"leavers" poems
Twenty third June twenty sixteen
The biggest vote we’d ever seen
Results are in and Brexit win
and many say it’s such a sin
Those who voted not to leave
This news they just could not believe
Sore losers showed their bitter anguish
soon from Europe we would vanish
Let’s vote again remainers say
'No vote again' says Theresa May
Our country voted in or out
and voted out without a doubt
The apple cart tipped on its head
Britain in Europe would soon be dead
Now Brexit was born the following morn.
This beautiful kingdom from Europe be torn
Remainers are mad while leavers are glad
Great Britain is out there is no doubt
So shut up remainers, accept what is done
We voted together and Brexit won
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 4:08 PM UTC
Simple string slips through, complicated fingertips.
Wishes, desires tied into the shape of, a single red balloon.
Thumbing a ride on a Sunday breeze,
Surfing its way over tops of rooted trees.
Winged aerialists delicately balanced on mirrored water,
The leavers dance, front row for a final show.
Doing what I can never find the courage to do,
Slip away, uncharted destination.
Through ragged linen flowing in the sky,
Past the saffron fireball,
Cautiously placed beyond the horizon.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
It doesn't matter
if you die petting your dog
or prowling the freeway,
you will always hear a whoosh
when you go up into the sky.
And the next thing you know
you are in deep space
walking along an old stone bridge
suspended in endless star soup
with all the latest earth leavers
and you think -
omigod those stories were all true.
All eyes gaze
transfixed by a celestial diamond
bigger than the Great Pyramid
suspended in blueblack emptiness
pulsing with music you recognize
but cannot name.
The old man beside you says
we are not in heaven
this the line for the trip
that goes into light.
The diamond hums
everyone's kundalini rises
and one by one
each person reaches the end of the bridge
and steps off into the vacuum of space.
They waft down like leaves
grinning like children on a merrygoround
coming to rest on the diamond
then slowly dissolving into it
and they disappear.
But they quickly reappear
bursting forth from the diamond's tip
as sparkling cherubs
caressing a billion luminous suns
each one another ride
on a celestial road trip
that never ends.
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 8:33 AM UTC
Women can be men
Men can be women
People can be people
We didn’t write the feeling...
Stars can be supernovas
Meaning can be mending
And paintings can bend
And walls can return...
And shapes of architecture become earth
Lovers can be lovers
Leavers can believe us
Lights, camera, action, order, disorder
Dysphoria, euphoria
Academia, abracadabra
The moon, *** sun and laughter
Instantaneousness
Osmosis
Fear, friction, distance, pure bliss
Bubble toting aqua world
Top this...
Freedom, collaboration
Emancipation, cognification
Celebration...
Millenniums of us saving, changing...
What we actually are eventually...
One surging sway of soul-light soldered angels
Morphing from an oceanic abyss…
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 6:59 PM UTC
The doors shut, cold echoes
No more warm bed, and no longer home
To journey through groves and streams and beaches
Now not to be alone
Test, a test, a test
Here to find rest for
all the comers, leavers, stayers, goers
For the ****** and the divine
A warm fire, a sip of wine
This all, it shines so bright
Warm light in a dark world...
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC
Sisters can be difficult creatures,
The towels left transforms me into a preacher.
They combine and plead that it wasn't either- of them,
Defending that they are benign and not leavers.
But I do not accept their lines, I rebut them and decline
What they are feeding me and a desire to confine them- overwhelms.
But instead of convulsing into a seizure or giving in to something malign and of a devious nature,
My words become fiercer as I deliver my "bottom-line"
To those rascally creatures that I wish to refine.
Yet I can hear features of mine, in their voices, before I was their keeper and only nine,
And it made me realize that I, too, once was a creature and not fully defined.
Calming down I enshrine myself and become a wistful dreamer.
To have things I've made stay made would be sublime, and so much cleaner.
And so- in my confines dreaming of refined sisterly creatures, I recline.
Alas, being a teacher makes me want to lie supine.
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 10:22 PM UTC
It seemed so fitting a windy morn
saying goodbye to a friend
the draped coffin looked splendid
always kind words a smile
for him nothing bad ever said
he leavers a void instead.
For us all that moment will arrive
many avenues we tread
an allotted journey for each to face
reflecting on our time
some the trip is short full of pain
unable to takes life's strain!
Do we have a measured lifespan
when reached expire
joining our families in a heaven
souls reincarnated again
maybe ascend for infinity in space
part of natures atom race!
Creating the ever expanding universe
one day will we know the truth!
Or is there simply nothing?
The Foureyed Poet.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 9:03 AM UTC
I've seen my, had my share
of leavings
of leavers
of being left
of 'oops'
of 'ouch'
of 'sorry'
And I'll keep coming back
Who doesn't?
Who wouldn't?
We put up
with thorns
for a scent
a sight
a feel
of the rose
We put up
with banishment
for a taste
of the apple
We forgo the apple
For armfuls of blossoms
But here's the line
I've drawn it
Don't cross it
Have your flings
your loves
your losses
Fall in
Fall out
Fall halfway
of love
I won't stop you
But don't dare
Don't you dare
Say it doesn't mean a thing
To see you with someone else
Don't tell me
That her caressing look
Her kisses
Your betrayal
Don't mean anything
They do
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 4:30 PM UTC
Seconds become hours with her,
Moments treasured in the safety of memory,
Her presense seeds a sense of security,
And her very touch entwines a bond of emotion,
Like soft autumn, her hair falls like willow branches,
Which lay in the pending snowy blanket of her skin,
A lunar cycle may pass,
But a viewer would have only taken in a small amount of her beauty,
Unlike myself, who sees her for who she really is:
Past the eternal and ageless beauty,
Is a hollow cavern of emptiness,
Carved out by the chizzels of heart-breakers and love-leavers,
What she does not realise though,
Is that her brokeness can be mended,
And her hollow heart filled with nourishing love,
By my tender and patient presense,
For what is a plant without soil for stability?
Let her root her pain in my skin,
So she may blossom for the coming spring,
And walk with me into the following summer
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
We work,
"Twerk"
Not so much
we don't bull **** and such
We're mothers,
Lovers
June Cleavers
And when we have to be, leavers
We cook, we clean,
When need be, we're mean,
"Crazy ***** sometimes
but you can't buy us with dimes
We'll stand for you, and
F
A
L
L
We always give our ALL
When we love, We give our everything
and a good woman is immune to "Bling"
We take things slow,
but only to show
We got this
So for you men, don't be stupid and miss
We can't all walk in heels
And we can't all cook gourmet meals
We aren't all pretty and petite,
But when we love, we'll give what you need
A Real Woman, will never stray
and in your hands, her heart will stay
We'll always be faithful and kind,
So when we speak, please don't be blind
A REAL WOMAN always gives a second chance
Because that's The tune, in a REAL WOMANS dance~A
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 12:17 PM UTC
Lovers
become leavers and
leavers' love
is the strongest I've come to know
you who would ask me my
secrets
but not take care to see
why
they were kept
did you follow my fingertips across your skin
they were
graceful
when I had no other grace to offer you
you
who asked to know me when my smeared painted
lips whispered
that love and understanding are
far
too often separated by knowledge of the secrets you
in your only
naivety sought
to know.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC
THE WORLD IS GETTING WORSE; IT IS PACKED WITH LIARS BEGGARS AND TAKERS.
WHERE DID THE LEAVERS AND GIVERS GO? WAY YONDER, I WONDER.
THEY ARE NOW THE MINORITY AND DEFINETELY NOT SUPPORTED BY OUR SOCIETY.
FEAR VIOLENCE AND RELIGION ARE THE ***** OF OUR PEOPLE TODAY, WHERE ONCE UPON A TIME THERE WAS RESPECT AND INTEGRITY NOW WE HAVE ONLY PRETENSE AND ENEMITY.
HOW SAD TO LOSE TRUST IN HUMANITY AND HOW NEFAST IT CAN BE TO OUR SANITY.
WE CANNOT HOWEVER AFFORD TO LOSE HOPE NOT FOR A SECOND BECAUSE IF WE DO IT WILL BE THE END OF US AND BEYOND.
OUR INCREDIBLE AND BEAUTIFUL RENEWING NATURE IN ALL OF ITS POWER HAS ALWAYS BEEN OUR BEST SOLUTION. FOR IT IS IN NATURE THAT WE WOULD DO WELL TO LISTEN TO HER VIBRATION.
TAKING TIME TO WATCH A SEED GROW AND LEARNING TO TAKE CARE OF IT WILL REWARD YOUR EXPECTATIONS COMING INTO FRUITION.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 10:17 AM UTC
the movers the shakers
the doers the bakers
the candle stick
and rocket ship makers
a race of captains
setting course
on circles of pyres
bereft of remorse
parsing madness with words
in reasons on reasons
giving life meaning
against inner treasons
founded on tissue thin
mental accumulations
biases and ticks
and vague assimilations
with subconscious shadows
over Palimpsest traces
we are convinced
we know our places
building the self
on struggling riffs
captains of the dual
navigating ships
occupying armies
assassins lens
horrible secrets
terrible rends
are we not in control
making choices
weighing and calibrating
hearing whos voices
thinking there our own
between good and bad
but outcomes are crazy
dragging mad
do we choose thoughts
from shrunken forms
from rotten gods
in darkest storms
or perhaps possessed
by invisible believers
pulp hearted creatures
pulling our leavers
that possess our soul
choose for you
what you think
and what you do
emanations from spheres
through our core to our brain
ephemeral forces
a patinaed, puce stained
skyway of cruelty
kamikazes dread goon
gods crossing each other
poxed ash moon
can we stop reflexing
with brazen compulsions
can we stop lying
with wrenched emotions
can we defy the elements
make someone care
transcend all that harms
and bring love to bare
can we shed
all we know
choose to move on
and choose to let go
are we trapped
in space and time
will we not struggle
Sisyphean blind
or are we mere avatars
in a game from x box
acting out our program
like a hunted down fox
we have five senses
to get through the day
with infinitely more
we could smooth out our way
brains like thumb stumps
form violence and hell
hooves of dragons
we buy and sell
what is a puppet
it moves as its pulled
by forces beyond it
is that why we are fooled
are we deluded
that we are the doer's
could we be puppet souls
of gods that are losers
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
We're a generation of destroyers and artists,
of sisters and brothers,
bleeders and leaders,
lovers and leavers.
We destroy what they create
and we create what we want.
We play dumb for their attention
and we fight for one dance.
We cut for our sorrows,
and we follow the heartbeats.
We admire who we idolize
and we leave the others behind.
We're a generation of standards and feelings,
so inhuman but human.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
Imagining ever being
Some thoughts are being thought oughts
to the profit of many
leavers of things being fine, so far
as some say
I, you, we, this being
smoothed, anointed with oil, lotion of leela,
game of spiritual beings, possibly,
lubricating
rough edges, jagged, craggy edged peaks, proud
protrusions from the core
whence iron shall be pounded leaving
wasteland scars,
scabbed over magma squeezed
from the under
standing place. status quo. quo vadis
very true, new and improved, both, at once
incredible. Trials as acts accepted, allowed past
these are id-eal, id-e-al, ob
vious rightvious
trustworthy courteous and kind
knowing not one unknowable thing
then a new knowable
offer spirtual meeeeeemes remaining
semi-whole
Yester to Day, the one we aimed at for
next step into
ever
Can you hear me now, this is whole,
partly.
touch me. is this gooder?
....
exceptions to the rule
inceptions from the tool
perception from the wise
deception through the lie
conception of love, too far bound to measure
my AI imagines I may, as in, my will is empowered
to touch a virtual button,
acting as a trigger
and fire a Julesvernian moonshot through reality
for a second
chance.
How many times can you imagine finding a magic word.
Uttering it is, possibly, what that crow is doing right now,
pulling, drawing my intention to mention
aitia as a big old idea some early author set in stone,
a point in time and space, and act acommpli
once,
aitia accuse and cause, think think
we can
imagine anything we can imagine, we can realize
the happiest place on earth
or
we may say this here is that happiest place,
and next is even better,
smoother, slicker, less friction, more intentional
kind touches and sweet tastes and scents past words.
Sep 16, 2019
Sep 16, 2019 at 2:21 PM UTC
Come, dance with me my love
To a tango of endless love
A trance of our eternity
Come, come dance with me
Our hearts in forever entangles
Our souls in eternal entwines
O my love, come my dove
Come, prance with me to perpetuity
To a nuance of our everyday
Soul to soul-heart to heart-thought to thought
Body to body-breath to breath-cheek to chest
Neck to nape-all blend together as one!
Our spirits in one
Our feelings in unity
We are in a forever of felicity
Tango my love, I entangle my dove
Together we unbuckle, together we unshackle
Together we embark on a trajectory to our moon
The journey-a circle of our endless love
You swing as I sing
You jump as I cramp
You hover as I cover
I am your ever lover
You are my ever forever
In love we are lovers
In life we are leavers
Dancing our ways to our eternity
A path with pleasures and perpetuity
A road with romances without end-infinity
O Come love, hear the thaw of my heart
Hear how he thumps with an art of love
O Come love, hear how my soul ploughs
Hear how she tills, she tills for love
O come love; let’s dance our ways to love
Let these bones break and become boneless
Let this shape form and dissolve formless
Let these tissues shift till they take shapeless
Let these feet’s ligaments lift to loft and us fly
Let’s dance to the songs of our final dance
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 8:12 AM UTC
Dark, dank, it holds history.
It has risen, fallen, fallen into disrepair.
Stones have been carted off to build their frankenhouses.
Bandits have hovered in the night
waiting to separate their Victorian adventurers from their purses.
The homeless have huddled here,
tiny fires smudging the walls in the Roman night.
Today tourists come
to gape at the circus home of the famous and fallen.
You come too
and the grotto feels all too familiar.
The dampness seeps into your bones.
The broken statue feels eerily familiar,
eerily like yourself, not quite whole.
You wait for the demons.
They live here. They always have,
even the great Augustus had them,
creatures of the night, gentle and brutal,
capable of murdering marble,
the leavers of wounds.
There is an altar in the grotto.
You are tempted to pray,
to sprinkle the holy water that seeps down the wall
into the air like some pagan baptism.
But you do not.
This is what you have learned.
The demons live within
and that is where the battle is fought,
with or without tourists,
so you can see this grotto for what it is,
a thing of history,
incapable of holding you.
About this poem
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 12:50 PM UTC
Tired and despondent I scream at the night. Overrun by the hoards of angry voices on my t.v. . I clamor for a place only to be shut out, I am tired and I will not be silent yet again. Joining with like minded people, I rise up against a corrupt and broken system. I rage and rattle the doors to my cage. I am the one who makes the machine work, those at the top only pull leavers. The cogs must turn in order for things to function, when one cog stops, perhaps it is ignored, but when several seize up, the machinery comes to a screeching halt. This time is different, this time the system must pay heed. The old masters have been dealt a critical blow. Those of us who are under the levers of the operators have decided that we will not be ignored again. The wheels come to a screeching halt and the noises of the parts of the machine will not be silenced again.
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 7:52 PM UTC
Sad, sad, sadness never happy
Hard for you to be this pretty
Cry away your pain in bathrooms
Secrets, perfumes, red "I love you"s
Dancing, silence, head back
Sparkling rivers I call teartracks
Smoke from your own cigarette
Some people you call hiraeth
Smile that hides a hundred stories,
Never tempted by blaze of glories
You write songs to forget cheaters
Lovers, leavers, secret keepers.
Dec 21, 2021
Dec 21, 2021 at 12:41 PM UTC
The future is blinding me
I'm lost in a space of bliss
and falsity
It could be something by which we all are led
or does it inhabit only my head?
Or maybe it's real
something planted to test it's appeal
for Miliband to prove his great pledge:
That school leavers are struggling in this big wide world
something to give him the edge.
Or for Clegg,
millions of pounds for the looneys in Bedlam?
he'd have to beg! But use it on us, boost the statistics
he'll get more votes for the kids gone ballistic.
Or maybe it's our parents as Larkin said,
In the genes they passed down or
the time they sent us to bed
"we never had all these choices"
they say. They really wish our lives to be better,
but how should the modern mind handle such pressure?
And oh the irony
that God and his threat has faced such scrutiny
but even now
in thinking finitely,
we still have brutally
created hell, right here
an earthly community.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 6:19 AM UTC
Dropped my mind
into my mother's mangel
Slushpuppy
my empty head went on
thought of things I did not know
or never said
leavers move rocks
rocks roll
Brain freeze
P@ul.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
sometimes the hardest loss is grieving the living
when people go and choose to stay gone
that is hard
because they don’t choose us
even though we chose them every single time they ******* up
we give them so many chances
and still they choose to go
so now every time i see him
i cry a little
because unlike the leavers
the grief doesn’t go
it stays and swallows us whole
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 2:26 PM UTC