"fewer" poems
It's a year almost that I have not seen her:
Oh, last summer green things were greener,
Brambles fewer, the blue sky bluer.
It's surely summer, for there's a swallow:
Come one swallow, his mate will follow,
The bird race quicken and wheel and thicken.
Oh happy swallow whose mate will follow
O'er height, o'er hollow! I'd be a swallow,
To build this weather one nest together.
14.2k
3/5/2014
Decisions,
Directions,
Conflicts,
Connections.
Who's to say I know best?
Everyday is just a test.
To move or to stay.
To breathe or decay.
To love or abate.
To rebel or obey.
To commit or to stray.
Every kiss begins with K,
but then you factor in fate.
I lead a life of ambition,
with no room for indecision.
But I just don't know what's next.
All I do is try my best.
I can't complain or compare,
The results would be unfair.
I have lots, and others little,
yet life, still gets fickle.
I have little family and fewer friends,
who stay until the end?
I'm not worried or sad.
I just wish that I had:
stayed,
prayed,
paid,
or given away.
You live and you learn.
You decide and get burned,
but thus is life.
Everything happens for a reason.
We'll see what happens next season.
Time.
Time to pick.
Time to choose.
Time to stick.
No time to lose.
Compare.
Contrast.
Pro vs Con.
"Decisions, decisions."
I knew all along.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
fuel desperation,
and so are valuable
assets in the game
of spinning chambers.
one ***** is all it takes.
you might not believe
a person still wading
through adolescence
could harbor such
malevolent intent.
one slight is all it takes.
age is barely even
a consideration when
haunted by the desire
for revenge or need
of self-preservation.
one fragile moment is all it takes.
fewer years simply
equate to shallower
perspective, exacerbating
youthful impulsivity.
one bullet is all it takes.
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 12:40 PM UTC
For a time we exchanged lives.
Many a trait, from you derives.
Then no-one, no-one, no-one
could be you: The One.
Our secrets filled each other’s ears
spoken in a second; lasting years.
It hurts my mind remembering We
for you are now a part of Me.
Sometimes I wish we hadn’t solved our woes.
The saddest part to part as foes.
In my memories you’re still my best friend;
Moments show a friendship with no end.
In those snapshots we never grow a part,
Yet it is those memories that tear my heart.
Although but a fluttering butterfly kiss,
our carefree laugh is one I’ll miss.
As life changes so do We.
In the end we is anyone + me.
Because we changed as we got older,
so our laughs got fewer, our looks colder.
We may not make new memories together,
But our shared time will last forever.
Our contact now may be none to few.
I am glad I was somebody + you.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
complexity bias
how you love to criticize my poems
as too long and overly complex
poor me, I’m no genius, don’t prosper by exploiting
unrecognized simplicities, rather deconstruct the
intricate complexities that I flatter myself are the me-sinews
Writing is a **** temptation -
we focus on the 10% that is complex and ignore the easy 90%
perhaps this once I will surrender my bare bones
put aside the rich, satisfying of cave diving, urban spelunking
word caressing tongue verbiage rich tapestry exploring -
give you the plane of plain where nestles my destiny: nesting near motionless where the couch is my kingdom and cold cereal is
easily digested and there are no consequences
I am a member of a discriminated-against minority
we have no charismatic leader, no marchers anywhere, and government programs say
hey you’re free white and twenty one plus, get the crap out of
our faces, you useless piece of rhymes with **** and includes dirt, though I shower twice a day to keep myself occupied
25 years old, a high school dropout, of course I’m white,
my occupation is playing video games and making sure
my supply of opioids is adequate in these great United States
where I was born
there are fewer jobs than none that my application survives
a first glance discardation, and now my disability preempts
any demand to pretend there is gainful employment in store in
my future
this reductio ad absurdum is a technique to expose the fallacy,
ah what’s that you say no interest in hanging about,
on your way out, of course, of course,
we are the wrong flavor of downtrodden
my life is simple - simplistic in its a chaotic entropic way,
order slowly declines into disorder
my rituals are a fight against slip sliding down, falling off the
the Herzog continuums
and the poems are desperate hand holds to prevent my
going, gone under
so forgive me if I tax you without possessing not the
requisite taxing authority
you hone in on the obvious disparities and my contradictions
resenting my sending you this bill of extravagant length
compose with me and a mean will be located and to sleep I go,
perhaps to undress my dreams and explicate the wealthy multiples of complexity in the simplicity of a junkies life
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
Behind all of the glamour
Hidden by the glitz
Under all the spray on tans
And distracted by the ****
Lies a Vegas like no other
Not the one you wish to see
The other side of Vegas
Has a cost, it isn't free
A parade of homeless people
Far off strip are daily seen
Heading for a bed and meal
Away from where the grass is green
The locals all accept it
It's a darker part of town
Where there's fewer painted smiles
On this Las Vegas clown
Every other building
Is boarded up or framed
In steel bar covered windows
With no winners at the game
The goal of all the walkers
Is to get to the next day
They can't afford to leave here
They can't afford to stay
Each walkway full of hawkers
Selling water for a buck
Passed out drunks all sleeping
Hoping you will toss a buck
Some saints and many sinners
Came to find the life they lead
Is not the one they looked for
When they came here to fill their greed
Don't look behind the curtain
You will not like what you will find
The darker side of Vegas
Is not one that's in your mind
A parade of desperate people
Walk the streets each night alone
Past the empty buildings
Pass the bail bonds, guns and loans
To truly see Las Vegas
You have to venture off the strip
Into a world of darkness
And in truth, it's a short trip
Behind the glitz and glamour
Away from where the tourists go
Is the dark side of Las Vegas
That only few will ever know
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
XXIV
Let the world’s sharpness, like a clasping knife,
Shut in upon itself and do no harm
In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,
And let us hear no sound of human strife
After the click of the shutting. Life to life—
I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,
And feel as safe as guarded by a charm
Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife
Are weak to injure. Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer,
Growing straight, out of man’s reach, on the hill.
God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.
7.2k
Long before she was born
The balance, the societal scale,
The ground upon which her wobbly feet
Will learn to stand upright and walk steady
Had been socially disintegrated.
Arms with which her clay mind
Is to be molded and framed
Had been morally fractured.
The ‘responsible majority'
Saddled with the making of serious decisions
Had decided against her-
The minor, with fewer rights
And a body like hers-
Double jeopardy, I will say.
The verdict always the same,
Unanimous more often than not
Guilty!! Is the girl child;
If she grows too fast
Or he touches her inappropriately.
So she learns from her early days
The skill of helplessness
All through the pain and the shame
For it is always her fault
Always has been
Long before she arrived
©Belema .S. Ekine
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 7:07 AM UTC
A late hour. Don't even look at the clock.
Every fiber of my good sense yells go to
sleep and I do not. Every bit of logic
understands that I need to wake in fewer
hours than I needed to sleep in the first place
Still I sit here
Listening to music.
Writing a poem. Staring idly
at a browser window. The lights are on, the blinds
drawn. When the sun begins to rise, I will not see it
I've seen several sunrises recently
I remember what they look like.
In the midwest somewhere, a tweaker sits
awake for the third day. Chasing vapor and ghosts
He's seen the sunrise too, perhaps an hour later
He may or may not remember
We run from the cousin, but he finds us
The sandman cometh. And
Enter night
and what dreams may come
Locked in the struggle we all lose,
Running from comfort and sanity at full-speed
10.03.11
D.B. Guy
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:55 AM UTC
Whisky breath and
cold sweat stench
fill this room
as there are fewer hours
till work
than will sober me up.
One last cigarette
One more affirmation
To keep the promises
we will slumber past
their breaking point
Class can wait
Work can wait
Life waits for none
I wait
For life to
Become
More than cycle
Of light and dark
Of stagnant art
And stagnant words
That still drip
From the corners
Of my ethyl lubricated
Mouth.
That still pool in
Your soul as
You drift to sleep
Goodnights said to every
Underage youth now
Napping away
Morning rush.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
Peter Pan said Wendy -
There's something I want to tell you.
I am neither straight nor bent
But what you might call bendy
Captain Hook stopped reading his e-book and eavesdropped more intently.
Peter knew what his flexible friend meant and spoke to her quite innocently.
Wendy - I am as vanilla as Manilla envelopes in a creamery with whitewashed walls
And identical twin albino Godzillas fighting snow leopards with cue *****
No gimp suit in fifty shades of grey for me.
I am pretty much hormone-free,
More than happy with asexuality,
Playing pirated computer games on one hand
And others' loves that dare not speak their names which fewer understand.
In my world of dreamery certain flights of fancy pass me by.
I love to fly and you Wendy.
And I love you too Peter - Not Everygirl's Ideal of A Real Man.
But I can understand the attraction of Lost Boys and their toys in Neverland.
We've known each other for all these years,
Shared too many troubles, thoughts and fears
To be anything other than in each other's hearts.
If I never visit Neverland again
I know you will always be my closest friend,
What, where, whenever happens
To the bittersweet end.
May we both be dying for an Excellent Adventure,
If not together then separately.
There is nothing better than to know
That you will always be there for me
No matter how we might grow
Into this 21st century.
And one day I may straighten out
But
That's
Not
What
Life's
About.
Captain Hook put down his e-book and Facebooked a friend...............
And that is where our story will end.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
Seems like a dream
Has over taken us now
Tossed in this turmoil
I'm not quite sure how
We've all become numbers
In this nameless place
Have pity on the whole human race
We've spent years of our future
Trying to run from the past
Relying on memories
That never did last
With so many questions
Who can we ask
Where are the morals that we used to have
Whatever happened to the morals in life
We opened the window
They flew into the night
Can anyone tell me how we'll ever get by
Without the morals that once held us so tight
The fewer the heartbeats
The shorter the time
The deeper the cavern
The harder the climb
The more that we look for
The less that we find
Of the morals that we left behind
Whatever happened to the morals in life
We opened the window
They flew into the night
Can anyone tell me how we'll ever survive
Without the morals that we once had in life
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 10:45 AM UTC
Didn't listen to a word they said,
Don't let it go to your head,
No sweeter than a siamese cat,
A pillow soft to follow that.
I am me I am honesty,
I am me to be honest highly modest,
To dress you up not incorrect,
As I lead you on that subject txt,
No sense of cure no maintenance here,
No in betweens to acetate fewer.
I am me I'm honesty,
I am modest to be honest.
To the people on the street,
In all my work friends up all week,
And in glory you appear,
At night you disappear.
I am me I'm honesty.
I am modest to be honest,
In private times asking this big question,
Its easy to sell in one direction.
A give or take its hard to make,
Give me one more big suggestion.
I am me I'm honesty,
I am modest I do promise,
I am me I'm honesty,
I'm getting away from my O'Reily office.
@O'Reily26102012
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
Caucasian cadaver in the windless woods.
Carelessly hanging from a tree.
Colorless face looking down.
Carrion yet to be seen.
Creation of an evil man.
Displaying his departed art.
Completed, his compelling plan.
Of helping death do its part.
Few colors, fewer sounds.
White skin contrasts the black dress.
Faded yellow floating all around.
Splatters of red fill the rest.
A frightful figure that overwhelms.
Above the confused and thorny trails.
All the shallow know themselves.
At the sight of this female.
Breathless before being dangled.
Dead before being displayed.
Beautiful body, cold and mangled.
Death magnificently portrayed.
Multiple stab wounds in your back.
Added to the smell of war.
Mind immersed in barren black.
Gnawed eyes to watch and adore.
Dripping, dim and dreadful.
The portrait he wanted to smear.
Your future as empty as your words.
Your hollowness shown clear.
You don't know what you're missing.
Elders still die, the young still grow.
The leaves below are hissing.
At the corpse of a girl I used to know.
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 11:37 AM UTC
Three days, is what the HR rep said, somewhat sheepishly,
As if she was fully aware that boxing up one’s grief
In a span of a few dozen hours
Is a matter of wishful thinking
And certainly she sympathizes
(Indeed, as she speaks,
She spreads her hands in such a way
As you half expect doves to come forth in full flight)
Empathy being their stock in trade,
But the law and the handbook say three days,
And then you need to have your head
******* back on and looking forward.
Eventually, the mail brings fewer envelopes
Marked with embossed flowers
And subdued and tasteful stamps,
The usual flow of solicitous inquiries,
Pre-stamped and pre-sorted,
Inquiring as to your credit needs,
The condition of your windows and siding,
Resumes apace, and more than once,
In fits of inappropriate black humor and frustration,
You scribble, in bold thick strokes of a marker,
The addressee no longer resides at this location.
You return to nine-to-five,
Though your ghosts keep their own hours,
Stopping by to visit on their own schedule alone,
Prompted by the tiniest of things:
The dog scampering to its feet in a hurry,
As if someone was at the door,
The discovery of a long-unused pitching wedge
Standing expectantly in the back of the closet,
A song from long ago which was beloved
When you lived in the pairing mandated by Noah
Before you entered the shadow world of ones and nones.
Sometimes you give into the giddy madness,
And rise to waltz around the room,
Careening about unsteadily, clumsily
As you have yet to completely master
The difference in weight shift and distribution
That is required of a solo act.
The timing of these visitations
Often disrupts your schedule and sleep patterns,
And you think that perhaps tomorrow you’ll call in.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 10:38 AM UTC
He's not a man of many graces,
fewer teeth than tongues
but he won't say much with his lips.
He's at his strongest when you push,
but never from a kiss.
See,
he's stubborn in every way that doesn't matter,
in every principle that has no lesson.
I've bent the spines of fragile men
to see how far they'll go
before they break,
before they'll form into a crest
of his back that I can't dig from my head.
I've watched them fall in love with me
because I thought that maybe
one of them would empty me,
but they didn't.
He is an ill-mannered world,
the kind that breads creation.
A manifestation of passion and fear.
With eyes that dug twelve foot tunnels in my veins
and went there to die.
A man of simple needs,
plesantaries and shaky knees.
But he doesn't want to see you quiver,
he only wants to know it.
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
Don't believe your ears
Are burning;
The hand-hidden mouths
Aren't whispering
About you;
Rolling eyes are untrustworthy,
And the finger flips
That dismiss are referring to the weather.
The fear of rumors
About your clothes,
Your neighborhood
Or the pimple on your neck
Occupy too much space.
Angst is over-rated.
Take the high road
On feelings of belittlement.
Believe me -
Fewer people speak less of you
Than you imagine.
You're not the centre
Of our universe,
And if you were,
Everyone would whisper
Kneeling at your feet.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
Seems like a dream
Has over taken us now
Tossed in this turmoil
I'm not quite sure how
We've all become numbers
In this nameless place
Have pity on the whole human race
We've spent years of our future
Trying to run from the past
Relying on memories
That never did last
With so many questions
Who can we ask
Where are the morals that we used to have
Whatever happened to the morals in life
We opened the window
They flew into the night
Can anyone tell me how we'll ever get by
Without the morals that once held us so tight
The fewer the heartbeats
The shorter the time
The deeper the cavern
The harder the climb
The more that we look for
The less that we find
Of the morals that we left behind
Whatever happened to the morals in life
We opened the window
They flew into the night
Can anyone tell me how we'll ever survive
Without the morals that we once had in life
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 8:28 AM UTC
Bound for lands far in the East
Never have our hands touched
Our eyes barely knew each other
Only a couple of us knew another's name
Fewer recognized our voices
In its Land of Power
As we wandered the grounds
Of a city hoping to earn the winter 5 Rings
We knew joy
We knew laughter
We knew beauty
Unlike what our home lands held
But in our final hours in the city of Beijing
A poison seeped into our morning feast
Which quickly took its toll
A few thousand feet in the Air
As we fell into the city of Western Peace
Our plans became shattered
Few of us barely survived
As our own bodies lost control
We were at the mercy of our own insides
Somehow the two state namesakes were the Worst
Taken to the hospital
If it were not for the group mothers and guides
We would have been among the dead
We saw rolled in front of us
As our medicine was entering our blood
Through needles in our hands
In the midst of what we've come to call
The Xi'an Incident
I saw a glimmer of a rare soul
One full of kindness
Intelligence
And freedom
A type of rare Golden Soul I've come to admire
That lied within the body of the other state
My actions may have been interpreted as
The essence of the White Snake
On some level, maybe it was
But in truth
My gift from Shanghai
To whisper an appropriate goodbye
Was to thank her for pushing me along when times were rough
I am thankful for all that were with me on that trip
And I do hope to see her, and everyone again.
Like I told her in a note I left,
Maybe Hoopa will help make sure
We meet again
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC
Fewer than none, less than a void
I be seedless as grocery store grapes.
Empty as the grave I have yet to be buried in.
I want
I need
I burn
I am
not done.
Not yet...
I should throw it all away
every scrap that is left
every parcel and shred of evidence
of memory
that is my enemy now.
Too close to call it a tie,
I've been foreclosed upon.
That's it, pack it up.
They're useless now
just let them die.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
Challenges punctuate our lives with question marks.
We ask ourselves, “How long?” So we dream.
We wonder about each other. So we believe.
We concern ourselves with each other’s welfare. So we pray.
We doubt our wisdom. So we trust our hearts.
We second guess ourselves. So we act in faith.
We question our tomorrow. So we cherish the present.
We fear the question marks that have punctuated our lives.
So we build walls;
Walls to hide from our fear, walls to hide from our frustration,
And walls to hide from our feelings.
Let us never build walls that would cut us off from the world,
Or from each other.
Within the circle of our fellow strugglers,
Our thoughts are punctuated with fewer question marks,
And from time to time - a simple period.
Here with each other, it's not as difficult to wait for the answer.
And the walls don't seem as challenging to climb.
Whatever our question,
We can dare each other to dream.
And in this time of testing, we can hope for the answer,
An answer that will be different for every one of us.
An answer that punctuates each of our lives
With an exclamation point!
©2014 Michael S. Davis
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
she writes of the falling days
- knows them well, one can tell
simple things like string
and wrappings
autumn and swallows -
hollow places she has seen
in boxes and photographs
and so it is - the falling days
the number of birds at my feeder are fewer
no more humming, no painted buntings
-only my homies come now, my vato birds, my mijas
the cardinal, both red and green
the nuthatch and chickadee, the titmouse-
all three
the wrens and finches, too-
and the blues still like to bathe
in the pyrex baking dish sun warmed
on a sunny day-serenaded by the mocking
one hopping from grub to worm below
- my usual feathered friends
not caring about the weather-fair or foul
and in the pale blue, a gull still laughs
at the folly of it all-
leaving goes slowly-
a spiraling, a gust of wind-
days slowly graying
shorter, lightly fading
- friends, they go
the falling days, change and leavings
leave me - well, you know...
i see the simple things
that soothe, like string
and wrappings, swallows -
- autumn, you know?
r ~ 10/6/14
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
perfunctory actions
zombie habits
sheep normalcy
blindly following the cud chewers
lemmings fall to their deaths
slowly
genetically engineered crops
dusted with pharmaceutical poison
laced with irradiated petroleum pesticides
fed to the babies of the poor –
wealthy voyeurs eagerly tune-in
as the impoverished masses rot
for viewing pleasure
leisurely strolling across manicured lawns
those in power scoff at the growing spectacle
unaware that the cake is stale
and the masses smell blood –
hurriedly, accountants shuffle tax rates
mix those with interest credit
season it with mortgage fees
and serve it on wall street
place mats
taking stock of stock market gains
gamblers do double gainers off high rises
adding to the flesh being consumed by the under class
under classed –
underclassmen, underpaid, stretch under ware elastic
as waistlines expand with the debt ceiling
both symbolizing the slow decline of
the American dream
screaming into the sewer
fewer eyes look back as disease dulls the iris
loss of the inner shine
glowing reflection of living organisms
fading as the day
slips into the blue-black –
night falls on a nation of imbeciles
brain dead patients
broken by depression and weight-loss scams
hearts crying out for care
personal and compassionate
instead are met with sterile robotics
and sanitary “C” students dressed in white
fearful of lawsuits
and spiders
they prescribe to symptoms
without knowing insurance number 87319A23-S1
is a human being, just like them
also living in fear
of the same establishment –
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
Our government wrote a constitution to prevent violation of individual rights
Separation of church and state was included in the constitutional rights
We must look at why this was so important to the founders of this nation
In England the King wanted a divorce, the Pope refused to grant this
The King then took over the Religion for the country appointing himself leader
Our forefathers did not want the same type of control to happen in this country
At the time our schools had few books. Everybody had a bible though
So the primary reader for our early school system was the bible
The Judicial System has done the very thing that the founders tried to prevent.
We cannot teach our children the most basic rules of life, the Ten Commandments
Perhaps if we taught from the bible, we would have fewer problems in this country.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 1:29 PM UTC
I want to promise to build you a castle,
But there are no castles any more,
I want to make you my queen,
But the kingdoms are now countries,
I hoped to make you a house in the suburbs,
With fewer houses we move to urbanity,
Despite my complaints and empty ambitions,
Wherever life takes me, with you is my home.
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 12:24 AM UTC