"harshness" poems
she liked the color yellow because it calmed her
its brightness soothed her soul
and the sight of a yellow flower
always brought her joy
it illuminated her dark days
and stormy weather
it always seemed to try so hard
to be happy
A quality she could relate to
but one day, she met a boy who liked orange
a color she always said she hated
its hue too close to yellow
but too different to be enjoyed
she never wore the color orange
felt as if it drew attention to her
when she was content enough
to be invisible
in the corner of the room
her favorite color was yellow
and his was orange
but she never liked that color
with its harshness and severity
it reminded her
of traffic cones
and reflector vests
of emergencies
and warning signs
But one day, she realized
he reminded her of the color yellow
he soothed her soul
illuminated her dark days
and calmed her storms
he never seemed to try too hard
but always managed to make her smile
she realized yellow and orange
weren't that different after all
and when the two hues came together
her, perpetually the color yellow
him, forever orange
she felt like the only girl in the room
the colors yellow and orange
started to bleed together
and orange came to remind her
of fallen leaves
and clear sunsets
of butterflies
and sprinkled zest
and in time
as she grew to love him
the color orange started to become
just as beautiful as yellow
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
German is a harsh language
An opinion that prevails
A strong rolled “R”
Noises, making you think
Something is stuck down your throat
Talking, in everlasting anger
Let me tell you something
Let me introduce you
To the beauty of the German language
To the words of “Wanderlust”, “Weltschmerz” or “Geborgenheit”
Many words so unique
Their meaning poetic
Using them yet so difficult
Listen to us closely and you will find out
German is not German
It comes in many forms
It varies by the region, state, country
Every form has its own character
Every accent has its own thrill
Determinable in the way it’s spoken
And sometimes hard to understand
Differences so great,
Yet compromised in a single tongue
Reconsider,
German is not as harsh as you think
No anger lies in our tone
Nothing is stuck down our throat
And spoken by the right person
It can be quite melodic
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 2:35 PM UTC
Animals have an intuition about danger. Men have “gut feelings.” I should have listened to mine. The first time I saw her, I knew she was dangerous. I could feel it, and it excited me. She was a predator, a tigress, a seductress on the hunt, a wild, untamable savage woman who destroyed men. She would destroy me. I saw it in her eyes the first time I saw her. She was walking by with her girlfriends, laughing and giggling. She looked up, caught my gaze, and my world suddenly froze. A thousand feelings were expressed in the blink of her eyes. She told me I was prey. She told me I would die. She smiled, releasing my gaze. My world rushed back into focus with the abrupt harshness of a slap in the face. I was sweating. I was afraid. I was excited as I watched her disappear into the crowd. That was the first time I saw her. How could I forget.
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 2:25 PM UTC
Among the mountains and oceans we claimed,
Environments we no longer know,
Starvation from the knowledge lacked.
Strange men of unknown origin push us away
With feathered spears and their spirits
Flying above us like the angels we seek.
The spread of our culture like margarine
Angers the earth it's ancestors tread on;
War and thievery. Disease and infection
Was wildfire in a land containing no such
Immunities to the harshness.
First cities died as infants, stillborns
Of history and freedom, yet
They survived in their determination.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
*I'm too fixated in each moment -
Each moment feels so intense,
I'm lost
On the dark side of the moon,
And nothing here has any warmth,
Worth or substance ~
Nothing here makes any sense.
Even my own shadow has left me.
The Monsters, still lurking
In the darkness,
Have stolen all of my hopes
And dreams away,
I can hear the wolves,
They are hauntingly howling -
There's nowhere safe that I can run to,
On this, here, dark, dreary day.
There will be no stars
To light up the pitch-black night-skies,
They have already fallen,
Just like the Angels
That I once loved and knew,
Everything that I once held onto
As sacred, has been molested -
I've been abandoned, once again;
Hell, again, I am being forced
To walk through.
Alone, I was born and raised,
Only my pain has been consistent-
It has held my hand
Throughout my entire life.
At some point, somehow,
I stupidly gave birth
To expectations,
Luckily, I woke up
And divorced reality,
Hence becoming solitude's
Dedicated and loving wife.
On the dark side of the moon
Compassion, loyalty and trust
Are nonexistent.
Evil dwells in almost every man
And woman,
Each with his or her own agenda,
Each with his or her own selfish plan.
Saviors do not exist,
Superheroes all wear masks,
Unconditional love is but an illusion,
Here, I revert to relying solely
On the harshness of reality,
For, the truth, it always exposes
And unmasks.
The dark side of the moon
Is a very lonely, isolating place,
In which to dwell,
There is no sunshine,
No stars or Angels -
The only light visible
Comes from the flames
Of the evildoers'
Raging fiery hell!
Placed here against my will,
No lush green valley in sight,
Taken away
From the divinity of nature,
I was cruelly robbed
Of my radiant life-giving daylight.
Doomed for being too real,
Too open and too honest,
Doomed for loving too much.
Doomed for believing in superheroes,
Doomed for allowing a human
To become my crutch.
Doomed for being too empathetic,
Doomed for being too sincere.
Doomed for being too kind
And too generous,
I'm doomed, abandoned here.
I blame only myself
For allowing my intuitive awareness
And intelligence to fade away
Like the stars that once adorned
Every exquisite night-sky,
I blame only myself
For not using the blessed insight
Of my third eye.
I'm too fixated in each moment,
Each moment feels so intense,
I'm too passionate about life
To give up and remain imprisoned
On the dark side of the moon...
But I'm too emotionally weak
And disappointed to jump the fence.
By Lady R.F. (C)2018*
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 12:27 AM UTC
*Forbidden Beauty
Velvet touch was her beauty
Sweet, nonsensical, magical sin
In her clandestine dreams
Detecting her whisper voice
In beauty times does swell
Her silence breathes come alive
With beauty to match no other ...
Her eyes had more beauty
than any rose
with dreams of supreme gifts
her man would explode
with her kiss as a pill
she sings notes of her love
voiced keys and intervals of tenor
she closes her eyes in search
of a remedy ...
She's healed his lonely heart
with only a smile
as she leaves him in awe
of her soul~he drives many a mile....
As a woman of divine
magnifications
her ambiance,
majestic with song
medicine of melody
tune ~ she is one of a kind.....
He realized with sadness
she's his lost fantasy
he escapes from the harshness of reality~
knowing oh knowing ~ she was
Forbidden for all to touch ...*
Debbie Brooks 2015
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
who took away your softness
and made you feel
the harshness of the ocean?
who took your tide away?
your lips tasted of salt once.
but the blue dye of your
ocean has begun to fade.
you were then,
so plump and mighty.
but today you lie flat
in the shallowest of
water.
tangled in the algae,
gathered by
your fingers.
Nov 24, 2017
Nov 24, 2017 at 12:23 AM UTC
I rose, from where I lay.
Slumber then being done with me.
I followed upon what's necessary
––A routine sung out to me—
Then on this particular day,
Trees on the outside
Beckoned with the wind—inside
No thought was then wasted
In entering a paradise
Where clouds charioted across
the sky—to diffuse the harshness of light
So that I could glance at the source of life.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 4:38 AM UTC
Harshness vanished. A sudden softness
has replaced the meadows' wintry grey.
Little rivulets of water changed
their singing accents. Tendernesses,
hesitantly, reach toward the earth
from space, and country lanes are showing
these unexpected subtle risings
that find expression in the empty trees
4.1k
Rules, policies and conflicts imprison you.
Protest and righteousness freed you.
In America, we called it segregation.
Twisted words of countries like South Africa called it Apartheid.
Separation of the races accepted as legal at a certain time.
What about injustice that makes ANY race feels correct?
But like that old saying goes, things changes with time.
Which Nelson Mandela you eventually saw within your life time.
It's always those that faced the harshness of trouble that's the most forgiving.
And many of times, it's the innocent prisoner.
You led.
While holding onto no grudge.
You stood strong against those that refused to change.
In America that's still a familiar ring.
