"fearfulness" poems
Watching night step-sitters staring at each passerby
abiding time as if counting sheep stepping with the city's cadence
Hearing sirens alarming in their BEWARE BLARING;
persistent fearfulness for evil and citizens securities
Staring-walking-bodies searching a barren land prostrating
before the great needle
Patched streets and decaying sidewalks by flooding night lights lay surreal
DECAYING fingers of poverty playing its fingers into every crack, crevice; into every pore, into every cell member
into one's whole being
Sounding the hip-hop generation street corners of hustlers
jiving away the night
The hustled and hustlers' overwhelming struggling for power; being surrounded by red brick and stone; being incased in poverty
Pounding city hysteria;
at times laying silent in sleepless depth
by the waning gradualness;
anytime readying itself to ERUPT
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
The first love was fearfulness,
Draped in a deceiving cloak.
Leaving nothing but a mess,
Every time he spoke.
Always urging towards the choice,
That left him unscathed and alone.
Trapped by his wound soul's voice,
Telling him "Your heart can't be shown!"
One day he awoke
With the sun in his eyes
And he took off that cloak
To remove his disguise
He never again tried to justify
Neither his words nor his actions.
He just opened his heart deep inside,
And filled the air with compassion.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
***She sits in shadows
Displaced by life
Forgotten by self
Dejected by all those Crows that fly Northwards
A Sparrow hawk calls
She remembers him but utters nothing
that is desirable
He flies onwards
Never to look upon her
Dark princess
Of lower grounds
She holds fast and keeps council with demons
Demons who roam the corridors of her soul
Pulling the cloak over her nakedness
as the stage illuminates the way
An actress of sorts
Another west end show
A vagabond who plays her hero
Darkness falls from her
And all who are touched by her fateful hand
Will linger no more in sun drenched meadows
Too bright to see
Too good to believe
Her fearfulness becomes her
Her innocence laid bare upon a slab of false regret
Be he gone from her mind
She may be free
For what lingers a princess in darkness
Than a love betrayed
The darkened hour may find its way into any heart
The broken man
Can do as he tries
But stumbles when he beholds her stare.***
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 4:42 PM UTC
She gives him his eyes, she found them
Among some rubble, among some beetles
He gives her her skin
He just seemed to pull it down out of the air and lay it over her
She weeps with fearfulness and astonishment
She has found his hands for him, and fitted them freshly at the wrists
They are amazed at themselves, they go feeling all over her
He has assembled her spine, he cleaned each piece carefully
And sets them in perfect order
A superhuman puzzle but he is inspired
She leans back twisting this way and that, using it and laughing
Incredulous
Now she has brought his feet, she is connecting them
So that his whole body lights up
And he has fashioned her new hips
With all fittings complete and with newly wound coils, all shiningly oiled
He is polishing every part, he himself can hardly believe it
They keep taking each other to the sun, they find they can easily
To test each new thing at each new step
And now she smoothes over him the plates of his skull
So that the joints are invisible
And now he connects her throat, her ******* and the pit of her stomach
With a single wire
She gives him his teeth, tying the the roots to the centrepin of his body
He sets the little circlets on her fingertips
She stiches his body here and there with steely purple silk
He oils the delicate cogs of her mouth
She inlays with deep cut scrolls the nape of his neck
He sinks into place the inside of her thighs
So, gasping with joy, with cries of wonderment
Like two gods of mud
Sprawling in the dirt, but with infinite care
They bring each other to perfection.
4k
soft silly syllables sauntering slowly at sunset
after all ambiguous adjectives adversely affect our amicability
feigning fickleness funding fearfulness finding finality in foolishness
egress endlessly ever evading the
end
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 1:25 AM UTC
The sun was up, and daylight blue
Filled all the air, but in the streets
An obsidian dress fast cloaked la rue
As evil crept on stealthy feet
Which seemed at first to be small threat
And undetect; but threat was rife
With subtle moves the spylings breathe
The stench of death, they lower life
In a malicious, abrupt way
Bewildered me, made themselves known
Enemies to Freedom they
Serve only to protect the crown
We tangled, thrashed, my soul abashed
As in obsidian pall it drowned
And so throughout the bleak days, years
They barricade the street and skies
Their poxy prisons bring me years
As they cull freebird as he flies
He nimble tells their secrets for dear
Price, a price upon his years
Whereon the chase upon my back
The devils apace to do their Ill
Behind, beside me hearts pure black
Know only evil Love no thrill
For ****** rank they have the knack
Of making life turn still
The car swerved in with metal groan
I run past them ever fast
They the inquisition to my Joan
Freedoms flag upon my
mast
Such fearfulness I have not known
Than that they inspire, all hope lost
What will become of our good man?
Their petulance stalks him, his friends
If all this time with strength he can
Put doomed world on the mend
He hath outwit them, beat the man
Even if to grave they him send
It is about a year ago
The hunt, chase for me was afoot
As we pacing to and fro
In that town of soot
A town of beauty till I behold
The black coats and jackboots
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 1:26 PM UTC
Being beautiful.
Ah, what a thing it is, right?
Gets you everywhere.
Being beautiful.
Do something wrong,
You aren't hated quite as much.
Ah, but she's so beautiful, it's okay.
Right?
Being beautiful.
The ultimate goal.
Right?
You are so beautiful.
The ultimate compliment.
Right?
I'll tell you something.
I know I am beautiful.
On my worst days,
On my sad days,
I spend hours on my makeup.
My hair.
My clothes.
If I look my best
You can be almost sure I feel my worst.
Because beautiful for me
Is a defense.
Here is the thing:
Nobody would have me if I wasn't.
Nobody would listen to a word I say.
Nobody would put up with my passion,
My intensity,
My need for love and affection,
My stubbornness and fearfulness.
I am tolerated
Because I am beautiful.
It's not a triumph.
It's just a tool.
I am accepted
Because I am beautiful.
And even then I push the limits-
There are things I need that I
Am not beautiful enough to need.
Things I am starving for
That I am not beautiful enough to demand.
Things I can't say
Because I'm not quite exquisite enough to get away with it.
Beauty
To people who don't believe they have it
Is a shining goal, a possession of such worth.
But beauty
To some of us
Is merely the mask we wear
So that the world will have us.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 3:18 PM UTC
Slowly sinking in such sullen silence
As if allowing all abandonment alike
Very visible verification
Eludes to the epitome of emotion
Maybe making myself mean much more
Eventually eliminates my existence
For fake friends fail to fathom fear of fearfulness
Realizing reality remains
Only to omit the opinions of others
Meticulously matching myself
Tortuous tasks tend to take time to teach to me
However, help hurts the healing heart
Isn't it ironic that insanity is inevitable
Some soon succumb to the substances
Severed skin stings as if saying "slice me some more"
Alone in apparent agony
Daring damsels to determine their date of death
Nevertheless, we need to feel numb
Enough to enjoy every endless evasion
Since only screams seem to silence the sinners' souls
Someone must soon save those suffering
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 2:10 PM UTC
I've been fighting with temptation in everyday that I'm
faced with
Resetting my mind
all of my hopes and my dreams
onto the re--placement
Of every loss
And the suicidal thoughts of me
Losing / Control
Still engaged in my mind, I'm inclined
while
Maintaining the goal
of walking down that straight and
narrow road of Life
Because I have a date with Destiny in spite of what is ailing me
in-
Sight
While all the while?
Through the dark of night
I'm forced to fight with many
different things,
With no self-esteem trying to figure out
who to believe
And who to trust and on whom
can I call?
Soul is uncontent to balance the fence
Slowly committed to fall
All while seeing the steady fall
Of my many brethrens called
For the same purpose and the work that was meant for us all
But still my soul fell slowly down
De-pression's Well
Totally left to figure out how to
make it out
Wondering how I slipped and fell?
Fallen waist deep
Lost
within the clutches of grief
With seemingly no way of me finding
an answer,
And no way of me holding my Peace
So as a means of release?
I'm now speaking my Peace
Releasing for this reason having the means
of picking up the
Spiritual Pieces
And putting it all back together using it for what it's worth
Visualizing the Holy theme giving birth to revive my hopes and
Dreams
But these dreams are not seen through the eyes of surprise
But only seen through the joyfulness of watching our spirits
Rise
Riiising out of the ashes where the
fearfulness is cruel and savage,
Out of the madness where the hopelessness is the rule of sadness
Escaping the Pain
No longer bond under heavy
Locks and Chains
No more wounds to be healed
No wounds to seal
No bandages with
-Stains-
May 8, 2022
May 8, 2022 at 12:27 AM UTC
It was a bleak and dismal Sunday morning, as I baked for the sake of baking. My head was bowed as I sliced apples when suddenly, everything within me started aching. I decided to take a brief recess and rest in my reclining chair.
As I gazed out through my windowpane, I observed that rain was there. It dripped and dropped onto the dense grass, and such a beautiful sight it was. As I continued to gaze, I noticed a faint, human-like figure in the shadows of the trees. At that moment, reason had abruptly gone, and curiosity had jurisdiction.
I found myself leaving the comfort of my chair, walking into the grove. When the rain caressed my wrinkled skin, I then began to roam. I could hear vague, ghost-like murmurs surrounding me; the predicament that I was in then began confounding me.
As time progressed, my visual perception dimed, and as it dimmed, the murmurs became more prominent. I listened to the murmurs repeatedly asserting "your end is right in front of thee." I didn't understand nor had a clue. My fearfulness only grew.
And then out of the blue, I collided with what I assumed was a tree, until I heard a rather stout, raspy, sinister-natured "hello." And instantaneously I registered what the murmurs had revealed to me. My end was unquestionably in front of me.
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 4:33 PM UTC
She gives him his eyes, she found them
Among some rubble, among some beetles
He gives her her skin
He just seemed to pull it down out of the air and lay it over her
She weeps with fearfulness and astonishment
She has found his hands for him, and fitted them freshly at the wrists
They are amazed at themselves, they go feeling all over her
He has assembled her spine, he cleaned each piece carefully
And sets them in perfect order
A superhuman puzzle but he is inspired
She leans back twisting this way and that, using it and laughing
Incredulous
Now she has brought his feet, she is connecting them
So that his whole body lights up
And he has fashioned her new hips
With all fittings complete and with newly wound coils, all shiningly oiled
He is polishing every part, he himself can hardly believe it
They keep taking each other to the sun, they find they can easily
To test each new thing at each new step
And now she smoothes over him the plates of his skull
So that the joints are invisible
And now he connects her throat, her ******* and the pit of her stomach
With a single wire
She gives him his teeth, tying the the roots to the centrepin of his body
He sets the little circlets on her fingertips
She stitches his body here and there with steely purple silk
He oils the delicate cogs of her mouth
She inlays with deep cut scrolls the nape of his neck
He sinks into place the inside of her thighs
So, gasping with joy, with cries of wonderment
Like two gods of mud
Sprawling in the dirt, but with infinite care
They bring each other to perfection.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 7:18 AM UTC
the comatose day slanders the "preoccupied"
with its images
dying children mar the moonlight's release
(the awakening lovers that we all want)
our culture ....is
a petrified forest!
producing but this!
villified psuedo-leaders!
but
i am the master here!
soon you'll be gone!
as
the vestigial hints of a
slandered humanity soon fade
the dying children
stream down from
the moonlight's lovliness
and undresses us of fearfulness
and places around us
aura's deep and true colors
and dreams
WE BELIEVE!
and live
WE BELIEVE!
and forgive
WE BELIEVE!
and rise
true again in our own eyes
and
true again in eachother's lives
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 10:55 AM UTC
I have fear of seeing you, necessity of seeing you, hope of seeing you, uneasiness of seeing you.
I have eagerness of finding you, worry of finding you, certainty of finding you, poor doubts of finding you.
I have urgency of hearing you, happiness of hearing you, good luck of hearing you and fearfulness of hearing you.
So to speak summarizing, I'm ****** and radiant, perhaps more the former than the last and also vice versa.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
scent of prey is nigh
an innocent young couple
alone in the woods
oblivious to danger
he's kneeling down on one knee
silent is the chase
the look of terror in eyes
trapped in fearfulness
there is no place left to run
they stand trembling, holding hands
the growling surrounds
too easily they are caught
ripping and rending
with tooth and claw and bloodlust
as the forest is sullied
awakens groggy
the smell of death upon him
his heart is heavy
he feels the weight of horror
he watched it all from within
looks up with sadness
another full moon tonight
after so many
he is doomed to change again
howling echoes pierce the air
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 4:53 PM UTC
it's the old Lehman
interlace again I
wonder how many I's
might some day buy The
Daily Mirror making
David the first poet to become
rich but like so many artist long
after they're dead
we're like nerve fibers
fasciculating fine word
that juxtaposes well to fardels
we bear-- words
heavy with too much bass
restricting us to only 3
degrees of freedom: Music
Word and Color
we' ld build a higher Babble
if only unbound from
a flat syllable world
we'd settle the Prometheus score
with 4D notes like cut-red-Bminor-spin
we'd render the higher ordered
flesh with 10D swirl-syncopated-reflect-bass-kisses-Lorena-Tom-ass-soft-cookware
to a fatty shard able
to cross synaptic chasm but maybe
we shouldn't for there's the rub in our xenophobic
extra dimensions
we'd find Superman
banished enemies or Buckaroo
aliens waiting to invade they always come from that extra
dimension don't they the ones
we don't fully understand the ones
wavering on the edge of perception of curiosity of fearfulness of exploring
a neighbors yard watchful for their dog
ready to run back
to safety back
to our one dimension back
to one Word
Singularity
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 8:44 AM UTC
Looking on towards the struggle,
She smiles with knowing eyes.
Her voice is a calm fierceness,
Holding others at bay by her call;
Who could stand with that fearfulness?
Her arms display the might of her judgement;
Wielding a weapon, sharpened of mind and pointed knowing.
Her commanding presence is known by those who would heed the call of her battlement, by the who would heed the moment armed in their own courage;
Behold, the Goddess of Victory!
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
I do not know what I am
But she does-
Just as she envisions me,
I am intertwined with her fearfulness
Drowned out by a glass of wine
She is nervous
She thinks with the more I see
I will trade in everything that has made me
Sell it for some false narrative
One night where I feel I fit in
Or maybe, a man who does not see me
For everything she has made me
She thinks I don’t enjoy it
She thinks
She thinks
She thinks
She never says what she is thinking
She feels just like my father,
Sneaking in the dark
The difference being it is what she is
Swallowed whole by
And that of which he feeds
I guess-
They do not know what they are, either
They do not know what each other, is
Or who, exactly, they married
And I do not know what I am
I am intertwined in his nervousness
Tightly embraced for what feels like a strangle
Because it is wrong
In the form of another woman
He is scared
He thinks with the more I see
I will forget to see myself, and then
I will be lost in my own absence
Give it all up for
One night, with a man who does not fit
And all I will be is weak
He thinks I will fall weak
He thinks
He thinks
He thinks
He never says what he is thinking
He feels just like my mother,
Who is always on edge about him
As he is always on edge about me
Together, they are always on edge about me
I guess-
They do not know what I am, either
And I do not know what I am
But I recognize I am both; swallowed whole
By the dark and it is absolutely what I feed off of
I guess-
I am like my mother
And like my father
And we are all like each other.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 8:24 PM UTC
my chest no longer feels heavy
the weight of the world has left me
i have surrounded myself with love
the fearfulness has fled my body
everything the angels have taught me
i now understand and put them to use
overcoming traumatic abuse
with the help of those who care
the rain kisses my chocolate hair
i am a being of nature
at one with the earth
love is not to be searched for
it is constantly growing within you
love is an ocean coming in waves
that is why it doesn’t always stay
anything i put my mind into
i will accomplish and stay true
to myself, and even though
bad times will come again
i am a hydrangea
able to persevere.
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 1:51 AM UTC
If only you could see in my mind.
Perceive the world through my eyes.
See the vision I see.
In my minds eye.
Gander if only a wrinkle.
Then you shall dream.
In my dreams.
Truth or dare.
I have much to share.
Onward through the fog.
Mountain far below.
Fearfulness in memory.
Valley coming slow.
Goodness quenched by fire.
Ice captures pain.
My mind clear of thought.
My poem gets a name.
A single flower bloomed.
For it I get love.
By it mirrors are seen.
For its from above.
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 3:14 AM UTC
(((
))) )))
))) xxxxxxxxxxx
The lost song !
•
Amid gentle images soon gone
We walk together ****** dreams
We talk of love and hate
Joy and pain
As if they are one
••
We walk naked and claim to be free
( Except for the chains )
Our hearts are empty
Our poetry ?
Dead as tomorrow amid the fearfulness
••
••
One thing can't be talked about
We know what that is
One thing can't be talked about
He sits in meditation anyway
The revolution has begun
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
Born into the shadows
His past so dark and deep
So long to those who follow
Over the cliff of secrets he keeps
Delving past devils into the wrinkles of time
Where the perils prove to be a prequel to something divine
Yet he's stuck at home in the shadows
Lost in the sadness is he
So long it's been all he knows, never able to see
Over the hurt, past the demons that hold him in past times
But she knows, she's seen the light of who he could be if he tried
Locked in this battle they will stay
His fearful past against her hopeful tomorrow
Who knows what miracle it may take
For him to move out of the shadows
Over the cliff of fearfulness
Her love is where he will land
How much longer will he run from regret
Before he decides to take a stand as a man
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 11:21 PM UTC
Every poet has a beginning
Every river begins somewhere,
Like every story, or poem,
I ever wrote, behind the door of fearfulness
I had to let go the uneasiness of entrapment that
******* my wellbeing.
The world is so crazy right now,
Even with all what mother nature dash out
As humans' beings we, still hang on strong,
Every poet or poetess has a beginning
Every river begins somewhere,
“ I just love when she belts out
“You know my Name!
That songstress can sing,
She was one of the poets whom
Was able to get from behind the door of darkness
And sang her heart out to the world.
She has a relationship with her music
I have a feud with my poems,
I see the world in a different light every day
**“I know people can be judgmental and difficult. But if you shut yourself away from the world, you'll never see how beautiful it really is.”
― Imania Margrie, The Pacemaker **
Take some time away from your job
And stay behind close door
Do you notice how you feel?
Away from that environment
For me its peace, the freedom
And control of oneself
Every poet has a beginning
Every river begins somewhere,
Jul 12, 2021
Jul 12, 2021 at 8:12 AM UTC
I stand in this messy state of grace,
granted forgiveness,
cleansed from my soiled trace,
and dressed in gifted innocence -
yet
I still stand peering through my dark glass,
seeking my father's encountenance,
seeking to keep pace
with a Saviour who appears
to respect breathing space.
Although He is as quick with an embrace
as He is to displace my misplaced fearfulness,
in His presence I'm all too conscious
of lingering idols which were once in place,
now giving rightful pride of place
to this harbinger of grace.
Yet
I still stand peering,
longing for a fanfare,
hearing a distinct whisper,
feeling a familiar nudge,
and so I turn to His touch
in nervous obedience,
with a fragile confidence
growing only as I take a breath,
only as I take
this faithful, fateful step,
stating my allegiance
with every tread
through a messy state of grace,
ready for whatever I may face,
so Saviour, set the pace and lead on!
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 2:55 AM UTC
*I fear the things I haven't done
I fear the things I have done
fear is all over my body & soul.
I feel nothing else
except to fear of known
as well as unknown!
I rule none,
but fear rules all over me
again and again.
People leave or I leave them
in the fear that they would find me
fearful all the time.
I step back every now & then
checking that I'm still fearful
of what I can't find!
With teary eyes
I say no to every new opportunity
that knocks my door!
Don't know how to stop my fear
and start my day of life after all.
I am more fearful of myself
than the world I live in.
And here I write
fearing that I might never be
able to erase the path of fear
I am walking in!
Time is running fast
and I am missing out every dream
to make it into reality.
I scream at myself
to let go of all the fears
and to stop doing this to myself.
I am aware of the bigger problems of the world
but here I stand helplessly helpless
finding nothing but fears of mountains
getting darker with each night!
Living in duality
fearless & fearful
and fearfulness
takes over fearlessness!*
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 4:08 AM UTC
*
)
•
(
^^^
little the kid
Sitting in the mouth of the alleyway
What a FOOL !
( wearing black skin )
what's he trying to prove , anyhow ? )
Here in the bowels of hell
( the hobgoblin country
Called AMERICA ! )
///
tiny poet eyes
seeking the true wisdom here
//
We wallow in the cesspool
Of infatuation
Pretending to be in love
///
We pay homage to images we have fabricated
From out our fearfulness
•
We trade our potential originality
For the sterility of the Poisoned Pen
That marks our claim to the bounty
of jealousy and
Of possessiveness
••
The little kid
Sitting in the mouth of the alleyway
the FOOL
:::
( true poet boy )
•
we walk on by
We do not even see him there
Behind the veil of his black skin
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC