"invert" poems
this is a tale
of two star-crossed lovers
with a love so powerful
they tainted the heavens
with bursts of colours
they were never meant to be;
mischievous little kids
finding love in sinful glee
in laughter, between dreams and reality
and though it was lawless,
they found solace
because in every prison,
they found a rhyme and a reason
but even for a love so great,
they could not escape
the fates’ wrath and envy
destiny pulled on their threads
cut them loose, thrusted them into misery;
for their memories were wiped clean,
but feelings remained as strong as they had ever been
the boy exiled in a far off land
across the pacific sea
the girl trapped in her need to break free
in a realm both boring and bland
ensnared in a labyrinth of woe
the lovers yearned for anything—
for something, for someone,
to obliterate this endless longing
the gods answered them
in the form of two loved ones
polished in every edge,
a perfect someone
but perfect felt too perfect
and not perfect enough
to fill up the hole
left by a perfectly imperfect
until one day the gods whispered
for the winds to push the two
and the birds to tug at their sleeves
over mountain and sea
even through the darkest valley
so their paths would finally meet
and so they did.
in the flurry of a moment
a pair of brown eyes met
and time was frozen
once more
the two stared intently
as if remembering a broken melody
a lost childhood song
branded as a wrong
the birds fluttered and flew
taking the cursed red fibre
snipped them in two
and the lovers felt all the lighter
it was the girl who spoke first:
**** the stars.
i don’t want perfect,
i want you.”*
eyes dazzling, the boy nodded:
*“we’ll invert the universe—
the night sky a blank white
the stars pitch black
the earth moving in reverse”*
the fates saw and surrendered
as the stars began to wither
for this love is love
in all its splendor
so the lovers walked away with a promise
under their breaths, they both swore:
*“i lost you once,
but nevermore.”*
****
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 10:46 PM UTC
Black - the color of death
Defined by the absence of color...and life
Black is the colour of a dying soul
and the lives tossed in among the coal
Black is the colour of a crimson sky
From the battles and wars that took place in time
Black is the colour of a child's tears
Curled up in a corner and drenched in fear
Black is the sound of a fired gun
And black is a mother's tears cried out for her son
Black is the lives lost out at sea
and the bound and the tortured waiting to be free
Black is the colour of the mutilated and broken
Black is darkness
To some extent it's inside us all
affecting our feelings and mind
slowly creeping up behind
take this absence and fill it with life
invert our black into white
and create inside us an everlasting light,
the truth
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 12:50 PM UTC
I'm a simple electron.
And, although I have my quarks,
It's usually a persona I don,
Pretending I enjoy meaningless talks.
See, I was once in a pair,
With a fellow electron.
And, although it was difficult to bear,
The laws of physics ultimately won.
The closer we got,
The more we repelled.
When she was ionised, it hurt a lot,
She left, regardless of how much I held.
She soon paired with another,
Leaving me to start a bond.
It was my emotions I tried to smother,
Of myself, I was certainly not fond.
For a while my thoughts were scattered,
My emotions being forced up and down.
But none of that really mattered,
As I soon met another who would invert my frown.
You see, she was a blinding photon,
And when we met, she certainly did excite me...
And, just like my friend the boson,
I hope you don't take this lightly.
She perked me up a couple of energy levels,
Until she pulled me out of my shell.
Now, together, we're quantum rebels,
I'm a simple electron, and this is the story I tell.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
I was looking in my grandmother's old vegetable plot
Searching in and amongst the fragrant sweet peas
When I found an old brown mud encrusted teapot
Tangled up in roots of old forgotten trees.
Then I found my grandmother's old rusty *****
This had seen some action back in its day.
I held the teapot close and the memories had stayed
Had visions of may poles where my Gran used to play.
She'd pour her tea, drink it then invert the cup
Twist it three times one way and then the other
Turn the cup the right way up
Funny old ways hd my Grandmother.
She had her special way of making a brew
And I loved her such a lot
Searching and recalling scenes and there are a few
I found happines in an old brown teapot.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 3:22 AM UTC
Ophelia...smote egress, you are Rimbaud's:
"Drunken Boat".
The river you fell asleep upon found you a sea.
Your bones knew no seabed--poppies, marigolds,
orchids, black roses fill your eye sockets, mouth and rib cage.
You substantiate what color the sea may give your lay.
Its foamy waddle has signaled you to one too many
climes...an orison broke open.
What strain of tragedy now holds you, spine on depth,
eye sockets on sky?
You dove headlong into the Shakespearean maelstrom--
where mortal coil confounds, chin-up darling.
Great winds fish-scale your waters, only to invert their maw.
There are lines daily of sea's breadth, whereupon its
creatures come single file to kiss your bone.
Ophelia...wrested from river to sanguine sea, shedding trails
of flesh.
If bones were the eye of a needle...you've pulled through,
heir to tragedy--circumnavigating your infamy.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 10:25 AM UTC
**Yo! Yo! My Drug of Choice **** Poets)**
Yo! Yo!
Member of the troupe?
You up all nite?
You always hungry,
Making trouble, rite?
You one of those?
**** poets!
Exist on strict diet?
Pleasured-pain,
Constant-continual surges
Turn into urges,
Full-time suspense,
Juices always flowing.
**** Poets!
Yo! Yo!
You one of those?
Never knowing,
What? When?
The eyes gonna invert
Retina images into words
Brain signaling, semaphoring the fingers
Yo! Yo!
You don't get nine months,
Maybe nine seconds,
Then mother-birth another verse,
****** poets!
Yo! Yo!
Remember your first real high,
That moment
No absolution, no return.
That moment
When you admitted, confessed,
to yourself:
*I am
Forever forward,
A home-grown poet.
I am
Soul enslaved to words.
The alphabet - My oxygen molecules,
I am both,
Addict and dealer
A ****** poet*
Yo! Yo!
So you do recall,
The exact moment,
God-spark-within, ascendancy gained
You lost control,
Wept words instead of tears!
A ****** poet ******
Yo! Yo!
Sophie's Choice.
You chose writing over breathing,
Worshiper of the purest pleaure,
******* in deep the smoke-high of
Head-nodding discontented contentment
Stealing anything you saw
For to satisfy the need, the craven
Craving.
****** poets!
Yo! Yo!
Don't you're ever sleep?
Hear that the city, the state,
Gonna methadone your kind
In a special program
Teach you only language to sign.
**** poets!
**I am a ****** poet.**
*The first step taken.
Admission.
Poetry is my default rest position,*
My drug of choice.
5:07am
June 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
I want to protect you from the storms of life
I want to be your umbrella in the torrential downpour we call tough times
Though my fabrics may be porous and the water I shield you from may cause splash back
I want to be there
At times it may seem that no one loves you
I’m **** sure that’s not true
But I am not always sure that anyone else has a good enough grasp on the word to know
That it by definition means you have to be there for the ones you claim to love
Otherwise it doesn’t mean a thing
Otherwise you’re just the dope standing in line at the store trying to get a return without a receipt
But why would anyone want to return you?
You may have come straight out of the package only to be a busted toy that fell into bad hands
But as a porous old umbrella I can assure you
In my life you are the best that I have got
I’d rather shield you from the rain than any naïve, gleaming package
Whom has no comprehension of how ****** life is beyond the store walls
And you are far more beautiful anyways, with those missing bits and nicks in your plastic
In fact I thought you were so beautiful I wrenched myself from my owner’s hands
So I could protect you from the pain within the rain instead
You were just a toy that had been trashed but I was willing to lose myself for you
Willing to lose my time inside my cocoon of ignorance in someone else’s hands
Just so that I could be blessed enough to call you my best friend
I wanted to bear the weathers over our heads so that yours wouldn’t feel a drop
And the only weather I can’t protect you from is the flood of your tears
But when they surge upon us in times of trouble I prefer to invert myself and collect
Allowing them to pool in the basin of my memories so that one day when you’re stronger than that
We can take the time to look back and laugh
At the broken toy that couldn’t see that her worst problems
Could be fixed by a leaky old umbrella
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
I just invert the word Stressed,
And have some Desserts!!!
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 11:00 PM UTC
*Waiting for the night to come.
Waiting for the light to disappear.
Waiting for the cold to make me numb.
Waiting for the thick mist to clear.
Waiting for the new day called tomorrow.
Waiting for the tears to dry.
Waiting for you to say hello.
Waiting for you born in gemini.
Waiting for the night to end.
Waiting for the darkness to die out.
Waiting for the sun to make me amend.
Waiting forever for you without doubt.
Waiting for the fear to hurt.
Waiting for the pain to ****
Waiting for my world to invert.
Waiting for my sleeping pill.
I’ve been waiting for all my life.
For you to never say goodbye.*
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC
laughing backward the inward shout
taken it back and I regret I let it out
maybe not a problem but I'm runnin for the south
and sneakin out the back door wish I had another rout
I see the clouds go invert and my mind is out of doubt
because I just cant doge the blow up
when I cheat and you find out
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 6:09 AM UTC
The Summer Alphabet of Woman
Every summer, I learn a new language.
Every winter, it departs for warmer climes,
And its charms and naked arms, its own alphabet,
clean forgot.
Multi-lingual in the summer's peculiar
One language, one aleph bet,
But mega-millions of dialects,
Know them all cold, know them all, hot.
I speak Woman.
Summer is soft, shapely, sweet,
Clean, bare, lush in a sparse way,
And Woman is spoken thusly.
There are no harsh sounds,
Guttural exclamations, nein!
I speak Woman.
There is no ugly in the summer.
Ugly being an ugly word.
It cannot exist in an atmosphere of
Sun, greenery, sand, carefree days, vacations, no school.
There are no ugly women in the summer.
I could take this writ many places,
But if you are sputtering sexist or other labeling words,
Could not give a good god **** because in the summer,
There is no ugly, there is no prejudice.
And I still speak
Woman with an almost perfect fluency,
au naturel.
Gym clothes, short shorts, A-line skirts swishing in the breeze,
High, god, so high the heels, flats clip clopping, flip flopping
all over my heart,
But, it is the bare arms and the hints of summer
Cleavage, the short skirts, body hugging one piece fabrics
stretching from here to down there that does not
Hint,
the shoulder strap of the underthings that asks,
that commands me,
to wonder where it leads too...
Even the light wrap at night mocks me,
Like gift wrapping with a smile demure...a teasing blindfold...
All these say:
Write us poetry in our very own tongue,
Woman.
Will oblige.
I curve with curve of the ***** and
invert with S arc of the waist,
Mystifying, how it is the designed place
For my hands to grasp, and never fails.
The crayola colors of flesh variations,
Boggle the senses... How can tan and pale,
Dark and Light
Have so many
Symphonic variations?
Adagio, slow and leisurely, a pas de deux
For two eyes, then a
Timpani crash and thunder, as
Byron wrote,
"music arose with its voluptuous swell,"
Yes, swell...swell...swell
Enough.
My eloquence, no match for my
Fluency.
Late August, and my vocabulary is already
Diminishing.
I forget how to say in
Woman
*Without you I am nothing,
With you, I am more than everything,*
Tho I can no longer say it,
It is is still true and
Beyond belief.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 12:36 PM UTC
Don't you find it strange? How your world could shift on its axis and everything you trusted could invert itself in what seemed like no time at all?
*****
A girl who grew up in a desert which was located in a forgotten land had discovered a secret lake after walking for more than 21 hours! She never told anyone where she was going. She only spoke of the lake.
The lake was crystal clear and alluring that the girl felt like drowning herself in it, to just let the water cleanse her soul. But she couldn't even dip her finger! Her finger would barely touch the surface. She tried with her hands... Nothing. Her legs... Nothing. It was as if the lake was made of glass!
So she decided to walk on water. Her feet touched the surface and she took slender steps. Her heart was beating really fast. She closed her eyes and kept walking till' she found herself on the other side of the lake. Relief flowed over her as she opened her eyes and saw that she was still alive. It was as if she walked on glass.
But how?
"No one have the ability to walk on water! There must be something wrong with the lake." She thought to herself.
She pounded down the lake again, trying to see if the glassy surface would break... Nothing.
She tried dancing and she spun like a ballerina... But her dancing efforts went in vain.
So she lay on the surface. A dormant girl.
Her black hair was crowning her small angelic face, her dress was as white and transparent as the glassy surface itself, her legs were bare, and her hands were placed above her head.
"Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe this isn't a lake afterall." She said aloud.
She closed her eyes and started imagining how it would feel like to be dead. She felt that it would be similar to lake... No movement or life whatsoever...
Abruptly, the glassy surface cracked. The girl's eyes flashed opened and she jumped, but little did she know that her movement cause the whole surface to crack, to vanish...
The girl no longer felt like standing on something that is fixed... She felt the water pulling her down and down until she drowned.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 4:11 AM UTC
A seed is planted,
Leaves grow,
Flowers bloom,
Fruits ripen,
The bark toughens,
The stem branches out...
Seasons change,
Leaves wither,
Flowers wilt,
The fallen fruits rot,
The bark wrinkles,
The branches grow higher...
The eternal onset of time,
As the sand escapes the funnel of the hourglass.
Invert and repeat for every empty bulb.
A life, progressing from birth,
Ending at decay.
Time, she plays her tune-
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-...
Like a metronome set to 60 BPM;
Never stopping, ever stomping on,
Oscillating to the mechanical rhythm of Time's pendulum,
Journeying to a finite end on a path set up to infinity.
***Time, she is proof, that we are alive--
Proof that decay hunts down the living...***
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 2:08 AM UTC
changeling
evolving
journeying
from
pre-conception
mis-conception
immaculate conception
to post-partum
afterlife
travellers
engaging with pilgrims
seeking direction
trying to understand
nuances of relationship
between themselves and humankind
spiralling through vortices
and
mirrored portals to
a life of
clouded memory moments
lions salivating
blooded claws
eager to rip the straightjacketed soul
open
to explosions of truth
and invert the inverted drawer
exposing the convenient
lies that protect us
from the self-accusing soul
knowing we are born of choice
and sin
inevitably our bodies betray
the creator's design
through his eye of perceived benign benevolance.
empty dreams and visions
of moments
before time made us grow old
dimming vision of past joy
indulged, saved, in a treasure chest
with
baubles , bangles
beads of sweat
dripping relentlessly through
our hourglass
puddling in our slowing wake
up and know that love is tainted
before it begins.
before it started
after the dream of you
was the single star
beside the morning moon
that we shared
even when apart
was lost
in the tattered vision
of
perceived beauty
love died
reduced to triviality.
history killed it.
buried it, beneath a mountain
of hallmark cards
and internet memes.
this is the stuff of nightsweat dreams
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 11:12 AM UTC
When a neck is crushed by someone's knee
He may not be able to breathe
He may even die
It's not always a matter between two
It’s a matter of Justice and Injustice
The Injustice crushes the neck of justice
Crooks say Blacks and Whites always fight
But they are not at all right
It’s a myth created by the haters
Haters injects racism, casteism, religionism
In the breath, mind and blood of everyone
But not everyone are that much fools
When haters are supported by the throne
Then the peoples who are not the fools
They shake the throne with much force
They convey the message in a nice way
They have the power to invert the throne
They have the power to break the throne
Because Blacks and Whites never fight
They recognize each others right
And always support what is right
Jun 3, 2020
Jun 3, 2020 at 3:28 AM UTC
*And baby,
Ill apologize when you finally spot my flaws.
A little mole on my side,
The rough of my feet,
The divot in my jaw.
Youll say theyre nothing,
And you say youll love me more.
But will you?
Will you be able to,
When theres nothing left to adore?
Will you when you see
The invert of my hips,
The cracks on my lips?
The scars on my legs and shoulders,
The tears that turn to boulders?
A chunk of missing flesh in my left thigh,
The way my light breath can turn to a heavy sigh?
The already forming wrinkles,
The way that I cry,
And how my nose crinkles?
The sensitivity of my eyes,
The part of me that has already died?
My ability to stand tall,
How easy it is for me to break and fall?
When you realize all of this...
Will you still be here for the long haul?*
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
The world is flipped
With odd angles
And strange curves
It has a bit too much
Or maybe it's not enough
Words invert
Shapes mutilate
Atoms overreact
Emotions are switched
Truths are lies
Happiness is an emotional overload
Stress builds up
When's the combustion point?
When does it all become
Too much
Or maybe not enough
When do the tears flow up
When do our smiles shatter
Like glass
When does time end
In a distorted reality
When does time flow
Backwards
Or is it sideways
Odd thoughts become more
Abundant
Your view tilted
40° to the left
Body shifted 32°
To the right
When does end
Where is the clarity
Like putting on glasses
For the first time
Everything snaps into
Focus
Is that my reality?
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 10:00 AM UTC
My heart is fleshy and soft inside like an orange.
Beating with the morning and acidic in the night.
My heart, you peel it slowly as the spray hits you with every rip.
Fill in the gaps
You dig your nails into my heart almost as deep as into my back.
It's marked with little red crescents like a Californian sunset behind blushing clouds.
Fill in the gaps
You and I are an orange ripped in half begging to fall in place like puzzle pieces.
Like mountain ranges on orange peel.
Fill in the gaps
Invert me and let every peak meet every crevice.
Seal the nothingness between us and make it full and dark and beautiful again.
Fill in the gaps
And let us rot together until we're swallowed whole.
May 20, 2010
May 20, 2010 at 11:08 PM UTC
how many things
can i compare you to?
how many seas
can i try to drown you in?
the sick part is
i'm starting to note
the absence of thought
| the gaps in time |
the hum of nothing
that brings me back.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
Change my blood into gold
Elixer of life
A toked up martyr
I must be philosopher ******
to be
so magical I transform change
the same I re-arrange
invert thought bubbles to elipse to make a circle out of cyst
Wand and Air
like pen and paper
convert the blank page to the strange
till the shoobies get ****** at the deviant sage
Hidden , covered by enigma...
Sometimes I write so hard I might just
Rip ya like paper
the message of saviors,
so heavy it topples the rules
like when the they drop bass in a rave yah
but treble not in ear sight,
As it breaks the music can also protect
what an insight.
Quarel with myself a couple times
like Quicksilver and sulfur
*Purification
dissolution
death
and ressurection
dissolve and let loose
the fatal connections*
Become alchemist like a potter and turn the clay to a vessel
IGNITE THE SPIRIT LEVEL
OVERCOME THE STRESSFUL
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 12:21 PM UTC
I'm not sure
What love is
Because I've never
Felt fireworks
Nor have I heard
Heralding angels
Blowing tunes of the heart
In my lonely ears.
I've read about it;
How it's like fire
Like whirlwinds,
Like fast cars,
Like earthquakes,
Like lightning,
Like falling.
If that's the case
I don't want it
Not when what it is
Will take my ribs
And invert them,
Snapping my bones
Like twigs beneath the heel
Of an unsuspecting boot,
Treating my heart like a tomato
Too red and ripe to do anything but burst
With a gossamer touch.
I want love to be
Like sunlight, candles, fireflies
Like stars
Like wine -
Better with time -
Like clean dish soap
Like buttered popcorn
Like winter breath
Like leaves.
Because I know,
At least I think I do,
That love is beautiful,
Not because it is perfect
Or happy, or new, or dangerous -
But because it is flawed,
It's a freckle on Life's plain face,
The gold dust dust caught on camera,
I find myself wondering
How I would be
In love
Because surely
My love,
The kind that's slow,
And cold and quiet,
Isn't right.
It's not some car to speed
Down the curve of a midnight road
Only to flip -
It's the skid marks.
It's wrong,
It's not Romeo and Juliet,
It's not Jack and Rose,
It's not Bonnie and Clyde,
It's not Mr. and Mrs. Smith.
It's a curious child
Finding a dandelion
And, as the seeds blow away,
They try to catch them.
I guess I'll do my best
To fall
But, in my descent,
I'll be thinking
Of you
As I listen to the
Slow, cold beating
Of my broken heart.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
**Yo! Yo! My Drug of Choice **** Poets)**
Yo! Yo!
Member of the troupe?
You up all nite?
You always hungry,
Making trouble, rite?
You one of those?
**** poets!
Exist on strict diet?
Pleasured-pain,
Constant-continual surges
Turn into urges,
Full-time suspense,
Juices always flowing.
**** Poets!
Yo! Yo!
You one of those?
Never knowing,
What? When?
The eyes gonna invert
Retina images into words
Brain signaling, semaphoring the fingers
Yo! Yo!
You don't get nine months,
Maybe nine seconds,
Then mother-birth another verse,
****** poets!
Yo! Yo!
Remember your first real high,
That moment
No absolution, no return.
That moment
When you admitted, confessed,
to yourself:
I am
Forever forward,
A home-grown poet.
I am
Soul enslaved to words.
The alphabet - My oxygen molecules,
I am both,
Addict and dealer
A ****** poet
Yo! Yo!
So you do recall,
The exact moment,
God-spark-within, ascendancy gained
You lost control,
Wept words instead of tears!
A ****** poet ******
Yo! Yo!
Sophie's Choice.
You chose writing over breathing,
Worshiper of the purest pleaure,
******* in deep the smoke-high of
Head-nodding discontented contentment
Stealing anything you saw
For to satisfy the need, the craven
Craving.
****** poets!
Yo! Yo!
Don't you're ever sleep?
Hear that the city, the state,
Gonna methadone your kind
In a special program
Teach you only language to sign.
**** poets!
I am a ****** poet.
The first step taken.
Admission.
Poetry is my default rest position,
My drug of choice.
5:07am
June 12, 2013
PostScript:
cherish these flawed ones,
gentle these frail but gritty,
the Lord has tasked them
to be prophets in one tongue untied,
undo the strife of Babel's division.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
Your parade makes me purple, it makes me thin as an alphabet, I don't know, I don't wanna understand. I'm an estimation, I'm over and not in great abundance. Don't defend me, I'm not the header atop your letter.
Open me, I'm like your chimney, inside your mouth I am the lips you dip your tongue through, growing with sensation. See me and seam me to threads and tow me through your ****** lines-
little piece of flesh
Just a little dance, Just a little romance
Keep me in your pants let me be your postcard
I'll float across your eyelids.
Let me know your name
You can taste my skin. You can see my seams bend, my hours grow a little tired
Lifting up your dress, I can taste your pastes, your pastel belle comes floating at me sideways.
Ours and again, you ask me, "is it a nightmare?"
You ask me, "is it a car crash?" You say, "I can feel you breathing." This is not a spell, there's nothing left, not even a little lie I can play with in my fingers, you say, "is it the moon in the stars." And I stop you from ruining the sound of words to preserve a moment. Something a silence and a dollar doesn't buy you. I ask, " is this you my love? You're an imaginary process I'm never going to be interested in prosecuting perfectly. I'm not- an extroverted invert, a spirit floating in the corner of your eyes. I'm over zealous, a zealot, full of youth, using grief to keep your eyes
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC
oft one is in
a huge quandary
as to where to put
an apostrophe
there's no room for one
to make a mistake
due to the little dash
being dipped in the wrong lake
is it it's or is it not
how oft one has forgot
how this tiny marking
does well allot
one must be
ever aware and alert
when dealing
with a tricky invert
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 9:03 PM UTC