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"familiarly" poems
Remember Barbara It rained relentlesly on Brest that day And you walked smiling Beaming ravishing drenched Under the rain Remember Barbara It rained relentlesly on Brest that day And I ran into you in Siam Street You were smiling And I smiled too Remember Barbara You whom I didn't know You who didn't know me Remember Remember that day still Don't forget A man was taking cover on a porch And he cried your name Barbara And you ran to him under the rain Beaming ravishing drenched And you threw yourself in his arms Remember that Barbara And don't be mad if I speak familiarly I speak familiarly to everyone I love Even if I've seen them only once I speak familiarly to all who are in love Even if I don't know them Remember Barbara Don't forget That good and happy rain On your happy face On that happy town That rain upon the sea Upon the arsenal Upon the Ushant boat Oh Barbara What stupidity is war Wwhat has become of you Under this iron rain Of fire and steel and blood And he who held you in his arms Amorously Is he dead and gone or still so much alive Oh Barbara It's rained all day on Brest today As it was raining before But it isn't the same anymore And everything is wrecked It's a rain of mourning terrible and desolate Nor is it still a storm Of iron and steel and blood But simply clouds That die like dogs Dogs that disappear In the downpour drowning Brest And float away to rot A long way off A long long way from Brest Of which there's nothing left.
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17.1k
Jacques Prévert
Barbara
Remember Barbara It rained relentlesly on Brest that day And you walked smiling Beaming ravishing drenched Under the rain Remember Barbara It rained relentlesly on Brest that day And I ran into you in Siam Street You were smiling And I smiled too Remember Barbara You whom I didn't know You who didn't know me Remember Remember that day still Don't forget A man was taking cover on a porch And he cried your name Barbara And you ran to him under the rain Beaming ravishing drenched And you threw yourself in his arms Remember that Barbara And don't be mad if I speak familiarly I speak familiarly to everyone I love Even if I've seen them only once I speak familiarly to all who are in love Even if I don't know them Remember Barbara Don't forget That good and happy rain On your happy face On that happy town That rain upon the sea Upon the arsenal Upon the Ushant boat Oh Barbara What stupidity is war Wwhat has become of you Under this iron rain Of fire and steel and blood And he who held you in his arms Amorously Is he dead and gone or still so much alive Oh Barbara It's rained all day on Brest today As it was raining before But it isn't the same anymore And everything is wrecked It's a rain of mourning terrible and desolate Nor is it still a storm Of iron and steel and blood But simply clouds That die like dogs Dogs that disappear In the downpour drowning Brest And float away to rot A long way off A long long way from Brest Of which there's nothing left.
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60
I want to go back, back to my New Orleans This place that I call New Orleans is actually Louisiana But still, the gorgeousness of this dirt and grime The live oaks stretching over the 6-lane wide streets, Touching leaftips, making a canopy over the passerbys Crepe myrtles showering streets with lacy pink faerie dresses Smells of beignets and seafood fill the French Quarter Intense, consuming, warm, loving sun burning through your shirt In New Orleans to say horses sweat, men perspire and women glow is to be ridiculous. In New Orleans everyone sweats like pigs. As for the grime I mentioned, this exists mainly in the sidewalks cracked by live oaks which make an adventure of every walk down the street And in any semi-deserted street To have a Mardi Gras or St. Patrick's Day without a parade and citywide party is to toss aside traditions and the New Orleanian way The New Orleanians are welcoming, hearty and heartwarming, tough and unafraid to talk to a stranger on the streets. An old black man once greeted me with 'konichiwa' as I walked past A middle aged white man once struck up a conversation with us as he realised we had shared the same ferry earlier in the day An old asian woman conversed familiarly with our family at Cafe Du Monde simply because we are Vietnamese as well A teenaged white boy waved at us as we drove past him jogging A different old black man stopped and serenaded my siblings, mother and me with his trumpet just because we smiled Several young mothers and women have stopped my mother to gush  over my siblings and me, usually when we were very small I, myself, have given directions to a tourist or two, lost near Cafe Du Monde or the levee, And I hope that the warm smiling spirit of the Big Easy will remain forever immortal.
0
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
luckyqueue
longing for my new orleans
I want to go back, back to my New Orleans This place that I call New Orleans is actually Louisiana But still, the gorgeousness of this dirt and grime The live oaks stretching over the 6-lane wide streets, Touching leaftips, making a canopy over the passerbys Crepe myrtles showering streets with lacy pink faerie dresses Smells of beignets and seafood fill the French Quarter Intense, consuming, warm, loving sun burning through your shirt In New Orleans to say horses sweat, men perspire and women glow is to be ridiculous. In New Orleans everyone sweats like pigs. As for the grime I mentioned, this exists mainly in the sidewalks cracked by live oaks which make an adventure of every walk down the street And in any semi-deserted street To have a Mardi Gras or St. Patrick's Day without a parade and citywide party is to toss aside traditions and the New Orleanian way The New Orleanians are welcoming, hearty and heartwarming, tough and unafraid to talk to a stranger on the streets. An old black man once greeted me with 'konichiwa' as I walked past A middle aged white man once struck up a conversation with us as he realised we had shared the same ferry earlier in the day An old asian woman conversed familiarly with our family at Cafe Du Monde simply because we are Vietnamese as well A teenaged white boy waved at us as we drove past him jogging A different old black man stopped and serenaded my siblings, mother and me with his trumpet just because we smiled Several young mothers and women have stopped my mother to gush  over my siblings and me, usually when we were very small I, myself, have given directions to a tourist or two, lost near Cafe Du Monde or the levee, And I hope that the warm smiling spirit of the Big Easy will remain forever immortal.
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24
making love with no love (kissed her with his freedom) <•> a new person in an overnight stay in a strange, aptly named, bed and breakfast and you do all the same things that just feel good, careless loving that comes from practiced renewable remembering, kiss her neck for hours, drink in her crescendoing cooing rename her Appalachia, bemused, wondering why, she gasp-asks, when your tongue traces her odyssey body from her Georgia to her Maine, then no need to explain it all feels familiarly strange, imbalanced, shaky, loving the thrill of your first solo bike ride, an invisible hand letting go, the wow of walking the line of new freedom and old responsibility that you have walked on both coasts carry on, love is coming to us all lyric, enacted-recalled, loving yet another long cool woman in a black dress with unquestioning how to explain to her, how to yourself, loving with no loving, and the best you can stammer is it is like writing a poem with too many commas or none at all she laughs you up with one mouth lingering, then one amazing kiss on your heart and nose, grabs a piece of toast and gone girl, then you are returned to alone, to the dreams that may or may not have occurred and two hands overflowing with too many commas and none to keep <•> 11-18–17 2:54am, somewhere
0
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 10:13 AM UTC
makingloveintheafternoon
making love with no love (kissed her with his freedom 11/17)
making love with no love (kissed her with his freedom) <•> a new person in an overnight stay in a strange, aptly named, bed and breakfast and you do all the same things that just feel good, careless loving that comes from practiced renewable remembering, kiss her neck for hours, drink in her crescendoing cooing rename her Appalachia, bemused, wondering why, she gasp-asks, when your tongue traces her odyssey body from her Georgia to her Maine, then no need to explain it all feels familiarly strange, imbalanced, shaky, loving the thrill of your first solo bike ride, an invisible hand letting go, the wow of walking the line of new freedom and old responsibility that you have walked on both coasts carry on, love is coming to us all lyric, enacted-recalled, loving yet another long cool woman in a black dress with unquestioning how to explain to her, how to yourself, loving with no loving, and the best you can stammer is it is like writing a poem with too many commas or none at all she laughs you up with one mouth lingering, then one amazing kiss on your heart and nose, grabs a piece of toast and gone girl, then you are returned to alone, to the dreams that may or may not have occurred and two hands overflowing with too many commas and none to keep <•> 11-18–17 2:54am, somewhere
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33
In the slant of the sun on the country-side, Cattle and sheep trail home along the lane; And a rugged old man in a thatch door Leans on a staff and thinks of his son, the herdboy. There are whirring pheasants, full wheat-ears, Silk-worms asleep, pared mulberry-leaves. And the farmers, returning with hoes on their shoulders, Hail one another familiarly. ...No wonder I long for the simple life And am sighing the old song, Oh, to go Back Again.
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4.7k
Wang Wei
A Farmhouse on the Wei River
In the slant of the sun on the country-side, Cattle and sheep trail home along the lane; And a rugged old man in a thatch door Leans on a staff and thinks of his son, the herdboy. There are whirring pheasants, full wheat-ears, Silk-worms asleep, pared mulberry-leaves. And the farmers, returning with hoes on their shoulders, Hail one another familiarly. ...No wonder I long for the simple life And am sighing the old song, Oh, to go Back Again.
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10
It was a Saturday night  in the park his trees were singing out of tune his clay pigeons needed to come out of his closet for he was parked on a stool at his favorite watering hole amongst a full house where pairs beat singles and there he was shooting blanks drowning in his sorrows on his nine lives of lowlife hoping for a sitting duck in despair the kind that waddles right up to the Romeo's with suspense in their hearts and spontaneity in their wings a cackle that he can tackle to take home to his garden bed for him to be fed but what he got was for not, naught, knot wistful thinking sitting in a bar sinking for the jukebox played a broken record finding love in the wrong places and the joke squarely was on him for thinking, he could round the bases looking no further than the escape of his glows or a crutch of decoys and sitting ducks for he was no Romeo yet there he was still, like steel, a stole away in society forlorn, preserved like mamas mothballs tucked away in basement storage squandering the forage for there were no triple treats tonight for him or forever sounds grim for his reality check gone dim or no eye candy for his heart beats no picnic for his **** and all the bottled whiskey could not drown out his pain as his eyes were slain as the sitting ducks turned from his fantasy corner phantomlike and though he's sitting at the bar, a loner reminded that in cards of life pairs beat singles and in his worn hand familiarly holds a lonely joker for it's like he tries and its like his sitting ducks are like hoofed deer and his little sweets, are spooked hoofing away from his now darken forest like red ants at his picnic and the gleam in his eyes turned to the poorest its its as if his life and watering hole was condemned his garden bed cut at the stem it is as if he has a red vest on and a rifle don and all the hoofed deer panic looking at him in fear like he's manic or maybe it's his eyes that hold dark skies he orders another double trouble for what else is there to do on his Saturday night than to sit in a bubble forever sounds grim but sing him a sweet hymn he says please to wit as he steals peeks at the bartenders triple treats like a bee to a hive his joker still strikes a beat if only he can find a bolster for his gun needs a holster and a deer in the headlights would be hard to find the confession now told, tolled, towed through tears the guy in the bar window is me, sitting resigned Logan Robertson 10/18/2018
0
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 6:23 PM UTC
logan-robertson
This Sitting Duck Sits Resigned
It was a Saturday night  in the park his trees were singing out of tune his clay pigeons needed to come out of his closet for he was parked on a stool at his favorite watering hole amongst a full house where pairs beat singles and there he was shooting blanks drowning in his sorrows on his nine lives of lowlife hoping for a sitting duck in despair the kind that waddles right up to the Romeo's with suspense in their hearts and spontaneity in their wings a cackle that he can tackle to take home to his garden bed for him to be fed but what he got was for not, naught, knot wistful thinking sitting in a bar sinking for the jukebox played a broken record finding love in the wrong places and the joke squarely was on him for thinking, he could round the bases looking no further than the escape of his glows or a crutch of decoys and sitting ducks for he was no Romeo yet there he was still, like steel, a stole away in society forlorn, preserved like mamas mothballs tucked away in basement storage squandering the forage for there were no triple treats tonight for him or forever sounds grim for his reality check gone dim or no eye candy for his heart beats no picnic for his **** and all the bottled whiskey could not drown out his pain as his eyes were slain as the sitting ducks turned from his fantasy corner phantomlike and though he's sitting at the bar, a loner reminded that in cards of life pairs beat singles and in his worn hand familiarly holds a lonely joker for it's like he tries and its like his sitting ducks are like hoofed deer and his little sweets, are spooked hoofing away from his now darken forest like red ants at his picnic and the gleam in his eyes turned to the poorest its its as if his life and watering hole was condemned his garden bed cut at the stem it is as if he has a red vest on and a rifle don and all the hoofed deer panic looking at him in fear like he's manic or maybe it's his eyes that hold dark skies he orders another double trouble for what else is there to do on his Saturday night than to sit in a bubble forever sounds grim but sing him a sweet hymn he says please to wit as he steals peeks at the bartenders triple treats like a bee to a hive his joker still strikes a beat if only he can find a bolster for his gun needs a holster and a deer in the headlights would be hard to find the confession now told, tolled, towed through tears the guy in the bar window is me, sitting resigned Logan Robertson 10/18/2018
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111
I. I used to be a crocodile. I knew no risks, no tears, no joy no excitement to lure me above water, no work, for it was cut out for me in the shallows with the small fish, no heavens to make up for, no hells to hope for, no soul to shatter on mid-spring days when all life is but a nightmare and clouds are all but ******* on my head, who granted to desired effect that siren hoped for, who sits upon the sandy shore and whispers sweet songs to me, myself evolved, and repeats me back the songs I taught her, "Over and over again," she mocks. How Neptune did churn his waters to beach a loveless Odysseus here shall ever be unbeknownst to me. But beeswax I have fixed in my ears, but now I cannot hear my other friends in the trees. but once I make my flight from this island, away from the crocodiles, and starvation, and sirens, I will take it out, and I will hear! by God! I will hear and be heard! II. No sound. The siren's lips move; the water recedes. the sky grays. the crocodiles come. I am drawn near by her lotus lips that bid me down this tree but I must not dismount. but a second siren in the trees has been picking out my beeswax. Two songs. The reptiles draw ever nearer to the siren, her song is the loudest. The second siren sings a song of warning                              and captivation.                I dismount the tree to fight back the green menace, and save the first siren. I knew these fellows once. They were my friends, and now do I slay them. I see only jaws and red blood now, and now am I defeated. The crocodile has taken her as prey, so familiarly, for I was a crocodile once.
0
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 9:06 AM UTC
victor-thorn
The Siren's Isle
I. I used to be a crocodile. I knew no risks, no tears, no joy no excitement to lure me above water, no work, for it was cut out for me in the shallows with the small fish, no heavens to make up for, no hells to hope for, no soul to shatter on mid-spring days when all life is but a nightmare and clouds are all but ******* on my head, who granted to desired effect that siren hoped for, who sits upon the sandy shore and whispers sweet songs to me, myself evolved, and repeats me back the songs I taught her, "Over and over again," she mocks. How Neptune did churn his waters to beach a loveless Odysseus here shall ever be unbeknownst to me. But beeswax I have fixed in my ears, but now I cannot hear my other friends in the trees. but once I make my flight from this island, away from the crocodiles, and starvation, and sirens, I will take it out, and I will hear! by God! I will hear and be heard! II. No sound. The siren's lips move; the water recedes. the sky grays. the crocodiles come. I am drawn near by her lotus lips that bid me down this tree but I must not dismount. but a second siren in the trees has been picking out my beeswax. Two songs. The reptiles draw ever nearer to the siren, her song is the loudest. The second siren sings a song of warning                              and captivation.                I dismount the tree to fight back the green menace, and save the first siren. I knew these fellows once. They were my friends, and now do I slay them. I see only jaws and red blood now, and now am I defeated. The crocodile has taken her as prey, so familiarly, for I was a crocodile once.
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68
*Times of happiness, Times like this when everything seems perfectly fine yet imperfect..* When time passes by in an instant and no one knows what might happen next… We forget all our obsessions, tensions, problems, fears, nonsense And focus on time...time alone which has no absolute pathway… *No course of action or reaction… Only a measure of never or forever…* There could be a million alternatives that could take place but… It’s you and me… Together. Among all the possibilities of occurrences, The choice of the universe accounts to this… The perfect placement of two bodies of matter, In this chaotic yet constant time… You chose me. And I chose you. Subconscious and consciously In this place of uncertainties There might or might not be someone watching over, controlling us like puppets Or there might be more to it than we know it, Or I might not know, if not for the nick of time that happened to cross my destiny, Destiny… Was it? Or was it time? Or some power wanting to lead us here, Or was it already written, in the stars? So many questions but the answer one needs is if we exist at all… Do we? Or are we just a figment of someone’s imagination? Are we dreaming? Awake and thinking? Well all I can occasionally agree on is the fact that there was a want… A want of wanting everything to happen… The dreams we saw when we were small… Are we both living it? Or the thoughts you had…the imaginations… Are we living it all unknowingly? Maybe yes? Who knows? This want that keeps on arising for the want of more want… Everything wanting to happen at the same time… The right time, and the right place. Mornings changing into evenings and then nights For want of rest, Books increasing in number For want of knowledge, *Souls colliding with each other for want of escape..* Escaping this light of nothingness… A place familiarly known as world. We came, we met, we lived, we died… All in the same place where we in fact met to be together… For want of continuity and want of ? Even I do not know, I am but a helpless being of matter and my body turns to dust… *But not so ordinary either… as my existence and my soul does not cease to exist in this world…* I may be a mere mortal… But when we met… The universe wanted it, Destiny wanted it, You wanted it, Our souls wanted it, **But our minds… little did they know of this magic…** That revives dead senses and unknown feelings… Which has led us into this pathway of love… A mere flick of brain cells that prevent us to repel each other in all possible ways… *I love you... You are my eternity..*
0
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 4:55 AM UTC
nivedaamber
game of time and destiny..
