual
where there was never any danger at any time.
We will have extra counselors and therapists available
if students or parents needs supports are
counsolining in spelling ‘n’ sentence structure.
The students were never in any danger at any time.
All threats to our school where
their was never any danger
and students who were never in any danger
will be taken seriously immediately
and thoroughly and investigated
thoroughly and fully except for that call
last week that we managed to keep covered up.
We wanted to inform you of the correct facts
because our correct facts are the only facts
so you can discuss them with your child/ren
Of any race, *** color, creed, religion,
or gender identification or not
and emphasize the seriousness of our facts,
which are the only facts. If you discover
Any facts untoward or out of place please contact us
At the district office at
*** *** xxxx ext ***
or the Chinkypin - Lizard Lick Police Department
immediately and thoroughly.
No children were in, danger at any time.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 5:07 PM UTC
Kathmandu
a quaint, romantic name,
had wanted to go there now it is a dream.
Nepal, this small mountain country
often used a golf ball between big countries
for purely selfish reasons.
Thousands of people killed and classical
palaces are reduced dust covering
mountain tops
as a fog of sadness
Cry my lovely I can only offer you friendship.
But for the tourists who evacuated on
Himalayas’ sacred top.
Filling valleys with empty cans of beef
and toilet paper flapping in the wind,
I have little empathy
rich tourists that had to bestride and befoul
a holy mountain.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
He lost his arm
By a cooked bomb
His world lit up like firecrackers
He was engulfed in fire and metal shards
Then his body went numb
So he was stitched up
And sent back home
There was a new brand of limbs
So he volunteered to be experimented on
For a prosthetic arm
As he went through new trials during the day
He suffered at night
He had night terrors about where he was evacuated from
Seeing himself holding a ticking time bomb
While bullets whisked past above
The bomb sunk into his hand like a solider in the slums
And as the time ticked one
His arm turned to glass and exploded
The shards from his arm imbedded themselves in his skin
This was his dreamed
He beg to be fixed
But even though they could give him a new arm
They couldn't fixed what he saw when he closed his eyes
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
When did news parody
stop being funny?
Was it somewhere between
Alan Jackson’s 9/11 cash-in
and Donald Trump’s hair?
Was it BoJo stranded on a zipline over London,
or Cameron’s alleged porcine relations
(bizarrely black-mirroring fiction)?
When did the news
start doing Chris Morris’ job for him?
When did they start
pre-satirising the headlines?
“No evidence mermaids exist,” says US Government.
Swimming pool evacuated after prosthetic leg is mistaken for **********
Robots follow Marco Rubio to South Carolina.
I swear, I didn’t
make any of those up.
The actors on Saturday Night Live
are more statesmanlike
than the Presidential Primary Candidates they’re lampooning.
How the hell do they breed these
creatures? These gurning,
overgrown foetuses with their
conveniently dead ****** sisters to get
all wet-eyed and tumescent over,
their boomingly hollow controversy and
their total, catastrophic
crashes of personality.
These loathsome
organic constructs who would seem
more relatable and trustworthy if
their image consultants made them wear
Nixon masks for every
public appearance.
When did it all become
this strange, sick spoof
of itself?
Is there no one left in Britain who can make a sandwich?
Man dressed as penguin receives more votes than the Liberal Democrats.
Piers Morgan given jail time for illegally hacking ‘phones and gloating about it.
Okay.
I made the last one up.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 6:07 AM UTC
I am the first raindrop that fell from the sky.
I was in the first cloud,
The first puddle in time.
The other raindrops wanted to be just like me.
They fell into my puddle and we created the sea.
I evaporated back
Into the clouds,
then repeated the cycle till man came around.
I was the first raindrop that man ever drank.
I spent some time in the stomach then soaked into his bloodstream.
I evacuated onto a tree in the woods.
Absorbed into the branches and provided it food.
Escaped and retired, relaxed in the dirt,
I was the first ground water on this earth.
Again I found my way home to my place in the sky.
The clouds were darker than usual,
Something wasn't right.
All at once, the first smoke stack,
coughed in my face.
I'm the first victim of acid rain.
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 4:29 AM UTC
I
The characters on the ashen keyboard were faded, now yellow smudges remain
and the words that once danced like clouds in his mind had been evacuated
Reading back on a thousand pages, the writer realised that he was wrong
while the shredder destroyed the lives of every personality he had created
(God's fading smile)
Littering the floor were the shards of paper, twisted and unnerving
Thin strips made new languages, new words, forlorn dictionary
Grasping at the shreds, our writer assembled a masterpiece
Seward on the Ouija board, advice from beyond
(Joyce laughed from) the grave
Scrawling longhand in a notebook on a jaunting bus through the city
No eye-contact, no interaction, careful contemplation
To the river he headed, concrete conscience
Writing nothing
Careless disregard for the laws of language
While they shunned his intellect
and tore pages before him
Scornful
No education, just a passion for words
Running away from his sadness
and learning that it don't stop
Ripples in the water
Single raindrop
Stop.
II
Start,
A tear fell backwards
Wrinkles in the brow begin to fade
Experiencing happiness for the first time, sweet joy
Sprinting in reverse, looking for the smile, return to a face
Think back to schoolyard glory and the books that were once relished
Admiration
They glued his life together
Praising the grinning genius before them
Careful preparation, consulting his Bible, The English Dictionary
Writing everything
To the world he was headed, mind free of guilt
Shaking the hands of a thousand folk, the happiness in a community
Caressing the keys of a pristine writing machine, black ink perfection on a white page
(Joyce sighed from the grave)
Seward on the Ouija board, applauded from beyond
Grasping at his hands, "this writer assembled a masterpiece"
Thin pages made new languages, new words, pregnant dictionary
Littering the coffee tables of many a home, words of beauty and precision
(God's enlightened gaze)
While the printer confirmed the lives of every personality he had created
Reading back on a thousand pages, the writer realised that he was correct
and the words that once drifted like clouds in his mind, now bees making honey, eternal hive
The characters on the immaculate keyboard were dazzling, free from corruption and scrutiny
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
The tenants of my heart,
Have so recently been evacuated,
Their departure was abrupt,
And they left much behind.
But my heart is for rent,
I'm opening up the space,
I promise you, you'll be pleased,
There is no better place.
The space is wide and open,
You can paint the walls,
I won't mind.
Make the place your home,
It's safe, it's warm,
The fee is rather small, I swear,
And a simple thing to do,
I will not charge you money to rent,
Out my simple heart,
I only ask that you bring love with,
And please,
Don't tear it apart.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 10:30 AM UTC
Sergeant Blackman
A Royal Marine
Convicted for ******
Sentenced to ten years
He shot an injured insurgent
They came upon him
And were going to
Call in a helicopter
Or had called one in
He told his comrades
Not a word
That is was against
The Geneva Convention
One shot
And the Taliban insurgent
Was dead
Sergeant Blackman
Saw his friends die
The Taliban are ruthless
And evil
I can't even imagine
The hatred one would
Have for them
After fighting them
For that long
I hate them very much
And I've never
Been to Afghanistan
Still, he should have
Had him evacuated
Or shot him from a distance
Before they came upon him
It was a violation
Of the Geneva Convention
Sergeant Blackman will serve
Ten years
American Drone pilots
Who **** innocents
Are not brought to trial
Some people feel as though
He has been made
Into a scapegoat
I understand
Why you did it
Sergeant Blackman
Thank you for your service
I hope you killed many Taliban
During your service there
The Taliban do not respect innocent life
They are evil
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 4:21 PM UTC
She sits in the dark
clinging to wall spaces
where light switches used to matter.
The power's out.
He is her only light in a city turned black.
She fears the darkness.
It makes her skin curdle
like the warm milk sitting in the fridge.
The heat recedes slowly from the apartment.
He lights candles and brings her something to eat.
Her pulse steadys at the sound of his breathing,
but quickens as the winds thrash outside,
knocking trees, houses, people.
Inside isn't safe.
More often than not, danger draws her in,
but not now, not tonight, not with nature as a foe.
Her family has gone, evacuated with the rest of them.
So, she's alone, and
she sits in the dark,
with him.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
In her dreams, the docent
maneuvers schoolchildren
down museum corridors,
shepherding their bodies
into evacuated galleries
where nothing changes
except the patterns
of nails hammered
into plaster walls.
She speaks pedantic
falsehoods until one
by one the children
disengage and find
themselves a constellation
of nails upon which to hang.
A renaissance takes time, but
not as much as you might think.
Come midnight,
the museum is full
of masterpieces.
And though the works
of art make her weep,
the docent is inspired
to study each small frame
for a brushstroke
that might signify
the break of dawn.
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 9:44 AM UTC
I took a vacation from myself
And my standard personality
My vices and virtues left behind
I became someone new
Sheded my skin
Evacuated my shell
Molted my feathers
And wandered off to the abyss
What I once called the truth
What I once named false
Both thrown up in the air
Now I see which falls into my lap
Sharing ****** pleasures with men and women alike
In an illustrious ***** affair
Smoking herb, dropping out and drinking the forbidden wine
With no second thought
With no regret or remorse
No rules
No laws
No restrictions
Rebelling against myself
And whatever is given to me
But why?
How come?
To test limits
To break through
To a place of nothing
No gods
No kings
No me
To test myself
My boundaries
To abandon my comfort zone
And take a trip to the edge, then go over it
I’ve been to the land
Of discipline
Of self control
Of obedience
And conformity
Faded out to the valley of shadows
Nowheresville
Population me
I’ll return
To my roots
Soon enough
With the knowledge
Of how far I’ll go
How deep I care to let myself go
How heavy a load I can carry
Loosening my grip of reality
Only to adjust it
To a level of pressure that suites me best
Make changes in myself
To be the person I want to be
Rearrange my life
And see what I actually believe
So until I come home, peace be with you
If I’m not back in ten minutes
Just wait a little bit longer
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 1:04 PM UTC
I sometimes wield the pen in spite
Of why I am convinced I write
The poetic words that I spill
Spill like a glass of water
That’s been stirred to overflow
By my feelings and thoughts or so
I have gotten to know
The will of the flow
The direction that it wants to go
That’s what po-
etry is all about, no?
Because poem starts
with a P for personal
Not popular
Or populous
Not for the people who prefer prying
Pickpocketing or playful plying
In the placid plains inside
It’s for the persons who pray
To the poet’s plight
To go out on an odyssey,
with an O, the second letter
Not omniscient
Or omnipotent
For oscillating with your own
Is only for ones once overthrown
By an onslaught of hydrogen per-oxide
Those ostracized and odd
Off, yet open to the outside
E is the third letter
And it stands for emotional
Or extorted
until emptiness
Extended
after the excavation had ended
and emotion was evacuated ere
The embodiment of ecstasy
Had been enterred here
Lastly M stands for me!
Me, myself and I!
Not the masses who maim
My mind and meticulously aim
For the mark on my midbrain
Just the men and wo-men who make do
With musing about the mechanisms of
Mother Earth and her miracles too
Poetry is a gift
Out with it to be at ease
Especially for yourself
May it help you find peace
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
With all my heart I wish I could think with just my brain.
I wish emotions were easily controlled,
Like the wind
sometimes.
Harness its raw power and turn it into a type of energy that's pure,
Cleansing to the world.
But I guess there are tornadoes,
Who funnel into one destructive force,
Tearing down everything that was supposed to be permanent and leaving behind nothing
except a trail of desolate bareness littered with broken everything.
And then there's the hurricane.
The power and area it covers is immense, effectively covering everything in a dark shadow
and flooding the area.
In the center is the ebony hearth of the storm, the monster swirling around indefinitely,
whispering promises of catastrophe.
And no one is there to stop it,
Because everyone's already evacuated to somewhere more convenient.
Everyone's already moved on,
before the waters could flow and the hurricane could fully develop...
I hate when my heart starts
sk ip pi ng
At the prospects of idealism, for dreams
Are sometimes not the logical choice but what is life without interest?
Disappointment is something I'm used to
In society,
In everyone's expectations,
in myself.
Why is the heart so painful?
Why is something that is so essential to life so easily ripped apart?
Why is mine always leading me in the direction my brain knows is wrong?
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC
Rubber ***** fired,
like grapeshot from cannons,
through a hall of xylophones and
trampolines.
Lemming pianos,
evacuated en masse down
a spiral staircase, piling,
a heap of discordant corpses,
at the foot of the last stair.
The screaming of a star
smeared across space and pasted,
like paint, onto
the smirking invisible face
behind a singularity.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC
The sun shone bright
on the Saturday afternoon
as Helen put her doll
Battered Betty
on the bombsite rubble
off Arch Street
near the coal wharf
and sat down beside you
(crossed legged)
peering
at the bombed out ruin
of a nearby house
wonder what it felt like
being bombed?
she said
I mean
one minute
you’re trying to get
the kids to sleep
next minute
a ruddy great bomb
blasts you all
to Kingdom Come
you offered her
a sweet candy cigarette
from a blue and yellow packet
don’t know
you said
but my mum said
that when she was home
with my gran
during one bombing raid
they hid under
the kitchen table
with her baby niece Carol
Helen sat opened mouthed
her hand holding
the hand
of her battered doll
anyway
you went on
my mum’s stepfather
( her dad having died
from TB in 1936)
was under there too
but my mum said
he had his backside
sticking out
from under the table
as if
that was unbombable
Helen laughed
and so did you
bet it was horrible
to be bombed
she said
but I would have hated
being evacuated
from my mum
even for a day
she ******
on the sweet cigarette
held between two fingers
and stared
at the ruin
with half a roof
and two walls standing
revealing wallpaper
on the inside
of one wall
my gran said
you continued
an old couple
next to them
on hearing
the air raid siren
began to run
toward the bomb shelter
in the garden
when the old lady stopped
and the old man said
what you looking for?
my teeth she said
and he said
they’re dropping
ruddy bombs
not mince pies
Helen spluttered
into laughter
almost on choking
on the sweet cigarette
don’t
she said
I near wet myself then
and she clutched her doll
to her chest
patting its back
there there Betty
she said
it’s only a story
and you looked
at her small hand
tapping the doll’s back
the fingers tight together
love in each tap
a good mother
she’d make
you thought
with schoolboy love
looking at her profile
the thick lens
spectacles
the plaited hair
and her small hand
going tap tap
on the back
of the battered doll
in her flower skirted lap.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 2:28 AM UTC
Perhaps it is because they very simply
loved wild poppies,
or the unexpected press of wind.
