"instil" poems
My father has a problem.
He listens to all this conspiracy,
whilst drinking a beer or 5 every night.
Instead of spending time with my mother and I.
I've started to dread family dinners as all they do is instil hate in me,
he talks about death and killing and yet knows nothing of me.
My dad doesn't remember my birthday most days,
this year he couldn't remember my mum's.
And I can't live in a house where one occupant stinks of *****
Where a family slowly starts to break.
My father is an alcoholic,
but the only one who won't admit it is he.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
177
Ah, Necromancy Sweet!
Ah, Wizard erudite!
Teach me the skill,
That I instil the pain
Surgeons assuage in vain,
Nor Herb of all the plain
Can Heal!
4k
Drinking is a problem, for some it’s worse than others.
Within each family everyone is affected, parents, sisters and brothers.
That doesn’t mean you turn your back and disown them from their home,
And make them wander dark cold streets, they are out there all alone.
The choices that they made may not have been the best,
But now they face the wind and rain, just wanting a place to rest.
A place where they can get a meal, some shelter and a chat.
They are human after all; they deserve at least all that.
The basic needs of society we sometimes don’t address,
And see these people on the streets and treat them as something less.
Have we suddenly forgotten the values that we teach?
It’s to these people that we should care and to them our hands outreach.
To help them back upon their journey, a second chance to give,
Instil in them the hope they need for a better to live.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
I'm often reminiscent of times,
When my grandpa used to
Take me out on his bicycle,
We were just roaming around
His tunes always left me spellbound.
But it was so pure
He was one of those people for whom
Money held no allure
He was a man of passion and music,
He was a poet
But I didn't know it
He gave, not just with his words
But also his soul,
Even when he didn't have much control.
I would always ask him for a candy
I remember once he even gave me a sip of brandy
He never said no to me asking for a toy
He often considered me his blue-eyed boy
He would stop all his work and writing
Just to play with me outside,
Whether clear skies or lightning
Now that he's no more
I miss him and the lessons he tried to instil within me
But more than that
I often miss that genuine connection
With someone who understood so much,
But still cared enough to smile and laugh along
The man with a golden touch
With him, I was happy as the day is long.
The world will be a much better place
If we all could learn to live our life
With his grace.
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 9:37 AM UTC
when some said hello
some said ha ha,
said holmes without sherlock to signal a sighting
in signature of fingerprinting a shake;
but some said hello,
some shook some with stipend erased freezing;
after all... the doctor allowed a carcass to instil a freed numbness!
a clown frowned attempting to be picky with laughter
mascaraed, and then all hell ready to be hibernating yawned
ready from the hyperbole excused ******* a tadpole into thinking of frogs.
oh we loved the laugh the pouch of orange juiced pulled apart and pulped
into skins and skinny; we were all ready for a hajj there and then!
ha ha! make that scented with coriander!
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 8:22 AM UTC
with a billion Chinese and Indians
on the tally... i think it's hardly worth noting
the individuation process the West has adapted...
who needs another Kurt Cobain brain in
spaghetti splatters on the wall? there's a billion of each...
a ******* billion! heath ledger and daniel johns
(i would be a freak having released
something like frog-stomp in my teens,
i would be, playing the mongolian harmonica)...
but there's a ******* billion of each,
Taj Mahal saved them when the western
oozy saw the scalping technique...
so did the curry recipe...
i'm an alcoholic like the rest of them...
Apache eagle feather how how hush
(dog bark interlude)... nonetheless, we're taught
to individuate, to state a difference worthy of an
advert... any other slogan not ending
with -Pepsi and you're ******* Chinese to me...
Hong Kong double-decker buses and Karate! Ha Ya!
chop... or sushi, whichever bruise to add to the skin
of Copernican for the sundown and plum.
no, the point being drummers are wacko,
having to process individuation
would never instil me having a potential to
number a Mongolian horde... i wouldn't have cared...
if only ****** suggested.. if only ****** suggested....
i too would be a bleached Eskimo.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
Hair waving like golden grass
A present grace that transcends this isolation
Skin flawless like priceless glass
Your lines instil envy in every artist
Blue eyes that reflect the peak of bliss
So humble you are but I must insist
Asking once upon your lips
How many times have you shied away?
I can't count how many trips
Conversations of give and receive
I fumble and mumble
Then silently leave
I return with the same mission
Forging courage for wisps of steam
I let fear take over and make my decision
Your beauty I daren't miss
So I shall not blink
As my soul suffers for that elusive kiss
Ardent girl some day I'll ask
For now I can only admire
And in your splendour I shall bask
Until the day when I find mettle
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
Grazin’ in the grass was mellow indeed
when you blew into your trumpet
blaring sounds of peace. What a trip!
Just watchin' as the world goes past,
you used to say playing notes of jazz.
Music of resistance for a tortured land
imbued in the blood of its natives bashed,
by the impudent high-handed little white man.
As your grandmother cared for you and miners
in illegal bars, piano keys enticed dreams of hope
for second class citizens silenced by oppression,
while the chaplain gave you your first instrument.
Little did you know the melodies you’d pour
on the rampant fires of blatant injustice.
Little did you know the strength you would instil
embodying possibilities, shedding light on the obscure.
Soweto blues you composed as Miriam gave
her voice to screaming mothers to cry out,
atrocities in town. Bring Him Back Home
you sang from afar until they did, and you
returned to see the prisoner walk free,
down the streets hand in hand with Winnie.
Only afterwards I heard your words and will
to show the people just how
wonderful and excellent they are.
A message I cherish and the reason why
many will remember you, your tune your smile,
as he who kept the torch of freedom alive.
A baobab tree has fallen indeed.
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 5:59 AM UTC
Capture me
with your voice
let it to my ears
instil a thrill
let it wash my soul
with its timbre
let its strength
calm my fears
in its tone I hear
all that a voice could
ever contain
the sun’s warmth
the soul’s wash
of the gentle rain
capture me with your voice
hold me
enthrall me, captivate me
thrill me now
Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 2:18 PM UTC
Sing to your daughters
read Sonnets out aloud
encourage love and laugher
so they stand out from the crowd
Instil a sense of fun
tempered with the wisest words
let them free to run
and appreciate the birds
Give them the building blocks
to aspire to great heights
teach the importance
of learning from hindsight
A woman's intuition
has a very special power
involving attentiveness
to every single hour
Melting the hearts
of everyone around
educated ladies
cleverly astound
Give them a guiding hand
light their journey along the way
be their solid rock
and by your side they'll always stay
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
A S P I D I S T R A
All
Serene
Perfect plants
Instil calmness.
Do not fret at all.
In all the seasons, they
Simply remain evergreen.
Telling a fact to be strong and
Rugged with patience and tapered will
All serene, perfect plants instill calmness.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 2:26 PM UTC
The red soil rises in the garden
Upon a wrought and coiling mist,
Then collects the stems of morning light:
Old Future's endless sift.
These mornings when the flood plains swell
Instil great peace of mind;
Tireless are the crossroads of
Transpiring, morning light.
Set down the blade,
Spread far the grain,
Inhale the rice-fed air.
Now rake the water's fervent edge—
Reveal the waves of golden.
Sep 15, 2022
Sep 15, 2022 at 9:47 AM UTC
I’m sideways, middle ground burned and left and right beyond reproach so I take no stand against a stand against anything that might be controversial and those thoughts won’t go away no matter how much I rebel because you instil so much that I never wanted to learn because all I want to learn is that you love me without taking a stand, without conditions, without thought.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
Jij bent een man om gekust te worden, steeds weer in mijn gedachten.
You are a man to be kissed, over and over in my thoughts.
Zoals het gezang in het zachte, een blijk is van de zachte aard van diens ziel.
Like the singing in the quiet thoughts, is proof of a gentle soul.
Soms is een taal die niet van jou is, het meest dierbare en meest gekoesterde, dat men er een teken in kan zien, een leven te beleven op afstanden verder dan tijd zelf.
Sometimes a language that doesn’t belong to you is the most dear and most cherished, that one can take sign, to experience life in distances beyond time itself.
Someone who takes love on the inside, and is pulled
from pleasure, only to distil it in oneself. It is given that
the humour that one feels in only the thoughts, similar
to ones being, of hope, and giving of time,
and life, how can you be so careless?
To caress that face of time itself, and it takes away
from the love, and maybe one shapes these figures to see
how the plays and scene of life has, it escapes the trained
head and goes out to endless spaces.
These kisses are not meant to extract fairness and
lay a waste. Only to instil on you my vision and a way
to show gratitude to gentleness emanating from smiles, from
painted lips, pitch dark eyes and your sun crinkled skin.
Whether you’re granted a vision of this vocabulary
or are taken from its meanings. To show you my
internal love, which is beyond all material planes, and pervades
this desire to teach on a lesson learned.
© 2009
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 3:10 AM UTC
You're pretty and you know it
using those glassy eyes to tame -
my heart's suckered 'n you know it,
post-sex love purely (surely?) to blame
my mind melts as I grow weak at the knees
your gaze flitting from sultry to predatory -
blood gushes, adrenalin flushes
sweat dripping upon my skin lust-crazy, expectedly
oh I'll burn these nervy butterflies
with this blistering searing fury,
argh, stop this Pretence girl
'cause it's just starting to bore me -
*Mind Control to Inner Soul;
"what's your status?"
Inner Soul to Mind Control;
"help! The guts are dead and the heart is fractured!!!"*
my body slowly dying, polluted sick
with the caustic affection you instil
*"WARNING; cytoplasmic deterioration imminent -
extreme psycho-bitch overkill!"*
for now I know I must give up the chase
the Neurones have received a final transmission (oh please no, it can't be);
*"This is .. Inner Soul to Mind Control..
we're all so tired.. so tired .. so .. sleepy - - -"*
CLICK
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
may the gust of air, remind you that the world is spinning.
let it not instil worry,
let it not instil stress.
let it teach you instead....
to be anything BUT 'still'
bless this ground with your dance if you are able,
and if today you are not?
let it inspire tomorrows mind...
Mar 6, 2021
Mar 6, 2021 at 6:58 AM UTC
Oh time, our defining measure,
How you precede history itself,
Oh time, your objectivity,
How you govern all current's of that gushing river of our lives,
Upstream to new horizons, downstream to the forgotten,
Our moments lie inescapable of your perpetual conscious,
Oh time, your rampant tests,
Your ability to flourish mere illusions of aspirations,
To build bridges, of solid foundation,
To establish homes, of kindly salvation,
Why must these dreams be a breath of reality all so brief,
To dismantle this world, leaving man only in grief,
Oh time, beneath the murky surface of that river I await,
Whatever is it you are to instil as my impending fate.
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 6:37 AM UTC
*don't harangue my life with care for pity at woman's idiocy, not having adopted Caesarian birth as universally adequate and prospering her, to instil this barbaric guilt in me wondering why women, of all mammals had no natural anaesthetic produced when giving birth... **** your little guilt-trip argument! Caesarian or no argument!*
to be robbed of a glorious death, and be given an
inglorious birth, esp. when women were given an ease
with a Caesarian birth diplomacy... what's there to retain for man?
ardency in labour? old age? i too was robbed of what
Caesar described as the ideal death: the sudden one...
am i to wait for my sickbed...
if i only chanced the thrill of life
within one sunset and sought no night
to encompass my life as worthy compensation
of nothing.
a life lived to the bell-tone of a replaced
uvula, no care for charity asserted...
in that one momentary exception of all life prior,
to have lived it, and hence entombed,
readied for the element acquiring me to
further its signature... as sustainable...
i'd rather die a painful death that live
a comfortable life: pain is eased with its short-lived
establishing awareness when the glory prior is "prolonged"
ascribed to the fates akin to Achilles... and indeed pain is
merely pain with its prolonging on the sickbed...
counter heroism, so defeatist;
how many times am i to be robbed? to thus experience
such shallows of thieves with cheap constantly
expedient thievery? i've had enough to concede to a juggle
of fates and fortunes! one smooth stroke of the ace
rather than the many axe-hackings of the neck
of ****** Mary. bothersome agitations via pride, honour
and braveness, only if they do not happen,
and should they, they'd be undertaken, but to no quest
of celebratory non-enactment, i.e.: farting rather than ********
prior: to be given a wave of the standard acupuncture
of infantry: as guarantee of mythology; and a nobleman
on his horse without a stirrup prior to the *** intervention.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 10:14 PM UTC
To life, to love, to loss, to absent friends,
to every emptiness we cannot fill:
November’s started. Let’s hope this one ends.
Everybody knows, yet each pretends
that one can shape the world around one’s will.
To life, to love, to loss, to absent friends,
A wall imprisons all that it defends.
I’ll watch you from my tower on the hill.
November’s started. Let’s hope this one ends.
We all know what the prophecy portends:
a crow, a wedding ring, a poison pill.
To life, to love, to loss, to absent friends.
The breathing labours, and the heart descends;
a final rattle before all is still.
November’s started. Let’s hope this one ends.
You must accept, though no one comprehends,
the knowledge all great tragedies instil.
To life, to love, to loss, to absent friends:
November’s started. Let’s hope this one ends.
Nov 2, 2020
Nov 2, 2020 at 1:09 PM UTC
The light inside is broken but I'm still working
the moments of hurting seems to come and go
like a tide built from an undertow of anguish.
I let anger be my language and the bandage
only manages to grow in size.
In retrospect I should have expected less
I'm blessed that I found this sort of emotion
in an ocean of human sensation, I've taken
enough of what is to be learned.
Bearing another day felt almost impossible
as colossal losses shall feel and in tragedy
happening I found something else I want
a haunted thought that maybe I'm okay,
maybe just the slight; I am okay.
I would have been more okay in your arms,
but I am convincing myself that I am okay,
and like a torrent of despair, you shared
heartache into my soul.
The heart inside is broken, but I'm still working;
I remind myself it doesn't worsen
but in moments, I'm fervently certain I'm wrong.
I'll wait for tomorrow, and the day after;
til laugh seeps my soul, for then I will know
that the glowing light I've been expecting;
will be switched back on.
I will wait till I can learn to love again,
next time it won't be in the arms of pretence.
I will love her as I love wielding a pen
and fighting my inner turmoils.
I will love her as though she is my world
a world unknown to me before.
I will love her like a crimson moon
overlooking the riverside.
I will love her as I have loved you
but only more.
I will love her with complete radiance,
and build on my patience, for her.
I will love her like the complex things in life,
meant to be understood and studied.
I will love her as if we shall perish in waters;
and with a breath, I will lift her life like a balloon,
and shall that be the last kiss we ever share;
I will bear the pain of letting her know-
I have only ever held her in my heart.
I will love her as I will adore roses, not to wilt
but to instil the most of joy as I could.
I would love her as if she was a gem in my life,
unknown to opened eyes that she is sparkling.
I know I will love her,
and that is a promise of honest care
that shares paths with the joyous moments.
I know I will love her, because I know
she will love me too.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 4:13 AM UTC
Oh Muse, bearer of wisdom, may your words
which traverse the globe
by verse affect attitudes, move objections,
lash egos, rock divisions,
reunite misunderstandings and by power of
digestion resurrect what
the populace thinks weak, kills and forgets.
May poetic energy slice through innumerable
rules, instil sympathy,
drown separation, re-find buried faith within
faded friendships, appeal
for awareness to remember hatred no more,
help those forget who,
prejudice-laden perceive many as enemies.
May powerful words smash inbuilt devisive
desire for retaliation,
create instead meant relationships, lasting
handshakes which re-shape
distance placed between hearts by age-old
spite as groundless pride
grows no happiness alongside bitter regret.
Oh Calliopé, never forgo scribes' minds for
evoking soul-felt change,
poems pleading for world-wide review of
love's fallen portals
re-invite causes for unearthing a paradise
in this war-riddled earth.
Peace needs minnions' pens, at the ready.
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 1:54 PM UTC
Crouching alone and always alert,
left to fend
for themselves little fox cubs
know well
how to silently wait, ferns skirting
the cave provide
animal comfort when rubbed
with motherly scents
but how long, it seems, this time
she is in returning.
Their eyes reflect tension as wrong
vibes fill the air
and scared breath pulsates, learning
quickly that danger
is near, desperate bodies shiver
and cautiously
nosing the air alert ears listen again.
We will not know
this pair's fate, but rivers of spilt
fox-blood instil
inner terror, long reigns of horn-fear
and hunting will
forever be bred into red psyche,
for when fur bristles
as caution senses evil man-smell,
wild hearts become
wary and leap to dig deeper dens.
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 5:33 AM UTC
by this point i don't care...
it's just like history's
hello again...
i'm back in America's 1960s
with a missing Malcolm X
and Luther King Jr...
10K poem i by accident
deleted (these the remnants)...
but then there are flying
tin cans and other iron
centipedes on the train tracks...
it doesn't matter as much
as the tweet on Monday
about crap train services -
it's honest, this
resuscitation of poetry -
but it's pointless,
it's no so much about how
you feel, but how easy it
is to commute from a 9 to 5
and sit back and watch
the television (Plato's cave)
unfold - the power brokers
are still the homeless people...
they instil more fear into
the populace than a ******
with a Stalin combined;
sure, every poem is like a tweet,
and every tweet is like
a poem... childishly abused
by all the other arts, poetry,
it's still like a weed's strength
among the flower-blooming culprits...
weeded is still comes back...
i guess it's because people like
someone talking into excesses of
dis-affirming rhymes... but no...
talk poetics they'll lie that you threw
a pint of beer across the room...
people fear poets in the same way they
fear non status quo politicians...
good poets i mean...
not poets that think tweeting is poetry...
and those performance poets?
the Olympics is going on,
they all sound like out-of-breath
synchronised swimmers.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 11:03 PM UTC
But what is a full moon anyway
When you are not with me to fill it?
And what if philosophy leaks from my brain
All the time you're not there to instil it?
Can I speak my own thought, can I hope my own dreams
Can I tread on a path that's been torn?
Can I carry the mountain right here on my back
Or sit on it to welcome the dawn?
If I torture you first will you confess your sins?
Will you scream if I stretch you out here on your back?
Would you tell me such secrets I couldn't have made up
If I just ensure you have time on my rack?
If I save myself for you will you spend your time on me?
Your silver is not what I need at this time
But if you were to keep me wrapped up in a blanket
I'd come to you midnight like Mary divine
And I'd stand with my candle and call to the angels
We all would assemble the shepherds of old
For I know how you love to see men working nature
Freeing other young creatures from nightmares untold.
And when nighttime is over and my dawn is broken
I'll swallow my stories back behind my chest
I will remove the nails with which I had bound you
Roll back the great stone and lay you to rest.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC
Show a bully
they've hurt you
and you're handing them the keys
to your pysche
Don't give them such power;
don't give them what they're looking for
Settle the score
Be impenetrable,
No matter how thin
you feel is your skin
Deny them access,
and you'll drive them wild
Smile in the face of pain and
you'll beat them at their own game
Dignity is yours to gain
I've learned this at an early age
They've spewed hatred with their words;
treated me like dirt
They've abused me
They've used me
They've denied me love
They've tried to instil in me ignorance,
like hatred
and blind faith
in authority
and some "God" above
They've abandoned me,
degraded me,
hated me
Bathed me
in their self pity;
always ready
to make me feel guilty
They've toyed
with my self identity
caused me
to lose faith
in myself
and all of humanity
They've left me with scars;
which ive collected in jars
Kept them as a reminder
to never be like
those who've hurt me
and never give in
to the chaos;
the anxiety or the pain
that seemed to constantly
drain my body
my brain
and my airways
There were many times
I'd say,
"I no longer feel like living today"
But I managed to always
pick myself up
off the floor
and look forward to
opening up that next door
I held on, for dear life,
to my humanity
and, just barely,
my sanity
for I had too much
pride and will to survive
I would not and will not
let them break me
I am not their decision to make
I am not their life to take
I am not their after dinner
piece of cake
I will no longer be subdued
or controlled
or abused
I will not fold
my heart will never
turn cold
You can break my bones
You can break my skin
you can try to rip me apart
from within
But you'll never ******* win
And so i say
**** you
**** them
**** me
and most of all,
**** SOCIETY
the biggest bully
of them all!
One day,
it too,
shall fall
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 7:41 PM UTC