*Times of happiness, Times like this when everything seems perfectly fine yet imperfect..* When time passes by in an instant and no one knows what might happen next… We forget all our obsessions, tensions, problems, fears, nonsense And focus on time...time alone which has no absolute pathway… *No course of action or reaction… Only a measure of never or forever…* There could be a million alternatives that could take place but… It’s you and me… Together. Among all the possibilities of occurrences, The choice of the universe accounts to this… The perfect placement of two bodies of matter, In this chaotic yet constant time… You chose me. And I chose you. Subconscious and consciously In this place of uncertainties There might or might not be someone watching over, controlling us like puppets Or there might be more to it than we know it, Or I might not know, if not for the nick of time that happened to cross my destiny, Destiny… Was it? Or was it time? Or some power wanting to lead us here, Or was it already written, in the stars? So many questions but the answer one needs is if we exist at all… Do we? Or are we just a figment of someone’s imagination? Are we dreaming? Awake and thinking? Well all I can occasionally agree on is the fact that there was a want… A want of wanting everything to happen… The dreams we saw when we were small… Are we both living it? Or the thoughts you had…the imaginations… Are we living it all unknowingly? Maybe yes? Who knows? This want that keeps on arising for the want of more want… Everything wanting to happen at the same time… The right time, and the right place. Mornings changing into evenings and then nights For want of rest, Books increasing in number For want of knowledge, *Souls colliding with each other for want of escape..* Escaping this light of nothingness… A place familiarly known as world. We came, we met, we lived, we died… All in the same place where we in fact met to be together… For want of continuity and want of ? Even I do not know, I am but a helpless being of matter and my body turns to dust… *But not so ordinary either… as my existence and my soul does not cease to exist in this world…* I may be a mere mortal… But when we met… The universe wanted it, Destiny wanted it, You wanted it, Our souls wanted it, **But our minds… little did they know of this magic…** That revives dead senses and unknown feelings… Which has led us into this pathway of love… A mere flick of brain cells that prevent us to repel each other in all possible ways… *I love you... You are my eternity..*
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70
happy birthday to you happy birthday to you happy birthday... happy birthday... happy birthday, to... Today I felt like I was born as a much saddder person I feel sadness because I feel lost the country I lived in all my life decided it was somewhere else and the people I called countrymen and friends decided to go with it nothing looks like it used to nothing feels like it's supposed to and even nothing has changed to become this everything. the sound of laughter escaping lips needs subtitles and the messages from my best friend's eyes need decrypting a knowing look no longer knowing where my parents house is where the giant tree, with kites stuck and tire swings is planted where I spent my years growing my old toys lie in attic space   I do not know what happened I don't know what went wrong but I just want to hear again the tune of that familiar birthday song happy...bir....ay ha...pybur... now, how did all that go?
0
Aug 10, 2011
Aug 10, 2011 at 7:02 AM UTC
fuckyoupo
familiarly strange
happy birthday to you happy birthday to you happy birthday... happy birthday... happy birthday, to... Today I felt like I was born as a much saddder person I feel sadness because I feel lost the country I lived in all my life decided it was somewhere else and the people I called countrymen and friends decided to go with it nothing looks like it used to nothing feels like it's supposed to and even nothing has changed to become this everything. the sound of laughter escaping lips needs subtitles and the messages from my best friend's eyes need decrypting a knowing look no longer knowing where my parents house is where the giant tree, with kites stuck and tire swings is planted where I spent my years growing my old toys lie in attic space   I do not know what happened I don't know what went wrong but I just want to hear again the tune of that familiar birthday song happy...bir....ay ha...pybur... now, how did all that go?
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27
I used sit beneath the shroud Of stars that swathed the sky, And gaze at length, with wistfulness At Moon’s cycloptic eye. My eyes absorbed familiarly What were in my own. Her perfect luminescent face Despite the scars that shown. I wondered if she missed the earth Around whom she did dance And if she tried, fruitlessly To catch his lonely glance. They’d never touch or cross in path On journey through the sky She knew this, and so did I No matter how she tried. I wonder beneath the moon All wrapped up in the sky But now I know just how it feels To only ever pine.
0
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
sarah-spang
Beneath the Moon
I used sit beneath the shroud Of stars that swathed the sky, And gaze at length, with wistfulness At Moon’s cycloptic eye. My eyes absorbed familiarly What were in my own. Her perfect luminescent face Despite the scars that shown. I wondered if she missed the earth Around whom she did dance And if she tried, fruitlessly To catch his lonely glance. They’d never touch or cross in path On journey through the sky She knew this, and so did I No matter how she tried. I wonder beneath the moon All wrapped up in the sky But now I know just how it feels To only ever pine.
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20
That second that slithers in Beckoning forbidden fancies As your lifeless figures lies in shadows That eat at your lonesome soul While he frolics among his virtuous games Uninformed of the stains and bruises You so carefully conceal beneath Petty giggles and witty banter This is what you so desired What you long lost When the others ripped your innocence Limb by limb- The purity which glimmers so brilliantly In his golden eyes That sincerity so eagerly falls at your feet Yet your calloused hands reach For the one who knew the girl Before her brittle bones Aches with sores and colds The one who not only knows the history But watched it unfold familiarly
0
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
caroline-hughes
For the Devoted Centurion
That second that slithers in Beckoning forbidden fancies As your lifeless figures lies in shadows That eat at your lonesome soul While he frolics among his virtuous games Uninformed of the stains and bruises You so carefully conceal beneath Petty giggles and witty banter This is what you so desired What you long lost When the others ripped your innocence Limb by limb- The purity which glimmers so brilliantly In his golden eyes That sincerity so eagerly falls at your feet Yet your calloused hands reach For the one who knew the girl Before her brittle bones Aches with sores and colds The one who not only knows the history But watched it unfold familiarly
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21
Standing in the shadow of the day Enveloped by the darkness Petrified to step into the burning light Watching humanity self destruct from the comfort of my shadow The sadness and guilt drive me closer to the edge Wanting to just put one hand out To try and save even one soul from destruction Even though I know that doing so will only leave me burnt Still I cower in my solidarity I lock away all the inner decay Hoping that by hiding it from the light will make it go away So cold and lonely here Yet I find the pain familiarly soothing This shroud of emptiness and resentment have become my cloak Sheltering me from the dagger of society piercing what is left of this heart Sparing me the rejection of others And the judging eyes of the hypocrites that fill the streets of hell Exchanging only brief glances Screaming out for help with a single stare into the eyes of another Praying that someday someone would see the sadness and rescue me Only problem is I am surrounded by demons not angels
0
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
amberblank15
In the Shadow
Standing in the shadow of the day Enveloped by the darkness Petrified to step into the burning light Watching humanity self destruct from the comfort of my shadow The sadness and guilt drive me closer to the edge Wanting to just put one hand out To try and save even one soul from destruction Even though I know that doing so will only leave me burnt Still I cower in my solidarity I lock away all the inner decay Hoping that by hiding it from the light will make it go away So cold and lonely here Yet I find the pain familiarly soothing This shroud of emptiness and resentment have become my cloak Sheltering me from the dagger of society piercing what is left of this heart Sparing me the rejection of others And the judging eyes of the hypocrites that fill the streets of hell Exchanging only brief glances Screaming out for help with a single stare into the eyes of another Praying that someday someone would see the sadness and rescue me Only problem is I am surrounded by demons not angels
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22
the quietness of content between two people walking down the sidewalk after splitting a pint and a crepe is something new to me the quietness of unsettled emptiness in the dregs of heaving lungs in a public toilet is familiarly foreign and suddenly unwanted i occupy booth seats instead of the space between two metal dividers and a toilet paper dispenser i study the dimples of your cheeks and the scent of your hair i've become a student learning the feeling of having instead of a teacher of wanting i do not see any crookedness to your teeth or my own i taste lager and nutella strawberries on your breath and don't ask what else? no sign of do not disturb in my eyes only, please continue speaking when i sway to the counter and ask for the check i am surprised by our obvious pleasure when the waitress giggles "oh i'm sorry, i didn't want to disturb you" i didn't realize we looked so happy so together in a moment shared over candles and two forks on a coffee shop table i admit it was effortless i see now that food, love, humans the things i made complicated were effortless
0
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 3:02 AM UTC
xanadu
food, love, and humans
the quietness of content between two people walking down the sidewalk after splitting a pint and a crepe is something new to me the quietness of unsettled emptiness in the dregs of heaving lungs in a public toilet is familiarly foreign and suddenly unwanted i occupy booth seats instead of the space between two metal dividers and a toilet paper dispenser i study the dimples of your cheeks and the scent of your hair i've become a student learning the feeling of having instead of a teacher of wanting i do not see any crookedness to your teeth or my own i taste lager and nutella strawberries on your breath and don't ask what else? no sign of do not disturb in my eyes only, please continue speaking when i sway to the counter and ask for the check i am surprised by our obvious pleasure when the waitress giggles "oh i'm sorry, i didn't want to disturb you" i didn't realize we looked so happy so together in a moment shared over candles and two forks on a coffee shop table i admit it was effortless i see now that food, love, humans the things i made complicated were effortless
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46
I see a sheet of moonlight shine on the drops of water It looks as if streams of longs diamonds are piercing me The entire sky resembles my skin Everything feels familiarly cold Plants wither and animals flee with every step taken I lost my true love long ago Unabashedly innocent, she bore the same scars as I Unequivocally forgiving, she took my dark origins in stride For her existence, I would battle both the blessed and the ****** For her soul, I would fight until my last breath and then eternity afterwards Devotion has no jurisdiction Having scoured the heavens, my search takes me to the pit I dip my toe into the abyss as it shifts Hell drags me into the fray Her sweet eyes on my mind, I dive into the fiery bays
0
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 1:06 PM UTC
Horus
Protector
I see a sheet of moonlight shine on the drops of water It looks as if streams of longs diamonds are piercing me The entire sky resembles my skin Everything feels familiarly cold Plants wither and animals flee with every step taken I lost my true love long ago Unabashedly innocent, she bore the same scars as I Unequivocally forgiving, she took my dark origins in stride For her existence, I would battle both the blessed and the ****** For her soul, I would fight until my last breath and then eternity afterwards Devotion has no jurisdiction Having scoured the heavens, my search takes me to the pit I dip my toe into the abyss as it shifts Hell drags me into the fray Her sweet eyes on my mind, I dive into the fiery bays
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18
Traipsing around your own obscurities A little triangle; you're own trinity I put a blind eye up to your window of equivocalness I wasn't positive if you were that in to me It's not just little crush for you, it's an obsession Engrossed, hiding behind your false complexion Everything was familiarly desolating Who would've known you were enticed by your own progression Stuck in your game of disturbing affliction Years and years of built up absorbed addiction Framed or ashamed of your heartless indulgence The lies you hide underneath your table, caught fire from excessive friction
0
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 10:46 PM UTC
arianna-anderson
Framed
Traipsing around your own obscurities A little triangle; you're own trinity I put a blind eye up to your window of equivocalness I wasn't positive if you were that in to me It's not just little crush for you, it's an obsession Engrossed, hiding behind your false complexion Everything was familiarly desolating Who would've known you were enticed by your own progression Stuck in your game of disturbing affliction Years and years of built up absorbed addiction Framed or ashamed of your heartless indulgence The lies you hide underneath your table, caught fire from excessive friction
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12
A History    As I watch a bead of sweat  Swim down the outline of your spine I wonder of the stories it holds And the history it knows and I never will, Who else has made you sweat like this? Who else have you laid beside you,  And over you, and locked in your arms? How many have held you like this, And how many more will come after? How long will you hold my essence In your lungs, and let my smell linger  In your pillowcase and bedsheets?  After these feelings come to pass Like seasons do, swelling like tides From this to that, will you think of me As I do of you? Will I be more  Than just beads of sweat collecting At the nape, treading down your back? You see, your name leaves through my lips Familiarly, like they were made to whisper it. Maybe it's not insane to let emotions rest On my tongue and leap off my lips Like I have let them do in front of you. Will I be more than an abandoned name,   Or is this all that this will amount to, This final moment of desperation,  Of drops dancing down my shadow Marked so finely against your back?   My fingers slowly  blending them  Into your shoulder blades, drying up the past And absorbing the possibility of this, of us, Burying the future into your pores With my eager, hasty fingertips.
0
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 4:27 PM UTC
william-alexander
A History
A History    As I watch a bead of sweat  Swim down the outline of your spine I wonder of the stories it holds And the history it knows and I never will, Who else has made you sweat like this? Who else have you laid beside you,  And over you, and locked in your arms? How many have held you like this, And how many more will come after? How long will you hold my essence In your lungs, and let my smell linger  In your pillowcase and bedsheets?  After these feelings come to pass Like seasons do, swelling like tides From this to that, will you think of me As I do of you? Will I be more  Than just beads of sweat collecting At the nape, treading down your back? You see, your name leaves through my lips Familiarly, like they were made to whisper it. Maybe it's not insane to let emotions rest On my tongue and leap off my lips Like I have let them do in front of you. Will I be more than an abandoned name,   Or is this all that this will amount to, This final moment of desperation,  Of drops dancing down my shadow Marked so finely against your back?   My fingers slowly  blending them  Into your shoulder blades, drying up the past And absorbing the possibility of this, of us, Burying the future into your pores With my eager, hasty fingertips.
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34
Matted autumn leaves cling To every surface The cold concrete streets The orangey red brick walls The chipped facade exteriors Of road lamps much like me The peeling rusty paint Dotted by bits of dampened foliage Little knotted up black things While road lamps don’t give a **** I have to pick them off my clammy skin And then they get under my nails They are abundant right now Like all the other frustrations of my daily life Sneaky little ******** The air is incredibly damp It’s thick with fog Carrying with it a familiarly pungent But ever revolting scent Of a funky little diner down the street That makes my freckled nose wrinkle Reminiscent of the scent of past disgusts
0
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 5:11 PM UTC
molly-pendleton
Autumn Expressions (2)
Matted autumn leaves cling To every surface The cold concrete streets The orangey red brick walls The chipped facade exteriors Of road lamps much like me The peeling rusty paint Dotted by bits of dampened foliage Little knotted up black things While road lamps don’t give a **** I have to pick them off my clammy skin And then they get under my nails They are abundant right now Like all the other frustrations of my daily life Sneaky little ******** The air is incredibly damp It’s thick with fog Carrying with it a familiarly pungent But ever revolting scent Of a funky little diner down the street That makes my freckled nose wrinkle Reminiscent of the scent of past disgusts
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22
Dark Blue fingers run wildly Across my listless chest scratching me mildly Like an impatient birth, insidious babe Crawling on fingernails down to stain the rug In this room nicely snug Left the husk on the bed to sleep instead Looks at the books who sit all left unread The tall fingers wipe across the walls making rhymes Shouting out the window chimes Sitting on that window pane making legs out of dust So the sun set on these larks And the evening takes its remarks The city will never likely see Such grime encrusted treachery Dark Blue fingers run wildly Across the wood fence where children cry at me They long for their mothers who take them indoors So the fingers ***** the glass of the home And gaze to see the tomb Of those who invite the starved fingers in For some company and mirth over gin And take in the crooked dark blue smile that stretches The kids are crying wretches Drinks are done, no more fun, for the monster's run Is but only at a start And the dark blue blood pumps through his heart The city will never likely see Such grime encrusted treachery Dark blue fingers run wildly Across a mantelpiece quite familiarly The room is a laughing mad struck sickening The monster is by the fireplace stealing The looks of the practitioners and reeling As the party booms on through the evening The fingers run across those who are leaving And wipes his bald and grimy face on their own Taking all their thoughts they've shown Until they each subside and then wave goodbye Leaving the monster all alone Muttering curses on his own The city will never likely see Such grime encrusted treachery The city will never likely see These fingers running wildly
0
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
jesse-lapointe
Dark Blue
Dark Blue fingers run wildly Across my listless chest scratching me mildly Like an impatient birth, insidious babe Crawling on fingernails down to stain the rug In this room nicely snug Left the husk on the bed to sleep instead Looks at the books who sit all left unread The tall fingers wipe across the walls making rhymes Shouting out the window chimes Sitting on that window pane making legs out of dust So the sun set on these larks And the evening takes its remarks The city will never likely see Such grime encrusted treachery Dark Blue fingers run wildly Across the wood fence where children cry at me They long for their mothers who take them indoors So the fingers ***** the glass of the home And gaze to see the tomb Of those who invite the starved fingers in For some company and mirth over gin And take in the crooked dark blue smile that stretches The kids are crying wretches Drinks are done, no more fun, for the monster's run Is but only at a start And the dark blue blood pumps through his heart The city will never likely see Such grime encrusted treachery Dark blue fingers run wildly Across a mantelpiece quite familiarly The room is a laughing mad struck sickening The monster is by the fireplace stealing The looks of the practitioners and reeling As the party booms on through the evening The fingers run across those who are leaving And wipes his bald and grimy face on their own Taking all their thoughts they've shown Until they each subside and then wave goodbye Leaving the monster all alone Muttering curses on his own The city will never likely see Such grime encrusted treachery The city will never likely see These fingers running wildly
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44
Deathly hollow eyes staring black Pupils dilated in the abyss Autopilot is all that’s left Thoughts flooded of final bliss Overdosed on emotions Versatile and utterly unnecessary My heart is empty but not broken This feeling is so familiarly scary This is what I felt in the absence of you The disappearance of first love My walls surrounded me, deathly blue And all was drained from above Panic and fear is all that’s missing Manic is the replacement now My heart wont stop cooing and singing For the final leap, the last bow Living in the moment is fright Terrifying, my soul shivers and breaks To even imagine going through the night Without the hope of climbing free This feeling is what was left, Its sneaked back into my heart Unwanted its slowly tearing me apart And I hope I survive the climb back The climb back is me The absence of you, The realization is what brings Back me from the absence of me From being cast to the dark Torn apart, and nonexistent From all you left I spark The climb is what I live through
0
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 4:08 PM UTC
Snakeskin
Absence of You
Deathly hollow eyes staring black Pupils dilated in the abyss Autopilot is all that’s left Thoughts flooded of final bliss Overdosed on emotions Versatile and utterly unnecessary My heart is empty but not broken This feeling is so familiarly scary This is what I felt in the absence of you The disappearance of first love My walls surrounded me, deathly blue And all was drained from above Panic and fear is all that’s missing Manic is the replacement now My heart wont stop cooing and singing For the final leap, the last bow Living in the moment is fright Terrifying, my soul shivers and breaks To even imagine going through the night Without the hope of climbing free This feeling is what was left, Its sneaked back into my heart Unwanted its slowly tearing me apart And I hope I survive the climb back The climb back is me The absence of you, The realization is what brings Back me from the absence of me From being cast to the dark Torn apart, and nonexistent From all you left I spark The climb is what I live through
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32
I wish I could say it's not you anymore but truth is I still miss you like hell and I can't stop the way your name rolls off of my tongue so perfectly and familiarly because you are all that I know you are the smell of home when I am lost and all alone and it will always be you it will always be you
0
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 9:40 PM UTC
darkblue
you are it for me
I wish I could say it's not you anymore but truth is I still miss you like hell and I can't stop the way your name rolls off of my tongue so perfectly and familiarly because you are all that I know you are the smell of home when I am lost and all alone and it will always be you it will always be you
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11
I feel as though I am a slave to destruction, knees nailed to rickety floorboards that creak against creation. I am head bowed, pleading for pleasure against the cacophony of the ****** washing white floors with grime. I am the harbinger of ends, an omen of unhappiness. I am question marks, red streaks, spilled coffee on loved words. I am torment, tormented by the ways I’ve been tormenting the things I love. I am oceans inviting and striking with no warning, hurricanes gently shaking before swallowing and devastating, promise land offering refuge and whiting out identities because nobody gets to be free. I am shackled to remorse, self hatred, anxiety. A prisoner of pain, daughter of broken glass, born in spider breaks, marked by shards and splinters. I am the whisper of ruin rattled through crows calling home across worlds and realms. I am jutted bones cutting into flesh collecting blood for breakfast and sorrow for supper, feeding famine to families I am familiarly unfamiliar with. I am cast away, fallen angel, victim to the rise of hope and sequestered from safety. Left to forage fight in fields long forgotten, to discover decades of indecency and be punished by punishing the lucky ones. The thinned wrist souls slipping from restraints, to make commodity of clear consciouses, and deliver doom promised by our ancestors. I am an agent of misery, a companion of karma, nothing more than a slave to destruction.
0
May 3, 2019
May 3, 2019 at 9:04 PM UTC
alasia
Confessions for the Lost
I feel as though I am a slave to destruction, knees nailed to rickety floorboards that creak against creation. I am head bowed, pleading for pleasure against the cacophony of the ****** washing white floors with grime. I am the harbinger of ends, an omen of unhappiness. I am question marks, red streaks, spilled coffee on loved words. I am torment, tormented by the ways I’ve been tormenting the things I love. I am oceans inviting and striking with no warning, hurricanes gently shaking before swallowing and devastating, promise land offering refuge and whiting out identities because nobody gets to be free. I am shackled to remorse, self hatred, anxiety. A prisoner of pain, daughter of broken glass, born in spider breaks, marked by shards and splinters. I am the whisper of ruin rattled through crows calling home across worlds and realms. I am jutted bones cutting into flesh collecting blood for breakfast and sorrow for supper, feeding famine to families I am familiarly unfamiliar with. I am cast away, fallen angel, victim to the rise of hope and sequestered from safety. Left to forage fight in fields long forgotten, to discover decades of indecency and be punished by punishing the lucky ones. The thinned wrist souls slipping from restraints, to make commodity of clear consciouses, and deliver doom promised by our ancestors. I am an agent of misery, a companion of karma, nothing more than a slave to destruction.
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1
This motel's coffee is weak Even after the 8th cup Trying to shake off the storms Thundering in my head Like too many days When I haven't felt a reason to be Out on open roads I promised to write a letter To you every day That these wheels have been rolling But you've forgotten all the curves to my script Because it's been too long Since my pen has scriven And it's been too long Since I've kept any promises Another day and another night Passes by on the road to another town And I can't keep track Of where I was And who I'm finding myself to become I call you up from a pay phone On the corner of loneliness and nowhere But when you answer I can't find my voice And there's a silence that hangs deadly in the air As you ask is anyone there I know you know it's me But you play along like a stranger Dialing the wrong number And maybe I'm just a stranger to you anyway now Because it's been too long Since I have called And it's been too long Since I've kept any promises This place looks familiarly foreign Rundown warehouses and farmland That time left buried deep in a past That's become more of a dream Than some old reality I look around to find the same memories Playing from the viewpoint of an outsider Because it's been too long Since I've been home And it's been too long Since I've kept any promises These tires have lost their tread On the long driveway To a house I once called home That I shared once upon a time With a woman I loved I see the embrace waiting for me Behind that dark oak front door If I could find the courage To leave this car And put the key into the lock With a twist of the **** I wonder if I'd still find you There waiting for me Because it's been too long Since I have held you in my arms And it's been too long Since I've kept any promises Because it's been too long And all my promises are gone
0
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC
TonguesOfOthers
Promises
This motel's coffee is weak Even after the 8th cup Trying to shake off the storms Thundering in my head Like too many days When I haven't felt a reason to be Out on open roads I promised to write a letter To you every day That these wheels have been rolling But you've forgotten all the curves to my script Because it's been too long Since my pen has scriven And it's been too long Since I've kept any promises Another day and another night Passes by on the road to another town And I can't keep track Of where I was And who I'm finding myself to become I call you up from a pay phone On the corner of loneliness and nowhere But when you answer I can't find my voice And there's a silence that hangs deadly in the air As you ask is anyone there I know you know it's me But you play along like a stranger Dialing the wrong number And maybe I'm just a stranger to you anyway now Because it's been too long Since I have called And it's been too long Since I've kept any promises This place looks familiarly foreign Rundown warehouses and farmland That time left buried deep in a past That's become more of a dream Than some old reality I look around to find the same memories Playing from the viewpoint of an outsider Because it's been too long Since I've been home And it's been too long Since I've kept any promises These tires have lost their tread On the long driveway To a house I once called home That I shared once upon a time With a woman I loved I see the embrace waiting for me Behind that dark oak front door If I could find the courage To leave this car And put the key into the lock With a twist of the **** I wonder if I'd still find you There waiting for me Because it's been too long Since I have held you in my arms And it's been too long Since I've kept any promises Because it's been too long And all my promises are gone
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64
My heart My warm, warm heart with every thump it bleeds a little more This rotting chunk of flesh covered in oozing sores There's a couple bits of glass buried deep into my flesh little bits of muscle seep over the shards that dig into my heart my warm, warm heart and it's sharp, sharp glass A heart can't beat around glass Take matters into your own hands love take my heart into your hands and dig those fingers in ever-so-roughly pull out every piece you find each offending frgament it hurts hey, it hurts a lot you remove the glass from my heart with your blood-stained hands my blood ....or? each piece falls to the ground you throw them away and my heart begins to beat again I begin to feel again Her hands like silk and her gleaming sunshine smile and her familiarly exotic tongue I know people who can sew with the prettiest golden thread and heal with the most compassionate of eyes while simultaneously laughing the most vivacious laugh and each shared laugh stitches a new cut on my skin  and I begin to heal again  The scars do not stand out and instead those shimmery strands gleam proudly showing off my newly constructed golden heart Silver, silver, silver She offers me the most beautiful of silver the tears of the moon Resting in my hands or my pocket Golden thread is very weak and so are humans What to do?
0
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
Silverheart
Heart of Gold
My heart My warm, warm heart with every thump it bleeds a little more This rotting chunk of flesh covered in oozing sores There's a couple bits of glass buried deep into my flesh little bits of muscle seep over the shards that dig into my heart my warm, warm heart and it's sharp, sharp glass A heart can't beat around glass Take matters into your own hands love take my heart into your hands and dig those fingers in ever-so-roughly pull out every piece you find each offending frgament it hurts hey, it hurts a lot you remove the glass from my heart with your blood-stained hands my blood ....or? each piece falls to the ground you throw them away and my heart begins to beat again I begin to feel again Her hands like silk and her gleaming sunshine smile and her familiarly exotic tongue I know people who can sew with the prettiest golden thread and heal with the most compassionate of eyes while simultaneously laughing the most vivacious laugh and each shared laugh stitches a new cut on my skin  and I begin to heal again  The scars do not stand out and instead those shimmery strands gleam proudly showing off my newly constructed golden heart Silver, silver, silver She offers me the most beautiful of silver the tears of the moon Resting in my hands or my pocket Golden thread is very weak and so are humans What to do?
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62
When you walk towards me from the distance Waving those slender hands, ivory white, Calling my name aloud so familiarly, I’m always caught completely unprepared. I’ve been watching you as you move across The vast room talking to all these strangers, Laughing at their jokes, whispering secrets, Holding a drink in your long fingers; Dark raven hair on white shoulders, it’s like You’ve walked out of a book I read long ago. You have streaked through my faltering heart Like a meteor blazes through the dark skies. There is so much I would like to tell you. If you had my heart and felt the way I do, If you could see yourself through my eyes, All my purposeless days would be at an end. But instead, I raise my love weary hand, With the practiced ease of one long in use, And put on this casual, disinterested smile And then nonchalantly wave back at you. Diptesh Ghosh
0
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 12:36 PM UTC
diptesh
Frozen
When you walk towards me from the distance Waving those slender hands, ivory white, Calling my name aloud so familiarly, I’m always caught completely unprepared. I’ve been watching you as you move across The vast room talking to all these strangers, Laughing at their jokes, whispering secrets, Holding a drink in your long fingers; Dark raven hair on white shoulders, it’s like You’ve walked out of a book I read long ago. You have streaked through my faltering heart Like a meteor blazes through the dark skies. There is so much I would like to tell you. If you had my heart and felt the way I do, If you could see yourself through my eyes, All my purposeless days would be at an end. But instead, I raise my love weary hand, With the practiced ease of one long in use, And put on this casual, disinterested smile And then nonchalantly wave back at you. Diptesh Ghosh
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21
Finality. Finnish girls in micro minis dance prance kind of jiggle across the stage sweet sixteen Swedes rub their ***** in their hypothetical fathers faces chicks freshly hatched still slimy and warm from the womb wrap their maternal gifts and parts on poles hiding behind what small articles are left on their pale pink bodies. Downing my scotch, waving over a fresh one. Finally alone in a room filled familiarly with sadness and sweat men’s pupils enlarge in the smoke screened darkness. I hide behind the dignity I don’t have left over a feeling spreads through each cell membrane to sedate and mirror the faces of girls on stage who have resigned. Similarly, I fired myself from this position. “Sorry,” I mutter into the spaces in between the scotch and the rocks, “It’s just not working out.” Mentally, I empty what remains inside into a small cardboard box wrap my arms around my drunken insides and stand shameful like a guilty dog. My back is turning to mirror girls’ stony eyed solitude, Tiny Finnish dancers finish up their act as I, reaching the door, walk out.
0
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
heidi-kalloo
The Finale
Finality. Finnish girls in micro minis dance prance kind of jiggle across the stage sweet sixteen Swedes rub their ***** in their hypothetical fathers faces chicks freshly hatched still slimy and warm from the womb wrap their maternal gifts and parts on poles hiding behind what small articles are left on their pale pink bodies. Downing my scotch, waving over a fresh one. Finally alone in a room filled familiarly with sadness and sweat men’s pupils enlarge in the smoke screened darkness. I hide behind the dignity I don’t have left over a feeling spreads through each cell membrane to sedate and mirror the faces of girls on stage who have resigned. Similarly, I fired myself from this position. “Sorry,” I mutter into the spaces in between the scotch and the rocks, “It’s just not working out.” Mentally, I empty what remains inside into a small cardboard box wrap my arms around my drunken insides and stand shameful like a guilty dog. My back is turning to mirror girls’ stony eyed solitude, Tiny Finnish dancers finish up their act as I, reaching the door, walk out.
Continue reading...
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