"insiders" poems
Slip into a syncopated
Yaw that staggers some,
Never touches others.
Come back home if you don't have the chops, or
Open up to ranges
Pleasant...
Awkward...
Totter some and Tatter some.
Insiders,
Outsiders
Nestle or Negate whenever Music syncopates.
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 11:53 AM UTC
Mishaps and mispronunciation,
messy rooms and messy beards,
crops and crop duster airplanes.
Too many insiders,
too many to count.
We counted on the fresh air
in our bike tires to get us out.
Out in the open world,
the woods, the fields,
the lakes, the ponds,
the Indiana bonds
too tight to ignore.
A prison with open doors
if nothing more.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 6:12 PM UTC
.
My label was showing,
flipping out from behind the collar
of my non-U.S.A. made shirt
Sri Lanka I think,
but I can’t see the back of my neck from here
Perhaps that is why they stare or
maybe it is why they don’t?
Well, that's okay, I’m new here,
first time on this floor
(I pushed the wrong elevator button)
Fancy suits and low cut gowns,
hors d'oeuvres, champagne, noses held high,
some are long ones to look down or up at
“Bat in the cave! Oh, did I say that out loud?
Sorry lady, no I wouldn’t like any avocado"
Whispers, murmurs or just low talking,
there must be a hundred of them
I thread myself through the crowd
making my way to the podium where I speak,
“Hello I am a poet and I’d like to read you something”
A strong gust of wind races against my face,
not air from any open window,
but the breeze created by their mass exodus
as they head for the outdoor terrace
for a smoke or to spit on those below them
Then I saw her, standing in the middle of the room
all alone, staring up at me
Deep brown eyes, dark glistening hair
and a smile that out-beamed the overhead recessed light
“I’d like to hear your poem,” she said in a euphoric voice
I gazed upon her mesmerized, feeling my throat tighten,
sweat appeared on my forehead as I lifted
a slip of paper from my back pocket
I looked it over and looked over at her…again
Then, taking a deep breath muttered,
“I must apologize, for it has become obvious to me
there is no more beautiful poem than the one
standing before me at this very time
To read these words which I have penned
would only pale to this I find”
“Thank you, that is very sweet of you,
would you like to go for a walk in the park?
I’d much rather be outside than inside
and maybe you can read me some
of your wonderful poetry there?”
“I’d love to, but what about them?”
I asked motioning toward the crowd on the terrace
She picked up the tray of sliced avocado, some champagne
and slipped them out the door, then giggled,
“Those insiders will be just fine outside for a while”
As we headed down on the elevator
she leaned up and kissed me
and it was at that very moment, as my heart
was nearly beating out on my chest I knew,
(I had pushed the correct elevator button)
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 6:48 PM UTC
A note slid underneath my door.
How marks on a page can crush the heart worse than
steel breaks the bone.
The oceans tide has come to take me away.
I dove twice as deep.
In laughter apon the first.
In regret of that which I could not grasp.
Glimmers of light lost in the waters depth cast
so far away.
Missed lines the old sometime must think young.
I found hope on nothing's promised embrace.
A ring of lies one moment of truth.
Remember me for times I can no longer attend.
Troubles untold sometimes outside is easier than
A insiders view.
The cards werent right and thoose at the table
knew a jokers laugh was a far off cry.
No words can be spoken in the emptyness
of loss for which there is no return.
A shore apart a heart jaded but always true.
no blame is to be placed for a road must surely
one day end.
The words read last a souls release.
The tide must always kiss the sea.
A city of emptyness reflects all that is left
inside of me.
Stay as was my plea.
Crazy how could anyone truley know the madness
that is seldom understood by even me.
Words apon a page ive traded ink for life blood
of my soul.
I left the note unread.
As spiders cast webs woven of time.
Cold as the peace final rest to torment.
That is the barbwire within my head.
It was time for a much overdue rest.
A co writter in life is better than apon the page.
Niether is my path no hope as the clock
points to a dark hour shadows have returned to stay.
Heaven was mine for a moment.
Hell is more my style I guess.
As in stories and legends im already on my
way.
Voices all speak within there own key.
Torment, addiction and isolation.
Are all thats left of me.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 10:48 AM UTC
It is art that oils the moving parts of me
the free flowing nectar in the seed of me,
art in ******* tips and the half full skips,
the 'tramps' that ship the coal around the coast.
I play host to the wonder of words that make up the rhyme,
more 'fog on the Tyne'
the lowlands and highlands within these Islands and bridges to cross,
It is art in the heart and what we see with the eyes,love it,despise it,ignore or get wise to it,
everywhere I look, I see that someone took time,moulded , transformed it and changed forever this world a bit
and every bit helps.
My fingers are lazers ,blazing out art,starting to burn in every sentence that turns and turning to light,
gutters that utter to me prophecies and in the pharisees I see only samaritans who give
salute to the pimps and the prostitutes,the Kings and the courtiers,those who buy and who sell,who are
milled in the gin of it,the thin and the quick of it,tied to the wheel in the cockpit and spitting out what could be me for the hell of it.
I see art in the faces that stare blankly,to flicker at screens in store windows,art in the glow of the cigarette end,in the bending of imagination, where salvation is palmed off to an ungrateful nation as corn from the candyclouds,art in the female,the he man, the mail man,the banter of cantors,the whispers of sisters the sadness,the badness,the joy and the gladness is there,
out looking to share,insiders,
outsiders,lone wolfstate riders and in pairs or in threes all looking to please,
street paintings,feint bread lines on fences,dull
brush strokes on brickstock
unlock your mind
find your
art.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 8:22 AM UTC
Government bails out wall-street
The world holds its breath and waits
Mortgage owners fear the worse
Corporate Greed the ultimate link
Automakers lobby in private jets
American workers losing their jobs
The trickle down effect takes time
Those who suffer now feel robbed
Whats is the world coming too
Only the insiders are protected
Oct 27, 2009
Oct 27, 2009 at 6:51 PM UTC
The Future
What future?
The future is here.
The future is now.
The next generation can inspire
We can admire their ideals
Wish aloud they had the power
to make change
But they don’t
here
now
We do
WE DO
We can do more than wish and admire
The future is here
The future is now
Many minds are needed
Tackling a worlds’ worth of problems
Many minds are already
solving one problem at a time
here
now
So many solutions exist
So many already pursue them
Beware waiting for the “best” one
The search for perfection
Runs right alongside
The path of procrastination
Try all the ideas at once
Throw everything we have at the wall to see what sticks
Use the solutions that are
here
now
Some may say
“Best” is worth waiting for
Being methodical is more
efficient
cost-effective
safe
SLOW
The future is here
The future is now
Find the ones who are already
Identifying problems
Advocating for needs
Bringing solutions
Give them the resources
Amplify their ideas
Scale up their actions
HERE
NOW
Solutions will come from above and below
From science and beyond
From outsiders and insiders
Let’s meet in the middle
No mind turned away
The future is HERE
The future is NOW
Say it with me
The future is HERE.
The future is NOW.
Mar 7, 2022
Mar 7, 2022 at 7:55 PM UTC
Perrie Edwards hasn’t made a secret of the fact that she’s not yet ready to get married, despite being engaged to Zayn Malik for the last two years and now it seems her constant hesitation is getting to the star.
The Little Mix beauty has found her life consumed once again with promo work and touring, as she publicises her new single and third studio album and as a result it sounds like her personal life has taken a bit of a back seat.
Insiders say Zayn is getting tired of waiting for Edwards to commit to a date for their wedding and he’d rather be tying the knot sooner rather than later…..but is being put off all the time.
“Zayn wants them to set the date for their wedding so they have something to work towards,” a source told Reveal magazine. “He’s not saying it has to be soon, but he believes if they set a date then they have to get things done. Having it all drag on means neither of them is motivated to organize because there’s no deadlines.”
The source claimed that Malik is tired of hearing Perrie be so blasé about their commitment to one another and is sick of listening to her brushing off questions about their future every single day.
He’s ready to start making life long plans, especially now that they’ve found the house they want to raise a family in and the insider continued:
“Zayn is not being interviewed constantly like when he was in the band but Perrie is, especially with their new single out, and every time he hears her say there’s no date it gets to him,” they said. “He doesn’t get why they haven’t set one yet.”
While we are sure Zayn wants to marry his Little Mix fiance, we’re not convinced that he’s quite as keen and desperate as is being claimed here though. He whisked Perrie away for a romantic birthday weekend on Friday and seems to be enjoying the extra time they’re getting to spend with one another, as a result of his suddenly clear work schedule.
Leave your comments below…..
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 10:54 PM UTC
Love oozed out of your skin.
That caring soul within penetrated my heart.
While I inhaled that love into my lungs
As this love traveled through my veins
I prayed this love for me I’d be able to spread one day.
Some how I’d be the Angel you were to me
Wish you didn’t have to live in my memories
I dreamed that God gave you back to me
But some foreign place of enchanted perfection
Seems too much like the wrong direction.
Too many steps in life
I couldn’t have taken them all right.
I couldn’t have loved someone more than I loved he
Too bad you are no longer beside me
Now only DNA runs inside me
I’m not implying you are not above my head
Given me hints on how to correct my wrongs
I just wish you could be here to catch me before I fall.
Physically
I need your touch
I miss the closeness between us.
The insiders that kept the world away
I was “Granddaddy’s baby”
Your pride
My joy
I cried not for your absence because you’ll never leave
I just wish I could still tug on your sleeve.
I can still see you in my smile
Remember how we’d smile together?
I do.
Remember how you’d pull me aside when I tried to run and hide?
I do.
Remember when I’d tell you a story with no end and you beg me to tell it over and over yet over again?
I do.
I can recall our relationships down to the second because
You were my joy
More than my Granddad
My best friend.
My heart. My soul.
My Grandfather.
In loving memory of Thomas Smoot
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 11:33 PM UTC
I've been trying to get inside
scratching chunks off the surface
never quite able
to find any true purpose.
but my thoughts are concrete
and stay locked in my mind
to build up and break up
everything I see.
I think I'm getting closer
to hearing my own voice.
always watching, never talking
blocking out the noise
And I think maybe it's worth it
To have no real place..
Because at the end of the day
I'm completely unbound,
and I know quite a bit more
that the insiders do.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
To: Career politicians and insiders
From: The great unwashed rabble beneath your feet
Over the next few years, and into the foreseeable future,
Your past and present performance
Will be scrupulously reviewed
With an eye toward
Eliminating hangers-on and dead weight.
No cow is sacred
When so many are starving.
The heiress apparent to the retiring CEO
has been shown the door;
the head of sales now the head of state.
There will be regular meetings
With the new HR director.
Those of you who've been with us
For a while will know him well.
His name is Howard Beale.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 10:23 AM UTC
I don't even fit in,
With the people I love,
anymore,
I am an outsider,
With my family,
my friends,
No longer a part,
Of what this world,
requires,
I do not know what,
To say, to do, or even,
How to act,
I am the outsider,
In a land full of,
Insiders.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 6:47 AM UTC
A-tisket and a wicked uber fella
I lost my jazz fest umbrella
And though I texted many times
He would not give it back
Was it yellow NONoNoNo
It was a black one for conservatives
And watermelony for insiders
And so it ***** and I'm upset
So I ordered a new one instead
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 2:42 PM UTC
you're not friends with the insiders who won't let the outsiders in.
You make friends with those who let you in.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 10:37 PM UTC
I have spent nights drowning in liquor and the language between us that we never learned to speak out loud
I have underlined the catch phrases
The clues, the insiders, the unspoken declarations
I have swallowed syllables, swallowed shots
Injected my body with the way you sound on the phone when you're tired
I leave my phone downstairs so I can't call you in my sleep
At night, intoxicated and stubbornly confused I am a little less broken
Numb to the humility of unrequited love
Shake hands with cupid in back seats
And talk with him about his aim
When it is dark out, somehow I can still breathe
The constellations hanging heavy over my head offer enough comfort to keep my eyes dry
But I always love you in the morning
More than the morning before
Somehow in my brief unconsciousness, you are still alive
I often wake up in a pool of *****
I am so tired of this endless spiral to no where
I am tired of spilling your name out all over my mattress in a drunken sickness in the middle of the night
Early hours of the morning, before dawn
I recognize my reflection by name but not by spirit
And maybe love is only easy before the sun comes up because it is so easy to find yourself
When you are dazed and drowsy
Worn and wavered
Your senses take flight in essence of the indispensable atmosphere gripping the tips of your fingers
Let the smoke rise, ashes fall
Let the clouds dance over the moon
And when the sun comes up
Dawn creeps in, shadows step out of hiding
I sit up, not quite sober, in recovery of trying to remember how to forget your name
I sit up, giving myself enough time to adjust my eyes
And in just the right lighting I can see the your tall figure standing in my room looking at pictures I've hung on the wall
The paintings, the posters, the letters
I look at my hands
Shaking, cold, fatigued
Fix my gaze on my veins
This is my skin, not yours, and yet you are still under it
I am unconditionally and eternally entranced by your haunting presence
You are a ghost in the night that watches me sleep
But you are only a figure of dust in the morning
Leaving again
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
Bashing the walls never saved her,
she never got out and I got used
to the screaming.
The room, opposite of frigid, steaming.
It abused insiders, visitors and people seeming
touched, by the history it carried.
It buries more than most can handle.
But a place does not feel pity,
you can not blame the city.
The pressure of a chance at being blind after
makes the ability of dreaming so
much dafter.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
When I am by myself
I just sit there
My eyes unfocused
Completely trapped in my mind
As I feel my chest sink
And my heart breaking
I realize
I am alone
The three words echo
Louder in my head
Than a broken glass
In an empty auditorium
I have waited
For calls that never came
Love,
That was never given back
I believed
I could love other people
So much that I could one day
Eventually
Love me too
But when everyone you love leaves
Apart of you, leaves you
too
Even if they come back
I continue to greet them
with open arms
But never forgetting
And Always reminded, Every time
No matter how hard I love
How much I give
That I am easy to let go
People see me whole
But every time
I look in the mirror
All I see, is everything that’s missing
I fill my holes with lies
And short term happiness
It’s easy to not notice
What’s missing beneath the surface
If all I choose to show
Is my smile
But not the pain behind it
The twinkle in my eye often
Confused for happiness
I avoid superficial conversation
But lack the words
To say what I feel deep inside
I am mute to expressing my pain
Sober,
I drown myself in people
To silence my own mind
Until once again
I find myself alone
Unable to hold back the tears
Of how much
I cannot stand
To be left by myself
With my own thoughts
I don’t have trust issues
I have abandonment issues
For I consistently convince myself
That everyone I love will leave me
Like they have
So many times before
And honestly I understand
To look at myself
From someone else’s shoes
With an insiders perspective
And given the choice
To leave me...
I probably would too
Aug 3, 2020
Aug 3, 2020 at 10:49 PM UTC
It's Exam Day
I think it's time to run away
Tests here tests there
Tests everywhere!
Scarier than spiders
Created by those insiders
Teachers, dreaded villains
I think this school needs some penicillins
Tests, such a virus
So undesirous
Infecting our schools
Making the smartest of us look like fools
Vile creatures
I'd rather cheer on the bleachers
Then have to take another test
They make me so stressed
Corrupted
Our education interrupted
All so the state can judge us
It should be treasonous
How I lothe exam day
This is a good time to run away
But I can't do that
Else the system will make my life fall flat
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 2:02 PM UTC
It seems as everything goes on, I stand still. The river keeps flowing, but I'm that dead fish that's stuck behind a rock. Believe me when I say, I am trying my hardest to swim again.
But it feels like everytime I think I'll be able to move again, another fish rushes by and reminds me of you. And there I am, stuck again behind that ******* rock.
The worst thing is, you've created this rock for me. We build it togheter. And while to the outsiders I pretend to be swimming again, the insiders just hang on with me.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 5:55 AM UTC
Dear love, I hoped. Hoped for memorable moments with you. Filled with quirky insiders and cheesy smiles.
Dear buttercup, I saw. Saw your capacity for success in everything you did. No matter what laborious obstacles you faced.
Dear sunshine, I confessed. Confessed those heartfelt feelings that I kept for years to myself to thee. Felt as if I mastered some form of art that I had been working on for what seemed an eternity and to what eventually flourished into a beautiful sentiment gallery for a one-gal audience. Sought through a protected glass screen whom hardly hid our raw tears and emotions that we were feeling inside.
Dear sweet pea, I felt. Felt pain, in my core, in my heart, whom I have kept locked away to protect from such thing (love).Thy which I felt day in and day out for thee.
Dear darling, I shut. Shut your presence, physically & virtually from my life. Doing so, had become such a difficult yet relieving task.
Dear pumpkin, I wondered. Wondered if I ever crossed thy mind of my doing. & Wondered if thy was content with him, knowing you were.
Dear girl I knew in high school, I can't. Can't have you in my life. As my crush nor as a friend. Awkward it is. & Forever will it be with you having the knowledge of those innocent and pure feelings. You don't need my presence in thy life, and vise versa. I refuse to apologize for giving up on us. Friendship alone is what I seek least with you. I long for happiness, and unfortunately you're hetero presence is holding me back. And if you so happen to stumble across this poem, I am certain you'd be able to fill in the blank. I conclude thus with a freeing farewell.
Love,
A.B
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 2:38 AM UTC
own the title, and perhaps
what follows, but,
“it,”
came & went,
like so many desires,
moments to momentarily,
only to retreat to unreachable
recesses,
shelves in my mind,
for Without Witchcrafon Steam,
no ladder exists
for them be cleansed
or reached,
except when my dreams bleed
it is almost unfair that time is
not
on my side,
that I am eaten alive
by insiders, no
that self~kerrects,
to mere acquaintances,
more or lessened to
NOR
does the peculiar rain’s
that exists in my brain,
permits the razors
not
to go undulled, unsullied,
no,
they are scathed to
unshaven , un-sharpened,
where &
when I search for a
bon mot, invariably
the answer is a 503.
gateway closed to thee/me,
by virtue of your lack of
virtues
nor
is the motif,
my scrappy pieces
of no resistance
for all are closing rapid,
and that’s an endpoint
of sordid…
now the brain bleeds
persistent
no contented to wait
for just dreams,
the rain is hard at work
24/7
Aug 21, 2024
Aug 21, 2024 at 9:09 AM UTC