"forbids" poems
weekends are made of
passion,
pleasure,
and pain.
passion makes us do things
like fall in love with strangers
on a two day binge
doing unspeakable things
to one another
making our bodies cringe
moments of pleasure
we'll both soon forget
but living fast is fun
the best time spent!
Monday always forbids us
introducing the heartbreak game
you used my body
and I forgot your name
weekends are simply a fantasy
with their share of pain
"it was nice knowing you,
glad you came."
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 3:42 PM UTC
The Sun is in love.
The Moon is in love.
But what they have is a forbidden love.
The Sun chases the Moon.
The Moon chases the Sun.
But a force greater than that forbids their love.
They will never reach each other,
No matter how hard they try.
A Romeo and Juliet story, once again.
They know their bond won't last very long
Because the Sun and the Moon have a forbidden love.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC
O come buy doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts for sale
sweet ones, ladies
and yummy ones, gents;
precious doughnuts
you’ve never seen in your lands
I made them with my own hands
each sugary and yum to the core
round and hollow in the middle
each doughnut like Einstein’s universe
O come buy doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts for sale
colorful doughnuts
I have for you gathered here
I climbed the skies
to steal a color off each rainbow
that appears and disappears –
so have a blue doughnut,
a red or pink or green or purple
any color you will
or a psychedelic one if that please you more
O look at this love doughnut trick:
it fits your fingers like a huge wedding ring
and your beloved bites through
and then gets to your finger
and has to lick off every drop of sugar
and then kisses you on your hands
and after that
O, modesty forbids me to say anything beyond –
it’s all up to you…
Or would you prefer a doughnut bangle?
O come buy doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts for sale
O beautiful ladies
and gentle Sirs
please
make all my doughnuts
disappear within the hour
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 11:57 PM UTC
They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.
[The title translates, from the Latin, as
'The brief sum of life forbids us the hope of enduring long'
and is from a work by Horace]
5.1k
The poems that I used to scribble
Were fickle, were fictional
I had no raw words to write
Until I fell in love with you
Until I fell in love with your dimples
Including the ones on your back
Until I fell in love with your heart
And how you fell in love with me
Your brown eyes
Your hands poking out
Of my oversized hoody
And your hand in my hand
Your small *******
How they felt in my hands
And in my mouth
How I felt when your ******* went hard
The way you felt in my mouth
When we would kiss each other
And our lips would not fully meet
But our tongues would still play
I would bite your sensitive lip
And you'd give out to me
Until I would kiss it better again
And you would kiss my neck
And my chest
And my stomach
And all over my thighs
Oh, how we teased each other
We would share our mints
Through kisses
We'd sent ***** texts
***** pictures
We were only fifteen
We had a lot of ***
And now I'm seventeen
And you are my ex
And I don't miss you
But I wonder about you
I wonder about your dad
I wonder about your wrists
I wonder about your lungs
I wonder about your music
I wonder about whether
You wonder about me or not
I feel your stare burning me
More often than not
But my anxiety forbids me
From checking if it is true
Your laugh is ******* adorable
But your muttering makes me want to
Throw a table at your face
Leaving it as raw as this poem
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
for her
no special expertise claimed,
if anything, les contraries,
my non-expertise,
but nothing forbids
my heart from trying
red crossing,
rebuilding just this young one
build from the corners in,
like one starts a jigsaw puzzle,
the human, moving parts,
thus harder,
but eminently doable
the corners are straight edged, linear,
easier to spot, easier to start,
but for you to find them within,
go outside, and window winnow in
you will know them as your
truest words
pick the picture
of you,
you know
you must pick,
the puzzle picture
of you
that favorite one
when completed,
will, though cracked,
as jigsaw puzzles
by nature wont,
as all humans
are wont,
will be the one
that brings smiles
first, foremost
she asks:
*"Where are these edges that define me,
help me to construct and the where to begin?"*
after sixty years more on this planet,
have been torn apart,
reconstructed, deconstructed,
more then ten finger and ten toe times
this I know,
there is but one beauty
in this crueled worn
every day weary-world,
it is you,
you words that betray
Beautiful You
oh so well
you see I have your picture,
you see I have your words,
deconstructed, reconstructed,
I love your picture,
I love your words,
start with me, start at the corners,
show me the pieces,
tho the world see the ex
terior,
I see the in
terior,
the shiny new
true sides, so beautiful,
wake knowing that
not just me dearest Chalsey,
I have found your chalice,
and your grail,
and I say,
this is just one man,
this can be where you start,
this then be your mirror,
let us from the corners in,
from the eyes that penetrate,
accept that this is not debatable,
this is my poem where I do not lie,
this is my piece of you,
from inside of me
my straight edge piece was
born in your beautiful words,
and I say,
can you, see a voice,
can you, touch a voice,
no one can
but I can
your voice is transcendent,
it is the cover photo of a glossy mag,
this is the photo, the puzzle I see,
and heart each and every word
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
My mind speaks to me
In incomprehensible urgency
Because it knows better;
Unlike the rest of me
That forbids my hands
To loosen their grip
On the things I find
Comfort in.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
'Of course I was drugged, and so heavily I did not regain
consciousness until the next morning. I was horrified to
discover that I had been ruined, and for some days I was inconsolable,
and cried like a child to be killed or sent back to my aunt.'
-Mayhew, London Labour and the London Poor
Even so distant, I can taste the grief,
Bitter and sharp with stalks, he made you gulp.
The sun's occasional print, the brisk brief
Worry of wheels along the street outside
Where bridal London bows the other way,
And light, unanswerable and tall and wide,
Forbids the scar to heal, and drives
Shame out of hiding. All the unhurried day,
Your mind lay open like a drawer of knives.
Slums, years, have buried you. I would not dare
Console you if I could. What can be said,
Except that suffering is exact, but where
Desire takes charge, readings will grow erratic?
For you would hardly care
That you were less deceived, out on that bed,
Than he was, stumbling up the breathless stair
To burst into fulfillment's desolate attic.
3.9k
The guns won.
Humanity lost.
The love we thought we all shared,
Shattered and the shards pierced our eyes.
The dead wanted to stay dead,
But those who are slaughtered from the soul
Want all of us to be that way too.
Hollow
Dry
Hungry
Loveless.
On this day, I don't even want to pray.
I have seen what religion does to people.
It's not a War that's brewing,
It's a force field:
One that hides us from each other,
One that forbids communication.
We are a confused people.
Painting our false faces won't help.
And now,
I don't know what will.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 2:25 AM UTC
“Disaster Dan” skids into the Center's
Game Room
War Room
Control Room
Fueled by a red T-shirt
proclaiming “Vince the Pizza Prince”
He flips out his cellular...
“IT ISN'T UP TO ME!"
(Where does he get all those broken remotes?)
...flips open his cell
and shouts commands
“TURN THE POWER ON!"
“YA HEARD ME!" (He is totally in control)
“Fsssss Fssssss Fsssssss
THE PIPES ARE ABOUT TO BLOW!”
Drives his cruiser around the pool table
Pulls alongside
Fixes me point-blank and cockeyed
“GET THESE KIDS OUTA THE BUILDING!
THERE'S A BOMB ABOUT TA GO OFF!”
An eight-year-old spins iz finger round iz ear
and points a giggle
Dan--
the kind of guy whose life peaked
at Mount Saint Helen
Does a warlock for Halloween
Carries a portable showcase of horror
prized possessions in a dishpan
He explains his treasures
“That is NOT
a plastic scorpion!”
Offended by my ignorance
shoves it in my eyes
“THIS IS A PREDATOR ALIEN, STUPID!"
“CALIFORNIA WILL NOT COME BACK!"
Dan sorta likes me
We talk horror flicks
He forbids the serious of me
"CALIFORNIA WILL FALL OFF INTO THE OCEAN!”
he hisses in a spray of spit
Walks way, laughing, delighted!
Shaking iz head
Then back in my face again (for emphasis)
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"
(He is dead serious)
"THE GUY THAT CAUSED THAT HURRICANE
WAS PAUL MCCARTNEY!"
His counselor fills in my blank
“Dan likes the Beatles
That's the only thing he likes
that isn't heinous”
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 7:41 PM UTC
To death in love!
The eye of ones heart closes for their beloved, their most precious treasure of them all clouded by emotions stored for them deep within
Unanswered love leads to a stinging mind of the subscocious, caught and rose by a burning ember of feelings, turning into an inferno,
Blinded by it, they will not acknowledge the falsities of their partner, nor their mistakes or even their treaciousness, as for them he is perfect, conciously imaged as the ideal and the best they ever had,
But no! God forbids, they learn about the art of blinding love while they sink to the bottom of a sea of passion and affection, in a last remote of a courtain call to simple yet manifest carelessness,
Small lies lead to grand falsities overlooked by a noncaring closed eye
Rekindled in a dream they rather follow their instincs than the truth,
Illusions cast by embers of love deep within the unconcious, like a courtain to be blocked from all light, holding on to dear of what is loved and cherished, praised and adored, an emotion leading stray,
The philosophy of a hated person, would be to never close the open eye of ones heart, so you fall not too hard when you begin to love,
But when all falls apart, realisation is like the thorns of countless roses
It is the heart sign of selfless love.
~ Umi
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC
O Fair and stately maid, whose eye
Was kindled in the upper sky
At the same torch that lighted mine;
For so I must interpret still
Thy sweet dominion o'er my will,
A sympathy divine.
Ah! let me blameless gaze upon
Features that seem in heart my own,
Nor fear those watchful sentinels
Which charm the more their glance forbids,
Chaste glowing underneath their lids
With fire that draws while it repels.
Thine eyes still shined for me, though far
I lonely roved the land or sea,
As I behold yon evening star,
Which yet beholds not me.
This morn I climbed the misty hill,
And roamed the pastures through;
How danced thy form before my path,
Amidst the deep-eyed dew!
When the red bird spread his sable wing,
And showed his side of flame,
When the rose-bud ripened to the rose,
In both I read thy name.
2.9k
The light dims, the night darkens
Hardly anyone's on the streets now
We are sitting back, our bellies full
Barely a thing left to talk about
A comfortable silence forbids our
Tongues from wagging with their
Usual tenacity. Your eyelids droop
With sleep. The stars and moon can
Be seen 'cause only the street lights
Are on. The music is the only
Decipherable sound in our vicinity.
We'd get up to say our goodbyes
But we're too comfortable to even
Think about moving. The glowing embers
remain. The fire died a long time ago.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
O Lord, my best desire fulfil,
And help me to resign
Life, health, and comfort to Thy will,
And make Thy pleasure mine.
Why whould I shrink at Thy command,
Whose love forbids my fears?
Or tremble at the gracious hand
That wipes away my tears?
No, rather let me freely yield
What most I prize to Thee;
Who never hast a good withheld,
Or wilt withhold, from me.
Thy favor, all my journey through,
Thou art engaged to grant;
What else I want, or think I do,
'Tis better still to want.
Wisdom and mercy guide my way,
Shall I resist them both?
A poor blind creature of day,
And crush'd before the moth!
But ah! my inward spirit cries,
Still binds me to Thy sway;
Else the next cloud that veils the skies
Drives all these thoughts away.
2.4k
Our bodies tremble with its softest touch,
Fiery eyes are calmed by autumn winds,
With fallen leaves surround us ---
confusions are swept away.
Arms held tightly together,
No words can explain;
But the fact that we've shared
mutual feelings,
Azure skies are filled up with glitters.
I can see the love the moment
I look into your beautiful face,
The light of a new morning forbids
Murky shadows of once yesterdays;
Everything turned into slow motion,
Everything is destined to be perfect
everytime we kiss ---
And it doesn't matter how far or close
I am, from your side
All that matters is how
your sweetest lips invite.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 6:41 AM UTC
its not like i don’t have more clothes
or that its my favorite pair
it just fits me in a way
that i really would’ve supposed
life and people to fit me
when i were really small
and by small i mean my age, young
and now, at this age
i think my ego forbids me to
acknowledge much than i would want to
but the feelings remain the same
its what it wears that same
piece of clothing
again and again
because it knows my skin
each cell in my body
being aware of its existence
and it might have started feeling to me
like home, a place of familiarity
beyond belief
beyond the actual existence of one such place
and maybe that every vein
and every strand of my hair
and every drop of blood flowing through
is not prepared to let go of that
That that feels like home
One that might not even exist.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 3:54 AM UTC
I don't love him but he's here and you aren't
And he doesn't ******* hold my hand, all he does is **** me
And god forbid that god forbids you from being near me
Because when I see nothing but headlights and tire tread I think of salvation
I will hold onto you tighter than my father when he came home and told me I'd hate him
We don't speak anymore except about the time you were supposed to kiss me but instead I felt my jaw shatter
And he still wishes his fist could've done the same to yours as a 16th birthday present for me
But I guess you've never liked my voice so why would you wanna hear it
My tongue falls back into my throat like words I've choked on in front of you
If you came back, even as a dream, I would fill half a glass and let you decide if I'm emptier
I have the audacity to think I meant something more to you than to your temper
And I never needed a lighter to play with fire when baby, I had you
I fear fences because the one in my front yard couldn't keep your voice out
I'd gate off my mind but I'm sure I'd still fear January the 1st and I might even miss you
I always loved your hands even when they were breaking me
Even if they've made me flinch at a raised hand or a friendly pat on the back
I ******* hated the roadmaps in your arms because they couldn't guide me out of your grasp
I knew you were dangerous but I was excited by the fear of getting caught with you
I told you, "I am too ******* young."
And I felt more electricity in your fist hitting my cheekbones than I ever had in your lips
Even when I lay my sorrowed mind on his silk sheets I cannot fall asleep anymore
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
eat my cinnamon raisin bread
from the inside out,
so if you follow the trail of
crust and crumb to my bed,
swear innocent but not one
cinnamonized raisin will be found
put on my slippers with
trepidation,
for slippers so named,
slip off my toes
at the worst moments,
that my life insurance
expressly forbids our
cohabitation
Well gifted and well returned,
my parents taught me to love
words and the human voice enthralling,
voyage never ending,
love of words
If our issue be our mark,
then mark them well
for you reputation recedes
with them
so as I ponder the why and where,
of the last poem I will write,
issue a tiny prayer that the notes
be cinnamon raisin sweet
and that each letter
slip from my heart,
and let these marks of me
come with smoothing ease of
a welcoming finality
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC
Did you notice the crisis going on outside,
It’s terrible really they’re trying to hide
Atrocities behind a wall of big lies
The badness of this is incredibly sized.
So get out and help, you useless ****
Shout and whisper you absolute schmuck,
March and stamp and tiptoe around red tape,
Call it ****** harassment, but I wouldn’t call it ****
Donate and berate but most of all-
**** THE GOVERNMENT,
(Tenderly, like a lover, to not upset the way of things of course.)
Why aren’t you looking for missing kids
Why aren’t you crying at the dead body
Why aren’t you saying what Russia forbids
Why aren’t you crying at the dead body
Why aren’t you aching from every pore
Why aren’t you crying at the dead body
Why aren’t you saving all of the ******
Why aren’t you crying at the dead bodies
Why aren’t you giving your money to us?
Why, aren’t you someone the people can trust?
Did you notice the crisis going on within,
It’s terrible really, a huge massive din
Is crashing and smashing alone in your head
You can’t ever stop, unless you are dead.
Oh wait, you posted a brightly coloured infographic on your instagram story?
You’re good, never mind.
Feb 22, 2022
Feb 22, 2022 at 8:28 PM UTC
quite certain, she who hates to be late
was late to our first date,
five years ago,
today.
she still shudders,
over that,
and now,
for other things.
like my poems.
rainy night, hair tangled,
coming from dancing
Argentine tango
with one of its living masters,
no taxi, impoverished excuse.
of that first date,
poem writ, no repeat,
but if you had told me
five years on, we would
wake up, our hair, wires
entangled, yet again...
I would have reply,
wrong boy, unchained,
wringing out bitter herbs of having,
done my 30 years
in the big house
of a failed marriage,
I am a wine taster,
a player.
told her straight out,
sweet certainty is not my objective,
she laughed, replying,
right back at ya, me too,
"same place, same way,"
our pact, healing, sealing,
with a fist bump.
five years ago.
we were certain.
now, I answer her questions
before she asks them,
now, she forbids me from
buying her any more trinkets.
but I am almost
quite certain
I didn't
hear her say that.
Quite Certain:
of so many things
that seemed important once,
by the wayside fallen.
that I will be writing
fabulous
incredible
virtual
extraordinary
little love poems,
to her, many years on,
even though
no new words I will own.
but quite certain,
will be still reminding her,
she came late to our first date,
and She will still and
always be falling in love with this poet.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 9:39 AM UTC
Winds blow across a dry, barren land,
Bringing a darkness, a cover like sand.
Grit in my mouth, grit in my shoe,
There is no sky, there is no blue.
The grit forbids the opening of eyes.
They hurt and water when it is tried.
I am constantly hit from all sides,
There’s no place to run, no place to hide.
Forward I trudge through this nightmare,
My lungs fighting for an ounce of air.
How did I get here, how’d I get caught?
If I stop now it will all be for naught.
I must fight on though it hurts me so,
“Be strong, be strong just take it slow.”
My heart beats fast from this constant beating,
My mind is weary, my muscles aching.
Voices of death invade my mind,
“Giving up” is the name of this kind.
Swirling shadows grab at my soul,
I push them off, I must be bold.
Onward, yes onward I must go,
Through this trial, this fire, this heavy load.
Each step, each foot in front of the other,
Always moving so as not to be smothered.
I stumble, I fall, but I will get up.
Try as he may I will not drink from his cup.
Though I am lashed and bitten by the wind,
I have made up my mind I’m not giving in.
There is One I cry to, who is called the Rock,
The wind, though it whips, can never him mock.
A solid stone on which I can stand
When the wind blows across a dry, barren land.
May 1, 2010
May 1, 2010 at 6:25 PM UTC
You be the beauty
And I'll be the beast
I'll try to sweep you off your feet
Tho the rolls might be reversed
I promise I won't be perverse
You're just the one I've been searching for
Watching you dance across the floor
You'll grip my hand perfectly tight
You know I only have one night
Until that rose wilts and dies
Then I'll forever be living this lie
When those petals fall to the floor
You won't love me anymore
For I'll be trapped inside of a body unkind
Washing away your blissful mind
I'll take your hand but you'll turn away
If I only had the chance to say
and prove to you the lies that have been;
The outside that this body forbids
So go be the beauty
I'll still be the beast
And when I sweep you off your feet
We'll dance until this world subsides
We wont have to worry about those lies
Even when that flower wilts away
I'll want nothing more than for you to stay
And see me for the true romancer to be
The one that steals your heart;
You'll see
Alysia Marie 2014 ©
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 9:13 AM UTC
Do you go to service. why?
Maybe someone drags you in for your salvation or some such.
What do you believe. I have long released that process as a constant.
Like anything else on this plane. somebody gotta lose for someone else to gain.
Yes that is a bit wooden.
A bit cynical.
Do you feel the spirit as you enter.
What does that feel like and do you agree with all you hear and see.
What do you believe.Is the person up there speaking to you?
Do you take it all in.Or are you sight seeing. I do.
The backs of peoples heads are like monoliths.
Their faces are like masks. Not all but most.
Doubting Thomas in the pews.
The casket sits on display. It beckons and forbids.
The slow procession to absolution.
The occupant sleeps peacefully.
A shell.
Heaven or Hell.
The solemn drone. The Joyous noise.
The shrill and sweaty face of Fire and brimstone.
The call and response.
The well oiled ,stiff proceedings.
what do you believe.
Maybe you draw the lottery on Saturday
The Lord is our Sheppard. We shall not want.
Blasphemy you say.
No I am a believer.
I believe that we are.
For now and a wisp forever after.
A daunting prospect. But who knows. Faith.
The pews have been the uprising and the downfalling of many
Freedom or indoctrination
Left to our own devices. Hell's door agape.
a fertile mind, weak and troubled will gently lite on the word
then draw sustenance
for good
For ill.
The gates that lead to destruction are wide
and broad is the way.
The pews are narrow and finite.You will find me there
from time to time.
.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 1:49 AM UTC
Another bowl, more tail then life
they wait for just to mate alone
yet their prison forbids them
as there is no cloth to cover them
They swim in such a confined space
never known of clear stream water
never known what it is like to be free
emasculated in their orbital prison
Poor things, I feel so sorry for them
round and round in circles they go
with nothing but gulping to do
these wretched creatures, these goldfish two
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
Precious pumpkin pie sits on the table high.
Untouched, waiting to be devoured on Thanksgiving.
I try to take a taste but
Mother forbids it. I storm off to my room, slam the door
and start to
Pout. On thanksgiving day everyone is so busy I can
hardly
Keep up. Tiptoeing into the kitchen to find the pie where
I had left it last night. I stick my finger in the whip cream
and then taste it. I
Never knew it would taste so good. Oh know mom
caught me she
Puts the pie in the fridge and sends me to my room and
I never even got to
Eat that precious pumpkin pie.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC