"feuding" poems
She was a Hatfield
And I a McCoy
It was just love beween
A girl and a boy
Our daddies grandaddies
And those from before
Might think us irreverant
To open that door
She lived two towns over
It was love at first sight....
We would slip out and meet
Every Sat. night
The neighbors all thought
It just wasn't right
But we were in love
And it wasn't our fight
Only two counties apart
She lived in West V
My home was Kentucky
The suitor was me
To us it was foolish
The feud was so old
Even though it was famous
From the tales that were told
She lived two towns over
It was love at first sight....
We would slip out and meet
Every Sat. night
The neighbors all thought
It just wasn't right
But we were in love
And it wasn't our fight
We'd meet after dark
At a barn down the line
We were not feuding people
For that night she was mine
We would run off together
After school was complete
We'd change both our names
We would be real discreet
She lived two towns over
It was love at first sight....
We would slip out and meet
Every Sat. night
The neighbors all thought
It just wasn't right
But we were in love
And it wasn't our fight
Our folks would reject us
And spoil our joy
Cause here was a Hatfield
With a real McCoy
For now, we'll be secret
Share our love cross the fence
And we'll wait till our kin folk
Wake up with some sense
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 5:15 PM UTC
The essence of one's soul
Soothing, cleansing,running
Freely down the cheek
Allowing one to release feuding
Thoughts held inside.
A sign of weakness
To the outside world
Even though everyone has to sometime
Alone in the dark,
Crying to herself
As she tries to forget the pain.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 4:27 PM UTC
*My spirit is one that has been through much.
My eyes have witnessed too many tears.
My heart has ached, and felt like granite.
My soul is imprisoned by good and evil.
And, yet I feel a spiritual need to cling to hope.
Spirituality is there for those who have been to Hell and back,
(So they say)
I've glimpsed Hell in my family, through secrets and lies,
they multiply, until you lose count.
Now, I wasn't beaten, molested or deprived,
I just had to live in a village where everyone knew everything.
About you, your family, your soul. Imagine that.
No freedom to be unique. To be you.
You kick, you scream, you try to be free, to flee,
but, the village brings you back,
time and time again.
It feeds off your fear, your hate.
Village life is not quaint, picturesque,
or even idyllic, it's full of grudges,
jealousy, hate and even ******
(or two)
Families feuding over long forgotten grudges.
Families related, through marriage and hate.
Families haunted and taunted by their past.
Families dying with secrets on their lips, and in their hearts.
Along with this came religion,
as many chapels as pubs.
And as many ghosts as the living.
Walk through my mind, walk through my village.
Come, meet the dead*
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
Conscious how below self awareness motives can be.
Subconscious no matter the state.
The density remains linear; all drawn in pen
to attend to these feuding desciples
of being “super” and the instinctive relliance on idioms,
of actions portrayed further than words,
finding balance on this epicenter
of egocentric dreams coined all along the same metaphor.
Sides- to what ever shape of form of the matter ,
linear at point we all eventually
dive/urge finding another
point above or below
convergence in light
to change focus in volume/mass
equaling (1)ndividuality / decreasing the density of situations
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 10:54 AM UTC
Folksy blokes, like ya struttin’ ya thang
If you’ve come out of da Grand Ole Opry
But, won’t stay around for any old music sang
If it’s causing their head, to bob up and down and go all floppy
While rugged mountain men riding in some country rodeo
Can just step right up, to a Appalachia recording studio
Put down several tracks and become a worldwide pop star
They sing about hillbilly ways, while cogging or flatfooting from afar
Talking ‘bout wild hogs, gators, foxes & how so many more
Taste so great, using leftovers as bait & making real men roar
Old fables, told through pictures and patterns, upon knitted quilt
Even showing the feuding days of the Hatfields versus McCoys
From both sides of Tug Fork stream, with many unemployed
Although Asa and Devil Anse, said, ‘they hadn’t much guilt’
All because of a judge and 5000 acres of unusable swamp land
Once owned, by a close kissin’ cousin named, Perry Cline
Who didn’t even get any blood on his hand
They started a war, that could’ve been stopped
By a bottle or two, of good ole mountain moon-shine
Both clans almost wiped out, if last man standing had accidentally dropped.
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 10:40 PM UTC
Don’t believe them (*the books the fairy tales the
romantic comedies*) when they tell you,
“Love will find a way.”
They are liars, spinning words like
the Serpent to Eve.
Love does not always prevail.
Sometimes, you are twenty and stupid and
far too drunk
and when you wake up in the morning, he is gone.
Sometimes you think, “I’ll tell him tomorrow,”
and tomorrow never comes.
Sometimes, he is the groom and you are the girl at the back of the church he once dated in college and forgot about.
Sometimes, you are the bride and because this isn’t Hollywood,
no one stops the wedding.
Sometimes, you wait up until four o’clock in the morning
for his call.
Sometimes, it never comes.
Sometimes, he dies.
Sometimes, you do.
Sometimes, you fight and yell and sob into the phone to your mother—
who married too young and never really knew how to care for you anyway—
but no matter how many dishes you throw,
you just can’t make it work.
Sometimes, he is a man when you marry him
and a monster by the time your daughter is born.
Sometimes, you drop your change in the supermarket, the mall, the
subway, and when your fingers brush as you both reach down to scoop up the scattered pennies and dimes, you feel that
electric shock.
You look into his deep graygreenbluebrown eyes and see
everything that will be: all the adventures not yet had, the promises not yet made—
and then, amidst all that unlived life, his wife (girlfriend, fiancé)
calls to him from twenty feet away
and those promises never get made at all.
Sometimes, you like him and he likes the girl
with the long blonde hair and
prettier smile.
Sometimes, he likes you and you
honestly just don’t give a ****
Sometimes, there is no Prince Charming on a great white steed coming to battle the dragon.
Sometimes, you have to save yourself.
Sometimes, survival is the only happy ending.
Sometimes, your families are feuding and no matter how much you try,
you cannot reason with your father or mother or
whoever is keeping you apart.
Sometimes, after that, you both just die.
Sometimes, it’s all about the timing.
Sometimes, you go in one door and he goes out another,
And then you never meet.
Sometimes, you sob into your pillow and beg God to change his mind for you,
but no amount of wishing can bring him back.
Sometimes, you are separated—by culture, by Time, by
universes, by a fate that has decided to break your heart in
every way possible and then toss you out to sea just
one last time, just to see if you’ll survive.
Sometimes you never find that someone who makes your skin burn, who
drives you crazy or keeps you sane.
Sometimes, you are just lonely and then you die.
Love doesn’t always prevail.
But sometimes.
Just sometimes.
It does.
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 1:15 AM UTC
Romeo and Juliet, was written second best
For even Shakespeare himself, could have only guessed
That somewhere in a future place, a story would soon unfold
That would last throughout the ages and forever be retold
There would be no fancy thee's or thou's strewn across the page
No feuding families fighting wars, filled with all their rage
There would be no big finale, to only end in death
No poison would be swallowed, not a scent upon their breath
A story like this can only live when love was meant to last
A legendary tale of endless love that would never be surpassed
Handed down through history to make two lovers swoon
A story told ten million times beneath the lover's moon
Romeo and Juliet was just a fairy tale
In comparison to the story we wrote, it would even pale
Written in a language that lovers forever discuss
The story I've been talking about is simply the story of us
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 4:05 PM UTC
Back in the Kindergarden times,
When we thrived on nursery rhymes,
When we were grasping our tables,
And learning morals through fables.
While studying the consonants,
And forgetting our vowels,
We'd mew like cats &hoot; like owls.
When a smile could make amends,
And bridge gaps between feuding friends.
We would conjure tales in our heads,
And carry no worries to our beds.
When we would join in a chorus and sing,
Because awkwardness was an unheard thing.
When appearances were an afterthought,
And happiness in wealth wasn't sought.
the nose would never cease to leak,
We'd prance around tongue in cheek.
Toothless grins and scabbed knees,
Were sufficient to charm and please.
With No attempts to please through flattery,
thumping your friend didn't amount to battery.
Childish mirth and innocent revelry,
is nothing but a distant memory.
So now I chide and mockingly grin,
With hope of reviving the lost child within.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 5:29 AM UTC
Lost in my mind
With emotions running the game
I can't figure out my thoughts
Because they're never the same.
Lost in a world
Loving the thought of that one
Who can't stand the thought of relationships
And decided that we were done.
Lost in my feelings
Not angry, but dazed and confused
Because she still likes me
So I just don't know what to do.
Lost in my heart
Feuding between two sides
One wanting her more than breathing
The other just dying to get by.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
Give A Little : I take a Little
I am the daughter of a sharecropper
I am the real granddaughter of Netta
I am the element of surprises
Sadness and gladness is a part of my being
I give a little, I take a little and I
Pay the price and make the sacrifice:
I am the daughter of a sharecropper,
Back on the hills where the zephyr winds only
Last, for a nanosecond: while
Hiding away from the warm air:
this young child survive:
I am the daughter of a sharecropper,
I sing the songs of the old calypsonians
In memories of my ancestors as they
Sings and mocked their slave masters
Even beyond the grave:
Sadness and gladness is a part of their memories
I give a little, I take a little and I
Pay the price and make the sacrifice,
I have the scars to justified,
the other man white lies:
I felt the pain, in the cold rain,
I am the daughter of a sharecropper,
The granddaughter of Netta,
The element of surprises,
Here I am today still feuding with my choices
that I have come to make...….
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 11:07 AM UTC
When you know the answer then why wait for the question?
maybe it was just to make her squirm in that last sense of right I knew all that was wrong.
She knew it would hurt and so she avoidng the words.
Hiding her own happiness to allow me my dellusion tinged misery.
At the table the candle slowley burned casting a glow only
causing the shadows to stir.
We spoke more in silence than in words.
My male ego feuding with itself.
Yerning to cause the pain that was already
eating at me secrets burn a hole in the rational mind.
You ***** I imagined yelling causing only me to appear more of a fool than I already was.
But the silence said it all.
Sliding the drink aside looking into the eyes i could never truley understand.
And in my loss i saw the beauthy and saw her emptyness
with me she would only know.
the moonlight reflected apon the water is but a reflection
of what we need only look up to see.
It takes love to say goodbye.
as outside in the nights air we needed that last embrace to
remind us of the emptyness that we shared.
Into her eyes I gazed as within her soul I spoke.
No false hope tasted within that kiss.
As paths part life does change and the chapter is closed.
The happy lie tempted my heart as she vanished into
her life.
Perfume cast her scent as the pen kissed the page.
the ghost's off memory haunt me eternal.
But never was is my life.
As my love yerns more for what her's could be.
The darkness my home always tempted with the
promise of light.
Closed is that fragment of heart.
As the candle's apon the table slowley kissed the darkness
as trail's of smoke trace the scene.
I knew it was over befor she spoke the final words.
But no matter the experience nothing.
Prepares you for the hell of waiting for goodbye.
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 3:21 PM UTC
These days of hardship bring forth the inner greatness of each individual as well as they stir up great evils among the borders of our society, her mom says no, and projects that word not only upon her self and the intruder to her daughter's life, but also on her daughter, which brings forth great toils in her family relations, fault is passed around, words unkind in nature are exposed between two feuding parties, and the world of two lovers is brought down upon their heads...and yet they stay strong, reassuring each other in a world where assurance is rare, rarer still, between two individuals blessed and cursed to be expelled from society only two find each other on the outskirts of life, and defend their love with the might of a thousand army's...this is devotion, true and pure, with not a second thought to spare, loyal to a fault, a loyalty that can not be broken by distance, time, or any third party demention that lies outside the reach of my own human capacity of intuition. She is as wise as the earth is old, as beautiful as the limits of perception may permit, she is an unsung hero in liberty, and the song of a hero in music as her voice shines through the light of a billion stars, and yet this self-graduated knowledge resides not in her heart, nor does it appear before her mind, but rather her humble state in reference to her angelicism conquors all sence of selfish desire in exchange for an understanding of what it feels to be truely happy, and in love, but her perfection will not go un-warranted in the minds of the many, for there is an individual in the world who aims to project the complexity of this lovely woman to the population of the society who cast her away in the beggining...his name is William, and he loves his beautiful angel more than the sum of the known intelligence in the universe could calculate or comprehend, he loves her as a bride, a soul mate, even a daughter at times, but most importantly, he loves her as the core component that leads his life away from a dark path...and into the light of true happiness, and for this, he is forever in her debt, I love you Annie
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
I was wondering about nothing
thinking about less
no feuding or fussing
no clutter
no mess
no anger or issues
no reason for stress
is this what it feels like
to be truly blessed?
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 8:26 AM UTC
Woe to the world,
The promised land has just got smaller,
That special place to the east sanctified by the caller,
What's the rush to **** and die for life?
These are the roots of our plundered, ageing strife.
Central to feuding beliefs is an ideal called peace
And that dove is yet to conquer the ever fighting geese,
As you read on, another brother wipes his brow with a ****** ***** rag,
And that dove called peace remains an idea trapped in a brain paper bag
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 2:06 PM UTC
Echoes rebound off the bedroom walls
as she screams in pleasure to a deity
that better hears whispered prayers.
Violin Concerto in F Minor, Vivaldi
is the soundtrack when seed and egg
meet in her and make our child.
Love bleeds all over feuding families
as guns like thunder roar through the
night delivering the required martyrs.
The dead are mourned with a dirge of
voices echoing off the hills and the
building threat of vengeance. Storms.
Anger thrums just out of hearing,
just out of sight as our child is
born into this unwelcome cauldron.
This night defines me. Unbridled joy.
Hope for our familial peace. Not to be.
My child loses her mother to violence.
Echoes rebound off the bedroom walls
as she screams in hunger to a mother
who better hears whispered prayers.
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 8:39 PM UTC
honesty, the true and whole
expression of the being who
we actually are, is my most
key and integral tenet
I forgive the meek, the lazy,
the angry, the godless, the
misunderstood, the ignorant,
and the infirm if only they
admit to me they are those
things
+
living in a society of lies,
I have grown to value the
little grains of truth I can
mine out of this world
the reasons people are afraid
of the dark, the motivations
that drive some to attack other,
and the lusts hidden away in
trunks and drawers and dark
places are just some of the
gems I have extracted
those are too dramatic though,
they do not reflect why I value
their kind so, for they are jewels
sought out by others, for more
greedy, selfish reasons
they are my prize because
they are real. they are the
reality in room of mirrors.
they ground while the
world takes flight.
amongst them are simpler things:
true opinion, small desires, empty
thoughts, the questions raised when
the teacher turns her back, the terrors
that haunt others in their sleep, the
different paths that all minds take
these are what I seek,
what I desire and lust
for
+
my life is spoiled, in many ways,
by the juxtaposition of possibility
with inevitability
the assumption of the later is
proved false by the first
one can never be forced to play
a game, there are always many
others, or there is always death
+
I find myself on the edge
of a blade, slowly cutting
the two halves of myself
into feuding worlds
those smart and those willing
now war against those attracted
to comfort and to chance
I stand at the center,
my form withering
as I grow
tonight, I sleep under the grey clouds,
hoping the rain will wash away the
sin
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 8:04 PM UTC
When I was younger I used to hide under my bed
As if it were a roof
Protecting me from problems disguised as rain
It was the only place my tears could flow safely
Out of sight
It helped block the sound of my feuding parents screaming:
"YOU'RE NEVER RIGHT!"
When I was younger I used to hide under my bed
I would imagine the cracks in my floor pushing flower buds through them
The sun being caught
as it shone onto the floor board beside me.
And it's light hardening into a
Crisp,
Flaky,
Gold
That I would be able to peel off with the simplicity of a fingernail.
When I was younger I used to hide under my bed
And smug between the boards off the bed frame and the mattress I would hide
My razor drenched in blood.
And the screaming would continue
And I would become aware that my imagination could never logically come alive
So I would squish my fingers between the bars
To grab my mighty prize
Of finding reality
The great realization we all look for
As a child.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
Well, walking into well set traps...
Convince us we're all fools,
Strip us of our cares and make
Us speak only when spoken to.
A victim on every street corner
Pandering for change, the same,
It'll be another dry penniless day,
A vague charade became a silly play,
In this play men and women are cut and dry,
Straight marriage-happily ever after-American pie.
It's always been the same, this silly little game,
And when it's over we'll just pick up the pieces,
Those idiots ruined everything for us, failures,
Before we're finished we'll blame them for it all,
The messed up elections, the crime on the streets,
It's all the libtards fault!
Or is it really? Ignorance is not to far from what makes
This world one where "winners" and "losers" take
Shots at each other, finding they were wronged again
And again and again!
Kind of like in a court room "social brawl" where
Two "feuding families" wont admit they are all at
Fault, all breeding war and pain and suffering in vain.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 2:12 AM UTC
A few stiches with lacking seams
You came to me as rough-woven fabric
Under my fingers you were sewn in the lining
But then you said, and I saw: walls
So I tore it all down and found the bricks
And I built you up again
Red cement warned me not to pry
With hope and grace you needed light
In faith I tore cement away, I gave you glass
Again I find the changing face of insecurity
And I quickly find porcelain humanity
Once more I made you into a finer clay
Strength of mind and a feuding heart
You became a gilt of silent armor
Giving me blisters in the sun
But for all your flighty woes and wonders
I never glanced away from each detail
To find the broken platter of bending cracks
You are burlap skin and of red brick mind
Glass eyes and hidden sculpted mouth
You don't shine in bruised and welded silver
Some days I've built your mystery up annew
I know I've torn you every way but down, you make me
Tired, and make me scared, I won't build you up again
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 3:05 PM UTC
the day ends again
so the feuding begins
because folks 'round here
like shooting in the dark
and my life's on the line
it whines behind my eyes
but my mind's on
wherever you are
it's been a lifetime of
long, long days
and even longer nights
so let me fight
for a fool
i've done a lot of things right
you can't deny
though i'm a fool
i'm still the last one on
your side
soon the sun will rise
and maybe i'm a fool for
laying down my life, oh i'm
just a fool, but i'll die
your hero any night
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 11:47 PM UTC
where did my phone go
the bonobo doesn't know the only goal is soul.
Tread lightly on the unknown, the queen bee is dumb as hate
I ate what i ate then the figure eight has been skated a great intimate
lethal pajamas are all plaid laid pink and black alternating
whose laying down and feuding hysterical manic destitute
a lewd groomed spitoonn running out of gas like a dragster of the unconscious mind
The double dark chocolate appears vanilla at the witching hour eleven minutes before
the score shows the trolls no longer know where home or a bridge to go
sticking needles in haystacks, a lit cigarette laid back smoking next to a burnt out filament
A lightbulb incandescence is a recipe heaven sent from ****** addiction
just like ritalin is diagnosed for children prescribe amephatimes for the future
to cling nooseless to sleeping pills for tomorrow comes this morning
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 7:19 AM UTC
In the swirling rivers of forgotten times
Ancestors built a grave from above
For promises made on their long-ago crimes
I lost my once-and-only love
All their past mistakes and their pacts running deep
Are drowning in the murky flood
Treaties compiled in oaths they could not keep
Are passed down in our family blood
Her marble lips smile in the icy stone vault
Her love buried by old vows of hate
But her silent suicide wasn’t our fault
Her ****** caused by forefathered fate
They spiteful told me her hands never to hold
Their feuding sounds her funeral bell
Their path has decreed her white face should be cold
So I choose to die here as well
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 8:47 PM UTC
Are the monsters without
Or the monsters within?
MY head is polluted with sin
Indeed not only is my own
But it is the sole for which I claim
Responsibility; am I even sane?
So if everyone outside is to me,
Why therefore am I not too?
A monster to everyone’s view
Are the zombies them or am I
Festering feuding tearing at the walls of my head
Wanting food, craving blood, needing to be fed
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
There are many "me"s
and I have a feeling
this multitude of "I's
may be a surprise
to those individuals
whose eyes can find
only one thing to be.
If only I could be
one thing as well,
simple and complete,
I wouldn't have to wage this war
to see which me is me.
These "me"s duke it out
over inches of space
not worth ****
in the grand scheme of things.
I guess "I" am here
somewhere in the middle
but all my "me"s
kick up so much dust
I can't see my "I" at all.
And all the while,
my "me"s continue to club
and beat each other
and still they continue to exist
despite their resistance
to come together.
Forever warring and feuding
my "me"s
and my "I"s
see things too differently
to ever believe
they want the same prize.
I who am many
desire to be one,
but if one "me" ends up winning
that means my other "me"s are done.
Aug 12, 2011
Aug 12, 2011 at 11:45 PM UTC
That was not the experience I wanted to have.
These patterns have to break at some point, this road is barren like the forest where I lost myself.
A cloud of feuding emotions hovers over my head.
I don't know where I'm at or where I've been and everything is a distant haze.
Where does consciousness begin?
This question plagues my brain like a virus trying desperately to leech on to my emotions, manipulating them like a puppet master.
I am just a marionette, hanging from strings, the more I thrash the tighter the knots become, choking me back to reality.
Let me go, I pray, let me go.
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 11:20 PM UTC