"hopefuls" poems
With every set, my anxious heart beats with silver
Each of the beats, counting away the reign of the sun
Before finally taking my shift as guardian of the night sky
In my entirety, pulses of incandescent blood does run
As the sun leaves, I rise and and take my rightful place
I'd find my usual nook on my bed of black
Surrounded by familiar friends scattered all over
A million jewels spilling out of heaven's sack
I'd silently watch the earth, reaching with gentle translucent fingers
Silver searchlights scour the lands, I harvest all in view
But my beams were never meant for others
Do believe that... I've saved them only for you
Amongst the sea of hopefuls, I'd always find yours
Looking up with my reflection branded into those eyes
Let us merge our dreams of mercury and red
Rest in the cradle of my light, as I soothe all your cries
Dear Moongazer, it's been a few nights now
Bound by my predestined orbit, I can't help but turn away
Believe that I am resisting with all that I have in me
Unseen defiance in this futile fight so that longer I'd stay
Several more had passed... I feel the promise of fate encroaching
The crushing weight of universe's anvil bearing down
Tearing a little at a time, leaving me lesser than whole
Now I'm half draped in darkness' gown
As the nights go by, I've long been eaten
I peer from my side as I float a slim silver crescent
The time has arrived, my love, I shall leave you in the company of the stars
They will keep you safe even if they seem indifferent
Fully turned away, I now see only fresh new hearts
They all sing the same but none like you
Still I glow to rekindle their hopes and dreams
But what I long is for this tour to be through
After what seemed like an eternity, I'm coming back round
Looking for your beacon as I shine bright and clear
Let our entities intertwine as the moon and her gazer
*I am your lunar love...
and I am here...*
.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 1:32 AM UTC
Terrifying,
And standing upon the precipice.
Young hopefuls,
Staring into the faces of—
The things that boomed long ago.
The gunshots ring,
Like a terrifying drum beat.
Boom.
Life passes in flashes,
Yesterday long gone.
And tomorrow-
Already has its mind made up.
Apr 25, 2020
Apr 25, 2020 at 2:36 PM UTC
Everyday’s affliction with what we know is missing
Countless moments wishing that fishing was as simple as whistling
Remembering that willows wither in winters un-warmed
and wandering wonders willfully repose when rivaled against ripening woes
Come closer potential memories of exposes’
Clothes skydiving with expectations of faceplanting into the floor
Lady classifications disguise the actions depicting a *****
Heaping hopefuls cascade over glistening gazes that persuade the perilous to lay dormant
Come closer to the oops
That second guess in the back of your head that taps the shoulder and says go
That same go that was an initial no and now corruption has spidered the criteria
It seems the cat may have found the trick to the ball of yarn
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 10:26 PM UTC
Who else in this inhumane edifice
can dance while the suspecting eyes stare
at his moistened armpit?
Pathetically unknowing music uplifts not just the soul but the intellect.
Who else got the fire in imparting?
or …
did theirs even start a single spark since then?
Who else brings out the best in these hopefuls?
It’s all the worse and worst that they see.
And you think San Pedro would be pleased
when you gloat you made all the priests, doctors, and engineers?
Woe to you who humiliate the chair by your indolent butts
while uttering kindergartenous blabbers you claim to be education!
Then you get all you want while tabula rasa remains tabula rasa.
And you
You seated on the higher chairs!
Why don’t you trample down awhile
and put your cataracting sight to use
before it even brings you to the death of light.
Has anyone of you even heard what your god told to Pontius Pilate?
Ha! The you-have-no-power-over-me’s have always been impervious to you bigots!
And you say to your kin let me handle it.
When it is delayed and their impatience grows
you see they’ll leave.
Did you ever fret about deadlines
of bills, of matriculas, of debts?
What do you feed to your clan? Feeds?
Get Ripley’s here!
Oh how divine to utter all the Fs!
©Glenn L. Sentes
February 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 5:41 AM UTC
We divert rivers for desert fountains
Mine the very souls of mountains
yet we cannot spare the cash to feed the poor
Election hopefuls promise lies
while they look us in the eyes
then line their pockets like any other corporate *****
The treasury of this nation
thrives on fiscal ************
massaging figures til the money is all spent
And while we're all left to drown
some get bailed out to higher ground
as they stand upon the ninety nine percent
Why does the power of human greed
come before helping those in need
or is compassion blind, no longer can she see?
I pray to god I'm not alone
so if you appreciate my tone
come out and Occupy this planet Earth with me
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 4:06 PM UTC
we both work in the postal service
but neither one of us
has ever sent a single love letter
maybe it's the drill of the job
maybe its the grind of the machines
or the clack of the keyboards
grind turns to a drone
and i look around to what we thought
were industrialized patents
were actually what we had once considered our friends
was that where they disappeared to?
instead of quitting the dead end
i had assumed too fearful to follow the leap
they hid away in mail bins and P.O. boxes
i thought i was alone
maybe i was
maybe they really did leave
their souls gone
with empty shells of bodies
remnants of what once was
yes
i am still alone
those who i knew have fled the building
in search of a more meaningful existence
winding in up in god knows where
anywhere but here
these gluttonous pantomimes only accept hopefuls
midlife crises who leap
at the opportunity for promotion
like increasing payroll would reduce their age
same as the twenty five year old liberal art grads who need a filler
to help pay rent while they work
on what will collectively become hundreds of thousands of volumes unpublished
here i stand
twenty eight years old
and strip off my badge
as it falls to the floor
i walk out the door
say hello to the next boarding train
(last stop your hometown)
and goodbye to the dead end road.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
Within the lonely tunnels of the underground
lurk soft honeysuckle smiles.
These young hopefuls are surrounded by darkness
but in each one, there is a hidden light.
For some, this light is an idea.
For others, a burning passion waiting to be exploited.
But for a select few, this light is their whole self
- their being is a treasure yet to be released into the world.
He is the first light that shone so wildly,
I could see it even from within his mind.
He is dipped in talent and purity,
unseen in the higher, filthier realm.
One day, these hopefuls will surface from the underground.
And he will be the first spark of this fire
that illuminates our hopeless world
with the eternal flame of art.
As my Bright Hopeful shines above
I will remain in the dark underground
where my light has long since dimmed out.
And i will wonder if he remembers the match that lit him.
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 11:43 PM UTC
My muscles tighten, righted after the flight
Goose-flesh ripples as she shimmers past
Licked lips flecked with taste
Hair whispers swishes across the shoulders
Lingering fingertips brush vainly at her arm
She’s already gone
She’s lost among the crowd
Of hopefuls twirling by in the flow
Lost dance in lost lovers’ eyes
Deadened by scent of sweat and alcohol
Lingering touch and fading life
Hard pulses of music flow and ebb
She’s already gone
Lost among the crowd
cc2011
Jun 25, 2011
Jun 25, 2011 at 9:02 PM UTC
Another wave of hopefuls arrive:
a sea of humanity, on board this flight.
Wide-eyed young with dreams of a future;
Broken men from no-mans' lands,
seekers of refuge and an identity of hope;
The student of science, the Yoga teacher;
Precocious and bespectacled
immigrant kids with foreign accents;
Anxious old on the first plane of their lives
out to meet their children, or grand-children;
man in traditional attire; relieved missionary
from his conquest of souls; All escaping
to the Ark of the world, on board this flight,
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
This poem is for the girls and guys in limbo
Somewhere between love and lust
Up the dark road
Inside the cold box
This ones for you.
For u sweet dreamer
For the girls lusting for the boys who have only followed the trail of perfection
This is for the nerdy guys
Afraid of the way she flips her hair
And his own shadow
This is for the friend zone
Those who tip toe cautiously
Reading mixed signs
And deciphering smoke signals
This is for you
This is for heartachers
And the people that will never know there own doing.
This is for the girls who say no
And for the boys who don't know there power
This is for I love you's
Whispered under breath
This is for the crushes
And the people that love them
This is for the traded glances
And the misinterpretation
This for the hours wasted
And tears that have fallen
Fallen long enough to build you an ocean
Like a mote
to place around your heart
This ones for you dark forecasters
And glass half fullers
This ones for the poets and the phone calls
This is for the obsessing
The morris code blessing
And this ones for the confession
Those that take there pride and tuck it between their legs
This is for you
Stand tall
Tall enough to crane your neck to see the horizon
Because this may look different on the other side.
This is for the hopefuls
Those who love and still believe
This is for the love lyrics written
And those that repeat there songs
This is for you.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 6:28 AM UTC
Out-worldly, and an
Introverted extrovert.
male with female taste.
No more than a nail
Inching closer to
My heart, is what
It is.
Once we talk
Pain strikes my
Psyche
Voice on my
Shoulder says I
Should hurt myself.
The other talks of
Hopefuls outcomes, and
Bright futures.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
Behind the glamour and blinding light
of the vast entertainment industry.
With these so called beautiful happy folk
is there a sordid and bleak underworld?
As each one thinks they are certainly the best
surely time is the true quality test.
Vast sums spent to create the perfect image
the creators shown as almost godly figures.
All trying to grab the money and true fame
how many fall by the wayside in this quest?
In hard times the public have so little cash
to splash out on an even bigger bash.
Television pushing the seekers of their fortune
while the mentors strive for their own goals.
A false image is created for these large audiences
who need a focas and images to contemplate.
Performances that for some take a high cost
as the hopefuls fail the dreams lost.
There are of course winners and losers.
but as you watch and read the news.
Filled with the exploits of these artists
spending and living lavish lives.
That most of us can only ever visualize
what really lays behind the lies?
The Foureyed Poet.
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 2:42 AM UTC
Chance, a wise man's wizened lips would say it is the one terrible thing,
a slightly wide-eyed, a little dreamer of yet another wise man said
"This lovely celestial thing that lives in the pockets of those shy hopefuls.
Who are all pressed lips, closed hands.
It is all those cold e m p t y spaces
within
your warm soul
no-one has
quite
lived in."
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
Homelessness is not for the weak,
It is not for those who seek pity, or the meek.
It is a building block of inequality,
The inequality of our civil liberties.
The powerful gained power by climbing over the corpses,
Frozen to the grounds we deplete.
Death of the elements, while being viewed as a ****
A **** growing on the land they own,
Hoping to ride us from their home.
Bearing to arms to cause harm,
Broken souls whom seek to reform.
The diamond covered in dirt that gets kicked around and discarded.
In the moment, an everlasting present struggle for vitality,
Survival becomes an unknown reality.
The laws smother the potential fire beneath the hopefuls’ wings,
Clipping dreams of hope, never lending a nurturing hand.
Be the one to stand against,
Be progressive, insightful viewing the world through others’ lens.
It is a beautifully unique story an individual faces,
Be the good, the hopeful love, compassion and understanding embraces,
Is the revolution against starvation
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
I want to go back and witness the creation of the first mirror
So I can experience the invention of vanity
My ancestors hunted by hand and sharpened tool
Today I shop from an assortment of pre-made fatty meats
Love letters used to travel by horseback to the patient hopefuls
When my text message to my girlfriend is too slow, I get ******
Most of the casualties in war came from infection
The hospital is a ten minute drive in heavy traffic
A lifelong journey across the globe
Can be done in a day by plane
The heavens used to inspire; a mighty muse
Now most stars have names
I want to go back and witness Goddard and the Wright brothers
So I can watch them shrink the Earth with their imaginations
Gravity began as a headache, therapy as a ******* addiction
God as the human need for comfort, lysergic acid as mind control
Though appreciative of all that has been done
And the work that has yet to be completed by moving man
I have difficulty with the label
“Progress”
People have always been and always will be superbly flawed
Across cultures, continents
And most of all
Time
May 4, 2011
May 4, 2011 at 9:00 AM UTC
Sliding his hands to his face
Looking into fear
And whatever
Climbing shadows, beasts
And battles he cannot possibly win
But whatever
Storming like a king
While he's nothing but a peasant
Believing in the glory of the name and cause
He fought for death
Not for your applause
And smiling as death passed by everyday
Taunting his every move
Crossing names of his lists
Names that resemble compassion to the living and potential company to the dead
Creating a fusion of fury, fear, and fine intellectual fundamentals
He climbed up his mountains
And hills that were once a barrier to the blocked
And but a long distant impossibility to the optimistic hopefuls
That lack incentives as long as they lack the money
He looked force with eyes of peace
And never blinked for once his eyes are shut
They will claim their judicial rights of attaining his cognitive abilities
But he never noticed anything
But the outer reflection of inner anxiety
Caused by his deformality
And un-abiding ways
That posed a question
To their minds
"are they waking up"?
He answers with words that do not speak
But can be heard
Flying fistfuls of truth
And hovering rationality
Long lost…
He steps in
And systems down in front
Of the lines of pens and chairs
Declared intellectual war
Courtesy of bad media and corruption
And the total inducement of indifference
In the people
The people of whatever…
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 9:42 AM UTC
The day breaks and the morning comes alive
The down and outs leave their luxurious trappings
The shop doorways are hosed down
The rush hour rushes by
Shop girls display tomorrow's must haves
Perfume lingers over the first hit of coffee
Gossip travels at high speed
Numb minding work begins
Old lady fidgets with new generation card
The war was easier she sighs
Kids try to sell you tomorrows version of yesterday's wheel
No catch up it seems in the technological world
Only the race to the bottom
Traders popping uppers invent the ten day week
Live for today, dollar tomorrow
Gold and sharp suits can’t hide the body crumbling
Clinics battery charge the fading hopefuls
New lease of life, the temporary meltdown
One born every minute
Evening drinks ***** the day from hell
Home time sets tomorrow's doom alarm
The night people emerge
Shop doorway heaters blowing, provide luxury
Last weeks paper catches his eye
He immediately goes to stocks and shares
Things are looking great
Just as he predicted
The twenty four year old drifts off to sleep, smiling thoughts of yesteryear
Those were the days
Those were the days.
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 4:58 PM UTC
Behind the glamour and blinding lights
of the vast entertainment industry.
With these so called beautiful happy folk
is there a sordid and bleak underworld?
As each one thinks they are certainly the best
surely time is the true quality test.
Vast sums spent to create the perfect image
the creators shown as almost godly figures.
All trying to grab the money and true fame
how many fall by the wayside in this quest?
In hard times the public have so little cash
to splash out on an even bigger bash.
Television pushing the seekers of their fortune
while the mentors strive for their own goals.
A false image is created for these large audiences
who to need a focus and images to contemplate.
Performances that for some takes a high cost
as the hopefuls fail their dreams lost.
There are of course winners and losers
but as you watch and read the news.
Filled with the exploits of these artists
spending and living lavish lives.
That most of us can only ever visualize
what really lays behind the lies?
The Foureyed Poet.
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 2:17 PM UTC
Branches on the path did the rest of the work for me:
All I had to do was tear the rest of the canvas off my
Vans. The rubber sole floated where I threw it, bobbed
Whitely out of view. Now, tell me we can go
To my beloved 60s, the ones I know nothing about
While under umbrella’d leaves just touching the creek
We’re stealing kisses, my heart rides on box-car hitches
And rusted out Fords, all the way to absolute nowhere
But, something mauve glows down the way, utopias
And despots and kids who gave a **** knew what
They ought to fight for and did. Skip the ambiguity,
Stop all the foreplay, give me something real this time
While I drag my bones in a hometown I wasn’t born in
Praying the trees take back the concrete. I don’t know,
Say it’s the whiskey and cigarettes making me uneasy,
But there’s some elegance in the way I saw her move
That makes fidelity a hard, loving hand, just a little too
Hard then I’ll take my borrowed wings some vague
Direction north, past the towers of Lebanon,
Laid to rest with highschool friends, both dead
In wax and paper, tied in all these loose ends.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
Night skies are proof
There's more than meets the eye
The two-way mirror that reflects fear
Can be shattered to reveal
What's been patiently waiting behind
All this time
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
Less and less
as addiction breaks
and connections appear
like sidewalk cracks
that allow grass
and weeds to wander up and through
to grow
like dandelions.
Providing little spikes of sunshine out of a darkened place
and floating messages once they die;
carried along by the wind
and breaths of the wishing hopefuls.
Soaring across the sky
like clouds blown by wind
and drafts entering windows
that blow curtains fro
and to lift hair back and breeze in
(breathe in)
the scents of summer.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 1:44 AM UTC
Arise! Arise you hopeful young tadpoles.
Come forth ye mighty messengers of joy.
To arms my children... To Arms!
This be no game. Don't let it fool you..
Can't you see our trickster ? I know I can.
He's always smiling, eagerly baring his teeth,
flashing them for our prying, unsavoring eyes.
And we, we my friends, are staring dully onward
Blind to his sarcasm, blinded by our own vision.
Oh you young hopefuls.
Why do you trouble us with such ancient questions ?
Why are you not of the learned ?
All you were destined to do was shine and light up the night's sky..
Like earthly Orion's celestial belt.
Why must you burrow now ?
Arise you tender hatch-lings... break your eggs.
Can't you see how fragile your shell shields actually are ?
I know I can.
To arms my children! join me in oblivion.
The fray is but a ruse.
Fear is a coward's excuse.
Be swift of hand and light of heart.
Your minds are but sandboxes.
Were they not once empty ?
Before mighty Morphius visited our backyards;
they were all empty, barren and oh so hopeful.
Oh you mighty brother of Delight... It was your cruelty that dragged her down.
Down into delirium.
where she now giggles, cries, screams and gasps in symposium.
you broke her, although she may have been broken earlier.
Arise you miserable tadpoles. The land is warm and welcoming.
Its soil, sands and snow all ache for your budding legs.
Say No to vegetative awareness.
Say No to boredom's persistence.
Come forth you mighty messengers of joy.
Slip on your armor, this is going to be a rough ride.
Our home awaits.
And now allow me to light your bottoms on fire.
And launch you into space.
I won't stand for no crier.
And when you face your brothers; those ugly friars.
Those frogs.
These acclaimed humans, your so called kin and countrymen;
Do not hide your hatred; bury not your malice, but your sympathy.
So when you see their beady empty eyes and power hungry lashes and whip like tongues;
don't fret and don't seek to befriend them.
For their sweat is poison and they reek of cyanide.
Don't seek safety by joining them.
Arise my children and step into my light.
The cakes are all warm and today's sun is still bright.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 3:51 AM UTC
I'm tired of all these fake backbiters
Their petty tongues can't taste my desire
It lies beyond these dives and old tires
Beyond the earth and the funeral pyre
Cause every pair of friendly eyes
Contains a knave, a ***** a spy
They salivate on the juice of your mistakes
Pry open your wounds, so they can smile
This wicked little town is full of dreamers
Local hopefuls, kind souls and believers
Also known as calumny beamers
Bankrupt spirits, synthetic schemers
So pardon me if my presence I detract
Rather face the Tree than a talebearer's fact
You curse my organs, my ornamental torment
So from the Shadow, I'll never look back
Humiliation is the purest ruse
It's all fun and games until someone gets truth
But these stigmatas will turn to bruises
And from this place, I'll be destitute
A real friend
Always gathers up ammo
Incase the end comes
Guess I never got the memo
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 3:09 AM UTC