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Jeremy Rascon Nov 2014
Coffee must always be hot
  It warms the soul
     And awakens the body
It fends off the sleep
   Like a dragon's
       Fiery breath  
A drink for the gods
    A magic elixir for man
But it must be hot.
      If it were to be cold
It would only numb..
The world is cold enough as is.
No no, brew a fresh ***
   Let the smell
Dance through the air
    And fill a morning home.
Like Jesus,
   Mr. Coffee
Will transform water
  Into something more
But even better,
       It will be hot
Coffee must always be hot.
How Aug 2010
3AM
It's 3AM.
I sit in my room with nothing but the glow of a single
halogen
lamp.
All around me is darkness.
I stare,
coldly,
into the abyss of the space around me,
heated only by
the lamp.

For a second, I wonder.
I wonder about
the lamp.
How it fends off the darkness.
How it radiates a glow into an empty room.
How it doesn't do, or think;
how it just 'is'.

I wonder what it all means,
and I wonder why it matters.

Then, I just sit.
Written this years ago. Been busy, no time for anything. Sorry if you like reading my poetry, I'll get back to it at some point. Promise.

All rights reserved, please contact me if you want to use my work anywhere. Thanks.
BLVNK Oct 2013
Churches and cathedrals filled with paralegal misfits,
its just sick how beautiful nations can come to this.
Bowing down on knees just to see a better view,
quoting a bunch of words or two,
you lie sins still comes in multiples.
I know because I've seen many clips being load,
and triggers pulled to explode flesh just to expose the soul.
You wash your faces with holy water,
then when service is over your back on corners bringing wars such as black on black slaughter.
Selling dopamine to fends hellacious scenes seems to be clear to see hell-raiser dreams I seem to intervene,
contradictions to competitions, imperfect visions,
natural destruction I can't believe,
a deep pit I can't perceive.
Arab stores selling crack, Coors and ****** ******,
Nobody scores in this world of imperfections.
A twisted method and deal we keep our lips sealed,
and peace is killed all because of the choices of freewill.
Addicted to Love
She used to slowly caress my hand-
She would send chills down my spine-
We would indulge in white lines as ecstasy got us high-
One journey of a heart established in her lies-
In her eyes I could see the twisted world that she believed-
So drunk on insecurities highly clouded by ****-
This is the devil’s disease-It is the devil’s fortune and fame-
In love with a substance-I became in love with her name-
Thin haired needles puncture love to my veins-
My heart would beat with tweak-
To the rhythm of the dope game-
The rhythm of the dope game-
WAIT-
What was all this ******* for?
Saying you love me as I lay incoherent on the floor-
The steamy smell of three and half turned to four makes way through my body escaping my pours-
Till the core of my soul lays alone in its own cold-
And what was all this for?
It was a ***** stained love as glass pipes held dreams of hope-
Torched lit fires turned ambition to smoke-
LSD became creativity-till the pits of hell were roamed-
And what was all this for?
It was for love-
It was for drugs-
It was my only way to cope-
Understand?
Under gram erections stood alone penetrating holes I’ve never seen before-
Moans of stupidity released thoughts I ignored-
But I adored the feeling of evolution elevating me to heights un-soared-
Where lands of all man reach limitations to explore-
My body begging me to stop but my mind is begging me for more-
Refugees and causalities lay naked on the shore-Track marks leak the scent of and all and out lost war-
And I’m still not sure what all this was for-
Maybe it was for the thrill-
The thrill of submersing all my rotten thoughts that plague my good will-
My will to live among humanity and grant myself the freedom to walk among all of G-d’s family-
But tragedy strikes at the heart of the lost kind-
Where bleeding bodies are buried by the sands of time-
Where a generational cry turns to generational screams, where a generation in denial becomes generational fends-
And bitterness soaks through her cream where lost visions of the future become a long distance dream-
And the subdue substance that once claimed me now allow me rhymes of exploration,-exploring things I’ve never seen never dreamed never thought I’d ever be another statistical teen-
But I’ve grown-I’ve grown for the ignorance-The ignorance of believing I can make sense of life and relevance-That the heaven sent failure no longer has remembrance and the continuous hell bent world that destroyed me now gives me a halo of sense and for the first time-things make sense!
So I set myself forward down a road of reflection, reflecting on things I meet at my souls introspection-inspecting deep dark thoughts that beat my soul to redemption and I question-
I question why I stand here ready to go hand to hand to prove I’m a man when all I really want to do is show her who the **** I am-but I can’t-
So I close of my angels and reach for the devil within and its plaguing me why can’t G-d see that I don’t want to live in a dream-I just don’t want to be-
Please-
Allow me ease-
As I dream of moments with my old love-with my old drugs-with my not giving a ****-
Like why the **** should I care when no one else does-
So instead of the drugs I will pick up a pen and write a rhtymatic flow about the places I’ve been-and now-the only addiction I have is writing my hymns-
For the hell hath no fury for the devil within but in the end-
Well in the end-
She slowly starts caressing my hand again man-
Stringer Jul 2018
Ode to sincerity
Unlike a candles flame
Wrath contained,
Dissipates not
                    but
        grows and gains

