"forecasted" poems
He was the ‘revealer of light’
Oracles he read, forecasted future,
Time moved, rustic life stood still
"Look back and see, there is change."
There’s no trial left
The deity acquired the ****** body.
Predictions are vague, he cried in pain
And he danced to his unshakable faith.
The God revealed!
The divine and man in a union of its own,
Patrons wept and asked for blessings.
Serpent’s crown over God’s head-
Shone in the dark light, his golden breast
And pointed teeth, sharp as arrows-
Pierced the patrons, they collapsed in devotion.
The dead hero arose with Godliness
He is God, his blood is divine.
There is change, there is change!
The drums arose and it stroke bold,
Patrons cried in religious zeal
The God plunged himself into the bonfire
He reincarnated.
Born again to die again! Born again to die again!
There is no change! There is no change!
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
Through the miracle of meteorology, up high - little by little
parts of me was made, without form within a clouds middle,
and eventually, formed in unique designs, lighter than feathers,
temperature and water work together to produce, a period of weather.
When shapes, never repeated - but in approximation, begin to fall, as snow,
feasibly forecasted, sometimes not so, down on to the surface below.
And so as blanket laid, across town and countryside, fields and city mews,
changing the familiar, smoothing contours, into new landscape views.
The material soft, white glistening snow so miraculously delivered,
at earliest opportunity is introduced to excited shouts, laughter, and shivers.
Fittingly gathered by adult and children's hand, with the goal - to build a man.
midst joyful sounds, travellers moans and snowball fights, the creators plan,
By rolled ball pile and heaped snow I was born, created by many in several places,
some small and really, lovingly made. Others large with various, curious, hats and faces.
All - to stand appreciatively of of the makers time, to create me and proudly put on show.
Winter feeds our lifetime span with cold wind, colder nights and, temperatures low,
we stand as white statuary, where children play, soon - will come the expected day
a thaw, will take our sustainability of cool, and so little by little I, and others go away,
with saddened countenance creators watch as we bend, wither and slouch,
stoically accepting this is, as is. Snowy days will return, snowmen too, I can vouch.
It’s a happy sadness for snowman builders and snowmen too, who together
wait in anticipation for fun and creativity, the joyful side of snowy weather.
From a Snowman
Michael C Crowder 23rd January 2019
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 5:09 AM UTC
Forecasted detachment
Pours onto the floor
Oh, sweetie,
Did you really think I could take any more?
The disorganized mess
A constellation of blood drops
Are spit-sput-spattering
Razor blades are my props.
Barbed wire barriers
Built up in seclusion
I close the heavy curtains
And hide inside my illusion.
I say safety
Is solely for the weak
But trapped inside my emotions
I have no logical right to speak.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 6:22 PM UTC
If the stars are just a doorway to lifetimes that could've been,
I suppose I'm hoping a night like this never ends.
Where I've found myself in your embrace,
gazing lovingly into graceful eyes-- you and your
words, lips, & promises.
Time may sour hope,
but it proceeds to season love.
I suppose-
the sweetest would be this temptation.
If you ever dare say those five words
longingly I've yearned for--
to come out of the pome mouth of your's,
clothed in the darkness
but illuminated by the basking moonlit night.
Say them,
say them.
So resonant the sky is given light:
"I'll never let you go."
& infinities are far longer than promises,
your voice so vigorous, so dignified.
Garishly-
as I awake the next morning
the corrosion of my ear's occurs
while your proposal came across as thunderous roars
upon vast skies and growing grounds;
the salt of the earth is mixed with the rain.
Children can sing, can rejoice
in this reassurance--
today and tomorrow shall not be forecasted with any pain,
we're in the same hours.
Hold me closely,
that if the Rapture were to take us
mislead;
equating how pure our love had been.
we will only be garbed in what is our redemption
wholesome & good- willed
I would rip through the edges of every cosmos
to perceive where this would take us again- and again.
As fate would have it,
In every universal tear
we are
together always
A backwards code
never to be deciphered
perhaps, not in words
but in tone and more importantly
in a ribbon wrapped song
A song of us—
crossing oceans and aging old,
but if not love and cherishing one another
was it not worth our weight in gold,
as we are richer than one man
together you & I.
held close,
hand in hand.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 10:47 PM UTC
~
Wood grain suspenders on beams of unattractive thought
grasp paper cups holding the morning’s coffee just outside of
smudged glass reflecting off of these prison walls
in the heart of the shopping district,
where everything is on sale
and yet nothing is to be sold
as shoppers take advantage of nap time…and still I sit
Clinging to every hope a mind can cling to,
shadowed by my beliefs that it doesn’t matter when
grays pull years out of youthful smiles wearing ties,
for no good reason and
wasted breaths fall from hapless dreams caving in on the summit
where asphalt spills and curb side deliveries melt
rolling down the window to nothing…and still I sit
Limestone pillars stand guard in fours,
Cozying up to attached railings painted to match, but don’t where
empty tissue boxes wear a gaping mouth of perforated edges,
yawning with all of the enthusiasm of an Japanese translator
at a Metallica concert trying to sing opera in verses…
Collected but unseen or spoken of in black and white words
flickering and waiting a review…and still I sit
Poetry gathers in corners like food crumbs beneath the fridge,
hidden in the dark until the tile floor is replaced as
small piles of words are sifted through but not taken
for the sunlight changes everything
and this is not as cloudy a day as was forecasted,
though the gloom still exists
scribbling non-stop while leaving… and still I sit
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
The sun shone... and
the icicles wept
to tell their sad story, drip by drip.
How long ago,
when they were small droplets,
they were mustered into gather clouds
by the weather chiefs,
blustered about the sky,
blown to cold North,
until at last forecasted,
when they were bullied to tears.....
enough to drench that freezing day.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 8:26 AM UTC
Seething anger has burned down the barn
Where iniquity wove its amber curtains
On vintage looms of deceit and falsehood
Skylarks can’t nest there anymore
And the creek is poorer for it
The harvester is grounded and
The scythe lies in the ashes and the brambles.
The Almanac forecasted heavy rain
But the wind instead blew from the East
And was impossible to batten down
Now things once wet are very dry and cracking
There’s naught to load and take to market
Where tears won’t buy the milk and butter
And there’s no one left to bake the bread
Hurry up those stumbling feet
Wishing won’t create a cow
And you don’t own a pasture
Or a salt lick anyway
The only thing that you have left
Is an igneous tomorrow and incendiary dreams
.. ljm ..
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 1:39 AM UTC
Standing against the crime of my heart
I’m tired of falling for your type
Today I’ll find my way and break apart
I’ll celebrate my victory with Irish bag pipes
But I’ll cry for you on lonely nights
How can you have made my days so bright
How I wish I never know ya
Now I’m all alone in this room in a Hotel in California
Divine were your kisses of pure seduction
Now I’m lost on this one way highway
Who would of known you were a terrible destruction
I’m meaningless without you! you were my dossier!
How come no one told me life would be such a bad ride?
Surfing in a ocean of my tears with a forecasted high tide
I’m pouring out my feelings on this ***** napkin
Cause unlike you, it at least holds a bit of dignity
We were foolish to claim to love each other into infinity!
The hunger made me eat too much with my eyes
Forgetting my values and my only decency
And I fell under the spells of your lies
Roses of pity in a bouquet of discord
Can’t even afford to pay attention
Can‘t keep going on with this tension, People where is our Lord?
I just want some words, give me the silliest explanation
Heal the pain you have purposely caused
Your false image keeps running thru my veins
Black rain won’t mask the painful distraught
The thought of seeing you again will be an attempt so vain
In which I try to forget those events
From all my mistakes your one I wish I can prevent
A soup so hard to swallow with these sour condiments
You’re a horrible person I take back my beautiful compliments
Can’t believe my days will be filled with your torment
I hope this is for the time being, just for the moment
They judge me for what I’ve done but what do they know?
If my only companions is a comfy carpet and a bottle of Cuervo
Jonathan Pizarro
Copyright 2011 ©
January 29, 2011 4:31am
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 9:30 PM UTC
You were reckless with your words
And every sound you made
Bloomed and crowded in my heart
A garden rising up from soil
So when you decided it was over
Those pretty words turned to daggers
Sharp ends on stems
You were reckless with your hands
And every touch you made
Electrified and burst in my heart
A storm forecasted but never believed
So when you decided it was over
Those caresses turned to a violent downpour
Caught in the rain: umbrella-less
You were reckless with your actions
And every move you made
Seared and singed on my heart
A fire burning through the forest
So when you decided it was over
Those kisses turned to the hottest ashes
Grey and pouring out of my mouth
You were reckless with my heart
And all of you
Flooded and swept up my body
A ship castaway in a vast ocean
So when you decided to leave
My heart turned to rubble and ruins
You, oh so reckless....
Me, just wrecked
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 11:06 AM UTC
Shall you not move, deaf and wordless
Being blamed because of stillness?
Or shall you go ahead, instead,
Carrying guilt for every step?
Or maybe buzzing all around,
a way not found, a place not found.
Till a saving killing hand clenches fingers on the sound
of the foolish fly it downed.
Now it’s over, now you rest,
with the bitter taste that lasts
when no balance can be asked (and no harmony forecasted)
between two different parts, if the first weights twice the last.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 7:08 AM UTC
We held our mother’s funeral today
out back in the warm Spring rain.
It was supposed to be tomorrow but
Mother thought the forecasted sun
and flowers, a bright finish to
this dreary Winter,
Would **** the mood.
So to speak.
The earth was soft but the willow
tree roots fought back our shovels.
Mother sighed but said the small,
paltry hole filled with muddy water
would do for her ceremony.
But just the ceremony.
She sat in back,
the tail end of her own procession,
and intently ignored our furtive glances
to see if she was pleased.
She was.
Until the rain stopped, then
she called the dampness ‘silly’,
and left.
But we’d already had the guests on
notice, with bereavements ready since
Mother can be quite fickle
and at times unruly so
we held our mother’s funeral today
her tears and ours the warm Spring rain.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
~
I step to the forefront of thought and desire
Placing my face to the wind
Calling in echoes, now flames to the fire
Once again now to begin
Needing this feeling that takes me away
Somewhere my heart it may sing
Forecasted sunshine my eyes it does play
Love is a wonderful thing
Can’t help believing that you feel it too
Even if words don’t agree
All that I am I shall be that for you
Found in these moments to see
Hoping you smile when thinking of this
Changing your sight to amend
Merely the touch of your enchanting kiss
My heart starts beating again
So here I wait as I stare to the skies
Filled with a magic so pure
Whispering softly in love filtered sighs
Only to hold you once more
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 7:21 AM UTC
~
Wood grain suspenders on beams of unattractive thought
grasp paper cups holding the morning’s coffee just outside of
smudged glass reflecting off of these prison walls
in the heart of the shopping district,
where everything is on sale
and yet nothing is to be sold
as shoppers take advantage of nap time…and still I sit
Clinging to every hope a mind can cling to,
shadowed by my beliefs that it doesn’t matter when
grays pull years out of youthful smiles wearing ties,
for no good reason and
wasted breaths fall from hapless dreams caving in on the summit
where asphalt spills and curb side deliveries melt
rolling down the window to nothing…and still I sit
Limestone pillars stand guard in fours,
Cozying up to attached railings painted to match, but don’t where
empty tissue boxes wear a gaping mouth of perforated edges,
yawning with all of the enthusiasm of an Japanese translator
at a Metallica concert trying to sing opera in verses…
Collected but unseen or spoken of in black and white words
flickering and waiting a review…and still I sit
Poetry gathers in corners like food crumbs beneath the fridge,
hidden in the dark until the tile floor is replaced as
small piles of words are sifted through but not taken
for the sunlight changes everything
and this is not as cloudy a day as was forecasted,
though the gloom still exists
scribbling non-stop while leaving… and still I sit
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
The lost seas of writhing souls
Deep and the darkness, bucolic peasantry carrying a basin of mud
Protesting for better wages, in the bruised bulls of Wall Street
Seeking pursuit of happiness, and finding the answer
With each proceeding need and the greed just stops being a word
Mirrors and global skyscrapers, objects, all forecasted
We know what we will build for the future
A future of objectivism, and plants with books overlooking New York streets
Dreaming of better living in extravagant Manhattan
Teaching others about the poetic license, how you can lie
Blues and ***** and the breaths of the cold morsels
Murky hills, carrying pitchforks in boreal forests
Barking and biting, these are now chilly pine peaks
The heart seeks what it seeks, and omniscience and ubiquitous Gods
Like modern infrastructure, and precarious progress for the army recruit
There are plenary structures and assemblies of kitsch Kilimanjaro, replicas of mountains and wax models
Romancing each stone, and feelings of someone you once loved
You thank heaven, that she walked into the right bar
Sometimes, you hope she walks into the wrong seat and meets you
Greets you at times, as an alarm for the correct time
Tresses of eve-teasers lay ******** on great cars, some of them even make haste with purloined convertibles
Purring cats walk through Plainfield and Mclaren streets, foraging for serendipity
You'll be glad that heaven brought you to the right bar, to tell you are the right desire
In this sea of lost souls, thinking they are struggling
But, actually, they are tied to the confabulating and changing climate
Blaring horns of the bungholes and dungeons of bald men spot the madness from afar from the humble abode
All of them dying peptic ulcers, cirrhosis and drinking themselves to illness
Indemnified by their art, art is the way to explain these insecurities and voids of despair, we are a civilized bunch, right?
Jul 31, 2019
Jul 31, 2019 at 5:08 PM UTC
the hungry cemetery devours the dead
swallows them whole
- the belly of the beast
- the dirt thrown on top
frozen ground
forecasted snow
the stillness of the cemetery
hip hop priests spitting sermons
buried with the mind machine skeletal words now free of the past - skin eaten away & the bones remain
the first ******** scared him
the first *********** and he thought he'd broke it
running to him mother with globules dripping
his mother laughing
the redness of her mouth
teeth stained
and a tongue
a tongue that could sweep the jackals nest
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 9:35 AM UTC
What happens when the lines between reality and dreams begin to blur?
One second you walk down a sunlit street to go to work,
The next you wake up in bed staring up at your ceiling.
Which one is the dream, the walk to work or the alarm sound?
The shadows in your dreams appear more real than the faces of your day,
The conversations with shadows more genuine than the ones you have with people around you.
The breeze felt before you wake up seems fresher than the weather forecasted,
The sensations in real life seem duller than the ones from your dreams.
Maybe the dreams you have are premonitions of the upcoming day,
Maybe they’re annotations to the day you had before.
Perhaps the stars you see in the sky at night are a lie,
And the ones in your dreams are brighter and more majestic.
What becomes of you if you can no longer separates fantasy from reality?
If you wake up to repeat the things already done in your sleep,
If you walk in the footprints left behind by your shadow.
But most importantly, is it worse to blur the lines of reality,
Or to dream about a reality that is more beautiful than the one you’ll wake up to?
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
Was feared throughout the skies looked to shelter the unsorrowed so no suffering would go unpunished every tear was well garnish of ungriefs to announce own faults and mutilation toys with doubts and removes angel disguises from the woes of the known promise city the bleakness stood guard so he could have his seat one day that had the namelesses name on sorrow but never the other last did the heartache cast the wine to celebration was planned never to be early to your next life but maybe too late from your last the dysphoria was finally first to be asked then seconds despondent
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 9:14 AM UTC
The terror and panic that once created a solid encasement around me,
is broken.
The once mummifying thoughts of my own demise,
now are gone.
The storm has passed although, for so long, that was all I forecasted.
I never dreamt of myself being around someone so rich,
so rich in love and talent and devotion and dedication,
I never planned myself, someone once so completely scared,
to feel fearless.
I have never planned for this, I guess there was never anyway to see,
You took the clouds and you tore them away,
just like the sunshine you are.
Just like the sunshine you'll always be.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
overt discriminations
polaroid dickensian remonstrations
elevated poo pooing of forecasted demonstrations
coalescing in a whitley bay bus stop
be sick on my shoes
angel of the overcast sky
I will fornicate with bureaucrats and syncophants
call me beligerent in an acid rain downpour
belicose victim of the jackbooted thuggery
tattooed forearms,
a conduit for satanic grunting
I hear volcanos erupting, sick sick
Debonair and not caring
uppercutting the earth until it enters a feotal position
razorblade wit and ******** upon a darras hall balcony
I would like to inhibit a physical space paramount and facile
I smell tomato ketchup and whipped flesh
unequal pleasures and sequinned ******
boot me into a grave state of mind
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 11:41 AM UTC