"grievance" poems
I was such a beautiful child,
With my shoulder lengths of
Sun bleached barley.
Smiled little pearl soldiers in
Line. Old glassesless ladies
Took me for
Girlchild.
But I grew twisted like an
Appletree around a
Graveyard path
Lightpost.
Teeth came out crooked.
Hair fell out at thirteen.
I was big for my age;
Grew other hair in places
I never knew I would.
My voice broke as if in
Sorrow over the child
Inside that had
Died. After that I spoke as if
Into a bucket.
Sometimes I catch my father
Gazing at me through a slight veil
Of grievance for that same
Child.
I would never dream
To blame him.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
Theres a lingering cloud when we conversate
An awkward vibe we never mention
Long gone are our banters and cute debates
Keeping feelings minimal, avoiding questions
The adorable messsages we used to send
Are they ever coming back or was that it?
Loving like we used to, is that real or just pretend
Keep my broken heart if we ever do split
You're slowly fading away from me
I don't even think you realise
All i can do is let you be
And let me deal with all the cries.
Perhaps it was the distance
Or maybe it was just the time
All of this gives me grievance
I just want you to remain mine.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 6:19 PM UTC
A hymn to paired planethood: Venus hits Pluto
as death, in cold orbit, collides with biology
smashing to fragments: demonic astrology
(more a black hole than a love-star, it’s true though).
Cynical cure for Eve’s womanly grievance
Concupiscent consequence: lust’s bitter fruit –
ah the thought… changing Sin into mere inconvenience.
Margaret sang her seductive refrain
about weeding the garden and progress and light.
Her sisters should view her with scornful disdain
but instead have adopted her murderous rite.
With sang-froid she promoted her racist eugenics
(as if she had never herself been a fetus),
condemning her heirs to postmodern polemics
while nurturing ardent desires to defeat us.
Suppressing the lives that she flushed down the drain
she would liberate Death – and resistance was vain.
As a midwife to modern life (though on the “anti” side)
Old Matron Margie racked up quite a legacy
singing the praises of sanctioned infanticide
calling the shots for the coming sick century.
Planning, quite calmly, to “cleanse” certain races
her zeal was empowered by murderous graces.
She labored to bring us such pearls of subduction:
“dilation and curettage”, “women’s autonomy”
“viable fetus”, “procedure”, a “suction”
Hippocrates retches to hear the taxonomy;
words that turn Life into mere reproduction.
She enters the realms of the ****** and the motherless
roundly condemned by her feminine otherness.
Man’s first protection: the God-given womb
which no infant should have to regard as their tomb.
Dismembered dark cherubs, assembling, greet her
as demons (in scrubs) holding baby-parts meet her.
Long may she burn with the medical cynics
this mother of Moloch, this founder of clinics.
Convenience is king when abortion’s the Queen
and the profits swell big with each nubile teen…
yet the fruit of such carnage remains to be seen.
I send her this song as a funeral wreath
and a card inked in blood. You may read what is there:
“To the Matrix Supreme of our culture of death
from the souls of the infants you slew on the earth.
May your torment increase with the children you bear.”
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
So. You like me as your pastime?
Hmm, please take another look
And see there's a person attached to it
With a full life and dreams, fool!
Being such the ardent lover of liver
She alit the bus and sat square across a damsel
Carrying happy burden; spontaneous loss
And on this day, witness to the leaking full......
Teeming thoughts rage on inside
Sees a man spitting ceaseless into a mug
Spitting, spitting, spitting...!!
Now a china teacup .... is all she'll have.
Frustration climbs the walls like spiders
Leave behind dangling webs of duplicitous ire
Spray its viscous poison everywhere
A smack, an outburst; ugly scene.
Hard to see where it ends, where it starts
Tumultuous energy always kept in check
Surreptitious trafficking in serendipity
Split desires sport with silken threads.
Embracing pain which dominates so
Heartache elemental dogs every move
See you leave, go off alone
Hide high grievance, suffocate.
Seems this loveware needs reconfiguring
Sittin' pretty, like a duck in the water
Ain't the way; keeps the target on yer back
Life's sometimes quite the storm..... in a Chinese teacup!
S T, 03 June 2013
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 5:15 AM UTC
Humanity's ego, to resort to violence,
To settle conflicts, makes no sense.
And yet we still have not learned,
The art of peace for which we yearned.
To love our neighbour as ourself,
And to put our grievance on the shelf.
Could this be in our gracious hands
to bring compassion to troubled lands?
With each hill we have to climb,
Life is lived one day at a time.
Let the tears of yesterday's storm,
Bring a smile to a new day born.
For everything to be humane,
We need to be compassionate and sane.
Too lightly on lifes scales
Compassion weighs, and prevails.
© Hazel
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 2:36 PM UTC
Hail, happy day, when, smiling like the morn,
Fair Freedom rose New-England to adorn:
The northern clime beneath her genial ray,
Dartmouth, congratulates thy blissful sway:
Elate with hope her race no longer mourns,
Each soul expands, each grateful ***** burns,
While in thine hand with pleasure we behold
The silken reins, and Freedom’s charms unfold.
Long lost to realms beneath the northern skies
She shines supreme, while hated faction dies:
Soon as appear’d the Goddess long desir’d,
Sick at the view, she languish’d and expir’d;
Thus from the splendors of the morning light
The owl in sadness seeks the caves of night.
No more, America, in mournful strain
Of wrongs, and grievance unredress’d complain,
No longer shalt thou dread the iron chain,
Which wanton Tyranny with lawless hand
Had made, and with it meant t’ enslave the land.
Should you, my lord, while you peruse my song,
Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,
Whence flow these wishes for the common good,
By feeling hearts alone best understood,
I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate
Was snatch’d from Afric’s fancy’d happy seat:
What pangs excruciating must ******
What sorrows labour in my parent’s breast?
Steel’d was that soul and by no misery mov’d
That from a father seiz’d his babe belov’d:
Such, such my case. And can I then but pray
Others may never feel tyrannic sway?
For favours past, great Sir, our thanks are due,
And thee we ask thy favours to renew,
Since in thy pow’r, as in thy will before,
To sooth the griefs, which thou did’st once deplore.
May heav’nly grace the sacred sanction give
To all thy works, and thou for ever live
Not only on the wings of fleeting Fame,
Though praise immortal crowns the patriot’s name,
But to conduct to heav’ns refulgent fane,
May fiery coursers sweep th’ ethereal plain,
And bear thee upwards to that blest abode,
Where, like the prophet, thou shalt find thy God.
4.6k
setting myself down on an anvil pillow. sleep is an anvil pillow. anvil and stone are a suicide dressed in 8 hours of mini-Godheads.. you become a repeat offender in the ever expanding realm of emerging fractal patterns sewn upon the quilt you lay across your sleepy bones like rushing water in an underground cave miles below the Yucatan Peninsula..
by electronic firelight they lay on my leather couch with the scraps of bedding I could afford to share, as if for some reason I can't escape the money analogy and see this, too, as a transaction.. buying.. a transaction.. as transfat is to nutrition.. money is tao.. my hate for money is tao.. I'm a love-and-lost buddhist like every other dreamer before me.
I'm tired of giving myself a *******
All I ever give myself is a *******
I refuse to bend over and at least try to give me a ******* or go to the next level in love and **** myself.
I keep telling me to do it. Keep grabbing my own *** during passionate tongue-twisters but I keep on insisting that I just CAN'T go any further.. rationally I may be right, but irrationally I still get shrieks of jealousy because I see that ******* sneaking out to kiss girls all the ******* time* as if I didn't exist. As if I wasn't always watching.
I stalk myself. It's a terrifying state of affairs. No matter where I go, there I am.
Watching.
One night, I invited me over, and as usual, I gave myself a ******* yet refused to go any further.
This was the straw that cracked the camels back.. and come 4 AM I kissed myself softly on the forehead as I slept and slipped into the night, hailing the first taxi to sail past me on the concrete river.
I awoke slowly the next morning and.. still dazed.. noticed I was nowhere to be found.
A great grief flooded my solar plexus and moved into my hopeless bones.
I had not even left a note. What a ******* I am!
I had not even left a note.
The rest of the day was spent in sordid grievance. I shivered, lonely, under my ever expanding realm of emerging fractal patterns sewn upon the quilt I lay across my sleepy bones like rushing water in an underground cave miles below the Yucatan Peninsula..
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
Over existence of such a woman
With her faith had grown more not gone
Inside there's a life of overjoyed power
The power that will cry out loud up in a tower..
Fed by the world's grievance and despair
Trying to hook up with its little winged pair
How was life became such unfair?
Like a treetops falling right at the tip of her hair
She was once too in a womb before
Then she taste life's bitter fruits and more
Then she commit herself to a paradise in which they've made
A childhood reborn is the price she have to pay..
