"frightfully" poems
I LOVE MYSELF
With all my flaws
In my Beautifulness,
In my mistakes,
In my weakness,
In my darkness.
I love myself, because I am worth it.
I am a high power person who can move mountains with my love, thoughts and dreams
I am good, kind, funny, full of life and love, contagious with my explosive energy
Some things may be equally essential but nothing is more important than loving oneself
And at this moment the love I have for myself goes above and beyond.
It could reach the end of the universe if I just unwrap it
I love me in my inane, craziest, sanest, beautiful twisted, darkest and funniest way
I love me in a way that no one does
I love me in my fullest woes
I am everything that I can and will be
I am frightfully proud of my flaws and proudly wearing them as no one is perfect
This is the start of a new journey to me
The journey of love and self acceptance
The journey to fully embrace and value my own self
I allow myself to fall in my stupidest and biggest way, just to get back up and catch my breath again
Failure will not stop me but make me stronger
I am fully seeing me and smiling at my imperfected and distorted reflection
Hugging myself so tightly, refusing to let go
The more I am spending time with me,
The more and more my love grows
Is it bad for my health ? I do not think so.
It’s true, I am better, happier, more free, powerful, at peace
The sun is shining on me
I don’t need no help to be beautiful, ‘cause I’ve got me
I’ve got that uncontainable light from within me
I am smoldering a treasure, sharing laughter, joy and sadness with myself
I have learnt the phases of myself
So distant from that little insecure girl I used to know
As I allow her opinions to matter
I have accepted her difference
Her different kind of beauty, I have learned to love
This feeling of wholeness, self acceptance, comfort and love, is liberating
I wrap myself around my contorted and beautiful else to form a ME
As I am, Raw and Real
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 6:34 AM UTC
Unbiased at least he was when he arrived on his mission,
Having never set eyes on the land he was called to partition
Between two peoples fanatically at odds,
With their different diets and incompatible gods.
"Time," they had briefed him in London, "is short. It's too late
For mutual reconciliation or rational debate:
The only solution now lies in separation.
The Viceroy thinks, as you will see from his letter,
That the less you are seen in his company the better,
So we've arranged to provide you with other accommodation.
We can give you four judges, two Moslem and two Hindu,
To consult with, but the final decision must rest with you."
Shut up in a lonely mansion, with police night and day
Patrolling the gardens to keep the assassins away,
He got down to work, to the task of settling the fate
Of millions. The maps at his disposal were out of date
And the Census Returns almost certainly incorrect,
But there was no time to check them, no time to inspect
Contested areas. The weather was frightfully hot,
And a bout of dysentery kept him constantly on the trot,
But in seven weeks it was done, the frontiers decided,
A continent for better or worse divided.
The next day he sailed for England, where he could quickly forget
The case, as a good lawyer must. Return he would not,
Afraid, as he told his Club, that he might get shot.
31.5k
Isn't it awfully nice to have a *****
Isn't it frightfully good to have a ****
It's swell to have a ******
It's divine to own a ****
From the tiniest little tadger
To the world's biggest *****
So, three cheers for your ***** or John Thomas.
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake,
Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend,
Your Percy, or your ****
You can wrap it up in ribbons.
You can slip it in your sock,
But don't take it out in public,
Or they will stick you in the dock,
And you won't come back.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
If it weren't for the consistent badgering of radical america your roots your nourishment would enrich the very soil our ancestors turned,
but pests and pesticides alike have yet
to be relinquished,
"autumn" has consumed us as smiles fall-- the hazmat suits leave us bare to the weathered reality,
except you,
umbrellas and storm sheltered words nurture loved ones -- you are worth the wait,
with conflict resolve you take off your helmet and gear we are not prepared for such violence -- shielded eyes from falsified truths you bloom and blush,
you are beautiful,
a perfect storm your wrath the 5th element -- uncontrollable you are free as "winter" resides on your shoulder,
she is awakened and unapologetic,
a God among us,
frightfully we are safe we have waited for your wine to runneth and pop goes the cork,
as the war begins your throne you sit with confidence.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
I woke up on monday,
and,
being frightfully ashamed of my bloated pig face
and stringy hair
and thick arms,
I stayed home and locked in my room,
wishing I could remain there always.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC
The falling stars in this ironic night
make majesties
out of those cubicle-ridden New Yorkers'
routine Tuesday night daydreams,
where they make macabre escape routes
out of every perfectly-placed window
piercing the concrete sentences
that escalate from Ground Zero.
Your law offices,
corporate ******* headquarters,
are all bursting at the seams
with these drones,
the falling stars of the human race,
all composed of 14 different shades
of grayscale;
could've been
should've been
could've been shootin' stars
that year they were promised
lives of upper middle class incomes
and Lexus dealerships
bought to dent their status
on the neighborhood,
but that sparkle's been emaciated
by the truth,
the underwhelming spectacle of realization
accentuated by the clicking
and the clacking of company keyboards,
each little click
gnawing more at their patience
than the next;
the faceless brush strokes
gawk through that window,
their plans less hypothetical
over the calendar years.
"I can hear it calling me
from miles away,"
says Copy #90045280,
"see, they
SPEAK
to me, man,
tell me to transcend
the hurdle of the windowsill
and make my rendezvous
with an asphalt avenue,
to join the other casualties
of this rut-infested nation
in a life with the real stars,
falling and shooting
and jettisoning alike,
throbbing lights through dark sky silk
and into the hearts of even the most
robotic of this catalog culture,
and I frightfully,
excitedly,
must listen."
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:53 AM UTC
Swift as nightfall, it closes in
Rolling over sea still as glass
Thicker than smoke, darker than sin
The fog, it tumbles in an impenetrable mass
Blocking out the early light of day
With tiny footsteps it creeps to the dock
Softly stirring secret shadows
Standing quiet, observing, I in my night frock
Some part of me still dreaming of distant meadows
Moving swiftly, it devours the very last of the sun’s rays
I wrap my robe around me
Making my way out of doors
The fog, it deepens, struggling to be free
And like a cat, crawls on all fours
Up and over and past the bay
Frightfully quick now it surges on
Some part of me murmurs that my feelings are wrong
My mind urges, “Do not fall prey to nature’s con!”
Yet the sweet, seductive calling of the fog’s siren song
Sends me dreamwalking into its heavy gray
My spirits start to soar
Engulfed and held by the fog’s thickening grasp
Against my mind’s desire, I want more
And as the fog turns suffocating, I gasp
Falling to my knees in this place I long to stay
The fog, ever enveloping me in its endless cloak
Whispers words of freedom like the loveliest of poem
I close my eyes, tripping, slipping, fumbling, tumbling, giving in to the beauty of the smoke
Knowing deep inside that I am home
And in the fog, forever I lay
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
ripe fruit unconfined to the width of fruit
frightfully absent-minded of it's metaphor
burgeoning with sweet to burst-
...’The slowest devastation of a perfect sphere.
Bloated in the sun
at the peak of yes
a trifle to a god; and everything He meant.
the raw sub conscience of Love Itself.
Forest olde and valley wide
heeps of time upon time in a bramble of lush
vast with green enough to burst
...the joyous vegetation of a perfect world.
Garrulous in the sun
at the peak of yes
a testament to god at His first attempt.
the sheerest genius of Love
Thyself.
Sep 20, 2011
Sep 20, 2011 at 5:40 PM UTC
I see the violence,
I hear no laughter,
It's all faith to capture;
I can feel the rapture,
Disaster another chapter,
Darkness within these walls,
a fall,
No more buildings too tall.
Fire choking the young,
It's only just begun.
There's no sun,
We hear a bomb,
Run,
Innocent children,
Deprived of fun,
Shrapnel flying everywhere,
Smoky air,
Streets are bare,
It's all despair,
I feel the Animosity,
Subconsciously,
Knowing I'm dead probably,
We do this to our society,
Because we have religion and rivalry,
Violently, involved yet independently,
You walk so silently,
Scared of your own shadow frightfully,
Tirelessly,
With your messed up psychiatry,
That’s irony.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 4:50 AM UTC
My life is a paradoxical monstrosity
A contradiction in itself
Where to start?
Anywhere, everywhere, nowhere perhaps
Occupation,
I play with words.
How naughty does that sound?
Really, I'm in a complicated relationship with words, terms, definitions, metaphors
Writer by day, storyteller by night
And of course I love what I do
And I hate what I do
How very poetic of you!
Why thank you!
Sorry, the inner child speaks.
Back to writing,
And the moments of fantastic ecstasy
Where this jumble of verbs and nouns and adjectives you're trying to assemble
Clicks.
The bigger picture develops with crystal clear clarity
No fastidious statements
Or meaningless passages.
Just words, feelings, meanings
Soul.
That doesn't sound so bad you say
IT HAPPENS ONCE EVERY MILLENIA!
For the most I am frustrated.
Stumped to the point where rage overcomes and the only cathartic release is to sleep.
When I do manage to squeeze something out of the depths of my mind, it appears substandard, to say the least.
Zadie told me to get used to non-satisfaction
So I am satisfied with never been satisfied; does this make me satisfied?
Ow.
Please, I need an answer
I've been looking for answers for nineteen years,
But have I been asking the right questions?
Are there any answers?
Another question
No, that was the question
Confusion and befuddlment ravaging through your mind?
I recently realised there are no facts
Only really good suggestions by excessively knowledgeable and esteemed
I quite fancy being one of those guys
A visionary complete with the stereotypical glasses and overgrown beard
And I'd declare that being yourself is the first step to finding your purpose
Fact.
But what if finding your purpose is your purpose?
I'll leave you with that.
This is my life.
Complaining would be ungrateful of me; it's a good one really.
I can walk and run and play basketball and see my friends where we laugh endlessly.
Oh and Saturday morning cartoons.
I have problems, enormous world ending problems
But it's all relative.
Some think I'm strange, I prefer quirky.
I wonder how life would be if I'd chose the 'normal' option
Most likely, frightfully boring
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
parting clouds over the field of wheat
split the gray into a sea of golden rays
bright enough to leave even the blindest man at his feet
passing wind slithers by
carrying with it seeds and soft cries
tears from the protector of all the crop
the lonely scarecrow who stays planted
his tune the most melancholy of acoustics
a tranquil coffee shop
birds circle frightfully overhead
for they do not know their avoidance leaves the scarecrow all but dead
he who never meant any harm
but who's appearance raises cacophonous alarm
cursing the sky, the scarecrow shouts
yet, the scarecrow will soon get his wish
once his stump dries he will be free with the coming drought
so as the farmer prays for rain,
he questions God's whereabouts
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC
I’ve sat with Silence
As she cast silhouettes
Moving in the likes
of Ballerinas across
My hair.
I’ve moved with them too.
That’s how I’ve come
To know their names
Or natures
As such:
1) The one who sold her soul to the Devil
For pennies and a dollar
So her mother could
Come off the
Corner
2) The one who put Fireflies and Rainbows
In mason jars and played make
Believe with running fingers
And a wounded
Moon
3) The one whose only trace of a father is
The bloodstain on the wall like a
Family photo with X’s over
The faces because he
Destroyed more
Than his own
Soul
4) The one who strung sorrow to the ceiling
To play its marionette with dancing
Shadows weeping and frightfully
Abandoned, hiding under
A candle in shameful
Bliss
5) The one who wandered though fields
Of whispering epitaphs that
Made nursery rhymes
From the likes of
Madness
6) The one who locked her heart in
A vault within ashen walls and
Wrote letters to stars that
Wrote it’s not her fault
She’s infinitesimally
Small
I told myself I would never return
To sleep
To dream
To surrender my mind to its own
Devices
Vices.
But here am I, Lord
Swinging with the wind
Under a purple tinged twilight
Making friends with twisted tongues,
and braided hearts slinking through the alley.
I’ve bore my heart like a cross,
Carried it past moratorium
Marching east for west
Until my frantic feet
Cease to move
Me.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC
tizzy looped his past: he had looped it and then looped it howevah, whoop to diz
gangstapoetry boosted its duties newly
we simply gs, whose duties include
slowmoflow like snoop, or p, ain't no thang
i create slang in the hate center, last trip i flew thru loops, break dancers and readers
want answers, so we give straight answers
lyrics of fame bangers, one rhyme for eight
don't take chances, tizz stylobate, sunrise
poems born from crime, give it some time
gotta come right, sell it all at one price
my blood cries in rough nights, plagued by
enough of tough stuff, but me ain't a fluff
i bluff and take what's rightfully mine
tizz is frightfully nice, he neva comes twice
coco loco, monica matadora tending
first song jeezy's "poppin" pimpin pimpz
red-blodded hamza comin ova to test me
subtly intimidating, i just call him "habibi"
ice breaker, you feel me, we good, truly
check out jammed jay, pushin designer
hamza on the toilet, yayo, his girl, bunny
snugglin wit jammed jay for real by now
close to my dj area, rubbin *** gainst ****
tina staring camly into her secret intention
i expect something vaguely, forget it, tho
as hamza al-mighty gets back, explodes
he beats up jay, promptly breakin' his nose
jay looks at the blood; pulls out a cudgel
bashin hamza's skull, flesh splinters
hamza strikes back wit em bludgeons
wondaland's red light, serving proudly 24/7
hamza's pack, yousif, said, wassim and mo
ready to battle the enemy of the enemy
lego goon, antwone, bobby butchah, juan
Jun 14, 2021
Jun 14, 2021 at 1:10 AM UTC
So, next week, I lose a limb.
I have it marked on my calendar in neat, purple letters.
Humans, unlike starfish, spiders, or Dr. Curt Connors, cannot regrow limbs.
They can be amputated or removed surgically to prevent disease,
But this is different.
You see, this Friday, when I lose my limb, I won't get a replacement limb.
And the disease, if you can call it a disease, well,
As far as I can see, it'll spread faster than ever.
Have you ever loved someone so much that they become a part of you?
First of all, it's very unhealthy.
Second of all, it's the most wonderful feeling in the world.
Well, if you've ever felt this way toward someone else, it's safe to say that someday, you will start to think of them as an actual part of you- like your other half.
The more time you spend with them, the more you'll read their expressions, pick up on the nuances of their speech and expression, the more you'll open up to them and sync up to their moods and habits-
It's frightfully parasitic.
And when they leave, it's like losing a part of yourself-
After all, you've put so much into each other,
So much that you'll never get back.
I'm in love, and it's beautiful and terrifying.
My love is a part of me that's getting ripped off this Friday.
You see, he's moving three hours away.
He's a year older, and he's going to college.
I'm more scared than he is about it.
Luckily, we're only separated by physical distance.
But honestly- you know that gag in movies where the villains tie the protagonist limb by limb to four horses and send the horses galloping off in four different directions?
That.
It feels like that.
This Friday, I'm losing a limb- for now,
I'm losing him.
So, soon, I'll have to learn to live as just one part of a whole.
That is, until Thanksgiving break...
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 2:45 AM UTC
for some time now i have been thinking about the possibilities of my beloved having drowned in the same abyss as my own. i will not ask them—no, i do not think i can, because for the longest time i thought that it was only i whose lungs had been suffocated with the inner conflict of whether or not my thoughts meant something, the confusion of whether or not what i had been feeling were mere ghosts of forgone memories.
for reasons like this i have decided to remain sunken, a living ship wreck, half fallen apart. how dare i assume the best of them when i knew fully how sorrow shines the brightest when Moon hides herself, too cowardly to confront Night.
perhaps i have been achingly comfortable with the growing silence of dusk. all are quiet except chirping birds and a few hundred tireless, dissonant fragments of the mind. how frightfully calm they become as day breaks—a melancholic melody
this is when i decide i probably should stay awake to let life flash before my eyes for another day.
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 7:21 PM UTC
From the pier in that choppy sea
I could see a man in the water
I think he was waving at me
so I waved back for I thought I'd alter
and blow me the fella disappeared
I thought this was in frightfully bad taste
By gad's last time I will wave to someone
as I bathe in the midst of salty brine
Do you know,never saw the chap again
his displeasure as he sank under the waves
what nasty misgivings, confound him
by the cut of my tweed I do say, bounder I say
**** the fellow .... I came here for fresh air
now I am out of sorts and at the sea I do stare
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
I’d rather be wonderfully wicked
And frightfully fascinating
Than be piously perfect
And dreadfully dull
I could be reliably righteous
And boringly bland
But why? when I’m daringly devious
And curiously captivating
To be goodly godly
Or delightfully devilish
How about moaning monotony
To my sensuous ****
Never curiously kind
Without poorly plain
Always sweetly sinister
And always attractive
To be good, one must
Want to be good
But why be good
When you can be bad?
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
My eyes are yours,
Blind me with passion,
My touch is yearning,
Let me lay, explore,
My hair is spun, wrapt,
In a bundle clutching,
Like fingers that see,
My breath, breathes you,
Deep, solemn in dream,
My heart lives beaten,
Before you even play
Mine as your instrument,
What marvels could be
Us as we are, ever one,
Sure and spry, innocent,
Full of life and of verve,
Real into new actuality,
Warm in the tended fires
Of the heats of winter,
Blazed with white flame
From an old tome untold,
Now I shall sleep longly,
With only yours beside,
My toes, frightfully curled,
In truest circles round you,
My body is your treasure,
Waiting to be unlocked.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
Obsidian black blankets my thoughts and the night.
What lurks in cracks?
The cracked cement.
The cracked psyche.
Bats flutter in the belfry.
Madness takes hold, or is the madness masked as sanity?
Erudite my words may be tonight, but tomorrow I may babble.
Like a brook, black as a rook.
Why do these thoughts become clear in the dark?
Darkness leads the way onto a path.
Juxtaposed by the black night, the light is dimmed
Feelingly, gropingly, groggily I'm frightfully led.
To where?
To bed?
To sleep?
To dream jet black thoughts?
Oblivion, delirium, lithium.
Crow black is the deepest part of the night.
Inky pools of forgetfulness abound the sleepers tonight.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
Love has always been the air I breathed
Love was the only reality I always believed
Love was the only reason, for which I lived
Love was simply born for you and me
Your heart was where I thought I could always be
And every breath, every touch, every kiss, were the vigor
That drove me in a sassy world
Where I walked blindly towards a blurry road
With so many closed doors
But at the moment when your light switched on in my eyes
And your flames heated up my veins
And your rays of hope blossomed in my mind
You're gone but I'm still standing here hopeless
You dodged but I'm still sticking around heartless
The core of you is completely healed but mine is frightfully homeless
That soul I used to call love, has become nameless
And all the colors I stole from the rainbow,
Has rubbed away in the darkness
Please remember the passion we shared
Plights we went through but we always came out alive
Those shooting stars we adopted
The plans we collected
All the tears we shed to stay together
How did you easily turn your back on them
As if nothing even existed?
In case you're feeling a dismal emptiness where you are
Come and find us where you left us
‘Cause with you my whole realm is fearless
Far from you, my nights are all dreamless
May 21, 2021
May 21, 2021 at 4:47 PM UTC
Thirsty, a parched pale yellow
this milkweed, dandelion field
dried silky seeds blowing wild
hot cracking leaves
lightning trees afire
forests and burning meadows
with eyes that sting
I can but see, spectrally
the smokey sun
breathe a deathly air
that chokes the lungs
creatures gasp and run
in moments ever dire
they flee frightfully
amid falling trees
of fire.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
i don’t claim to set the boundaries on my freedom.
checkpoints tend to become distractions
the trees shapeshift in the night buried deep in the sinking kingdom
frightfully stirring, unconsciously aligning through permeable borders
forwards cowards
onwards or bend backwards
a gripped touch shuffled past emotions, lowering and cowering
concealed by a brash rhythm.
subtle inclinations shiver your frown
freedom can be locked in a box unruled.
the kingdom with a forgotten crown
and a lonely clown not fooled.
What you made will fade.
Like the sun creating shade.
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 1:50 AM UTC
the space where you lay
has been too frightfully empty lately
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 7:42 PM UTC