Ghandi, King and others fought with words.
Similar to the qualities and traits of our Lord Jesus.
It's always the peacekeepers that showcase the hate.
While the supporters of wars stay quiet silently supporting the crime.
So, so long Nelson.
God's waiting for your soul.
You serve your purpose.
You serve your goal.
Nelson Mandela, son of the motherland.
You will always be remember, as a good man.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
It stopped.
The heartfelt sobbing stopped.
But the pain,
It remained
The regret was raw
I feel you touching me
I feel the tips of your fingers drawing lines
Over my tear filled eyes
You babe,
Were my everything
The sun that burned me
the pain that armed me
the sadness that ruled me
the moon that doomed me
you babe, neglected me
while I worshipped
you
I accepted your harshness
'Cause it closed the distance
Between us
I accepted your demands
Well, at least I get to kiss your hands
I felt sick
Disgusted by my strong one sided emotions
Me, and me
Loving you and your
******* ego
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 4:10 PM UTC
Bravery does not mean that you have to flirt with Death,
It does not mean that you need to start a war.
Courage does not mean that you need to leap off a seven story building,
It does not mean you go straight to the arms of Death.
Having fear doesn't mean that you hide and fret,
It doesn't mean you’re scared.
To be brave means that you are ready to face your fears,
It means that you’re ready to feel the pain of life.
Courage means that you are not listening to what others think about you,
It means that you are ready for the harshness of living.
Having fears means that you care about your life,
It means that you care for your loved ones.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 7:31 PM UTC
*Our many voyages
of desert and sea
the harshness observed..
smooth cushioned water
becomes raging storm..
a splitting violence
this external turbulence
kindles jolts of anger
then fear and supplication..
finally the Question..
tumult and danger
seem forceful prompts
suggesting surrender to
veils of indifference..
yet some find now
new possibility arising
to trace one's journey:
jagged roaring storm
stimulates and brightens
fading light within..
in these extremes
depths awaken heights
new sisterhood appears..
in one's journey log
a backward look
records hidden leaps
of courage and faith..
real awareness
of one's precarious
life String...*
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 8:08 PM UTC
O Christ—Thou rarest flower of hearts—Thou didst sail on the storm-tossed lake of prejudiced minds. Its evil-scented, gloomy thought-waves lashed Thy lily-tender soul. They crucified Thee with their evil. Yet Thou didst shed the aroma of goodness and forgiveness, and didst help them to be purified by remorse, so helping them to become attractively sweet-scented with Thine all-loving Flower-Soul.
O Thou Great Lover of error-torn brothers—an unseen monument of the mightiest miracle of love was established in each heart when the magic wand of Thy voice uttered: "Forgive them, for they know not what they do."
Thou hast healed the cataract of hatred, and now we have grown to see: "Love thine enemies as thyself, for they are thy brothers—though sick and sleeping."
Thou hast taught us not to increase their delirious kicks of hatred by battering them with the bludgeons of revenge. Thine undying sympathy hath inspired us to heal and wake our brothers, suffering from the delirium of anger, by the soothing salve of our forgiveness.
Thy crucifixion reminds us of the daily crucifixion of our fortitude by trials, of our wisdom by ignorance, of our self-control by the scathing hands of temptation, and of our love by misunderstanding.
Thy test on the cross proved the victory of Thy wisdom over ignorance, of Thy soul over flesh, of Thy happiness over pain, and of Thy love over hatred. So are we heartened to bear our crosses bravely and pleasantly. Teach us to pour out sweetness when crucified by harshness, to bear with calmness the assault of worries, and to give understanding unceasingly to those who unjustly hate us.
O Shepherd of Souls, wandering hearts are of themselves seeking the one fold of divine devotion. We have heard the ever-calling music of Thine infinite kindness. Our one desire is to be at home with Thee, to receive the Cosmic Father with joyous, open eyes of wisdom, and to know that we are all sons of our own One God.
Teach us to conquer the Satan of dividing selfishness, which prevents the gathering of all brother-souls into the one fold of Spirit.