Learning early of that airless, evacuated space
of love to come
they kept ready the guestroom,
hemmed the waiting into their very clothes.
That there are these persisting towers
yearning crazily despite Babylon,
rising up from the dish of the dead's affirmation
like a stamen from a spring of pollen.
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 3:24 PM UTC
Welcome to my programmed event
Here in the stadiums
That I built under my innocence
I've working on a new test,
A new subject
That subject is called her
I've been pulling
On a few of her strings
And tested her
To the limit of no return
Remember her?
Probably not
Because
She left that smile
In the waiting room
The one you saw
When You talked her
About Canadians waiting in line
You didn't realize
That I was a ticking time bomb
For her demise
The test are done
The lab is closed
And I am presenting a hypothesis
On how to break someones heart
Lets starts with if's and then's
If you scream ****** ******
Then you execute her buckets
That hold liquid pain
If you look closer
You will see that the patient
Will quiver due to her soul
Being electrocuted
From the shock therapy
That my words
Joyfully give off.
If you you repeat stuff
Then the patient's oils
Will leak off the face
Leaving the hollow,
Evacuated soul
Searching for survivors
In the damaged hearts
If you take her for granted
Then you will be alone
No one to watch movies with you
On a Friday night
No one to make you realize
How lucky you are
If you are alone
Then the oils
Will leak off your face
Leaving the hollow,
Evacuated soul
Searching for survivors
In the damaged hearts
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
Lips zipped, silent chants eloped my soul
Into midnight divine dreams
Took me into His light of heavenly delight
With Him along I was so proud n’ privileged
One to one in close touch, so curious was I to know
As to why He imposed unwanted death in life
He smelled a rat and smiled at me funny guy
Flew me across mysterious Milky Way
Along lifeless stars glittering in His light
Cracked a divine truth that once upon a time
Some planets were blessed of berth of only births
Of endless life as wished
Density of piled up life for ages
Grew by leaps n’ bounds
Life inundated the planets
In course of time, of course
Planets lost their ground n’ gravity
Air evacuated, Oceans evaporated
Life screeched alarming in vain paralysed
Unable to hold n’ uphold weight n’ volume
Planets failed to host and expunged life for ever
Behold my son, He said so kind,
Planetary cemetery here n there so dry
Holding testimony to catastrophic journey
Forcing cycle of birth n’ death to put in motion
To bestow everlasting breath to life
On planet earth one at its best
So saying angel tabbed me to wake up
I am a bit puzzled whether to construe:
Dream a theme or theme a dream
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
Snatched from the grasp of my slippery hand
as we were being evacuated
the hardship to reach the borders and safety
the pressure at last released
such noises of gun fire and the inevitable panic
pitiful humanity scared and sick!
Surging forward afraid they were being deserted
trampling upon each other
screams of many children and mothers separated
soldiers callous and cruel
degrading those forced from their homelands
all they owned in their hands!
My wife forced from my grasp in the wave
of such utter chaos and despair
snatched like a tree branch in a fast moving river
now not water but human misery
without hope stability or permanent destination
my search I start in desperation!
Searching for her betwixt the endless conflicts!
The Foureyed Poet.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 10:05 AM UTC
Prompt: Fill in the details of this phrase: “The place was boarded up seven days after Easter.”
Vacant lots remain where hundreds of cars once sat, leaving nothing behind
except their deep tracks, proof that they had once been place upon the earth.
Where there were once beautiful reds, purples and oranges,
now stand deer bitten flowers, brown sticks that seep deep into the mud like a quicksand victim.
The place was boarded up seven days after Easter, taking the ticket office too.
Every building left just as it had been moments before, as if evacuated for a storm.
That’s how they do things here, forsake places that have become a nuisance,
disregarding a place because apparently it has outstayed its welcome.
I want to go in to take one last look around campus, but they have blocked off the road
from the public. Instead I wait by the wooden horses and look at a place I once called home.
I heard that they plan to tear it all down, leaving nothing behind but a ghost
of what used to be.
So once more, what has once flourished has now been forgotten,
but its memories will live on within the hearts of its alumni.
May 15, 2011
May 15, 2011 at 7:07 PM UTC