"hundreds" poems
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never go home again.
My room will sit unused,
A capsule frozen in time,
A snapshot of how I was.
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my dog again.
She will sit at the front door
Waiting for me and wondering,
Why I never came home.
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never graduate from high school.
My yearbooks will sit stacked
Stopped short of their goal,
Missing years that should have been.
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my mom again.
She will sit distraught,
Planning a funeral
For a child taken from her.
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my friends again.
They'll sit together, missing me.
One empty seat among them,
A constant reminder of their loss.
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my little sister again.
She will sit through high school
Knowing I can't guide her through,
That she has to figure it out alone.
If I die in a school shooting
My school will be stained.
Pools of students lives will sit,
Blood tattoos on the brick structures,
Marks of death ground into it.
If I die in a school shooting
Everyone will wear black.
They'll send their thoughts and prayers
To a town marred by death,
Forever to be the home of a shooting.
If I die in a school shooting
Will the world change?
Or will I become one of hundreds
Of kids who have to die?
What will it take?
If things continue this way
Children will have to live in fear.
They'll look over their shoulders
Always worried and wondering,
If they'll die in a school shooting.
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
nights take passion forth
into an abyss
of hundreds of arms
swirling under the weight of
bodies yearning
to connect
your destruction came
in moments, you fell beneath them
and growled, you were
the rabid beast
hiding in my closet
or behind my bathroom door
waiting to spring,
and you and i,
we fell for each other
like children, we fumble in the dark
like teenagers, we talk through every movement
like we've known this dance for years, years, years;
my hands, they're too small
to spread over your heart
like i want them to.
your hands, far too big
to cradle my face between them
like you meant them to.
we make it work
in the darkest of ways,
the black hole in the floor
of our bedroom
opening up
to swallow us
whole.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 5:15 AM UTC
~for those who will read this and weep~
*the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-job experience
localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!*
*the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life ***** advertisement
I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs*
*summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created
so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)*
*but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early*
got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind
these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 5:45 PM UTC
My father walked me down the aisle,
But my mother held my arm.
He went with me,
But we went not towards the altar,
But towards the door.
My father walked me down the aisle,
And the ***** rang through the church,
Humming through the elaborate crown molding,
Carved by my ancestors.
He went,
Not beside me,
But before me,
And I watched,
As he was illuminated by the bright,
Overbearing,
Texas sun.
My father walked me down the aisle,
But I did not wear white.
My father walked me in silence,
And I shed tears not for a man standing at the altar,
But for the one I would never see again.
My father walked me down the aisle,
And no veil obscured my face.
All eyes were upon me, but not for my pristine beauty,
Instead for my clenched jaw and furrowed brow,
Severe and fierce to distract from my glassy eyes.
My father did not leave me at the end of our walk to sit beside my mother.
She clung to me for support and sobbed breathlessly,
Loudly,
Unavoidably,
And I carried her with one hand,
My sister the other,
And walked towards my future.
A future family,
Not one person more,
But one person less.
I walked,
One final time,
With him.
My father walked me down the aisle,
And I will never forget it.
Hundreds of eyes isolating my family from the crowd,
Slow and muffled sounds drowning in the deafening beat of my heart,
Blurred faces staring,
Black heels clacking against the cobbled path from the church,
The anguished wails of my mother,
The whimpering of my sister,
And the wooden box that glided before us,
Pulling,
A string tied to our patriarch,
The pin key of our family,
Pulled taut and then snipped with the slam of the hearse doors.
My father walked me down the aisle,
Before I had a chance to grow up.
He walked me,
Out of the church,
Away from the altar,
Never to be walked again.
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
Like a thousand nights before I'll sit here
with music in my ears.
Thinking of you, what could have been...
What should have been?
No, if it should've than it would've but it wasn't, so **** it.
But I can pretend.
I can imagine,
I can dream.
My thoughts drift away and suddenly I'm someone else
in a land far away, living a different life.
Slowly events unfold of stories untold
and I'm lost living a life inside.
Behind my eyes I've lived hundreds of lives
with no one to judge me but myself.
Yet you're here to make another appearance.
No matter how far I run,
I just can't get away.
So, here we are again.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 9:46 AM UTC
Your limitless future brings great fear
The future is less far and more near
Glasses will replace cellphones next year
Hundreds can share one's eyes
People you replace will shed a tear
Tech is human's demise
You con with lights and buttons and bells
Amplifying strength, you fit in cells
We drown in technological wells
You thrive and humans shrink
The addiction will rot us in Hell
People! Log off and think!
When do we cease with this life carefree
It's time people let well enough be
Tech will soon replace humans for free
Tractors and new machines
Starved, by stealing the jobs of many
Limitations obscene
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC
It's a plan in itself,
Not an open invitation for suggestions
To go on long walks, or dancing,
Or paint-balling, or take a drive
Down to the beach.
It doesn't mean I am free
To do one of the hundreds of tasks
You decide are more important,
In an attempt to fill my day
With a different kind of meaning.
Today I am doing nothing,
Because I have become lost,
In a world where doing something, anything
Is so expected of ourselves and each other
That simply doing nothing is viewed
As a waste of time.
We so rarely have opportunity
To have the conversations in our heads
That determine who we really are,
As we watch the moments floating past,
Lying under the stars.
Today I am doing nothing,
Please understand that what I desire,
Is silent doorbells, unknocked doors
And that the phone doesn't ring
As I curl up by the fire.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 4:35 PM UTC
Reunited
Walking down a path, where no man should ever go,
its dark, cold, damp and I'm moving very slow.
Feeling the walls that are covered in slime,
too many things happening at the same time.
So much hidden deep down in my soul,
not sure if I can escape this black hole.
Things I've done can never be told,
Sometimes life gets put on hold.
If only these things, I could mention,
it would relieve so much tension.
So many things, I just can't say,
if I did I'd be put so far away.
I've reached the point of no return,
next one who gets in my way, I'm gonna burn.
Getting more angry by the minute,
bought some guns in case I have to shoot.
This giant duffle bag is getting quite heavy,
I wish I still had my 57 Chevy.
Back then life was great,
Wife, kids, house, fence with a gate.
Then one stormy night, a car went off the road,
since that night my brain started to overload.
Fell into a deep depression,
lost my job, thanks to the recession.
Lost my house, lost my car,
all my dreams are now to far.
Walked into the place, I used to work,
hated my boss, he was such a ****
Grabbed my guns and started to shoot,
all the blood was staring to pollute.
Shot as many as I possibly could,
don't know why, just thought I should.
Losing everything drove me insane,
I'm not making excuses for my brain.
Not long after there were hundreds of police,
there was no offering of a sign of peace.
They barged in and I resisted arrest,
I was shot several times in the chest.
I wanted to die, but always in style,
all I could see was my families smile.
Now we're back all reunited,
I have never been more delighted.
No one I shot that day ended up dying,
just some blood and a lot of crying.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
Is it your face
that adorns the garden?
Is it your fragrance
that intoxicates this garden?
Is it your spirit
that has made this brook
a river of wine?
Hundreds have looked for you
and died searching
in this garden
where you hide behind the scenes.
But this pain is not for those
who come as lovers.
You are easy to find here.
You are in the breeze
and in this river of wine.
15.8k
We embarked upon a titanic voyage to a new world.
It’s said that behind every great man there's a great woman; But a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.
7 bells rang late that night, as our ship stuck fast; between the devil and the deep blue sea.
Fingers frantic! tapping code…—-…
Sailors quickly battened down the hatches and stowed away the Riff-raff, for they knew fine words would butter no parsnips, Better here than there in third class.
Some fiddlers on the deck played “Nearer My God to Thee", As the bubbles rose from beneath the sea, come buckle down boys for the devils to pay, come hell or high water he’ll have his pay.
Mothers row, land lubbers row, it's time to leave this god forsaken place. pulling hard for freedom.
Ten steel decks split and snap, as they join the ***** and hundreds either shriek or pray; as La dolce vita slowly ebbed away.
Mercifully the cacophony descends ever silent, as fifteen hundred souls become neither fish nor flesh, rotting from the head down.
Save our souls •••- - - •••. … — …
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
I'm a gamer
The things I do
Mapped new worlds
Slain a god or two
Blown up stars
And lead revolutions
Gained experience
And Increased my Constitution
Drove a tank
A star-ship
A dragon
Killed a zombie horde
Drank some mead from a flagon
I've built cities
and worlds
and life
I've ended wars
and Famines
and strife
I've lived more lives than one can live
I've seen the work of hundreds in the span of moments
More personal than literature
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 11:18 AM UTC
Under the sheets of emotional armor,
A shy little girl masquerades as a martyr.
She’s the Queen of Deceit with her lies getting smarter,
While every tale told draws her self even farther
From finding out why she’s emotionally bothered
By all of the men in her life: like her father
Who only was trying the best for his daughter
And striving to be something more than a pauper
But coming up short. Who knows how much harder
He’d try if she wasn’t an argument starter?
The guilt and the shame from the family slaughter
Has made her insane and continues to bar her
From finding out just what the world has to offer.
Luckily she won’t have to be here much longer;
In fairy-tale land, there's nothing can harm her.
She suddenly finds herself all alone
With nobody’s thoughts to address but her own.
This is the time when she’d pick up the phone,
Demanding a savior to hear her bemoan
About all the problems that she’s ever known,
But what she doesn’t know is a friend can’t atone
For the lack of a man with his patience to loan
To a lost little girl whose bad temper is known.
All she needs is a strong one that doesn’t condone
All the treacherous lies and the hatred she’s shown.
It’s hard to deny all the reaping she’s sewn.
She’ll have to tread soft lest her cover is blown
And everyone finds out she still hasn’t grown
Through the hundreds of tempers and tantrums she’s thrown.
Hopefully soon she can bury the bone
And calm herself into a nostalgic zone
Where smiles and candles were filling her home
And love and affection were all that was loaned.
Enlightenment comes when you realize you’re prone
To the wrath of the heartache that comes with the throne.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
cusp a dandelion in your hands.....
close your eyes.....
and blow the spores away.....
make a wish....
and believe it will come true one day......
coz when you look at me you can either see hundreds of spores .....
OR MANY DORMANT WISHES WAITING TO SPROUT....
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 8:07 AM UTC
Mankind began as a troop animal.
Living amongst its own kind.
Stepping out of the trees onto the Savanna.
Mankind became a wander, small family bands bound by blood. Millenia past, mankind developed farming and the wanderer settled down. Small wandering groups became small farming villages. Small farming villages became larger farming villages, then small towns.
Small towns became larger towns inhabited by hundreds.
Larger towns grew to small cities inhabited by thousands. Agriculture and technology developed to sustain and enhance such growth. Cities evolved into city states, then becoming small countries inhabited by hundreds of thousands. Finally today we have countries inhabited by hundreds of millions.
All along this path battles and wars, killing millions along the way, till today we have weapons that can wipe out us all.
The salvation of mankind and the natural progression of things is global organization, global integration.
The globe is being wired with its own global neural net, a global brain if you will. One world controlling itself.
One world that will not nuke itself! The salvation of us all.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 8:17 AM UTC
I don't want to apologize,
but I am sorry.
I understand I can be a bit dramatic sometimes,
and over think every situation.
However, I just wish I could understand how you feel about me.
Maybe I wouldn't hold on to every little thing
if you just gave me a sign that is clear for me to read.
I've never been able to enjoy the company of another,
so I'm not sure how this is suppose to play out.
Don't leave me in the morning
feeling used and forgotten.
However, I find myself waiting by the phone as the evening passes
wondering if I should keep trying.
I'm holding on but I know I deserve something more.
It's been 9 months and it's been hundreds of miles.
Sorry if this sounds selfish,
but I can't wait forever and hold onto nothing
when I know I deserve something more.
I love your company
and in my head, we are happy
because I know you feel the same.
I don't want to sound dramatic,
but just please don't leave me in this haze.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 7:30 PM UTC
in complete melodies
the frequencies i hear
can not be contained by anything
love is drifting through the hills
and you are home to its trills
she dreams of light, the fire bright
and full of crystal skulls and eyeballs
dozens of monuments are built
just to mark the moments
when we could have said i'm sorry
merge with the mountains
find the source of fountains
shine the diamond compass
if that's what you are really here for
broken dams are our business
feed the swans their luminescent lunch-boxes
duck for cover, its a wonder that we are all together here
that's clearly redundant
the tendency to dream
is the most important human faculty
its a tragedy that the lack of nuclear power
showers the atomic world in rainbows
as forlorn teenagers in the ice-age of America
govern our equipment from their parent's basements
and carouse with comfort upon chairs, cushions and couches
a million times the victory
a million miles of rope to weave
a million are the paths to god
and a million more are the souls
who've learned to cope with tragedy
i come cherishing and bearing gifts
figures of speech are my playthings
i am furniture remodeled daily
and intuitively placed around your home
the finer things in life are free
so see me there upon your television set
i am electromagnetic static
within the black and white of advertisements
i am figures of forgotten speech
so record the unwatched programs
in your mind’s virtual memory
the hard drive of work and play
creates hundreds of new retirees each day
hundreds of haunted expatriates
knuckle-headed people
that couldn't tread lightly
even if they wanted to
so will you please untie me
and remove these binds and chains
it's time to free the lover from the psyche
for that is all she wrote
i am a silent p
i am a violet apogee
i am a cosmic minority
i am a message in your tea leaves
but if you stand too long in my shoes
you’ll likely drown in solitude
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 2:34 PM UTC
He didn't need to die to be a ghost
for years he walked these hallways, going unnoticed
he was like a blur to those who passed him
teachers couldn't remember him
No parents to speak of, one day they just never came back.
Average student, never pushing himself
never showing up on anybody's radar
going unnoticed, going unseen
no friends to speak of, no one knew he existed
He was surrounded by hundreds of people
but lived his life not seen
no one saw his tears
no one saw his art
he went unnoticed until the day he died.
Police found him
he couldn't take it anymore
ended it all
he spent his life unnoticed
but he was a brilliant artist
his art was seen
hanging up in some amazing galleries
everyone now knows his name.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
Every death
I have felt, or known,
In silence, i mourn,
Within my breath...
No words come upfront
Just thoughts, preponderant...
I'd feel the freezing cold of an empty space
Feel the absence...clearly imagine a lost face
No smiles, spanning from cheek to cheek
Eyes, seek answers...
suddenly, I'm there by the shallow water of the creek
While some nearby creatures quietly chirp...and squeak
While I......... I could not even speak...
Living,
Is realizing...and accepting
At the right time, they turn brown, the weeds...and reeds,
But, under the water...waiting, growing...are their seeds
Brown ferns...are almost detached from a mossy concrete wall
With a strong current, and wind, they'd be carried...ready to fall
The driftwood lying by the shore...is always wet, but petrified
Brown fallen leaves, on the green grass...no more hold...crisp and dried,
The dead bark of a tree...in pieces...are crumbling...
Merging with the wet earth...in a process of fertilizing
Deep down under ....a fresh spark of life is starting.
All these, remind,
Life and death stand side by side,
That in the midst of death-
Something new is birthed...
When faced with death,
there is always someone's living breath
And, as long as the heart wills to beat
Then, life.....will still exist.
Hundreds, or a thousand times,
We all have died
In the high and low of life's tides,
Physically,
Emotionally.
We remember
Those who have left
Those who have survived..are still around
We think of those who are next to leave,
Waiting for their chests' final heave
---And then, we think of ourselves---
Worry not of our own time
Make each of our remaining days
Be golden, beaming, and bright
With good deeds, and straight pathways
The earth is a moving circle
It makes a round.......as it spins
We try to live outwards....and then, within
Any way we live it...life is an endless cycle.
Sally
Copyright March 23, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 8:32 AM UTC
It's so strange,
How I get so happy with
hundreds of people that I don't know
seeing the core of my thoughts
It's so very strange, because I'm so very shy
and if it was to be in the flesh
or on a stage
I'd be shaking
and trying to not let it show
but I don't see what's wrong when
about a thousand people see my thoughts
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
Bunga Bunga everywhere,
a powerful man with silly hair
seduced a girl too young and scared,
was married too but didn’t care.
Corrupt and feared!
Bunga Bunga sounds like fun,
a swimming pool and saucy sun,
an Egyptian that was on the run
Or, under-aged Morocun
Who ****** the boss!
Bunga Bunga ***** and *****
coffles of women to choose
and buy and grab and ride and use,
with confidence
and so much to lose,
but why didn’t he lose?
Why didn’t he lose when it was on the news
and hundreds of thousands of people accused
him of scandal and incompetence?
He never revealed his conscience
or any remorse for play boy antics
so far removed from his pedantic
stereotype as a political leader,
more like a ****** wheeler dealer,
pervy old ***** geezer,
over cologned,
greasy,
heavy breather;
machinating falsifier;
misogynistic **********
He prized a Ruby above the rest.
Bunga bunga, what a pest...
she leaked his private fetish fest;
poor Silvio, he tried his best
to hide the bribes and bets
and ****** and drugs and threats
but never could care
what was right and
what was fair.
Could only care
about the colour of his
**** hair.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
Yea of course,
I,
me,
a woman,
a black woman
a darker black woman to be exact..
have black privilege because thats a thing you know
Its like when I walk into the store and get followed .. yea
or that time i came back to school with my “extensions” and was told my hair grows fast
or maybe its when a white person comes up to me asking if i listen to 21 savage because “black people listen to rap right?”
or my favorite is telling my brother to be safe
as he heads out the door worrying he may be shot for reaching for his wallet
maybe its when i worry about whether or not my brother or cousins or father will be the next Trayvon martin or Eric garner or philando castille even
my black privilege
has allowed me to be labeled as loud and ratchet and sometimes a ***
because that what dark skin black girls are
right ..
yea ….
thats black privilege
its getting told I'm pretty for a black girl
its being told I'm intimidating and mean and ugly natured
but no no i swear its not cause your black
I love black people I'm not racist
Slavery happened years ago
Black people are racist too
im not racist i just don't like black people
yea … I've heard it all.
No !
im not just another “angry black girl”
Im just a black girl
Im not mad don't get me wrong
I just wanted to inform you on my black privilege
I wanted to inform you that it is NOT okay to touch my hair
that is NOT okay to say to mock “black slang”
It is not okay to say “are you speaking english” when i talk
It is not okay to put my people through hundreds of years of slavery and oppression and systemic racism and TELL US TO GET OVER IT!
Im sorry excuse my tone of voice
but can you blame me for getting worked up when I have to worry about whether or not my people will come home at night
yea …
thats MY black privilege
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 12:23 AM UTC
a haw and saw.
a thorn.
fruit: it is ecstasy
never bit and
undeniable.
you slurp—a cat licking
its paws
ruby and clear.
moth and cloud
drape over fruit,
make up sparkling nectar.
love is sickening.
you spend five dollars on
a rose at a bar for
a girl you will never see
again.
she will take the flower and
throw it in the trash
outside with the hundreds of
other roses.
no matter.
they have fruit, and fruit
concludes. it is life
cut with claws.
their beauty, seemingly to
be always in the clusters above.
**** you, rose. **** your dew.*
they seem to say. that’s when
the light hits and microbial
bleeds to miss ruby.
JAZZ!
at night retrains
beauty, makes it edible.
the rose, changing the color
of its dew—black pearl in
this drape of mystery-shaped
night.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 12:49 PM UTC
My thoughts are killing me
my dreams are haunting me
My body is covered
with hundreds of scars
I'm worthless
it's easy to see
My eyes are liars
and so is my mouth
My body disgusts me
and I'm repulsive to myself
I'm worthless
it's easy to see
My demons are coming for me
a.e.b
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC