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nish Aug 2018
------------------------------------
 \ why is it that time slips /                              
   \she slides and slithers /
     \right through these  /
        \ infinite crevices  /
          \found all over /
             \my greedy /
                \ hands,  /
                   \ like /
                   /    •   \
                 /       s      \
              /            a       \
           /             n            \
        /                 d              \
      /                                      \
    / in the dainty hourglass \
  /sitting aloft my skew shelf.\
-----------------------------------------
I wanted to try shape poetry again, and I have to say this was MUCH harder than .leafing
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2633672/leafing/

It took forever to align the slashes to give this poem shape, without them it didn't look like an hourglass.
I hope you liked this poem and I'd love it if you commented some links to any shape poetry you've tried out.
Hope you enjoyed :)
ryn May 2015
Let me be captured by the night.
Engrossed in the conversation
between the stars.
Syncopated twinkling like...
thousands of fireflies
trapped within sealed jars.

Let me be enslaved by the moon.
As I drink her glow in
greedy insatiable gulps.
Crestfallen...
Her beam with an agenda...
As the landscape she sculpts.

Let me be ensnared by my solitude.
But I hear crickets...
Chirping and chipping away at my
bastion of dreamstate.
Persistent calls
I try to shun
that never abates.

Let me be trapped in my thoughts.
So I could harness...
And immortalise them in
indelible careless scribbles.
Erecting and...
Rebuilding them from the
rubble of conflicting squabbles.

Let me be overwhelmed
by the mess of my being...**
Let me wallow
Then emerge strong from this
decrepit state of mind.
Let me breathe heavy from my
punctured lungs.
So I could heal in time before
true solace
in this dark,
I would find.
Tolani Aug 2018
We were both love. I was a sunflower and you were a snowflake. Both beautiful and gentle but unable to coexist effectively because flowers can’t blossom in the cold.

Yet when it ended, the truth became misconstrued.
Suddenly I was a rose thorn that pricked you till you bled.
And you were a greedy bee that ****** the life out of me and left me empty.

We created false portrayals of each other to make this all a bit easier to deal with.

But the truth will always stay.

We were both beauty, purity, fragility, love.
We just weren’t meant to give our love to each other.

And now we both bleed, because the hardest part is accepting we were never meant to be.
We were never meant for each other..
rhiannon Oct 2017
here’s the damnedest thing about “hopeless romantics”:

they’ll splinter their own bones into kindling
to build the fire that warms you,
as if putting a match to their insides
might cauterize the wounds
left behind by the greedy lovers and too-rough hands
that set their hearts to bleeding in the first place

you see, the poets spared no pains when they dubbed
the especially romantic “the hopeless

they are hopelessly betrothed to the warfare,
the burning insanity
of a soul madly in love with love—
the way the heart rages against the brain.
Whereto, Friend, apart this Direction goes
That Greedy Me besuch perpetuate
Must learn this: The Lock and Shackle bestrow
Reconcile that Key for True Joy rebate
And tell, how does your Prime Perception dock
To settle added Keys in Copper, chain
Took you a Lark; Which the Robin does mock
Outside your Cage those Tripe Clowns entertain
That Craft - your Splash - always Sacred devote
Once again calls for Adventure Beyond
Take a Year's Rest; Then to Spangles denote
Would sprinkle Silver Sands for mood abscond.
It was your Decision to sign by Pen
Absorb those Posted Stars Heaven does spend.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
The circle closes over the dead woman's space.
Family and community heal, the scar tissue
between a young girl's *******. She had
shared conversations with my father about
the holes in their hearts. My heart, the
muscle, not the spirit, flutters when a
young girl bikes by or the heron flies.

By September flies are down, we can come
out of our canoes and risk the woods. Summer's tissue
is torn each night. Space above gives perspective
to the life one had. Jesus speaks your name?
And is Beatrix now traveling astronomy's corridors
at the speed of light, aware of herself, to the blessed heart?
Durante too is moving on, wayfaring with his virgil.

Much of the family gathered. My grandfather, Bart,
it was remembered sold his house to none other than Duke
Ellington and Lena Horne lived up the block. Andrew
played with her daughters, sons. Until every Italian
had moved east into Long Island, thinking themselves
better than blacks. I find each and all --
Hindus, Muslims -- hard-earned bone and prone to ache.

We are most happy the dead one's not us.
The chosen one, the unfortunate one, the
one whose name Jesus spoke, is gone
and is no longer one of us. She is the other,
as distant and separate from the family
as a black man or Hindu's sister. Missed less
than last night's sleep or meat and grateful

for such peace. I will be too if it won't
come too soon or too often. My observation is
54 or 84 you always seem to want more
what was accomplished or never finished isn't
enough. Greedy, overweight and blameworthy
is how I've felt about every wasted day.
Summer's tissue torn by the first frost night.

Judging by her feet, Judith will be a big
woman, great granddaughter of Bartholomew,
who sold his redlined house to Duke. See how she
stands near her mother, Jeanette, who
resembles so fiercely my grandmother, Concetta.
The circle closes over the dead woman's space.
Summer's tissue is torn, the family is lace.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Karijinbba Oct 2018
I Rose Again and Again

Nor dread nor hope attend
A dying animal;
A man awaits his end
Dreading and hoping all;
Many times he died,
Many times rose again.
A great man in his pride
Confronting murderous men
Casts derision upon
Supersession of breath;
He knows death to the bone
Man has created death.

By: W.B.Yeats, for Karijinbba
~~
The malice of thiefs injured me nearly killing me st only age five;
Men (beasts) in uniform Greedy Feds killed my father five brothers and all grown man and boy in my Purhepetcha Indigenous tribe for the greed of my father's land
Man created death repaing evil for my good from the riches of my forest land they ate and lived as kings while I barely survived, but take heed I did rise.

On my father's shoulders my seahorse kind of dad beloved
he carried and adored me
my future he could read perfectly in our starry night sky and love for me happened exactly as dad had predicted it would be
from my fathers heart I thrived and I rose
and men I did love despite treason by few
~~~~~
By:Karijinbba/AA.
THREE HEROS LOVED ME MY FATHER MY OLD TRUE LOVE AN AMERICAN AN ELITE WISE KING OF HEARTS AND MY ADOPTIVE MOM ROSE WHO LOST HER LIFE TRYING TO PROTECT ME
BECAUSE OF THEIR COURAGE AND FORESIGHT TO BET ON MY FUTURE
I RISE EVER LOVING AND WISE
Vicki Kralapp Mar 2018
What’s more important, a gun or a life,
a religion, belief, or a child?

Our focus is lost, on extremes that have cost,
us the lives of the many defiled.

Weapons, religion, and money, we’ve made,
give us power to help or defend.

But the weapons we’ve made, and the choices they gave,
became blood of the many that died.

Religions of earth still dividing our world,
were created for souls to be fed.

And money and gold, here to help, we’ve been told,
made us greedy and haughty instead.

We forget that mankind is much greater than these,
calling us to refocus our hearts.

For these can be solved with one law you recall,
that encompasses all of mankind.

Mankind: our brother, our sister, our mother,
remember, that we all are one.

Let me ask this again, what’s important to men:
a child, a belief or a gun?
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
Tay Mar 2015
The failing use of my right arm,
Isn't actually the failing use of my right arm.
It's just a way of keeping time.
And time is ticking.

He says he loves me.
He swears on his life that he loves me.

But love, I've come to understand,
Isn't warm like I'm told.
Love is a trap.
A greedy monster preying on my hope
And feasting on my unanswered prayers.
It's take and don't think to give back.
It's pushing until I have nothing left.
Nothing left of even my own.
Love is never looking in the mirror again,
Because you're disgusted with what he has made you into.

Long sleeves and high collars,
No plans on a Friday night,
Warning looks and cold eyes,
Bruised ribs and shattered breaths
Hands above my head and legs pinned under him.
But, still, he swears he loves me.

The failing use of my heart,
Isn't actually the failing use of my heart.
It's just a way of keeping time.
*And my time is up.
amidst the terrifying news
that oozes daily from our television
I wonder what our world is like

is there indeed nothing to report
but global warming  war  and refugees
greedy power mongers  and ****** politicians

why does the money I donate
seem not to make a difference
in suffering Africa
end global violence and exploitation
help refugees to find a home

I wish the news were more exhiliarating
and lift our souls
rather then send them
into useless desperation
Cindra Carr Oct 2012
I fell a little more today
The kind that involves ****, love,
And all the luscious “L” words.
I pushed my heart out there
It sang of heartache and bad times
It spoke of hope and need
Greedy heart that it is
It wants it all
The tensed up slip of desire
The loose feeling of caring
It’s a rough game
The game of love and ****
It breaks some in two and binds others for life.
I play it all the same
I wish to fall a little more tomorrow too.

©cindrac090612
People people
                         they go around like pigs
                         showcasing their fancy suits
                         proclamating the biggest trend

Jewelry, then food, then them big fast automobiles

Those are the priorities by order

Getting greedy
Getting fat
Gettin' Gettin' GETTIN'
                                
                                 In a monstruous ball of meat!
                                 With a monstruous will of plastic!
                                 Monstruously ******!
                                              Monstruous,­
                                              monstruous...

I'm­ gettin' tired
But I'm afraid,
They are just getting started.
august 17, 2017
3:31 a.m.
AE Wilson May 2014
There is no screaming.
There are no car horns wailing
or tires screeching.
The many understanding
voices of nature
resound softly in my ears,
and that is all.

There is no hatred.
There are no greedy demands
or acts of malice.
The calm caress of a breeze
excites my moist skin
beneath the unyielding sun,
and that is all.

There are no people.
I have no mother to love
and no one to please.
The promise of solitude
weighs down on my mind
evoking sighs of relief,
and that is all.

I do not have to try.
There is no judgment,
and there will be no disappointment,
The unbiased acceptance
of the trees and the birds
silences my restless thoughts,
and I am at peace.
Umi Apr 2018
Down like an anchor,
Vision is shrinking as your eardrums burst through the grusome pressure, increasing the deeper you go in the deep, blue, merciless sea
A match unwinnable, a fight to the finish, to ones very last breath,
Tackled something so much greater, it has pulled back, after capsizing we made the decision when it came to swim or sink, that we drown,
Swallowed by the ocean,  these great unfathomable depths, taken away our last breath of fresh, salty, stinging, yet very pleasant flavour
Our blanket is a billow, a stormy night which caused this tragedy,
Darkness under darkness, where light upon light once ruled supreme
Until our bodies have been taken apart, by this greedy sea and its desire to take us in, make us a part of it's glorious wide spread self,
Never to see the glassy surface once more, or will we be ship ghosts?
All lies and all sin, all dreams and all majesty, are swept away by swelling waves of the expanse someone may call the pacific ocean,
All ego and all deception, all freedom and all light is lost in its dephts
But we quietly, gently rest with pride in our hearts.


~ Umi
N Sep 2018
to those who say suicide is selfish and cutting is pointless,
understand you can never comprehend what they dealt with.

you may say you have it worse than they did,
on deeper levels that **** was well hid.
somethings easy for you may be hardest for others.
it's not easy to leave mothers, fathers, friends, and siblings.

your strength my weakness, your weakness my strength
those who suffer go through many trials of a never ending darkness.
some wear their scars on their sleeves,
others hide it tucked well deep beneath.
help sometimes is not what they really need.

I can assure you this wasn't a selfish and greedy deed,
they loved you so much, more than you will ever know.
sometimes in an ironic way, the better is finally letting go.

whether you believe in afterlife or rather nothing at all
remember the best of times, and for them stand proud and tall.
their presence may no longer reside on our earth,
but forever in our hearts and mindw they shall always remain.

we will never fully understand and comprehend,
but i know we will all reunite in the end.
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