In the darkness of her inner desire
She created inside her womb a hundred folds fire
Never minding what are the rules and what are the taboos
She whisper her a song in her moments of blues..
There's a fragile crystal on her inner side
Building a melody so soft like a mellow tide
Against others will she remain so strong
Hiding her sadness in a blissfulness of her song
Then she lighten up a heart of stone by such a flickering fire
An anguish had lost and the madness of desire
And they follow her footsteps in a mystery of myth
That once a child is born it will wash her feet..
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 4:39 AM UTC
I can't handle
another death,
leaving me out here
lost and alone
I can't handle
another mourn,
leaving me lifeless
as a hollow stone
I can't handle
another grievance,
letting you go to
a world unknown
Because to save
your precious life,
I would give infinite
deaths of my own
©
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC
What if dying isn't death
If when we leave this world…
The weight of it is simply off our chest
When we take that final breath
We live the most memorable of moments all over again
But this time…
We’re at our best
What if only the best of memories replay
All the sadness,
The shame,
The madness
The blame and the anguish…
What if they’re cast away
What if it's like waking up to not just another day
If only the happiness is the feeling that stays
What if…
Death is truly the end of all pain
If love is all we retain
What if…
The night sky…
And all the stars from above
Is all that remains
But...
I’m wondering about those stars
They too some day die
So…
What if we’re like stars…
We only shine bright when alive
Just a small light in a vast world that one day burns out…
What if the weight of the world’s what living life’s all about
All the people,
The places,
The sorrow and joyous filled faces…
Each of our books of life and their;
Some better,
Some worse but…
Still lively filled pages…
Are what leaves those we leave behind with heartbreak and…
Sorrow filled grievance…
What if our memory is truly all that's left when we pass into the unknown
An empty bed in a place we once called our home
A place where in our old age we had grown…
What if our lasting legacy is only the moments in which we shared an experience
If...
The wisdom,
The kindness,
And the hard work filled progress…
Is all we leave behind
If we only leave what we project into those empty filled spaces
In our loved ones' hearts and loved ones' minds…
I wonder what I'll see when I'm staring up at the ceiling or sky…
Somewhere down the line…
Life hanging by a thread
Watching the story of my life as it flashes by...
Will there be regrets,
Goals never met,
Things never said,
Thoughts trapped in my head…
Or...
Will I be able to say
I did all that I could
Willing to die without needing to lie…
T o m y s e l f
What if…
The money we made
The status we gained
The list of the people we blame
For the shame on our name…
If none of that ever really matters when our…
Book of life comes to an end…
What if
It was only ever about the mark on everyone's hearts we ingrained
If like stars we burn out but…
Just burn out much faster
The difference for us is…
No tomorrow can be guaranteed
If...
This life…
Was the only book you could write
If tomorrow was your final chapter…
Can you say your book of life was the best it could be
Like only the greatest of books
When they end...
They leave the world with sadness and grief
With…
Wonderment and pure disbelief
If your life was the best it could be
Can you close your eyes
Fall into that endless sleep
Feel your heart's final beat
Come to a close as you cease to breath
And go satisfied…
K n o w i n g y o u r b o o k o f l i f e ' s w o r t h t h e r e a d
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 1:40 AM UTC
Tick Tock.
Tick Tock.
I wait.
Tick Tock.
I'm waiting.
You made a promise.
Tick Tock.
I'm waiting.
Waiting on a promise.
A midnight promise.
Tick Tock.
I'm waiting,
Wondering,
Will you make it to
Your midnight promise?
Tick Tock.
I'm waiting.
Standing at the door now.
Waiting for the moment;
Waiting for you to come for
My midnight promise.
Tick Tock.
I'm waiting.
My heart feels ready now.
All it wants is you,
So I wait for it--
Wait for you to fulfill
The midnight promise.
Tick Tock.
I'm waiting.
Will you ever come?
My heart is fleeting,
My head feels dizzy.
Am I ready?
Ready for it?
Our midnight promise?
Tick Tock.
I'm waiting.
Looking out the window,
Pushing out the dark curtains of
Doubt in my mind.
You promised.
I'm hoping, waiting.
This is
My midnight promise.
Tick Tock.
I'm waiting.
I know that you must be coming,
But there is a shadow--
A shadow of doubt and fear.
Please come,
Come before this shadow
Destroys what is good in me
And burns the
Lover's midnight promise.
Tick Tock.
I'm waiting.
I'm in a panic mood.
Less than a minute left.
Won't my friend,
My cherished,
My hero,
Keep his promise?
I remember he said he would.
He said it was
His midnight promise.
Tick Tock.
I'm waiting.
Silent, alone, doubting.
The clock has struck.
I look out, one last time.
Grievance ending as I catch
Your starry gaze.
I run,
Heart pounding,
Feet smacking-- suddenly sliding,
Falling into a midnight sun,
Waiting on a midnight promise.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
A strange recipe,
There seems a certain scarceness of plan to it all.
A summarized unfairness found to this madness,
Two parts chaos to each one part life and matter in equal balance.
A slight dose of loss and grievance, coupled with a dash of unpleasant discourse
and equal parts discouragement.
Break two hearts and empty them into the emulsion.
They'll be buried in there,
to be forgotten as individuals
and rendered part of the whole.
Dust with the sweetness of love,
loyalty
and fulfilled longing.
And present it all to someone special,
Only to find they don't like the bitter taste.
-
If each mans life was a dessert,
mine would be a dark cake, dry as the desert.
N.H.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 10:37 AM UTC
How things started to be unfair
This isn't a complaint,grievance nor grumble
This is the voices of people whose hearts
are crumbled.
How things started to be unfair,
where looks are preferred while hearts are ignored.
Money took over when capability was before.
How things started to be unfair,
where society started to judge
with grudge
without thinking how those hearts feel.
How things started to be unfair,
when the unlawful lawful
the lawful is banned.
How things started to be unfair
a.b
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 7:41 AM UTC
Everyone's got their own to nurse
Every moment, every day
They lament in the verses of their curse
Daily... More would be incited to join the fray
They want to be seen and heard
They want to be consoled
From the petty absurd
To death's design enrolled
Counting on ready ears
And arms open wide
For me to wipe my tears
And be by their side
But I too, am living my own
I too, bleed my pen dry
I too, feel the misfit of my bones
I too, have my recurrent days to ply
I guess that's just being human
Expecting solace through words of grievance
We try so feebly to share the weight of burden
In the hopes that we'd plot our existence
I understand that the urge is great
So much so that we tend to forget
Others too, have had enough on their own plate
On which we pile our leftovers without regret
I am still here but.. It's time for some quiet
Be all I could be with minimal words said
For right now it's not working, this illusion of an outlet
Because I still see demons when I lay in bed
People can't do much with something so brittle
One could stay afloat if he learns to shout
I wish I could be more to everyone but I know so little...
Of what I feel so much about...
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
"What thing did hurt you the most?" He asked.
"drowning" I answered.
He look at me as if he scrutinized each word to say.
"_you can simply swim against the currents_" he said.
I know he can do everything and there's one girl who couldn't even bear to touch the waters.
"You know how much grievance the ocean had bestowed whenever I attach someone in every story I know about it; she kept on drowning, anticipated on how deep the ocean is, every time his eyes fall in crescent"
Oct 31, 2021
Oct 31, 2021 at 4:58 AM UTC
hate, like flames in someone's eyes,
anger which makes you want to hurt,
vexation provoked by fury,
and fury held inside.
The state of being annoyed,
displeasure arouse by grievance,
a taste of bitterness caused by outrage,
and outrage internally kept.
maddening violence
aggravated by exasperation,
indignation evoked by irritation
and irritation born privately.
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 6:54 AM UTC
In a word? Pretentious. Your presence stains the air.
Petty criticisms, as if anybody cared.
You think yourself an icon, and darling, ain't that darling.
To be completely honest though? I couldn't give a farthing.
Your lack of self-awareness paints your harlequin visage.
Your over-swollen ego? Nothing more than a mirage.
Your tacky two-cent romance leaves one little more than bored.
Precisely why is it that you think you should be adored?
Furthermore, diplomacy seems alien to you.
Assaulting inquisitions, implications, most untrue.
It does turn rather humorous, though, given your dull wit,
As oftentimes, you miss the point, for chomping at the bit.
Your eagerness to take offense makes conversation dreadful,
And seems to strip away any desire to be respectful.
Alas, I too indulge in pettiness from time to time,
So please, enjoy my grievance set facetiously to rhyme.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 11:20 PM UTC
A stilted stay, a pregnant pause,
as shadows sharpen midnight claws.
A dimming dome oppressed by night,
smiles weakly on this parasite.
It enters as a Trojan horse,
along a crawled collision course.
Its hollow husk holds silent spies,
who have no room for alibis.
This craven creature starts to nest,
in memories you'd long repressed
and darts behind your mood's eclipse,
a smirk of sadness on its lips.
From weary womb the beast begets,
its offspring weaned upon regrets.
Until it stirs with needle teeth,
to tear the tenderness beneath.
It stalks from shade, a grievance grown,
to steal the thoughts that were your own.
Its brittle bark a bare refrain,
before it leaps and snaps the chain.
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
The familiar complaints, the cozy ones.
Ambling through the hedges of grievance.
I never know what I'm feeling at any one time.
Usually more of the same. Bragging my inadequacies.
Winter is coughed from the addled coalsmoke sky.
Chimneys chugging ash. Clumps of duress.
Blake's choir of children lying in a heap.
Noontime streetlamps regaled in holly and poinsettia.
A ***** moss enters from the vacant lot, cautiously.
The homeless have been scraped from under the bridge.
Geese call and flee. The snow is flakes of ash,
the sun finally burnt itself down.
Disused meanings are flushed. A carefully wrought
vocabulary we have disabused ourselves of.
Crumbling monologue.
A new grammar forms. Light and Motion dances
from the screen. A panoptican of laughs and serenades.
Sometimes there is a magazine no one has a
subscription to. It is the digest of a human heart
dressed to the nines in thorns and flame.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
.*who said i was orientating myself around the body? the body to body dynamic is so.... easy... excessive salivation... like a dog... i don't want the body... i wan the existence of the non-existent parody of ego, in the form of soul... i want, what secularism abhors to lay claim of... i've been to a ********** i know what selling flesh looks like... but i've also walked into a forest... and i have, managed to peer into a night... where i also managed to forget being equipped with a shadow... no... that wasn't it... true structures emerge when you've been abused... and the counter structures? the abuse... slows down... in the most realistic ordeal of anticipating near, but. never realized completion... what, a, leisure! the forest, the moon, the shadow, the crown... all that's missing is a poetic vagabond's (of an) incision into a soul... the tired yawn of a lion ingrained in a delusional concern for the depth of man... oh the leisured man... and his vantage points... prompts of a view with a missing lot, curiosity... cradle of the curiosity... cradle.. how else, if not coupled with...
a curiosity coupled to a, grave.*
deity, of fixed,
stature;
within the confines
of the prefix
omni-
what am i,
what am i, not
to think,
to encompass,
"the", all?
maybe some
clown-male-up
would-help?!
now i better hope,
that it does....
were we not oh so inquisitive,
concerning
the origins of said,
story?
sure...
sure...
such a feeble god...
bu what a more than
overtly feeble
invocation
of a real god!
what feeble reasons!
for whatever
is testified
as a, "feeble" god
to be conjured!
**** you!
and whatever comes with your
grievance of sharing heritage!
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 8:49 PM UTC
You will never understand it till you're in it
Leave you stranded but you're willing . . .
Respect is key to winning
Understanding is the key to staying
But we don't understand one another
Yet we memorized one another
You lose respect for me like it's water dripping
I lose respect for you through my sadness grievance
Of our dead could have beens
We're not winning
We're not winning
I am losing yet I stay willing
I am aching yet I stay willing
I am tired yet I stay
I am tired yet I stay
say a word and I'll say this has never been
say a word and I will give you my everything
you horrible horrible piece of **** ..
but just say a word and I'll stay willing
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
Here is a long and lonely night
has come again in my life.,,
Again alone with these tears,,
again I am dreading the fact
that the night of pain will never be over,,,
my tears is trickling down in the dark,,,
drop by drop the tears move down
to the way of separation from the eyes
and the eyes has no grievance
why are you leaving them alone..
The affiance of mine is tears...
And I know that it would never break.,,
affiance of my solitude..
Something has broken me inside
due to some one
Today i am sulky in the deep of the heart. Everything is constantly....
going away from me....
My scars again changing into wounds..
Today is another new darkest night
but my wounds was old..
Let the pain flows in the veins
let them allow what they want to say now...
I am just sit and smile here,,
listening to the beats
which is slowing in the remembrances,,
I had the affiance of my beloved
but she left me somewhere
in the corner of the dark,,,
who truly care and will hold you
close through even the darkest night,,
i think no one is here and
no body want to be here
to be bury in the dark,,
but I am constantly talking
to my moon in my pain
those who not is not infront of me..,
with this hapless life
I don't want to be myself again,,,
i have closed my eyes
with my shattered dreams... MGO
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC