"foreseeing" poems
you ‘why’ her.
While she is thrilled & happily beside you,
Telling you when she’s up to something new.
Your pre-existing notion of setting a “ya” for her limits,
Persistent "no" to her wishes,
She grows up to know that,
if she got to do something new
She got to fight over the, 5 Ws & 1 H!
Ow! & you convince it’s out of distress not mistrust!
And by the Indian parenting manual,
questionnaire weighs heavier at a girl.
ultimately,
“This time”, “That day”,
" This place", “Those people”
Would impregnate her!
Sons of yours -
Son of nights! freely hatching eggs past curfew.
Not foreseeing the evenings his sister would come crying.
Parents when you talk on equality & empowerment,
Let broad mind not hit the very ceiling of your house
Let rest mindset that proclaims gender roles,
The differential idea you set on them,
From who uses broom to who chooses groom.
If misogyny is permeated in the roots of society
Cleansing and changing begins in the family,
Before there in your minds, first.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 12:39 AM UTC
When life throws you difficult decisions,
Of which you feel you can’t make.
It’s best to go with your heart,
Its decisions you should always take.
It’s your heart that shows the true feeling,
Of which you cannot just hide.
Know that you made the right decision,
Show it and walk tall with pride.
The chance may not come again,
And the options may not be the same.
You don’t want to live with regrets,
And only yourself for to blame.
If it’s truly the person you love,
It doesn’t matter what gets in your way.
Ye will cross all the hurdles together,
And take them in stride day by day.
It’s not about foreseeing the future,
Or looking to the wrong in the past.
It’s about a true life of happiness,
And making it work for to last.
Don’t always live a life full of caution,
Or stopping to analyse all.
If the challenge is a little bit tougher,
Together ye are not going to fall.
Go out and live life to the full,
It’s only the one we are given.
And if we sometimes don’t get it right,
It’s nothing that can’t be forgiven.
So go with the flow for the moment,
And work through things one by one.
It’s not about being so serious,
Just enjoy it and always have fun.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 7:01 PM UTC
a love poem, of new & old,
why I am the summer-man!^
summer is winding down,
sky’s multi blues freezer safe stored in ziplock see thru bags,
marked and named by hue, the where and the when,
so when the eyes finally fail, when the squinting don’t help,
when the good things those good blues aroused,
poems, lush and morning thanks for being alive come-not-at-all,
quite the opposite, these cold blues
may help, to recall why it was worth breathing
summer is winding down,
so am I, the synchrony no accident, time,
the Pharmacy kitchen calendar
claiming another victim, willing or not,
those cars and the blue eyed models,
are now but blurred wishes and hopes, even these words, spoken,
not finger scribed, for the keyboard a
jumbled jungle of alpha-numerical
of confusion hellish and
my sons don’t come to clean up my pathetic messes, sending
their little children, beloved concubines of my heart
the daytime watcher, spanglish her native lingo,
tho single words she’s pretty good at too, but that don’t help much;
the grands, toddlers to pre-teens, the eldest a womanly eight,
tries but soon frustration bored, slips away quiet like
replacing her with her two year old sister, who knows her alphabet
which ain’t an exactly a help, but her five pencils stored^ nearby,
tagged with her name, awaiting her poems, her one true legacy
try to imagine her as a grandmother, farseeing the day when she
occupied this too too hard to-get-out-of-by-myself “easy” chair,
making rhymes with her next-next generational descendants,
faint remembering the silliness sorcery that I secreted in her brain;
zingo, bingo, lingo
tango, ginkgo, jingo,
** ** oh no, oh no!
ashes, gray hairy poppy is a silly,
when he is not a grumpy,
old man all fall down!
which she acts out with giggles galore,
adding a teacup embellishment,
a creme fraiche pearly teeth smile topping,
the day watcher agrees, verrry verrry funny,
but time to me *** and take a needed morning *****
no poppy! no poppy! no poppy!
no nap, no *** no *****
thinking the call out is for her,
stomping her feet in an alternating rhythm and rhymes
I, happy poppy, ecstatics drooling out,
foreseeing the rhyme is strong in her,
get wheeled away crinkled and crackling,
*zingo, bingo, lingo
tango, ginkgo, jingo
** ** oh no, oh no!
ashes gray hairy poppy is a silly,
when he is not a grumpy,
old man all fall down!*
a new genre me of gibberish summertime love poems
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 5:11 PM UTC
The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep,
And round the pebbly beaches far and wide
I heard the first wave of the rising tide
Rush onward with uninterrupted sweep;
A voice out of the silence of the deep,
A sound mysteriously multiplied
As of a cataract from the mountain’s side,
Or roar of winds upon a wooded steep.
So comes to us at times, from the unknown
And inaccessible solitudes of being,
The rushing of the sea-tides of the soul;
And inspirations, that we deem our own,
Are some divine foreshadowing and foreseeing
Of things beyond our reason or control.
3.7k
The rustic sheet of a door screams as we pull it like a scab
We step inside this warehouse can
Two floors - we're holding hands
His eyes lit like a crescent Moon - excited, he yells "daaad!"
Our head, like swaying swing
We see it all, tongue in cheek
Like controls without the freak
It's so much fun it stings
An asymmetric wasteland
Convenient and distorted
The walls - bleak and boarded
A symbolic sleight of hand
This is where we feel
My father's on the catwalk
Like paranoia paraphernalia
My son's grip tightens, it's the only thing that's real
Absolute felicity
To realize what I have in the confines of my hand
Imperfection in the making - he doesn't understand
Skylarking permissably
A reverie to remember
His smile - sifting through his eyes
Warm, he maneuvers like the flies
He was born in December
Moving closer to my father
He's amidst the in-between
Consistently foreseen
His motion is no bother
He steps along the ply
Somehow keen in his demeanor
Four-years-old, but greener
Tossed and turning - it's the gleaner
The sheet has been disturbed
He's falling to his death
I'm blanketed in sweat
This cannot be deserved
My father's eyes - they match my own
I tear through the distance
Foreseeing and consistent
My father is a witness
The fear - he's fighting falling
We've never known it more
His tiny hands just wishing there were nails
Collective - we're losing all things
I grasp a finger as he falls but not enough to bring him back
My son approaches pavement as it fills my throat the same
I look him in the eyes as they melt away in pain
My body wakes without my mind - hysterically screaming "DAAAD!"
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:00 AM UTC
building purist æsthetic
proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry
commemorating historic concert
sensing dark forces
fokken lekker antwoord
pumping sensory overload
featuring high-tech dee-jay
admiring gelato micro-truck
laxing laying lazing
"doing something nasty"
continuing quality content
entering another cathedral
journeying without borders
"exactly one year
since visiting vatican"
appreciating full-time gigasphere
awaiting pyongyang performance
depicting unlikely crowdsurfer
foreseeing exponential improvements
furthering esoteric agenda
sensing profound incompatibility
data-mining people's infidelities
anticipating futuristic caffeine
perfecting invisible propaganda
researching mind-control techniques
polishing psycho-social weaponry
sensing social embargo
flourishing frantic fanfare
admiring longitudinal monument
parodying marketing slogans
cycling through österreich
eyeing dystopian disneyland
streaming crosswords extended-play
herding glass kittens
deleting idiosyncratic fragment
loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth
receiving ultramodern telegram
eigo-ga wakarimasu ka?
guzzling duck-fat fries
encouraging panic selling
(juxtaposing past incarnations)
getting black-and-white privilege
renewing boutique account
relishing cinema poutine
re-entering hibernation mode
opening old windows
continuing zoo motif
absquatulating excessive excesses
nullifying originality claims
proliferating protean persona
disappearing sidewalk alphabet
shrugging opprobrious moments
enjoying vertical alignment
re-entering cyberpunk paradise
approaching island sun
soaring beyond monoliths
trivializing extraneous argy-bargy
decreasing character limits
dumping generic accounts
uglifying commit message
escaping into idiosyncracy
moonshining great lake
exuding idiosyncratic propaganda
living nineties' dreams
making occidental cuisine
envisioning idiocratic president
expropriating your time
ascending homely helix
singing fat lady
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
one foot in every world
one foot in every word
prophetess of yore,
foreseeing farseeing,
recoding recording
mundane supermarket voyages,
become paradoxical
holy lover spats
for all of us
become her
become her poems,
travelogues, snippets
of marvel at the DNA
each thinking
wanting to think
tween us and no other
she does not know me
but she has felt my
foolishness here
connecting like no other
in a long time,
have listened to each record
in the Queen-bee's collection,
she unknowing, mine,
her favor returned
verbal scientist
she uncovered discovered
a small gate on the edge
of the map of her brain,
that led here her her here where
t her e
am amazed
she sees me
like no other
voyageur ******
but I cannot
Write like Deborah
no but I can
Write of Deborah
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 7:08 AM UTC
Sometimes my mind flies away, leaving my body behind.
I look around the room, I’m so confused.
Who are these people? Why am I here?
It’s a bit too late, because they can’t relate.
What’s happening to me? Why do I want to flee?
Oh, this makes me hide, with no one by my side.
My mind is wondering so fast; here comes a flashback.
Why is he playing these games, and calling me names?
Though he’s not so bright, he surely can fight.
He knows my triggers, so go figure,
He manipulates me, and watches me freeze.
His hands are so smooth, as he makes his move.
Pins me down to the ground; I begin to frown.
He looks into my eyes, as I begin to cry.
I try to tell him to stop, but it was a huge flop.
He seemed so cool; God, I’m such a fool.
Sometimes my mind flies away, leaving my body behind.
I look around the room; I’m so confused.
Who are these people? Why am I here?
It’s a bit too late, because they can’t relate.
What’s going on with me? Why do I want to flee?
Oh, this makes me hide, with no one by my side.
My mind is wondering so fast; here comes a flashback.
I’m in a deep sleep; but I hear a peep.
He’s at it again; I already hate men.
I wish I can move; so that I can prove,
I don’t want to be touched; please, this is a bit too much.
Sometimes my mind flies away, leaving my body behind.
I look around the room, I’m so confused.
Who are these people? Why am I here?
It’s a bit too late, because they can’t relate.
What's going on with me? Why do I want to flee?
Oh, this makes me hide, with no one by my side.
My mind is wondering so fast; here comes a flashback.
We’re arguing again; it’s half past ten.
He comes up from behind, kinda like a grind.
Tightly grasping me, I fell to my knee.
Begging him to stop, treating me like a prop.
This is all my fault, for not putting this to a halt.
He’s still holding me, waiting for my mind to flee.
His hand is on my dress, trying to expose my chest.
My heart is pounding, it’s not astounding.
I want to die, even though he’s high.
But, just one more time, won’t be a crime.
It’ll be over soon, just stare at the moon.
Sometimes my mind flies away, leaving my body behind.
I look around the room, I’m so confused.
Who are these people? Why am I here?
It’s a bit too late, because they can’t relate.
What's going on with me? Why do I want to flee?
Oh, this makes me hide, with no one by my side.
My mind is wondering so fast; here comes a flashback.
I’m getting into my car, until I notice a star,
Shining so bright, can this be right?
The time is here, but I’m shaking in fear.
Just look into his eyes, but please don’t cry.
I know he’s cheating, and I’m not foreseeing,
Any future with him; my life is so dim.
So I tell him goodbye, as I fix his tie.
I climb into my car, viewing him from afar.
I’ll never see him again, that’s my big plan.
Sometimes my mind flies away, please not today.
I look around the room, and that’s my cue.
Think about these people, focus on why I’m here.
It’s not too late, maybe they can relate?
I know what’s happening to me, but why do I want to flee?
Still I want to hide, but with very few by my side.
My mind is wondering so fast; I’ll try to avoid the flashback.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC
Clearly observing the wicked danger lurking within you…
What a paradox to witness a change of benevolence ridiculed by your truth.
If only you understood what it takes to genuinely smile,
You could move mountains across those magnificent cerulean skies.
Even after our unpleasant confrontations, so cruel and wry.
You deliberately chose to dance around to a distinctive rhyme.
Using your words of trickery, resembling a serpent hissing fear.
You untiringly strived to strike fatal arrows through an artificial crack on my fortified shield.
I gave you only one chance to earn my professional trust.
Then you destroyed it with mendacities absconding from your Machiavellian filthy mouth.
Candidly, after foreseeing your vile pestilence emerging from within.
I erupted in an outburst of laughter to have ever believed in your skin of sin.
Beware, you have revealed an irrevocable glitch that is deceitfully sly.
It portrays tyranny and narrow mindedness, depreciating with every malicious try.
Running cunningly through your veins oozing massive animosity in disguise.
Have you not scrutinized the gruesome language intensely stimulated from your heinously gazing eyes?
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
You're going on the highway,
Bringing a new 4-string bass guitar,
And a drum-set too for your sons.
Now you could be a family rock band,
You could churn your own Summer of '69,
The world will know you three now.
A really hot chick hitchhikes in your car,
You are tensed as your eyes meet.
There is unfathomable longing in hers,
And the bathykolpian woman's so inviting.
You can't play the good man at this age,
You decide to cheat your own wife now.
You stop the car quickly anyhow,
A quickee's on your mind & nothin' more.
She smiles at you and lunging towards her,
You smell the inviting scent of hers.
In middle of the kiss you start foreseeing,
You forsee a bright romantic future,
Suddenly her wellbeing's lost & she vomits.
Then you bring her to the hospital,
The gynaecologist congratulates you,
"Congrats! You're going to be a father!"
Taken aback, you say, "But I just met her!"
The girl who hitchhiked says, ***"He's ****** lying!"***
The doc summons the police and your test is done,
"Good news & bad news," the doc says,
"One, you're not her baby's father."
Hearing this you're relieved.
"Now the bad news, doc," you say.
The doc says, "You could have never have fathered any even if you intended to."
You are flabbergasted, "What the hell! Why?"
The doc pacifies, "Your load doesn't have any sperms,"
Seeing you shocked the doctor says,
***"It's a birth defect that happens rarely but yes it does..."
"...You may sue the girl for everything."***
The biggest shock in your life so far.
You just shake your head and turn around to go.
You're in the middle of a nightmare,
It couldn't be true!
***If not you then the 2 kids back home,
They belonged to whom!***
Now that's the biggest tension!
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
Why did you give no hint that night
That quickly after the morrow’s dawn,
And calmly, as if indifferent quite,
You would close your term here, up and be gone
Where I could not follow
With wing of swallow
To gain one glimpse of you ever anon!
Never to bid good-bye
Or lip me the softest call,
Or utter a wish for a word, while I
Saw morning harden upon the wall,
Unmoved, unknowing
That your great going
Had place that moment, and altered all.
Why do you make me leave the house
And think for a breath it is you I see
At the end of the alley of bending boughs
Where so often at dusk you used to be;
Till in darkening dankness
The yawning blankness
Of the perspective sickens me!
You were she who abode
By those red-veined rocks far West,
You were the swan-necked one who rode
Along the beetling Beeny Crest,
And, reining nigh me,
Would muse and eye me,
While Life unrolled us its very best.
Why, then, latterly did we not speak,
Did we not think of those days long dead,
And ere your vanishing strive to seek
That time’s renewal? We might have said,
“In this bright spring weather
We’ll visit together
Those places that once we visited.”
Well, well! All’s past amend,
Unchangeable. It must go.
I seem but a dead man held on end
To sink down soon. . . . O you could not know
That such swift fleeing
No soul foreseeing—
Not even I—would undo me so!
2k
Blue is for detachment, the lateral, the second thought
The dragonfly’s wing, that blue, the company of a shadow;
The curtain of dusk, the blue of solitude;
The blue of people, their blue hair;
The abandoned blue of loss;
Astute blue, foreseeing who wakes and who sleeps;
The blue of blue jays, one tear of a fallen angel;
The blue of what is forgotten;
Blue of juniper, blue of sky;
The blue of rivers, the blue of fingertips;
The blue of feathers, their glossed barbs;
Poppy seed blue, recently harvested;
The blue of argon, the arm, the path to refuge;
Blue is for hope, a sanctuary, the final word;
The turtle’s back, that blue, the pulse of veins;
Wind chill, the blue of absence;
The blue of trees, their blue branches;
The paralyzing blue of fear.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
The midnight hours
Know all about
my muffled screams,
My bloodshot eyes and
swollen lips,
The sleep that chooses
To evade me.
**The midnight hours
Know more about me
than you ever will.**
The midnight hours
Know about
the heartaches and cravings
While I lay awake
My ears intent upon hearing
The silent song
the sky sings To the earth
**Oh, yes, the midnight hours
know more about me
than you ever will**
The midnight hours
Watch silently
As I take off my facade
And try to untangle
my woes Vainly,
The clock ticking
In the background
**The midnight hours
know more about me
than you ever will**
The midnight hours
Feel the invisible pile
Of failed attempts
weigh me down on my chest,
wondering how many more
Before I suffocate
To an early, unremarkable death
**Oh yes, the midnight hours
know more about me
than you ever will.**
The midnight hours,
Bid farewell,
Leaving so softly,
Their eyes foreseeing
The dark future of mine-
Darker than
any shade they bring
**The midnight hours
know more about me
Than you ever will**
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 2:22 PM UTC
I love you more than words can e'er express,
More than possibly you could ever know.
For with you I have found true happiness
And the meaning of true love I now know.
I could have had no way of foreseeing
That I could love someone as you I do;
With every fibre of my being,
Certain the only one for me is you.
That we should never part each day I pray,
That you should be part of my life always,
For I love you more with each passing day,
Know I shall love you for all of my days.
I feel we were meant to be together,
That you and I are soulmates forever.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
see updated banner photo
~~~~~~~~
*my phone informs me
your turn to turn,
one year old
my iPad delivers me a photo,
goodness of a creme cupcake,
all over your face
I see sprinkles,
blessed Joseph-coated-multi-colored sprinkles,
blessings sprinkled upon
on the visage,
of my child of my child,
my grandson.
sorry,
it feels so good,
gotta say it like you,
one, one, one
(shush! I can too count!)
like you,
one
mo' time,
my grandson...
someday you may stumble
on the Internet reservoir, this histoire,
where memories never disappear,
from somebody's server and
my this,
my creme word decorating,
adorning this little mini-cupcake of
just ours.
if you walk the streets of
my city of poems,
you will find a poem prayer,
I once uttered,
after turning down an invitation
from the East River to join its
swift currents carrying away hard strife,
to the Atlantic Ocean graveyard.
three words denied the seductress
the toll she was charging that day,
smart kid you guessed it,
my future grandchildren.
there will be days when the crush
will prove too much, I know it's coming,
no use denying that all my blessings
sprinkled cannot preempt
your heartbreak and soul ache.
but I will write these words,
and sprinkle them upon your forehead
when no one, especially those parents,
are looking,
thus protecting you from yourself,
too oft,
a human's greatest enemy.
if I can not grasp your hand,
let my words gasp you into understanding,
that in the future someday,
you will say just like your old poppy,
my future grandchildren,
and*
stay thy hand from the worst temptation
*t'is of man's nature, the ability to forget,
different ways of foreseeing better days....
so to see the future's betterment turning your way,
just say,
my future grandchildren*
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC
Wind blows. Snow falls. The great clock in its tower
Ticks with reverberant coil and tolls the hour:
At the deep sudden stroke the pigeons fly . . .
The fine snow flutes the cracks between the flagstones.
We close our coats, and hurry, and search the sky.
We are like music, each voice of it pursuing
A golden separate dream, remote, persistent,
Climbing to fire, receding to hoarse despair.
What do you whisper, brother? What do you tell me? . . .
We pass each other, are lost, and do not care.
One mounts up to beauty, serenely singing,
Forgetful of the steps that cry behind him;
One drifts slowly down from a waking dream.
One, foreseeing, lingers forever unmoving . . .
Upward and downward, past him there, we stream.
One has death in his eyes: and walks more slowly.
Death, among jonquils, told him a freezing secret.
A cloud blows over his eyes, he ponders earth.
He sees in the world a forest of sunlit jonquils:
A slow black poison huddles beneath that mirth.
Death, from street to alley, from door to window,
Cries out his news,--of unplumbed worlds approaching,
Of a cloud of darkness soon to destroy the tower.
But why comes death,--he asks,--in a world so perfect?
Or why the minute's grey in the golden hour?
Music, a sudden glissando, sinister, troubled,
A drift of wind-torn petals, before him passes
Down jangled streets, and dies.
The bodies of old and young, of maimed and lovely,
Are slowly borne to earth, with a dirge of cries.
Down cobbled streets they come; down huddled stairways;
Through silent halls; through carven golden doorways;
From freezing rooms as bare as rock.
The curtains are closed across deserted windows.
Earth streams out of the shovel; the pebbles knock.
Mary, whose hands rejoiced to move in sunlight;
Silent Elaine; grave Anne, who sang so clearly;
Fugitive Helen, who loved and walked alone;
Miriam too soon dead, darkly remembered;
Childless Ruth, who sorrowed, but could not atone;
Jean, whose laughter flashed over depths of terror,
And Eloise, who desired to love but dared not;
Doris, who turned alone to the dark and cried,--
They are blown away like windflung chords of music,
They drift away; the sudden music has died.
And one, with death in his eyes, comes walking slowly
And sees the shadow of death in many faces,
And thinks the world is strange.
He desires immortal music and spring forever,
And beauty that knows no change.
1.6k
Better days
When the world was beautiful
Dancing was a fever
A feeling so high
All the lovers raged on and on
Upon a mountain of lovers
Twisting, sensual
A touch, so seldom
It brought shivers
Taking chances
Realizing that one night
Was the last of eternal bliss
Lasting love and happiness
Over
Without so much a proper farewell
Now begging to return to the dance floor
Walking towards the exit
Humming slightly
To a tune not forgotten
Walking amongst unfamiliar faces
Forbidden love
Prohibited from falling in love again
Not a chance to see what was happiness
Only a songstress could save me
Perhaps if I shouted for her, for him, for you
Resisting is foolish
For I have been consumed by an angel
Who sought me out
And ordered me to raise arms up
And shout for love
A sound in the night
Stranger in the night
Confined to solitary confinement
Forcing me to reconsider
The life chosen
Closer and closer
Redesigning the world in an image
Where love is in all of us
One step ahead
Planning for a revival
When all hell broke
But an epiphany occurred
This was the dream
To travel far and near
Where the world is seen
In multicolored
And black and white
This was a beautiful sight
The beautiful dream
A mighty return to this dance floor
Risen from ashes
A triumphant victor
Shining lights upon the followers
Notice this is reality
Not fiction
The sound of music
Flowing into each body
Embraces and affection
A thrill
Heartbeats ceasing
Trying to capture the intensity of a moment that is unforgettable
Created from nothing
An illusion that was created
To preserve a creature so pure
It was thought to have been banned from mortal eyes
Now it has crashed
Creating confusion amongst the lovers
Fearing for her safety
It created a masquerade ball
Surrounding by what she deemed reality
A distant land
Only she knew
When the perfect world shattered
Rumors spread of a goddess with the powers of the forbidden
Foreseeing a brighter day for those who chose a higher path
The world knew of the secret
Complicating information
However the brightest in the world
Seemed unaffected by the discovery
Hiding their connection
When the goddess loathed being captured
She revealed the master plan
But promising to strike twice
If the world saw what was lying underneath
Gone, the goddess sought shelter far away
Nothing the mortals knowledge of her plan
Striking from heavens above
Lightning struck twice
Blinding the universe
For only a second
Nothing existed
Reminding the world
Dark disco magic
Warped time and love
Nothing was ever bright
When left alone
Or forgotten
Or simply existing
Jul 24, 2010
Jul 24, 2010 at 11:22 PM UTC
Fresh like a breeze along the beaches of caribbean seas,
squeezed orange juice on early mornings in champagne glasses.
Fresh like a bald cut on a Marine, Navy seal
or even the old man down the block keeping it real.
Fresh like a baby in a womb, car smell, new perfume, dorm rooms,
or anything that seems cool.
Fresh like a new pair of J's,
or even a basketball player even better than Kobe when he plays.
Fresh like a girl opening her legs for feelings of ***********
or even teenagers using proactive for there pores.
Fresh like tired of saying fresh like
I'm the best right, lyrical lights
infested blood, Z Type.
I know its wack but I try my best,
to even contest with poetry,
complexed not even a inch of talent flowing in me.
My enemies telling me that its real
still there scrolls are sealed,
lying to keep my lips sealed.
They laugh behind my back
giving false facts, about me laying down wax
to keep my rhymes charged to the max.
Instead I walk on tacks bare foot open toes
its a lie to tell the truth why should I even appose.
I received a broken nose mentally
foreseeing scripts critically
AM I FRESH I GUESS NOT.
More of a plot to leave me blind,
terrorist worst then Sadam
aligned to lock my mind
I look at myself below divine.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 9:48 PM UTC
Close your eyes
try to visualize
in your mind
you're alone
as your body craves
an appetite
to wet your thirst for love
Now try
to imagine
you are caught
in this moment of passion
as your heart beat pulsates
your body
crys out to be touched..
Just say
my name baby
let me enter
into your dreams
to meet you
in your deepest
most intimate desire
My lips
pressing your soft skin
as I gently kiss
every inch of your body
it burns with fire
your yerning
is begging and pleading
to feel me
deep within ahhh....
you and me
are in this dream together
you starve
for pleasure
Baby
what is in your mind
brings your foreseeing
endeavor
your thoughts unleash
this vivid picture
open your eyes
baby open your eyes
An image
appears
as the midnight moon
shines
through the curtain lace
feel me
touching your face ...awee yea
my fingers
running
through your hair
as I pull your head back
and place you against the wall
I kiss your lips
your body
submits
your heart
succumbs so engulfed
in your pleasure
my pleasure is your drug
love is but a symptom
that I crave
but for this moment
I crave you
Baby
so give me a taste of it
I gently bite
and **** on your neck
as slide
my tounge
down to your breast
I hear you
softly whisper
(ahh.. yeah baby don't quit )
your cries
scream out
as your nails
dig deep into me
you are caught
in this moment of passion
Baby
open your eyes
Let's make it happen
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 1:50 AM UTC
i can't escape you in my head
with worried words you always said
the ones about us not foreseeing
what this Love could end up being
today i felt you as i woke
the Sun it shined on words revoked
the poems they just come to me
flowing from this heart that beats
the one you opened up for me
and now my head is stuck at sea
hooked on all the Love we'd be
i can't forget your humble might
you had the light when i lost sight
you shined upon my darkest nights
but now we're far apart in time
oh tell me that you think of me
when happy couples dance and sing
and kiss out on the wooden floor
the one where you struck me with more
more Love than i had known before
more Heart than any Soul had worn
it is that moment i adore
i'd give it endless more encores
i swear i'll find my way back to you
i'll travel far and wide to do
those things you promised me, i knew
one day i'd fly away for you
i'll leave this country and all i see
if only it means _You and Me_
the _Magic_ we had felt will be
eternal and our losses we
had carried heavy will all flee
as you join them there with me
we'll bury them in _Sand of We_
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC
Farouche people cast lethal ephemeralities, they are skittish howitzers' foreseeing
Tamper and muck around with us
Proceed please, gain potency
Address prowess, then once you've coward in a corner, strain to flee
Michka was languid sáwol (OE)
The bullied ******* not teeming by any means
Always a vexed mind, full of pillage grim
Every day the same prediction
Once the bruises turned healing yellow, they'd regain their blue gray
He walked the plank and served the steak
He dilapidated himself in vile rain
Gained no aplomb confidence
Only verbal abuse that strayed persistent
Only mental and physical wounds surfaced
Strolling down the broken sidewalk of crumbled concrete
A noticement of condemned buildings
6235 Mirnerva LN
Visions he had entering, visions he had slaying
Of the civil and socialble
Torture to the dependable
He walked inside to leaks and floor holes
Ancient 1920 furniture and stoves
More than one stove that could hold coal
To burn bodies of evidence made him feel like gold
He had a place of his own
He mirrored himself as a transfixing carver
Despersing of the bully fools
No more drubbing routs' after school
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 6:38 AM UTC
Why Do We Have Eyes?
Reflecting the Weakness of the Soul
Capturing The Beauty
Just to Watch it Fade Away
Why do We Have a Mouth?
Able to Tell So Much Wonders
To A Loved One
Who Do not Dare To Listen
Why Do We Have Ears?
Forever Reminding The Loneliness
The Absence Of Voice
The Plenitude Of Solitude
Why do We Have A Soul?
Remembering the Eternal
Not Foreseeing Eternity
Leaving You In Sorrow
Why Do We Have A Brain?
Conflicting with Eyes, Heart and Soul
Whispering You The Evident Truth
Of Your Insignificant Being
I Want To Pierce My Eyes
So They Never Lay Down Again
On Beauty Of A Mirage
Forever Dissolving in Front of Them
I Want To Sew My Mouth
Forever Silenced
So I can Not Hear
The Silent Echo of My Howls
I Want To Blow My Ears
Exploding In A Blast
Forever Shut
To the Shouts of Silence
I Want to Tear Of My Heart
So The Pain Will Disappear
The Crimson Nectar
Inevitably Dispersing My Life
I Want to Destroy My Soul
Breaking the Circle of Pain
Never Have Been, Never Will Be
Just Disappearing Of The Creation
I Want To Give Back My Energy
So It Can Be Free
To Fulfill A Creature Worth Living
Who Can Accomplish Something
A Creature Who Will Know
What it is to Be Loved
Just a Quantum
Of How Much I Love You
Warlock
Dec 1, 2009
Dec 1, 2009 at 12:40 PM UTC
brain dead for years
with a tin man’s ticker
lost in teenaged conveniences and comfort zones
walking through day dreams in the fetal position
tinnitus’ tones drowning out the music in my head
feeling like puzzle pieces forced together when they don’t really fit
like Frankenstein’s monster
limping and grunting through High School
struggling through classes with some zombie’s ears
ditching often to go to the bowling alley
graduating unprepared in an inverted reality
with polluted brown skies and a blue world
wearing the same blue shirt and blue jeans everyday
wrapped up tight like a blue eggroll
futility’s fortune cookie foreseeing only deafness and poverty
hating life and self –EVERYDAY!
then, somehow, a song crept under the veil
seeping through my tough outer veneers
it’s lyrics melting a hardness in my chest
it’s music coursing through my body like chi
exciting my Brownian motion
a simple message of finding oneself
delivered in powerful, rich, soulful baritone
stamped with profound, moving emotional range
inflection mounting upon reflection
it’s chorus and theme reverberating
I played that record over and over again
listening with my toenails
I decided right then and there to give it a try
that “learning to love yourself”* is a good thing
and that ‘good thing’ was who and what I wanted to be
Mar 24, 2012
Mar 24, 2012 at 10:53 PM UTC
~~~
dislocation/punk'd
hey baby,
put one forward,
faking baby steps.
life is hard in different ways,
for so many of us, the days say,
each year of us, walks a unique maze,
hands on the wall, unavoidable tripping on
speed bumps that make one crazed
and that you even see
coming
but inevitable is the red,
swelling, bruises, cutting,
the side effects of what gets said,
the falling-downs of words that are
dislocating
things get said, and you get paid
in eerie and weary,
and the loss of balance,
as if you are just the warm water,
water that slips over the side,
not the body inside,
and when you slip up,
that wet, warm beat-up,
That empty feeling of being is
displacing
you know, well advanced,
that parts of you,
moving around inside,
sources of internal dizziness,
the curve ***** thrown in slow mo
that so mesmerize you
into watching but not swinging,
accepting that the arc,
provides burns skinning,
and you go down 'n out
striking
what ya gonna do?
dust off and upstanding accept,
that some pitches are just **** hard on us,
we the swingers, often miss the ball,
wide of the mark,
sometimes we just stand, mouth agape,
watching the ball coming right at us,
even foreseeing the incoming
paining
what hurts,
is not those rosy red ridge reminders,
the after party of being hit,
but that when getting punk'd,
chewed up, spit out,
you get used to it, and to survive,
to keep your wits,
you spend time convincing yourself,
that you don't even care,
but you find your thinking is all about
rhyming
so when poetry get complicated,
ya get back to where ya
once before where,
keeping it simple,
roses red, violets blue,
what ya gonna do,
but your sense of smell
shot to hell,
what the hell,
thinking just another wet plunking
thinking no big dealing
this one mo' punking,
there will be more
but wonder why
you can no longer make your
simple, confused words to be reduced
by right
rhyming
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
The universe appears a myth
Frozen be art of compassion
Fake smiles sailing adrift
Confidence buried in abstraction
Epitome of shallow aliens
Touring Earth in search of peace
Marred by the war as most Iranians
Foreseeing when it all will cease
Dejection raps upon my skull
Accompanied by displays of fatigue
In an attempt discreet to annul
Knowing not of what they need
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 1:27 AM UTC