Calling to one another by the watchword: "Love him who loves you, and love all who love you not," let us rally beneath the canopy of the universal sense of Christ-Oneness. Amen.
Whispers from Eternity
A Book of Answered Prayers
1949 Edition
3.2k
I lost you at the start of this inception
A process to change your haunted perception
Fight it, fake it,
Falling for my perfect deception
Do you have the mettle,
to allow this poison to settle?
Embrace this ugly infection
Sickness by forced injection.
For you don't have the strength to last
against the twisted demons of your past
With one lonely taste, the devil awakes
With the blood of angels, your lips are stained
You have fallen, sinner, lost all you've gained
Repent now? Too late!
There will be no objection
To this marriage of misconception
Your pain truly hides inside this illusion
My presence will only further push
your bending mind into seclusion
You haven't given me one silly reason
To lend you my hand
Is it your plan,
To continue onward with this treason?
Change? Unseen by the turning season
This was all a lie, you won't get by
This is where monsters come to die
I control this twisted dream,
The honorable seizin
Let me lead you to the stream
Where your ears can drown in haunting screams
We can rinse your lying lungs clean
Tear the tears from the obscene
To burn your eyes, a brutal reception
Savor the harshness of this deception
Apr 10, 2011
Apr 10, 2011 at 9:21 AM UTC
I'm coated in wax
Your flame laced words too close.
You melt my outer shell
Revealing the cracks in my intricate mask.
Panic seeps through
The promise of exposure bittersweet.
I embrace
Change my colour and form to simplify.
But you stop
No longer curious for the truths hidden inside.
Brushed aside
Just a pretence of care you need for my sympathy vote.
Once again
Half exposed, only to the harshness of reality.
The fires out
I owe you nothing.
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 6:47 PM UTC
Dear You,
My mind is white, almost like a blank canvas waiting for one to paint such art on it. I do not know how to think, what to say, or how to even breathe. I've noticed the harshness of life pass directly through me and my blank reaction almost as if it was nothing, almost as if i've never been hurt.
This isn't a poem, but a letter to my parents telling them that yes i might be young but i know the feeling of numb, yes i might be young but i know what the want feels like when all you want to do is drown your sorrows in a drink, a smoke, a person.
This isn't a poem, but a letter to my family, telling them that what i've taken interest in, isn't wrong. This is not something that i've just learned from television or the thin air, this is my heart and the way i feel, i've figured i can love him the same way i could love her, forgetting their different looks and parts, they both work the same so why can't i love and treat them the same?
This isn't a poem but a letter to my first love saying that i know what intentions i have and i know the tender heart that lies inside of me for you. I know that you may not believe me or ever see me with you again but the love that i feel for you remain in every word i've written to you because only when i write, my real feelings come out.
This isn't a poem but a letter to my mind saying that it's okay to overthink but it's never okay to forget to breathe. You can't live without the adventures and the love you earned. You can't live without fights and hate, you can't live without crying and breaking. This all makes you, you. So why change it?
This is not a poem but a letter to my heart saying why are you acting as if you don't care? too afraid to come out of the shadows, too afraid to be hurt. Why are you acting as if you can't love and as if you cannot change the world and follow those dreams that move behind your closed lids.
This is a letter to them asking why worry about who to love so young? why not wait till it comes? and once it goes, why do you break? hurting and acting as if you won't make it today.
This is a letter to society wondering why do we have to fit a certain image to be beautiful? why shouldn't love win and hate die deep within? why shouldn't one race be the same as the other? and why when we try to change the world, to change the ways of life, we die?
This isn't a poem but a letter, a letter to you and your heart and mind. A letter to everyone who's thinks as they lie, their cries drifting off into the night.
This is a letter from someone full of hope and change.
--
Sincerely, Dom.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
let me structure you first:
there, now, ready, fly my owl
granting vision logic,
guiding thoughtform fair.
what softness in the earth gives way
to waterway, what forceful gust of air
to final quench of earthy thirst...
such unseen pyschomancy dusts
the wing-stroke of your flight,
and weathers well my musing trust;
you see with ancient zero eye,
and die to my dull interpret edge;
like a certain volcano jumper's
ox of oats and honey you
coat the stone of time to
symbolize my rhyme. hold,
softer, still, i do not need to cut
or pluck or forge with harshness --
your shrill screeching from the cage
of lines here summons more
than Athene's gavel ever forced.
otherwise than writing, you wait...
cradled darkly, unknown priorlife
of avadhuta colors mixing in,
of whalesong faintly felt
like stegosaurus moans,
like city-ships to overreach and then to rot,
forgotten tattva vidya shastra
forgotten sukha,
Megbe, Tirawa, Awen, Asha, Ichor...
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 5:17 PM UTC
Knee joints pop
With sounds of aging
As his haunches settle
Into the resilience of hemp.
He is seeking a soft silence,
Reverence for universal truths
And a communion with the
Silence of the moment.
Thoughts bounce through his mind
Like static on a distant radio station.
Memories of past silences come
Like a prairie wind.
Soft silence settles around him
While his mind tries to forget
What harshness silence has nourished
During his lifetime.
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 8:41 AM UTC
same words, same tone
every time I see you I see your message I pick up the phone
I wish you would do it right
even just for one time.
but why, you always have to say something show something prove something do something
annoy me disappoint me make me add harshness to my words turn me into someone I do not want to become
why can't you, just once, before it's too late
say something do something be something
before it's too late, help me so I won't forget
why I once thought you were my world
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 12:08 AM UTC
A mixture of all worlds
I would **** and die for you
Though I could sit and cry with you in darkness
I could give you tough love and shield you from life's harshness
We could laugh and sing and go for picnics
Or strap in dangerous things causing sickness
Like tumbling to earth with you isn't enough
We could push this envelope
With a letter signed by
-Trust
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:23 AM UTC
I run without destination for the sole purpose of getting far away
And that's what existence is all about
Running in a vicious circle called life.
A circle that has nor starting points nor finishing lines.
But what if I want my running to stop
What if I'm tired of running
What if my weak feet cannot bare the weight of my body anymore?
They tell me you should get a rest
Yea, probably I should
But would the voices inside my head stop, too?
For my head is a jungle full of sounds that never shut up
A full time jukebox playing a cliché song that never ends.
Maybe none of you is interested in a story of a girl with voices
And I understand.
We live in a society where everyone choses to ignore others' pains but who ironically insists on sharing their joys.
Some flowers grow out of nothing They defy harshness and decide to love life instead of praying for its end.
I wish I had their strength, I wish I loved life.
I am not a life lover, and I remember my mother telling me that love is the only thing one cannot impose on you.
But mum, here they are blaming me for not loving "my life"
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
early morning
and the same sun rises over distant lands
and close-by skyscrapers
searing rusting infrastructure
with its harsh orange glow
spreading westward,
stretching over asphalt pathways
that connect, divide, structure, and destroy
alighting wearied faces of automobile drivers
careening through their morning commutes,
consuming caffeine like *******
while they deftly maneuver their 2,000 pounds of steel behind,
along, aside, and ahead of their neighbors
this,
is New Jersey,
where all roads lead to Newark
and there is nothing left but roads
approaching the colossus,
the cars cram and crawl into curb-side cases
narrowly avoiding calamitous collisions and condescending traffic cops
doors, fly open
and a mad flurry of arms and legs,
boxes and backpacks
come whirl-winding out onto the entryway
rushed goodbyes and abrupt adieus
color the palette of the doorway
dripping inside,
bleeding into the harshness of late businessmen
and screaming families.
Shoes Off.
Laptops Out.
and pray dearly that the TSA
doesn't shove their fingers inside of you
today.
arms up, legs spread
exposed to the imperceptible energy of American exceptionalism
the magnetic arm swings,
impregnating its subjects with the Joy of Fear
and the awe of empire
swings again,
and releases the hapless passenger from its total control
Through.
Checked.
Complete.
Pass Go, collect $200.
and into the international installation itself.
Enjoy your flight.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC