"forewarning" poems
the mirror that whispers,
the mirror that shouts,
words of hate
and torture
and spout.
the lies it speaks
are of disgust.
the thoughts it creates
turns 'should stop eating'
to a 'must'.
the mirrors lies are tempting
to try,
but a forewarning ;
the lies will control you,
and they will eat you alive.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
The raven is my eye in the sky
Swift and stealthy,
She cuts through the clouds
Her song rings in premonitions
Forewarning and foreshadowing
Any luck or omen that might meet me
The wolf and her pack are my ears
Listening for the buzzing in the forest
Striding through the leaves with discipline
She knows by the look in her eyes
By the fierce smile and sharp teeth
That she has my respect, and we are the same.
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 12:07 PM UTC
Though flames may roar,
And raging fires sore.
When fear stricken heart,
We always play our part.
The bleak unsure smoke rises dense and dark,
Each moment grows longer with each little spark.
No matter the struggle we keep fighting through,
Alert and aware we know what we must do.
Blind to a hand just before
our face,
Against the clock we must quickly race.
For when it gets down to the last desperate wire,
Swift and efficient we will put out that fire.
Though the chances are we’ve never met,
When needed a savior you can always expect.
While echoed sirens may blare and ring,
We hear the muffled night cries sing.
There's no such thing as simple routine,
Ignoring monotony that lies in between.
Very real consequences we are more than aware,
From possible situations beyond any compare.
Not a second allowed for one breath of fear,
Never a moment to shed a single silent tear.
Because when you're in desperate dire need,
We will always strive our very best to succeed.
Blood flowing in Red, White and Blue,
We’re Brothers dedicated in all that we do.
In death’s darkest shadows we may dare to roam,
Yet we know that we may each not always come home.
This is our deepest heartfelt desire,
Given to us from a place so much higher.
In all that we do each risk taken for you,
Our passion runs deep we’re dedicated and true.
Some tend to forget that this is our real life,
That we also have children, friends and our wife.
We walk the thin line though it sometimes narrows,
In this world we are someone’s real life superheroes.
In case you forget dear when you leave in the morning,
I ask you darling to please head my forewarning.
When overcome with adrenalin I remind you to fight,
To come home yourself dear at the end of each night.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
Caw! Caw! Calls the crow on a crisp fall morning
Nevermore! Nevermore! Yells the ravens forewarning
The mist lifts into the air
As the sun begins to rise
The priests are sending up a prayer
Babies shouting out their cries
The dog down the street going bark! bark! bark!
The canary next door gives a little whistle
Out of the brush in a hurry ***** a swift lark
Away dashes a bunny, straight into the thistle
A squirrel chatters away
At a cat prowling close
Diving in, a daring jay
Caught by the cat, almost
Never was there a morning
So busy as this
To hear the birds all chirp and sing
To describe in a word…bliss
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
slithers up the stairs
black as night his mutant skin drips upward
one
more
stair
she can hear him slink
one foot in front of the other
she retreats her hallowed head
the stalker climbs higher
higher than his arrogance could ever take him
and higher than the noose he has hung
for the depredation of her
screams forewarning in her head
this is the man which shares her bed
lunges forth and bolts the latches
head heart body spirit
bites the tattered tenderness
feels it bleed between his teeth
swallows her last atonement
so that there is nothing left to offer
envy rips through shivering splinters of a man
with nothing left to cover
she stalks across the bedroom
where she can see a hopeful face
where peaceful air once drifted high
will return again that way
a pis aller leap
from where she never stood again
this man will not be the death of her
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
Oh Atlantis where art thou?
Deep within the abyss, far beyond the maze of madness,
bewildered in the wilderness, hungry 40 days.
Hidden from thine eyes are journeys unexplored
where life begins within.
How do I summarize what lies within the mind of your mankind,
being of a kind, man in kind.
Concealed in the center of your mental’s universe,
dictating life’s travesties and endeavors.
Stories unfold, as the ages pass unfolding reality, unraveling the mystery
of the conscious deep inside.
For what hath thou experienced?
And what doth thou have to give?
Wisdom forever disputes thine intellects irregularities.
Forewarning us
of the days to come
embracing the adventures that lie ahead.
Trial dare not stop us
hinder us
or beget us.
We must fight through the mystery of your history
overcoming adversity and demise,
triumphantly striving.
Many uncharted paths lie ahead
therefore unlock your iron gates, which gives us vision.
Bid us to come in.
Release what the pulse knows true.
Breakaway from the pain that has you chained, hiding beneath,
aiding and abetting prophesy,
so that those beyond will see…
Oh Atlantis…Where art thou?
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 8:23 AM UTC
Well, If not now, then when?
Do you want to look back?
And ask how long it's been?
Or When you went off track?
Allow me to introduce you to the future
Unwrapping gifts on Christmas morning
Cover your brains wounds with a suture
Fading Memories you continue adorning
In Time"s eyes we are all just peasants
So let this be your official forewarning
Enjoy the now, and relish your presence
And after I'm gone, I want no mourning
Wake up instead and go full steam ahead
My absence presents you new shoes to fill
Use them to prove that I"m not truly dead
And be my living testament, this is my will
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
alliteration
delving delusory,
a literati shun
thy commissions,
galore,
the line goes around the
corner
Entrusted.
write us a prayer -
as if I were thus worthy
t'is a delusion
which is worse than
Illusion
my fingers command me -
not I, them
I scribe inky,
they write what they deem
the most unfitting fulfilling
thy requests
more crosses to bear,
this Jew has walked the
Via Dolorosa
then, and again,
now
oh yes delve delve
with archaic *****
turn over earth unsubstantiated
long time un~disturbed
**"bring us your truths
in whatever form
they spill from you"**
Thus, they command me, Lord
**"Go back to living,
like it used to be.
No more tortured soul
to slow you down"**
Thus, they command me, Lord
sleep restful,
feet bathed,
Pavorotti & Pachelbel
comforted,
let it go,
live the fleeting,
well,
drink the wine,
wafer, taste,
Jew,
but stay away from the confessional
don't
delve into your own
thesaurus
when opened,
one can vision
right through us
don't
delve in to the recesses
thankfully receding, eroding,
except for the enlightening flashbacks
that stone cold come with no
forewarning
don't
let the sin memories
of ancient words,
black gold bubble up
with the first striking of the blade
Delve
(excavate your soul deep)
Not
I did not come this poem to write
I did not come to repeat
Solomon's poem,
nothing new under the sun
don't,
daunting
wish to delve into my delusions,
my original sin
the deceit
the conceit
I am unique
I am original
but let us weave as I best could
diagrammed prayers
as the sun rises over my eastern river
for it the seventh day,
the sabbath day,
which the commandments
commend as the day to remember and
*to keep it holy.
Six days you shall labor,
and do all your work,
but the seventh day is a Sabbath
to the LORD your God.
On it you shall not do any work,
you, or your son, or your daughter,
your male servant, or your female servant,
or your livestock,
or the*
sojourner
*who is within your gates.
For in six days the LORD
made heaven and earth, the sea,
and all that is in them,
and rested on the seventh day.
Therefore the LORD
blessed the Sabbath day
and made it holy.*
no delving today
I will observe thy reader's,
all of them my teacher's,
commandments
rest easy,
spill no truths this day
but on the new born morrow
I shall fresh
delve and sin again
and write them
joyful hymns
to sing
on the profane workweek,
for my torture,
my spilled and soiled truths
shall be
re-presented
to joyous comfort
and then,
I shall sojourn among them
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 7:26 AM UTC
My condition is incongruent with the common presence
Black sheep identity burning eyes and hesitance
I move in a manner like weight attached lumbering
Unsure of myself, with no partner stumbling
Swimming in a glass half full and inattentive
Sloppy script pen tip like bull with red incentive
Reference to constructed concept subjective inference
Marker to my darker being written in this instance
Possessive and persuasive visitor leads me to temptation
Takes unpredictable control of my mental weather station
Precipitates with hate and tears me down with its erosion
Art starts with rain pain soon becomes an ocean
My breathing is done in desperate gasps
A fight for oxygen’s healing
Suddenly I am miles away
Far beyond the ceiling
Moving at the speed of light time slowing to a crawl
Cranium contained tragically between these walls
I wake to similar circumstances not changed to satisfaction
Expect a sedentary death from drone of human interaction
Hungry and reestablished, reminded now of morning
Clear mind and consequence come forth with no forewarning
Death lingers in the white noise that gestures from the mental
I open the gates to raiders as they pilfer sacred temple
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 5:35 AM UTC
It's 12:25 in the early morning,
The stars are majestically prancing around in the heavenly sky.
Never was there a gigantic, obese sign forewarning,
Attempting to grab my attention seeking eyes.
Screaming and shouting, "He's just a beautiful boy with a devil heart."
Would a young, innocent soul have the conscientious mind to spot such a simple flaw?
Maybe, if I wouldn't have been so knee deep in trying to restart,
I may not have ever let your rough, graceful hands unclip my bra.
It's now 12:39 and I'm slowly remembering how to forget you,
All I can slightly acknowledge is scratching your bare back and moaning your aesthetically crafted name.
Don't ask me to bid you adieu,
Because I only have my wondering heart to blame.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
Sewn-up into not caring
Modelled dispassionate
Roused into fantasy;
This one time would be
different
Oh naive optimism
His sight grows absent from reality when
he sees her
Leaving me unconsidered
he trades grins with her
With no forewarning
he trails off to her
Consinging to oblivon my presence when
he's with her
Nothing assuredly matters when
he's conversing with her
I'll bid farewell
to those so called feelings
Friends can fracture your
Sole heart
If you keep confiding
You will bruise nonstop
So let me advice you this one time
Become cold as ice
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
They didn't write about this in the fairytales of my childhood
They never told me love could fade away
That it is hard to find, but easy to lose
They never gave me forewarning that my heart could be broken by my prince
Or that I could be the breaker of his
Who knew we were given such power, such responsibility?
They never told me there were other princesses roaming in his mind
They never told me of other princes who could catch my eye
Who knew of such dishonesty, such infidelity?
Who knew love was something so fragile?
As if it were porcelain it slips through your fingers so fast
To be shattered like the illusion of the fairytale love story in your mind
When you see the truth a tainted love leaves behind
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 1:59 AM UTC
Birth
comes whispering
her way
into the world.
The passing
of the days
are unmentioned,
unnoticed,
forgotten sounds.
And then,
with no forewarning,
another faint whisper,
and we have
death
at our fingertips.
In vain
do we grasp
desperately
for the fleeting
moments,
sounds,
of which we were
oblivious to
only yesterday...
which were
Ours
only yesterday.
Alas!
All is gone
far
beyond our reach,
save only yesterday's
murmuring
echoes.
cj 1971
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
Feeling isolated,
sometimes
i don't feel as though I'm the type to make it
angsty anxious
soul sedated
so I type to make it
self described as the greatest
self described overrated
self prescribed medication
self denies that exploitation
this could be the "realest **** i ever wrote"
yet its honestly nothing more than mental notes
reminders that I'm not dead yet
remind me when I'm dead, yet
come find me when my head's set
solidly on my shoulders
don't know why I'm so sick of being HERE...
my mental state's constantly all over
I'm often sought for "good advice"
often thought of "being right"
"living life"
well
while you whisper "listen" without thinking twice
I whimper at the thought of life
misheard, disregard me in the spotlight
cuz... dawg... my soapbox full of termites..
don't wanna preach to the choir
don't wanna talk to the congregation
and I'm sure with all these blunts I'm facin
I'm bound to be famous
isn't that how it works...?
or am i..
bound to be facin
blunt truths
and
those famous cliches
we love to hate
why I'm sending love every which way?
when that love always comes back as a switchblade?
that cuts so deeply
given a forewarning, yet left in dismay, as to say
"now this may hurt..."
"but learned lessons..-"
-THEY DON'T LESSEN ****
my scars have stories but trust me, being scarred is a different story
I'm still sore where that passion burnt
lately I've been wondering if writing is rather vain work
combined with this lack of passion its got me questioning my body and whether veins work
or not
regardless when you blowing wind; you should know my weather vane works
a lot
but most of the time
i try to find
justifications
to my observations-
"-yoooooo everyone deserves a second chance b"
but I'm simply asking
how long do your seconds last?, see
the last time I was "stuck in the moment"
I grasped on tight and tried to slow it,
but there's no escaping the fact
that things come and go
seasons change
from summer sun to falling leaves and rain, then snow
...
listen... falling leaves a back broken..
but while lying there staring
blank into the dimly lit ceiling
snapped in half,
i realized that
the hardest part about the ego and letting go
is having to say, "sorry i was just stuck in the past.."
what kinda **** is that.....
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 2:22 AM UTC
Were they not reliable, the winds when they came
Was it not sadness they felt, when the tribes lost a name
(Amidst the rubble and ash,
he vivaciously spills his cash)
Was it not atonement swept across the crowd
Were their heads not solemn when they bowed
(A city in mourning,
strategic forewarning)
Did the music not play at low volumes in the eve
Did the stories of the past not eventually interweave
(He stands atop an empire so vast
realising now that his time has passed)
Do you not feel great elation that the town now lays dead
Do you not thank them kindly that you were allowed to be mislead
(Ah, but a story never ends with the champion
merely fertilised soil for the blooming rampion)
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
"People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones" she said.
"Well" I said
Maybe I don't mind this glass house of mine being shattered, maybe that's the idea.
Maybe I'd prefer to be seen in all my transparency so you can no longer doubt or question me, cause maybe the glass that forms the walls of this cage isn't see through enough for me.
It fogs with the breath left from all those half truths and words I use to give you clues as to Who I am and Who I'm not.
The words that echo back to me creating so near, so far images of the me that I've forgot.
Maybe in that fog you're not the only one that can't see me properly.
I can't see out...looks frosty
I'm cold, yet I can't stand the heat
As this glass refracts light from gazes
Of spectators and haters pointing pointless fingers as they take a seat,
Insulates a rage in me!
"People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones" she said
As if I couldn't take what was about to come.
As if to dismissively say
You're not ready yet
Don't let this cocoon you've
created come undone.
Giving me forewarning
so I could standstill and run.
Look at me!
I stand still but I run!
But Maybe I don't mind being homeless,
Maybe if I'm home less I'll feel home more in myself absent of barriers,
comforts and fears of wealth and worth
So I grit my teeth,
dig my feet into the earth
"People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones" she said
As I hailed the first one at her
Watched the crack spread
Across her face
Creating lace shapes
And split her head in two
As her image struggled to cling on
With every molton strand of sand
Left to her but she had no time left to seek
as she fell creating a mosaic of shards,
broken glass at my feet
Stepped over them
People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones she said
Well I just did
Cause I helped raise this Glass House in fear
And I will knock down any monument to dictatorship
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 10:12 AM UTC
There is nothing fair about the pale light of New Spring
Air that is full of promise,
bearing no fruit or cinnamon scent
Naive contempt that we all will bear a rich fullness
Sun wick in its watery gaze.
New Spring is the forewarning of the lengthening shadow
While the flowers bloom, gnarling hands tug at their roots
Decaying the imago, delicate foundations,
ruining their artful poise.
Urge of the nightingale wavers and a swift dirge comeuppance
Clouds break apart, denying their lofty existence,
Soil blackened by the soot of His flamed feet,
Which trespass sweetly and indulge in the
scent of burning and plague.
New Spring is the cowering of my hope
and the doubts of rightful renewal
Bread I bare is stale, water a rasping thirst
My heart unfrosted and chilled from Winters gambit
Tis a Stolen Season
Apr 18, 2010
Apr 18, 2010 at 5:14 AM UTC
It was that feeling
you experience when falling down
the drop
of a rollercoaster.
I’d lost my breath
as it escaped my ribs
hand in hand with my voice
and in that moment everything went silent.
An old fashioned film played slowly
in the back of my head
as we staggered between
two vehicles of fatality,
deaths forewarning tapping mockingly
on my shoulder.
Blank eyes
on calloused hands
my fate sealed as I pressed
myself into his body.
Our sins
smoking off his tires
evidence through charcoaled black lines
on glistening pavement
my heart stops being for an instant
and I finally know the truth.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 4:12 PM UTC
sitting in LA traffic,
feeling very traff,^
unsurprisingly,,
dream-haze to SF,
now, every doorway
is an entrance/exit
to the Matrix
the movie is all about
concentric circles of reality
intersecting, when I emerge
in Chinatown, me and naturally,
Neo too,
(older and cute, and edible, like my fav flav)
who finds me equally irresistible,
He asks am I real,
sore disappointed,
for earlier, making love,
there were no harpsichords,
just The Zombie’s breathy vocals,
singing prophetic these songs
“She’s Not There” and
“Tell Her No.”
my then reality was in no doubt,
but nearness breeds suspicion
as much as trust, and Neo
is a worrier, I foresee not
much future for him & me
other men have called me Shylock,
for the betrayal probability is nearer
to 1, and these words, a reality test,
a forewarning to all in my bed sojourn,
are framed, resting above my pillows:
“*If you ***** us, do we not bleed?
If you tickle us, do we not laugh?
If you poison us, do we not die?
And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?*”
tear stains, some from loneliness,
others from being held to tight,
some from my own scripts reread,
some from you, you don’t even know
when they stay over, I give them
one of two matching robes, both
Barbie pink,
those that laugh and grab it on,
they’re the keepers, they are for real,
just like me
by the way, so many of you have drunk
my crazy words, it’s inexcusable that I’ve
not thanked you yet, individually like the
Queen Mother teaches, repeat reminds,
preenly informs, nothing better than
a hand written thank you note, so
considered yourself served and appreciated!
am I for real?
the very question I ask myself daily,
to my morn mirror who magic replies,
more than real, crazy unique special, so so
different, otherwise I wouldn’t stick around,
and I thank the mirror with a lipstick kiss,
and it blushes from the love so real, and
cracks
a smile and says you be careful my genteel,
lady princess, your pale skin is exposed and
the California sun is a burning torch and it
touches your perfect body like all the others,
whose fingerprints evaporate in time, so husband
your love, give it slow and precious, for you are
more than mere real, after all,
you are Brandychanning
Dec 20, 2023
Dec 20, 2023 at 12:16 PM UTC
I spent so much purpose
determined, without knowing
perhaps instinctive
surely stubborn
but not blind
Being the center
because I could
bring direction
to the spin
for a while
But then my time had passed
or so I thought when I felt
the ground dissolving
without forewarning
turning solid into
nothing
and knowing
into uncertainty
leaving me an empty shell
or so I thought until I learned
that my time had actually come
but I was unprepared
I reached out for you
too late without forewarning
in ways unrecognizable to you
and hopelessly misguided by me
but you looked away
because of who
I had become
and who you wanted
to be after all you
saw of me
And yet you stayed
near but not close
present but not here
just out of reach
by either one
So now I struggle
determined, and well knowing
against my nature
surely stubborn
but not blind
I feel the warmth
of your fingertips
and soon I'll grasp
your hands
if you keep mine
in yours I will find
some way to make
these battered legs
take me to you
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 10:56 PM UTC
If she doesn’t love you now,
don’t fool yourself into thinking she ever will,
love is infinite and definite,
love is not a gradual build,
do not fool yourself,
even though only Fools fall in love,
if she doesn’t love you now,
accept that she never will,
this is my warning to you,
and forewarning is fair warning,
don’t think if you’re good to her tonight,
that she’ll like you any more in the morning,
love is not equal,
love is not fair,
love is always here,
but love is never there,
so remember this,
next time you think you’re in love,
and make sure that love is mutual,
before you make that jump,
because if not,
you’ll fall all alone,
and it’ll be you instead of me,
sitting here writing this poem…
∆ LaLux ∆
Most Recent Release Is Now FREE Here: www.scribd.com/document/367036005
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 1:45 AM UTC
I gaze at you,
ceaselessly,
in anticipation of words,
but these vacuous conversations are only ones that seem to come.
These salutations and customs- are all too familiar,
a forewarning to hail this semblance,
a bellow to put on my armour of camaraderie,
a display of grandeur,
as I wallow in cursory nods.
all this while, I still await those words,
ones that promise to slit the soul,
for it keeps on cluttering with ghosts of past flaws,
a past I wish that never was.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 6:15 AM UTC
A cliched love story
Fable told throughout the ages.
Conventional meeting,
By chance
Absolute chance.
Feelings switch on in moments
Without any forewarning.
Its not fair
Never fair.
Looked around all night,
Discouraged.
Found you in front of me,
Completely reassuring.
Every love story is cliched.
But that love story is cliched
Unless it has a twisted middle,
And an inevitable end.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 12:24 AM UTC
Her lips
Touch paper cup,
To form paper cut.
Reach
For First aid kit
Fast,
Forewarning.
As the blood
Runs down,
To form lava flow,
It glistens
With crimson glow,
She feels alive.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 2:01 AM UTC