Wrath contained
A brick in a washing machine
A moth in a closet
Wrath contained,
A plant growing
As Providence's Gardener is perpetually hoeing
With a deft hand doubt's seed Wrath is sowing

Wrath contained,
Is Suffering's Yeast,
To its expansion there's no end
The closed mouth is an open space for Wrath to bend
Sprouts of hope Wrath's malice fends
               Away and blights
With its bligthening might
Grinds light to dust
Creeps under the plant *** it must
Break in the foundation it may
Once cheery now morose
Day-by-day Wrath dissembled its host
SassyJ Jan 2017
I am in love with an invisible string
as it moves around in motive motions
swinging my heart to extreme lengths
singing a song in definitive heights
tounging it's mouth in unknown breadths

I am in love with something peculiar
it moves in people and street pendulums
in cities it drives a longing restless soul
it's inside the trees and soaked in barks
It's paradise taste is an eternity paste

I am in love in a dream that will settle
as we chase to the end of broken seas
where we wrestle, crest in chutes we rest
as we make love soul to soul, word on word
on the cross of pens and canvassed fends
A spirited form in nature and people. It talks......
Elijah Corbeau Sep 2014
A heart contains several notes-
Melodies for special situations.
Played like drums or quickly strummed,
they produce emotions.

A midnight tryst contains a lovely ballad,
Tempered later by the blues;
Fighting words will illicit drama
sung by a broadway muse.

Fear of fate will still sing the gospel
following a quick bout of prayer-
While a sunset always arrives
following electronic days in subtle layers.

Anothers pain is echoed by a wailing sound,
A guitar crying their hurt that day;
While a flute, light and airy,
brings peace and fends loss away.

A snow covered field on a winters day
is reflected by all that jazz;
And a solo by a lone violin
will remind us of beauty past.

A single aria from a lonely soul
becomes a duet between lovers,
while a dirge follows inevitably
when they depart each other.

So from my heart to yours,
Why can't we sing forever?
Let's let our souls fly free and
see what music we'll make together.
Music...
My dreams are dreams of black and white.

I dream of the late Cool Hand Luke,
And Big Daddy in the rain.
I dream of Hepburn, where it's hot,
Of Skelton upon his stage.

I dream of Jeannie,
Of Lucy's man,
Of Hitchcock's crazed suspense,

And of my freckled friend, named Opie,
Relaxing with Papa Griffith.

Jethro swings from chandeliers,
As daddy fends off fiends.
Granny ***** that little hand,
Signaling the end.
neth jones Feb 2022
contaminated...                            

the boy is explained in the dark
                  made smaller and tighter than his thirteen years
        invented a-tread each direful night ;
            in place of restfulness
                   he is tussled :

itchy within                                    
moans of a growth owning pain
domestic air is newly surrogate
the boy flees upstairs
the condition of the home is sickly
             excreted beads from the fibres
a pale mix is gland
                        a perspiration out of sorts
pursed
spritzed
lively          
            then a wing-ed light smog

keeping to his room                            
he sits on his bed to 'wait it out'
the sun downs                        
as fruited ideas                
                   treacle up the pine wood walls
as otherworld tones        
                             flute the flumes that plumb the walls
as his mother clears the dishes
        with the radio on
as the fathers increasing tardiness
        makes the wound hour leaden further

outside
wind starts churning up the monster
hustling the coniferous trees
stoking the forrest for its brazen voice
jeeving hard upon the house
dry *******
inducing a perverse osmosis
within                                              
          pressurized audibility is clayed
hairs on the carpet tick static
              ....  this negative duress

outside
the moon hides its legend            
an autumn owl takes the bough
     just above the boys window
    it hunches into its ruffle
       retches up a pellet of prey
fur and crushed bone
            clatters dryly into the gutter

the boy works his jaw
       relieving his popping ears
the rooms climate becomes sparky
important items radiate auras :
             the scorpion in formaldehyde
stolen from school
                          grandmas mourning ring on a string
                suspended above his desk
        an old key discovered in  the woods

investigation                          
a brief hole in sound
a slim bik of light traverses
  over the boy
    the bed
       and out into the hallway
it winks gone
     and sips of smoke
like lithe neat scraps of silk
start livening the corners of vision

he stands                                                      
open­s his closest and dresses for sleep
      yield to routine

Mother enters                              
    always a human breath                  
                                         of pre decay warmth
      here to make him into his bed
bound by her neat practiced tucks
                         the boy receives her loving words
                                  but she's in a separated world from his
distortion gums up the audibility          
he attends to lips
the blessings don't function right
mistress smudges are left in the air            
they trail from the corners of her mouth
                             with the expressive turns of her head

fending lightly from the room
she blows a kiss at the doorway
it punches a little galaxy swirl
                              and suspends
a heated blue weave of the hand
                    and she is gone

door concluded and the light left on
the wall flower patterns crick and shale loose
    they cash into the flooring
and in turn the floorboards palpitate finely
feathering into a unreliable state

less than a minute later ...                   
fathers presence                              
   makes an apologetic attempt
                                                     at a ghost-walk
sounds clumbered in an aquarium                
    he slides his back down the drunken partition
and talks
   he sells a story of personal wretchedness
some lesson is vague
flammability
the boy takes the readings                  
                  of the distant vocal squall
pauses in the erratic speech weather expect replies  
     but the boy fears this colonized version of the father

though anger
                        father does not enter
rumbles his fists, feet              
                 and frustration at the wall
stands                                            
      and­ punches his footfalls
                  to the master bedroom

the parents
together now closeted
amniotic             
their world fidgets fiercely and swells          
swaddled in their own dramatics
firing blindly                        
their voices
travel the pipes in the walls
back to the boys room
                drowned of discourse
but not the aggressive 'passion' flaring out
they plunder the boys ears

Sudden ! ;                
                  brakked smell of flint
a bird slams the window dead        
crack in the pressure
unbearable penetrating release
screaming the boy host violent
minds that bind are loosened
subpoenaed                                              ­
          the boy recoils and fends this raid
kicks off the bedding
strips free of his pyjamas
a thick layer of his own goes with it
fleecing his actual skin                        
raw stinging exposure
he tugs at the flay of his own rubbery peel
enough layers of dermis in one
grip and pull
to make real hurt
raw of pain
(it feels)
tug-tug
grip
and pull
sleeves off of limbs
and a sappy caul from his bonce
he doffs the leather onto the floor
fresh wash of song
fierce waves of signals hot and cool
he ***** up his matty sheered hide
"**** it !"
pulls up the window enough
vent
an outward 'gush' as the pressure balances
the boy                        
dispose    
      push the viscid pelt out
the boy expels
disgorged into the night

                                              - consummated
My own train of thought-is my own train wreck-
Heaven sent the failure- just trying not to break my neck-
The cold steel is the weapon but the pen is so deadly-
Signing to the lord,-praise me his melody-
The blood that drips from my tiny slit eyes-
Is the blood that burns from all my goodbye’s-
And I promised never to say c’est la vie-
But right now in this moment I wish I could be-
A better man-with a stronger hand-
A better human whose vises are less consuming-
I console among a counsel of fends-
Villains and demons-expression-and dreams-
Hands in your pocket-Empty like your soul-
The devil is here-disguise it like gold-
So chase your cheddar if that makes you whole-
But the whole ******* thing goes around in circles.
And what goes around comes around-
And what goes up must come down-
Like the train wreck of life-it crashes with no sound!
Jeff Barbanell Jul 2013
Plastic artifact reminds me of her. Flesh and blood, she melts her own icon.
My Goddess, I worship our craft, married in the Nth dimension.
Our candles illuminate each hemisphere, synced red & blue, purple state.
Pulp of war profits in arms, fisticuffs gerrymandered and rigged against us.
We remember asunder, yet constellate in ways we cannot disconnect.
Put us back together, again forever, to care for the always already poor.
Rich boats raise all waters. Overboard, she fends for herself against all odds.
Statuesque pin-up, femme ichthyologist of garb, gaggle *** sushi swim mate.
Corners enshrine our meditation department network, transcendent yet in touch.
Taste felt on tongue brings us closer together to see and hear what’s happening now.
Hearts over matter, heads roll, eyes forward; brains make the most of a sticky situation.
Sounds blend synethesiastically, our opposite angels harmonize to build twin passages.
Wend our raft downriver, stroke unbound tandem wrists and ankles from spawn upstream.
Our cocoon igloo ensconces like alien cavewomen thaw out their men, then mate on the spot.
Through the delta, Venus beckons, her molten artifice pools our hull. To be baled out by Lucifer?
Kasandra Curtis Sep 2012
Your eyes are cools springs, bursting from the dry rocks,
Your arms are a Mylar blanket, keeping my warm and safe.
Your lips are wild berries, and pine nuts, and healing herbs.

Your love is a roaring flame,
That fends of the wild beasts of my mind,
A ring of acacia trees, that keeps the lion of doubt at bay.

Your smile is a shade tree in the desert,
Your heart, a noble pine, that shields me from sleet.
Your soul is a cooling wind, in a sweltering jungle.

In this wilderness of life,
You help me to survive,
And lovingly thrive,
No matter what weather life sends our way.
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
The key to the past and future
It lives and runs in the essence of a child innocence fends off wrong thinking that leads to guilt it buys
The future without investing in error that is born of greed turn back to the days that are golden purity
Was fixed who sought personnel gain at the harm and pain of others you moved through rings of joy
That were ever present this constant could be found even in the adult world of upheavals in your world
There was a slower pace it never caused to race haste can cause unexpected disaster a Childs hands
Feels its way down dark passages there is still high surges of energy that detect what lies ahead if it be
Good or sad at times that tears are shed by the little ones they hold such power of grace they displace
Lasting hurt with the soulful knowing linked to a higher fathers love if at times of anger danger or
Temptation we would return and stand within this impenetrable wall so many of life’s troubles could be
Shortened and at least lesson their degree of severity the future would unfold with a higher degree of
Nobility standing in the center instead of a begrudging corner resisting freedoms challenge and its
Reassurance that all will be well no we push on we refuse the power that reflection holds surly life is a
Circular affair it isn’t a strange occurrence that has never happened before and there is always the
Divine shoulder to rest on and ask for wisdom but so many are above such things you can see them
Ever where the grim looks are so telling they missed mercy and love that walks by their side no they
Push on ahead they know best all they really do is open themselves to the enemies well laid plan to
Cause them pain and heartache why walk a path of foreboding when there is one drenched in sunshine
Bright happy charms as even and the swell of distant church bells ringing their truth affords a power a
reverie that is ever constant don’t be so adult that you rob yourself from the inner voice that flows in
both directions without fail it finds the higher safer ground your feet sure your life will take on higher
meaning and you will be a source of comfort and wonder to those who know you
JW Carter Dec 2012
At the edge of the grounds, in a very large place,
Past the gardens, the fountains, the curtains of lace
A young girl lies enchanted by the sight of her face
Too young to discover things she’d rather replace

At age four she should know that her aquatic friend
Is none other than herself, shown back in light-bends
But as she leans forward, her nose end-to-end
It is only her mother that pulls her back and fends

The young girl gets older, as pale as a bone
Regarded as beautiful, through comments she’s shown
But sadly for her she persists feeling ‘lone
And grows longing feelings for times with her clone

If only she knew, where she had seen two,
Was only pieces of her heart out of tune
Desperation for friendship clouded how she grew
Blind to the friends just her subconscious knew

Of those folk one was sharp, and had recognized
The terrible sadness and fear in her eyes
She told of a trip, to waterfalls and blue skies
And he liked that and told her to have a good time

She promised she was getting to know someone better
Give her time, all said, don’t just head out and go get her

A week spend surrounded by azure waterfalls
Like the ones on her cheeks when no one had called
The only thing she had wanted was to not be at all
While the friend back at home wrote love notes on her wall

Nonetheless, the young girl had written a date
And its release was posthumous, so all were too late
To rescue her plunge to her own mirrored bait
Down to rest in the aquatic grave of her fate.
Larry McDonough Feb 2013
Let the rain fall
Down from the clouds
As do angels in sin
Or tears from their eyes
Allow the moisture to soak into
The porous concrete
Darkening its grey surface
A treat for the worms and snails who
Wiggle out from their soil underworld
The moon is bright
The air fresh
Cool and tingling
Like the vibrations down my spine
And sweet as the grapes
That fends off hunger
And thirst
As the rain falls
For the earth…
Jeffrey Pua Jan 2017
     Hope is active, it is a verb more than a noun. I cannot let it be defined by the weight or the length of wait, for patience is another thing. My hope is mobile, nomadic, hard-headed, went astray and was lost, but now is marching straight ahead, focused, headed towards your direction.

     If I have to settle in the uncertainty, allow in wilderness of time, just to find my self writing these silly love poems, then I'd rather live among the tents around your heart. I will stand by and for it and vow to guard. Shall I be doomed to be the fasting wolf that fends the other wolves away, then so be it. My heart will be yours as your secondary shield.

     I am persistence and I am endurance, because they have to go hand in hand, I cannot forsake one over the other, nor lose them both. I am an old train, diligent, opening all doors for one. I am a platform, wide, immovable, a place you can always stand on. And out of thousands and thousands of passengers, I am making up ny mind, you are the one I choose.

     You are the one I would wait and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait and (for the 7th time, for in the Bible 7 means completion) wait for, and pray for and gladly fight for, for you are worth it, all of it.

          Love perseveres.*

© 2017 J.S.P.
Revised.
Fish The Pig Jan 2014
"What If"s that creep under my skin
"What If"s turning moldy from being locked within,
"What If"s that haunt each day and night,
"What If"s that kick and scream with fright.
What if his smile grows dim?
What if I hurt him?
What if he let's go?
What if I never let him know?
What if I go under?
What if the remains are left asunder?
What if I can't resurface?
What if I do a great disservice?
What if I breath in but not out?
What if my eyes forget how to shout?
What if I give in?
What if I never end the sin?
What if my bones turn brittle?
What if my heart is really this little?
What if I lie?
What if I never cry?
What if I stay like this?
What if it's me that I miss?
What if each lash fends?
What if the message sends?
What if reality bends?
What if this, is how it ends?
preservationman Jan 2015
A dog was sitting on a sandy beach shore
A seal peeked out of the water in explore
The dog seemed alone with a thought on no friends
The seal began to come ashore and the dog know the seal would be the new friendship in begin
The seal moved on the beach to get near the dog
As the seal got closer, he began to put his hand fends over the dog
It was almost like the seal being an Angel encouraging the dog
The dog seemed happy and remained still
The dog being obedient within its own will
The seal wanted the dog to know no matter, I live in water and you on land, we are all friends in God’s command
The seal knew where to start
It was the dog’s heart being the spark
It was the assurance the dog needed that he always had a friend, but it was a matter of who and when
The story around a dog and a seal in the end
Now a dog and seal in a new fond friendship in which to begin.
Anthony Sarch Dec 2014
Warmth
Of ones touch,
Fends off
Coldness of being alone.
A passionate kiss
Brings sensual desire
And intimacy of the soul,
Pumps ones heart,
Blood through veins.
Tantalizing scenes
Forgotten, lost in pain.
Why am I still alone then
When my haven was serene
As well loving for thee,
But time changed you for thee.
Leaving my heart to bleed
Suffer and no longer breathe
For thee and love for thee
As breath leaves me with no pleasure
Of life without thee with thee.
Warmth
Turns cold
Feelings I have lost
Love I will never know anymore
For heart has turn to stone
With pain lost within darken abyss
You put me in
devante moore Nov 2015
Fits of rage goes off inside my head
I can't tame me
There's an empty cage open
But I can't find a clue what's been set free
Hidden away inside me
Every once in awhile it goes on a spree
Crippling the good part of me
So I've been corrupted from the core
From this unknown disease
Spawned inside  
Pumping through my veins
Any good intentions by another is in vane
They can't be trusted in my brain
I'm my own worst enemy
The inner me
Jealous what it sees on the outside from within
Wants me only for itself
So it fends off anyone else
Because it wants my by myself
Tia Imani Rose Aug 2017
i don't recall the day that you left
but i've been cold since the discovery of your absence
parts of me crave your acknowledgment
while the other half fends for itself
and i'm forced to pretend light still lives here
i wonder how much longer i can go
until the tears i cry for you
spill over and all that's left is the cage
that once housed my soul
denial brings me comfort and every night i fall
into the dried flowers and broken glass that fills my being

self love, i miss you
Zainab Aug 2018
As the blackened-achromic night
fends off the sun's bright
The advent of inquietude
emptiness beholds
the very chambers of heart

The vile hug of gloam
So hefty,
Like a clench of lion's claw
be it's grip

The conflagurations of angst
Hopes perish
Despairs flourish
A soul dimmin'
The demise within
neth jones Jun 2021
life fends its ache in a solid state of lumber
stretches grouted brawn
and sets its stresses on duty

gaseous pollution meets the daylight
a warming flatulence of the productivity byproduct
labour

orb
parching an arc over the brow
and easing an erase into the eve

then to
the night solution
a fluid of festivity
*** excite in arts and the conduct
a canvas of tincture
to suspend our culture
                        in-bedded

the witching hour is only a blink
a jiff and a wink
a humour in the plasma state
break
the process is reignited
and for that brief movement
cleaned out of heads
we are simple
guided
Lauren Gorger Feb 2018
you may mistake me.
you may, be my guest.
you may rest knowing that what you know,
isn’t what you should.
you may, recreate my mind for me, despite what I’ve said.
you may, put words in my mouth, regardless of the words that I’ve shed.
you may not pay attention.
you may think you found the direction that I am headed.
and I’m free to hit reverse at 100 miles per hour.
i may pray to the Holy Father a hundred times, every hour.
not because of you, or them, but because of me.
I need to know that i am free.
and He, might hold me, in a space where i am solely remaining, regaining pieces of me, regaining a peace that i need.
You may, not understand me.
you may.
but one day, you will see.
either way, you will see.
what it means to just be, by any means.
to be yourself, to grasp the wealth of a soul that needs help but still fends for themselves.
One day you’ll see.
Larry Mar 2020
Remember when?
We talked as friends?
Thought to ends
& brought what fends?
Ayn Oct 2021
Stand up or crawl.
Seething pervasive emotion
Burning like an open wound.
Sores and pains erupt throughout
But life’s tenacity carries you forth.
Your mind is blazingly empty;
Save one thought: the end goal.
The pain threatens to corrupt you more,
But your burning strive fends off its toll.

There’s nothing left but the finale;
A desire so strong, nothing else remains.
A scream of intense vitality;
Silencing the waves; soothing the pains.

— The End —