"foresee" poems
Creeping voices in the night
Shadows lurking out of sight
Haunt me till the morning's light
No sleeping for me tonight
Looking at my bedroom door
My feet barely touch the floor
Something whispers down my core
Something that I can't ignore
Melted candles in my hand
Things I would not understand
My hope slips away like sand
This was not what I had planned
Slowly walking down the stairs
Feel a breeze sweep through my hair
Shadows lurk; in silence stare
Naked thoughts are all I wear
Out of breath I walk outside
Shaking fear that builds inside
No more places left to hide
Guilty thoughts of mine collide
Drenched in coward's blood and fear
I lost those who I held dear
It's all blurred, nothing is clear
Shadows from my past appear
As the silence speaks to me
Gets too loud it deafens me
My past will not leave me be
Pain and torment I foresee
Dazed and drawn by these lost souls
Broken thoughts I can't control
Ghosts slip through this gaping hole
Darkness has taken its toll
From the darkness dreams come out
Nightmares flailing all about
Closing in, I hear them shout
It's the end, I have no doubt
"What the hell is it you want?"
They retreat and me they taunt
One emerges, tall and gaunt
"Your life we will no more haunt."
"You have paid for your wrongdoing,"
He tells me, his voice booming
"This is now your redeeming
You are free." he says smiling
I look at the rising sun
I no longer have to run
My sentence is served and done
The ghosts have finally gone.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
4"2 with the voice of an angel
he couldn't be more than ten
the only thing he ever stole was the hearts of those around him
a week later,
his body drains of blood
a mother's cry echoes around the town
her innocent baby
why'd they **** her innocent baby?
he was only nine.
a mother's cry echoes around the world
her baby is gone
blood drains from his body
one shot to the head
several to the torso
why'd they **** her baby?
he was only coming from school.
a shaken up officer stands to the left
Caucasian and worried
a grieving community to the right
African-American and terrified
straight A's and a bright future at seventeen
a future no-one could foresee
both labeled thugs
at 9 and 17
why?
because of the skin they keep.
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 8:09 PM UTC
*Having hardships in life is somewhat
we all have to face .
No matter how positive we foresee our lives ,
struggle towards serenity is never effortless.
We all are embedded in deadlocks of life.
Without ENDURANCE & TOLERANCE
we will collapse in gyration of dilemma.*
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 11:59 PM UTC
Phone in your home
Phone with you on the road
Three way connections
Incoming calls, not one, but another-aka call waiting
Phones with caller ID
Cordless phones
Hands free phones
Toothy phones sticking out of people's ears
Picture phones...say cheese!
Phone texting instead of talking
Hello? I cannot hear you!
Television and movies in your home
DVD players in your car
Watch those images on your computer
Watch them on your cell phone
Television in the airport
Television in the restaurant
Television at the gas pump
Television in the grocery store line
What's next? Television in the operating room?
Music on your home stereo
Music on your car radio
Store it all on your traveling ipod
Melodious cell phone rings everywhere
Your mp3 player and new computer speakers
Your favorite cable music channels
And plenty of music blasted in the stores
Can't I just have a thought to myself?
Don't forget computers!
Instant messaging
Junk mail in cyberspace
All your shows and movies
always at your instant access
Computer dating
Computer stalkers and hacking
Computer crashes I foresee
because computer bugs and viruses
are trying to invade my soul!
And I feel sick!
I can't get that music out of my head!
I think my ears are ringing!
You've heard of couch potatoes
I think I'm a mouse potato!
How is that for a human spud?
Yes, I admit I'm addicted to my PC!
That I spend more time with technology
than I do with the human race!
I should be burnt out
like old hardware
that is on extreme overload
Not made of wires and steel
but of flesh and blood
I am designed!
But I can't stop!!!
The technology of the future is now here!
I know what George Jetson was saying when he said:
JANE! GET ME OFF THIS CRAZY THING!
Aug 12, 2010
Aug 12, 2010 at 1:46 PM UTC
Honor to those who in the life they lead
define and guard a Thermopylae.
Never betraying what is right,
consistent and just in all they do
but showing pity also, and compassion;
generous when they're rich, and when they're poor,
still generous in small ways,
still helping as much as they can;
always speaking the truth,
yet without hating those who lie.
And even more honor is due to them
when they foresee (as many do foresee)
that Ephialtis will turn up in the end,
that the Medes will break through after all.
14k
Could it have troubled Pandora’s mind,
On learning where Hope springs -
At the base of her box she chanced to find
The cruellest devil with angel’s wings?
To foresee it seep into our veins -
Leave us to blunder and fall,
Cause mankind monumental pains,
And make a mockery of us all.
As the drowning heretic looks to the skies -
Before a wave knocks him to his demise
Into an absurd and uncaring ocean.
Somewhere a poet quietly smarts
The excess love from her swollen heart
And on a page whispers her devotion.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 7:21 AM UTC
the club is not the place to be
so the bar is where you'll find me
with my girlfriend doing shots
scanning the room and catching nods
your eyes hang in the smoky air
come on over, if you dare
trust me, I'll give you a chance
surely you see that, in my glance
my friend and I are laughing like girls do
my magnetic eyes push and pull at you
starring, you haven't looked away
I can see the interest, you convey
another shot the bartender places
confused, he gestures and your glass raises
I smile as my girlfriend whispers, he's cute
toasting you, we lift our shots and shoot
I won't beg you to on come over
but it's only wasting time until you come closer
the possibilities, I foresee
I'm already in love with your body
in confidence, over you saunder
in my mind the question, I ponder
obviously I see, you're in to me
but what about my friend... are you into three?
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 9:33 PM UTC
I used to think that sadness was beautiful,
But what is the point of it all? We're supposed to be youthful!
They said time and time over that it would pass, but to be truthful:
The feeling and expressing pain or sorrow for sins, it's all we feel: ruthful
So in the end, what is the point of life at all?
When all we do is sit around and bawl,
"I just wanted to be pretty Cristi, just like a doll!"
But isn't it more important to be happy, above all?
All I have been feeling for the past couple of years is pain,
Even though all I have wrapped around my neck is a golden chain
Rather than his clenched fingers restricting against my jugular vein,
With a voice in the back of my mind reminding me of my engraved Mark of Cain,
It begs and exclaims, and it can't seem to remain restrained,
But to ease me of my pain, they'd say: "Here, have a glass of Champagne."
Can't you see what this mystery is doing to me?
I can't seem to break the shackles that would set me free,
All I'm reminded of is of my unfinished Master's Degree.
"Is that all that matters to you?!" I dare to plea,
"But what about my happiness, or my hemophilia b?!"
Their expressions are forever carved in my mind: dropped jaws and widened eyes,
"If it is such a sin to be happy, can't one consider the act of decriminalize?!"
They'd all put up such a convincing and eerie disguise
As if it would turn back the clock to avoid their end, their demise
But I could tell by their silenced, hushed lips and snake eyes:
My inquiry deserved a Nobel prize
What was it about my question that turned my loved ones against me?
They wouldn't dare turn their heads my way, they'd continue to sip on their black tea
As if I were a ghost, or some sort of banshee
The loss of my sanity is what they could foresee
-
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 12:41 PM UTC
Echoing voice of the moonlit night
Foresee but unarmored from past,
Fragmented heart of broken lights;
Unraveling miseries already did last.
Drowned by tears of years were lost
From crawling those diverging roads,
Victim of dying embers found his cost;
Resemblance of faith is in the woods.
But God above guided his way home
And dry every little river in his mind,
Mournful shadows are still unknown;
Embers of souls are always in divine.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 9:46 AM UTC
A poem nebulously arrives
at the precincts of mind
like in every pregnancy
it changes a whole lot of things
A firefly with a drop of
oily yellow light so feeble ;
but one gets lost in the
happiness it brings
I haven't ever known
a happiness similar to this.
In the days of my childhood,
I used to sit in a room opening
to the vast green rice fields,
At the sunset, when light fads in to darkness,
the gloom that spreads around
makes one ask, 'what if the moon
wouldn't appear tonight?'
A drop of light appears from nowhere,
flies to a bamboo grove,
this I couldn't foresee,
it turns out to be a firefly, its light
pulsating like a coded message,
to more fireflies so shy and want
the pain of darkness to foster them,
I close my eyes and wait for the sound
of their wings flapping in my subconscious.
Now, they come in swarms, a spectacle
one can't explain, all I know is
that I was yearning for their presence.
They are guests for this celebration
of light, I crafted with my pain,
and love, the antidote, for all that angst.
A poem is born as a dome of effulgence
these fireflies create in pitch darkness
that meditates alone only on light .
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
O Lord of all compassionate control,
O Love! let this my lady’s picture glow
Under my hand to praise her name, and show
Even of her inner self the perfect whole:
That he who seeks her beauty’s furthest goal,
Beyond the light that the sweet glances throw
And refluent wave of the sweet smile, may know
The very sky and sea-line of her soul.
Lo! it is done. Above the long lithe throat
The mouth’s mould testifies of voice and kiss,
The shadowed eyes remember and foresee.
Her face is made her shrine. Let all men note
That in all years (O Love, thy gift is this!)
They that would look on her must come to me.
4.8k
I
To-night, a first movement, a pulse,
As if the rain in bogland gathered head
To slip and flood: a bog-burst,
A **** breaking open the ferny bed.
Your back is a firm line of eastern coast
And arms and legs are thrown
Beyond your gradual hills. I caress
The heaving province where our past has grown.
I am the tall kingdom over your shoulder
That you would neither cajole nor ignore.
Conquest is a lie. I grow older
Conceding your half-independent shore
Within whose borders now my legacy
Culminates inexorably.
II
And I am still imperially
Male, leaving you with pain,
The rending process in the colony,
The battering ram, the boom burst from within.
The act sprouted an obsinate fifth column
Whose stance is growing unilateral.
His heart beneath your heart is a wardrum
Mustering force. His parasitical
And ignorant little fists already
Beat at your borders and I know they're cocked
At me across the water. No treaty
I foresee will salve completely your tracked
And stretchmarked body, the big pain
That leaves you raw, like opened ground, again
4.6k
O My Lord, greatly blessed are You!
I’m thankful and trying to express
the growing gratitude within my soul;
however, mere words lack the finesse
to exalt Your full grandeur… properly!
You are my sun and protective shield!
Let your righteousness flood my soul;
unto You alone, will my spirit yield.
Don’t let my ignorance and sad sighing
imply a lack of personal satisfaction;
I’m joyful and pleased from accepting-
Your Son’s, eternal gift of Salvation!
I’m humbled by Your grace and power;
Your wisdom defeats the inner violence
that seeks to isolate me from You;
quiet my thoughts with divine silence,
as I focus on our ongoing relationship.
Permit The Holy Spirit to blow over me
with a portion of Your sacred essence;
reveal the blessings that You foresee,
regarding my humbled heart and life;
make me sensitive to Your touch and will;
teach me to be productive with my time;
allow Your purpose for me- be fulfilled.
.
.
.
Author Notes
Inspired by:
Phil 4:6; Psa 34, 84:10-12; 1 Thes 5:18
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 11:41 AM UTC
eye lids move slowly
over the eyeballs
in an effort to garner
sleep to a worn out
body to restore the
metabolism to normality
yet sleep eludes
the slight movement
of the eyelids never felt before
is sensed as the brine tear
a lubricant between the interface
where surface tension dominates
all other forces of physics
what force dominates my heart?
I know not
and sleep eludes me
Unconstrained emotions flow
around like unsettled dust
particles glowing in the sunlight
that escapes in through a ventilator hole
sedatives themselves are sedated
and sleep eludes me
I still have five more days I foresee
before hallucinations and delusions
take over me
before that oh sleep like gandalf
arriving at helms deep
please come back to me
but not at the breaking of the dawn
not when light is bright
but in silence of the mysterious night
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
I write through the words I could not speak,
for every teardrop, lying on her lonely lips;
she is my sunset before night comes awake,
she is my poetry, in my dreams, when I sleep.
I write on the silence embraced by the night,
for every hope, foresee but strength to move;
I cast myself away from the shadows of life,
she is my poetry, in my eyes, when I love.
I write those heartaches she tried to seclude,
for every doubt, which ever maimed her feet;
she is a one perfect love story to be told,
she is my poetry, in my grave, on my death.
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 6:08 AM UTC
*Delicate shoot,
not yet anchored...
How you fail to foresee
your beauty adorned
on this wilderness.
You are weak now.
Rest.
One day your silhouette
will dance on the horizon.*
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
Wearied of sinning, wearied of repentance,
Wearied of self, I turn, my God, to Thee;
To Thee, my Judge, on Whose all-righteous sentence
Hangs mine eternity:
I turn to Thee, I plead Thyself with Thee,--
Be pitiful to me.
Wearied I loathe myself, I loathe my sinning,
My stains, my festering sores, my misery:
Thou the Beginning, Thou ere my beginning
Didst see and didst foresee
Me miserable, me sinful, ruined me,--
I plead Thyself with Thee.
I plead Thyself with Thee Who art my Maker,
Regard Thy handiwork that cries to Thee;
I plead Thyself with Thee Who wast partaker
Of mine infirmity,
Love made Thee what Thou art, the love of me,--
I plead Thyself with Thee.
3.5k
I want a country boy,
who picks me up in his beat-up
hand-me-down,
lived-in pick up
a football-playing
Sunday morning worshiping
second son of a tight-knit clan
that looks at me
with his unclouded blue eyes
not searching for faults
or explanations
no need to foresee the future.
And I'd look up
grateful to some glorious power
for giving this country boy,
this southern-drawl using
sweet-tea drinking
yes-ma'am-answering gentleman,
just to me.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
My smile may have faded
But sometimes I feel it's too late
It may never be seen as liberated.
Yet there is always a second chance
From the footsteps I've heard ever since
I never may take a peek ahead
And what it may seem to make me wince
Is all just a second memory to be once again led
If every hour is a different time
And every second is a different matter
What will it take to make this one time intersect
With every minute that has made it up my ladder?
Sometimes I feel like skipping each step
But other times it's all just too much
It may even feel like a free fall to another world
So here I some with all there is to even take a clutch
All there is to see and take a note of what I have read
May be an understatement to which it has been locked
But there's an easy timing to such greed overhead
And I may not just yet want to take a key to foresee
Yet here I come with all of this fantasy
My smile may have faded
But sometimes I feel it's too late
It may never be seen as liberated.
Yet there is always a second chance
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 11:58 AM UTC
Could there be any truth in the prophecies
that the Mayans had written?
Over five thousand years ago about 2012
foretelling a spiritual awakening!
And the possibility of the end of mankind
is it fiction that's outlined?
Prophecies written have come and long gone
scholars say they've happened.
Were these disasters predicted as it was told
or how they were interpreted?
Whether vague and their meanings calculated
their accuracy debated!
Many are sceptical of those who say they foresee
from past times to present.
Though a lot of predictions of the natural type
what of mankind's folly?
If there's a way that the future can be seen
to know seems obscene!
Usually nothing can be done to prevent it
causing fear and uncertainty.
Prophecies of the past make no difference
those of the future no comfort!
Whether the Mayans is true it's a short wait
if not next year let's have a debate!
The Foureyd Poet.
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
If I spilt my heart, would you be the heat that makes it evaporate?
If something was bothering me, would you be there to listen to me elaborate?
If I scribbled my sins on every lie I hold within,
and lose track of my mind and not know where to begin,
would you lift up my chin and whip the tears off my skin?
Would you be the bright moonlight on the dark blue sea,
as we dangle our legs off the dock, knowing we’re meant to be?
Would you tell me our future from what you foresee?
We’re like a growing tree.
Even through the stormy nights, we still stand strong.
Over the years, our rings remind us of what went wrong.
It gives us strength and helps our relationship prolong.
We’ll show the world that two hearts belong, together.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 5:17 PM UTC
Your light is beautiful,
and mine is glum.
In your eyes, I find
sensations my estranged blood
has never felt—
to touch, to love…
a soul unselfishly,
for no other reason than to love.
I want to place my frostbit hands
upon your beating chest
and ****** you away,
or might I chain your hands
and take you with me.
I could pull you into my gale,
a hostage of my lonely curiosity,
but I’m afraid—so afraid that your light
will fill the empty, gaping blackness,
and your gentle breaths
will calm my feral winds.
You alone will effortlessly transpose
the thunder of my bones,
and I will assent that only your nearness
can bring the calm to the eye of my storm.
But what follows when you
tire of breaking my weathers?
When your chains rust into reddish ash
and I can no longer keep you, my love?
I can’t imagine this place will ever be
as fair as it was with you,
and I can only foresee that
which will become of me.
For when the day does break,
and I find myself alone,
when the silence of your absent lungs
deafens my troubled mind,
my storm will surge again.
And as the black clouds surround,
I will bring my withered hands
before me and remove the foolish eyes
that once lost themselves in you.
So there are two sunken holes
inside my skull.
I will cut through my sternum
and rip my dour heart from my chest.
I will undress from my flesh
and pull the nerves you once caressed.
And my naked soul will dig a grave
and settle into the dark.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC