"inborn" poems
I can't wait till I'm awake..
Plugged into the wall.
Nothing noted until the shell of the capsule
collapses under the weight of your trembling hands.
No there is no notation for what was said between us, just figure-less voices and a strenuous pain that strained our throats for the fear of nothing being communicated between the exasperated gasps of what was less than incommunicable silence.
Ugly is not a word but a feeling applied with meaning, applied to a certain truth about that metallic taste in my mouth, that tearful pain jostled in my chest and that consuming fear.
I know little of what this ugliness could mean other than it harbors shame in my corners. This shame is not inborn in anyone, but it builds it's presence as a drunken braggart who shouts obscenities and believes he is a prince of highest regard.
His ugliness is in what he slings from his tongue and his criticisms of all who in his mind toil about. But he is simply a angry troll with no heart and delusions of grandeur, frittering away time.. for time stands as an eternal judge and measure.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
words fail to describe
the beauty and peace
found in the mountains sublime
the scenic panorama of the place
is captured so well
by those who live in
the mountain's veld
of trees towering to skies of indigo blue
of squirrels owls and fireflies
of streams pristine and pure
within the province
of mountain kin's hearts
there is an intrinsic
soulful yoke
inborn
of the mountain's
heritage
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
Over green meadow
The freak run
The rock, the sun, charisma
Inborn wilderness
Heat, dust flying over
Head bang, dance and neigh
Exhilarating Grace
Enigmatic Amaze
Dark horse, beauty black
Golden one and the redhead
White elf, ohh the spotted
Sunshine daylight, rainbow earth
Forward tribe, believers' trust
Streak of dreams, a nature's glare
Charming prayers, Gazing stare
Temptations hush
Emotions gush
Knowing of the kind
Knowing of the harsh
Of the bold ,and the free
Showering Bliss
Throughout history
A seeker, an observer
An adventurer
A friend, an undercover
Calm and steady
Innocence
Strong will
Wilderness and free
Deep onto truth
High into truth
Flying deep
Knowing Within
Knowing Without
Enlightenment
And Reality
The nature's way
Nature's advocate
Pioneers
Symbol of strength
Wild and free
Wild horses set you free
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 9:39 AM UTC
The Great Niagra Falls
Spilling over like my love
loose and reckless
alive and fruitful
And having found a source
an outlet for this outpouring love
this deep inborn desire to say 'yes'
with all of me; my life
This thick lust for life
and for love
and this perfect intuition
to give it all away
I am proud to be alive.
And to have the capacity
in my bones and in my flesh
to say 'yes' with all of me
So small and so fragile
yet having existed forever.
Nonetheless, impermanent, I am.
Here to make a permanent mark
with this pen and this paper
and this racing heart
so uniquely my own
and so beautifully similar to the rest.
All here through the great devotional
journey of our ancestors
so gladly outpouring life,
like the great Niagra Falls
Into the present moment,
into our hands
And so,
I pick up this pen
and I write.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
Clawing up grey walls,
stumbling on,
breaking nails off
paper and ink,
in silver screen
dreams
they haunt,
if you ignore
them cause you could be like them
if you ignore
the qualities you bring, inborn,
since you can't be
what you see,
what's your worth
to redeem?
I repeat:
Why are you alive when you could be dead?
Hide your hideousness, plebeian.
The silver I love, the love that I want, lies just behind
your, "Lovely Countenance".
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC
Lips touched
passion sought
standing still listening
to our hearts, wanting so much
the others lives, so we will ever fall
drinking our fill of our dearest hearts
and then we must part, the pain we feel.....
That moment our lips wrote poetry
on the canvas of our hearts
from our eyes to kisses,
are a must, wanting
our passion
to the
fullest.
Debbie Brooks 2014
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
The limitless array of the animistic Jewels—Each fighting their magnetic urge
To come together as one, a forever lasting passion dripping off their kiss
Twinkling within the soul of the observer
Magically, like in an illusion, like one huge celestial trance
No gem on Earth can compete with the star
She is beauty beyond compare.
The ancient array of the mountain ranges — Some holding hands
Others neither eclipse, call out nor meet
Arising from the ground, leaping high tearing into the sky
A magnificent vision, an inspiring sight
The earthly mountain cordillera —
The anklets that adorn Mother Earth's precious feet.
Wandering around aimlessly with life taking speed and power
Kingdom Meteora devastating the passionate darkness around
Go ahead, wish the wish of your life
Lover, conqueror, dreamer — Abducted from your material world
Here, you found your self
As not all those who wander are lost.
Flowing with grace, inborn pride and honor
Sultry, sensual, worldly, wisely
Beautiful transparent, suspicious translucent or dangerous blue-green opaque
The Ocean sings to us the secret lullaby
Gushing and roaring out loud like a woman forced into burning pyre
Whispering her twilight prayers — seductively into your ear
Leaving you boundless and bare,
and to your imagination, she stretched it a far far way.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
What could my heart do,
When I just fell for you,
With all the love I had.
Our union was long written,
My mind refuses to wake up,
Your voice put me in a trance.
Time put you in my destiny,
Unlucky no more I feel dear,
None is any luckier than me.
Romance is inborn they say,
I disagree with these claims,
We learn the romantic way.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 7:28 AM UTC
*Lips touched
passion sought
standing still listening
to our hearts, wanting so much
the others lives, so we will ever fall
drinking our fill of our dearest hearts
and then we must part, the pain we feel.....
That moment our lips wrote poetry
on the canvas of our hearts
from our eyes to kisses,
are a must, wanting
our passion
to the
fullest...*
________
**The work of art that we created
Was not an outline,
On the roof of the heart’s cathedral
It was a breathtaking fresco
Painted centuries ago
By Michelangelo.
If ever you feel sad and lonely
Just reach up and let
Your fingers roam free,
You’ll trace the contours
Of your and my mind
Kept alive by that
Pulsating heart…**
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
The whole and the apex of things,
In a curvy lane of made up events,
Secretly cheating on self and relevant slaves,
Trusting an artificial flow of sands,
Inverting and unfolding the tone of the Caller,
Which efforts are not blessed by hope,
Born and bred into an automated mechanism,
No chance of waking up or defeating the incorrect,
Raised questions are easily filled,
An eternally examined organism at its knees,
Fainted chaos into unreality,
Flush the shape of the caged race,
Trapped by their weakness,
Trust, truth, the inborn curse.
Sep 20, 2010
Sep 20, 2010 at 12:04 PM UTC
Get my life away from myself?
No, please don't!
Overprotective to me?
Please don't be
Sincere. I am
Will get every of my work done myself
Can make choices for myself
Can decide for myself
If I ask for a favor
Make it happen, if you like to
If not,
Make it happen , you may not
No worries for sure
Overprotective to me?
Please don't be
Get your insecurities overrule my presence,
No, please don't!
Get over my life, please don't
Its mine
Get my life away from myself?
No, please don't!
Overprotective to me?
Please don't be
Its making me dull
Its making me forget the passion
Its overshadowing myself
Its getting me lazy
Its getting me get to not decide for myself
Right to decide for myself, I have
Right to decide for my truth
Right to mold my own thoughts
Right to become not influenced
Right to choose my thought process
Right to be independent
The human right, inborn
Independence
Is what shapes life with passion
No, its not ignorance
Undermine my choices in life
You have no right to
Compare my choices to that of yourself
You can, but I don't care
Manipulate the choices I make
It does not matter
Independence I am seeking,
Is not the ignorance to everything in life
It's the space of hope and choice in life
It is the space for my own life
It is for my life itself
It is for the heart of a human
It is for the thrill in life that exists
It is to get over with the same old **** you get me into
It is to be open and radical
It is to not get into trouble
It is for your good and for mine
Don’t be dependent on me
I know you are
Take responsibility of your own life
A parasite, please don’t be
Don't try to make me one also
Be ignorant, don't be
On your choices in the first place
Make an effort to make a choice
An independent choice of your own
Choice that favors yourself
Get my life away from myself?
No, please don't!
Overprotective to me?
Please don't be
Its unconscious
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 12:29 PM UTC
From out of space my love re appeared
and fast I ran away disbelieving.
while hunted by webs
of predators in greed modes
trashing impeccable character
inborn parenthood trait
courage, heart skill grace,
as weapons eluding chase
avating jealousy outface.
Each grotesque stunt
trampled me to fall in pain.
losing all crops of my hard labour scenarious so turbulent to depict.
in any story poetry or book
My love spark within outlived
travesty and misery sent in.
From an ancient love spell
propelled a new lovers aim
following me with grace
deep as space, honor truth
understanding patience
Twin loss, twin dreams
Experiences base the glue.
Large as the cosmos we both
Phathom, thirst, crave and love.
Synchronicity in telepathy;
the cosmos conspires offering
cards to read virtual modes
to explore our receptiveness.
Our loving is a Deja-VU indeed.
An ancient powerhouse,
with outworldly, genetic legacies
We both share in our weave.
a hybrid mutant Adam and Eve.
Who's my mystic
beloved?A brightest star
over Jaipur! Intergalactic,
art at heart.
Poet verse, he's honey bee.
His aim is firm as his name
He is me I am him within!
similar avatar in the outside
We tingle a double mystic smile.
A magnetic vortex keep us both
In one LOVEz voyage loop,
through space.🐝🐝🛸.
His vessel his gates his hands
His mind,heart, soul is my own.
Nothing and no one can pull us
apart, we call HP our
time machine to beyond
Alpha Century bound.
Thus, a billion stars cinthilate
with gentle beams of hope
Antimatter lovers lane
And our heart Rd-Ad
our home.🦋🦋.
~~~~
By: Karijinbba.
Inspired by- Good better best MOI.
Aug 5, 2021
Aug 5, 2021 at 11:33 AM UTC
I love my maths...
And I do my poetry...
Inborn is the art...
Reborn is the goemetry...
When my lines are void of profection
I get to balance the equation
What a joy I get in providing solution
With my rhythm and its variations
My love for art is to infinity
Playing around with numbers is divinity
And when I get confused in the mapping
I resolve back to my writings.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 1:38 AM UTC
These Circles, that they be Linked or Exchanged
Harness the Janitor in me maintain
Though Depressed be my Blinding Mind deranged
Help to Embalm this Un-Relenting Pain
These Sages through Time by their Words endow
And cause Wisdom one's Joy through Skin avoid
To force my Soul its Inborn Blessings enrouse -
Shake your Sugars from this fail-tripped Colloid
That's Milk to you. If your Matters be Sweet
Then carry your Mornings free from my Sense
As such would I, rake the Roots off your feet
And pledge my Sharp Evenings to recompense.
Funny how Loss, its Cross mint Cool Relief
Upon the Monk's Throne absolved your Belief.
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 9:43 PM UTC
Immortal, Immortal, my very own Immortal, can you still even hear me? I wanted to mention another, but instead I am calling out your name.
Immortal. That is how I always called you, little darling; you really are like a little darling, with your bulbous brown eyes and solid red mouth. With your sweet-flavoured jokes and archaic compulsions. You are like a buoyant flower that often speaks from its inside. You smell just like the black sweater you are always encircled in; you smell like one array of strawberries, lavenders, and musk blended into one wondrous potion. Ha-ha. You are wild; you are free; you are the inborn sweat of stormy nature itself. But to me you are the one chosen. You are like a youth that never blossoms; a sky that knows not the litter of adulthood. You are my sweet, my elegance, my butterfly.
But you always failed to catch a butterfly. Once there was one who briefly landed on your shoulder; in an attempt to hurl his little self back into the solidarity of the skies. You sang about the whole world like the moon did; but you were never incarcerated within your universe. Instead, you created even a more passionate one.
Immortal, Immortal, where are but you, my love? I peruse His verses and cite His name every day; in order that you feel my affection and touch even just the slighted shadow of mine, in your dreams. Bygone memories are still rowing within my head; and as their sheen touches my lips; I am sure I shall see you again, when He decrees. Ah, Immortal, how I want to see you become pure; and unite yourself with Him within his fortress, my love flowing beside you, freeing you from this world's ungodly torture.
Obicham te. I miss you, my dear, more than hysteria can assume; nor any disparity can have thought of. My morning dew, my noon, my sunset, all are but attended in thee.
Obicham te. Obicham te. Obicham te.
I miss you so much. Sadly, perhaps you'll never know that.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC
Desire - the detrimental nature of men.
The untouchedness of women,
The innocence of childhood.
Burnt into ashes. Gone.
How I wish Ticktock was my greatest thief,
So innocence would not have left me so early.
Fragments of memories scar my soul,
Yet. Pain, unfelt.
I was four - I was loved.
My stolen innocence,
My untold story.
Life. Long gone.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
Comes to pass my picture of the Middle East
(one minute and twenty one seconds of television news,
much less than I had thought)
is an inaccurate representation of people
and the individuality of their experience.
How does one measure the merit of
I am offended?
If all I know are snapshots, misdirecting
the issue, changing path to digest murdered cartoonists
killed with Allah in mind
(another misdirection)
and I am not outraged.
Sadness manifests as thick fog
blocking artificial light, splitting the rays,
opening up and flexing, the truth as is,
the sole truth we must attain;
we are slow, dying creatures.
Inborn freedoms dissolve.
Did Salman Rushdie beg forgiveness for
images of his head book-ending a spear,
or did he die a little in secret?
Suppose I am a rouser marching the streets of
New York City, a gold pendant of two
falling towers adorning
my chest-cave, Je Suis etched into my forehead
(black felt-tip).
Do you defend me?
Relish in your torment of words?
Will you bury the fire in your belly
for sake of freedom?
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
What is but should not be
passed on is
War
so when we coil aggressively into a
double helix bond
covalently
If we think of Love and Peace
while reproducing
Would
our child be a new generation
without the
instinct
inborn to ****
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
' Inborn Poet ' - Poem by Marvin Brato Sr
Autoplay next video
Inborn talent
bards have
to express
Innate drive
intuitive mind
intimate feelings
All these
are factors
poets possess
To inscribe
poetic phrase
describes life
Poetry writing
is only an instrument
composing it is inborn
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
We are cycling
Bicycling
They're living in screens
While we count on a dream
Acting sweet and intrigued
In truth, the inside is mean
I mean, the inside, it screams
till physically I'm fatigued
the pain's kept in the knees
Keep confidence in my feet
Their desire to be "free"
Is absurd, I can see, but allegedly
this ridiculous urge
has implanted a need
It has been made aware
they're relying on me
Where's my brake? Set me "free"
When I brake, let me be.
Seems I brake constantly..
but my mind sees itself
very differently
Thinks itself to be
so peaceful and serene
similar to a tree growing gradually
towards the vastness that keeps
beyond my tallest leaf
My success is not make believe
Just set in time appropriately
To ensure I've achieved
and uncovered all the wisdom
it takes a human being
just to breathe
yes i know that's an inborn skill
that supposedly comes to us all
naturally
but hear out my plea
Take a deep sigh and think.
Do I really feel "free"?
Did you feel it forced,
or was your breath like a breeze
flowing effortlessly
from your lungs to your teeth?
Because that's what we need
The weightless tranquility
of feeling whole and complete.
That feeling of "free"
I can't wait to hold it inside of me,
and until my time I will wait patiently.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC
Sally kisses Johnny on the lips.
Johnny feels her pressure on his hips.
Sally will not ever get it back.
Johnny cannot give her love he lacks.
Sally finds it inborn to be ******
But Johnny sees it as contextual.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 1:47 PM UTC
I'm tired of Love lost,
of cookie-cutter me missing you
and all of the ridiculous rhymes that ensue.
More and more I am fed up,
plainly sick of inflated ego's insulated by chosen ignorance
or inborn imbalances,
maybe a history of inbreeding
from a catalyst of parochial need.
You are a parody of mental health
shaping the shifting black and white
to propound cheap love, I feel this as a slight.
Committing any wisp of originality
to become an unconscious marketing ploy,
you're looking for glory in methods unlearned
now butchered, bleeding clichés
to stain pages and pages
with your sullen insecurities.
For that I name you an idiot,
a slavering jowls dripping greedy soul.
Comprehend there is no invalidation of your emotions,
just a damning of self neglect and hidden pride in suffering
all laced with the unspoken demand for my respect.
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 6:22 PM UTC
Why?
Why would you ever think that you could ever mean that much to me?
You stare at the ink-spattered glove moving across my face.
No, it isn't the smudged mascara of a thousand tears cried there.
Not the dried stain of a
Rainy. Dreary. Day.
So sorry to most pleasurably disappoint
And what have you there? Gleaming in your keeper's eye?
You dress it up and dangle it about my head like a cicada flittering on a string during hot Argentine, incense filled nights.
I burnt my finger once lighting the incense for nightly prayer.
That summer I blamed my isolation on what the burn had left: a large, sticky, unsightly welt.
The only trace of blind, naive, ignorantly whole-hearted belief.
My slightly, yet debilitating, wounded hand prevented my holding or shaking of any new body, or old body's hand.
But perhaps I only speak out of the need for a scapegoat?
Still, I hid the finger in tightly fastened bindings, as if to shut out just one more imperfection.
As if my inborn afflictions simply were not enough.
I could not stand one more earth inherited crack, nick, or stitch.
My empty, wounded, prideful hand wrapped around a cold, night sweat ridden glass.
The odor of vinegar, my makeshift poultice, rose to greet me.
To seat me. To allow the painful memories to slowly pick at and eat me.
Zealously. They make a feast of me.
Night after sarcastically lonely night.
But
Why?
Why would you ever think that you had ever meant that much to me?
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 5:16 PM UTC
Borges Arte Poética
Un breve mármol cuida su memoria;
Sobre nosotros crece, atroz, la historia.
Pienso que si pudiera ver mi cara sabría quien soy en esta tarde rara.
pienso y solo siento al pobre soñador de su propia persona el que no pierde ni un segundo en escribe, el escritor mas puro de el mundo, un elegante señor bigote, un montrou poeta, que para por momentos a sentir su corazon que siente el soñante de este mundo minisculo, que se hace cuanto los dias ya no son escrituras y las escritos no pueden recitar, recuerda el recitar, de el hombre invisible, el unico, el terrible infant born inborn wild man of the corn, he partakes indefinitely, he was nevertherland, he was norse, he was el bewolf olvidado, el fue irlandia, el fue prague, el entendio a kafka, fuera el pratimonio a el. tengo algo que te sorprende harvard boys, que piensan de virtudes, que es el intelectual en este mundo, gira y no alguien lo compro, se sabe que el mas sabio se retira y no dice nada, huevo de pascal, huevo de wells, huevo invisible, hombre divisible. moneda, oro, maya, azteca, o inca, enblema, de nativo que es la pena de vivira, existera, existera. vara till, uthärdar.
Sep 17, 2021
Sep 17, 2021 at 11:36 PM UTC