"leers" poems
The exalt is ephemeral, sure to fade
Wistful stares dance past tainted shades
Rose colored lenses seep into red eyes
Chest filled with knots but can't form the ties
Nebulous mirror is all that is seen
Want to break through but don't want to bleed
Certainty fueled solely by liquid coal
Envy consumes and tears into the soul
Tell me I'm beautiful, loosen my chains
Assent the lies and then turn off my brain
Choked from the view by a chemical wall,
Lust for that side but don't want it at all
Desist the leers of superior ones,
Desire escape and somewhere to run
Pray that there is no re-occurrence,
Return to me addictive reassurance.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
(an ekphrastic poem based on the painting Nighthawks by Edward Hopper)
Four
solemn faces,
doused in gold,
like moths to flame,
seek warmth from the cold.
Darkness leers, but harsh light shields
these lonely creatures from their feelings untold.
One
diner desolate,
a waiter old,
and three weary visitors
are portrayed. The scene unfolds.
Most eat under the sunlight, unlike
these nighthawks who flocked from their households.
Some
loneliness darkens
hearts like blindfolds;
nighthawks’ hearts aren’t exceptions.
The woman red and bold,
the man in shadows, and another
man with a cigarette in his hold
are
isolated together.
They are controlled
and defined by solitude.
They don’t belong. No mold
fits them. They only have a
diner, each other, and lonesome souls unconsoled.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 1:33 AM UTC
*One must admit the soul searches
high and wide for others to see
as sorrow weeps, small happiness creeps
remorse is afloat, in our silk coat
emptiness appears, silence leers
fading shadow, is falling far below
Begging forgiveness, with lots of emptiness, it seems............
Cemented dreams, gone to extremes
Song of despair, not knowing who cares
Tears grabbing, hands jabbing
Wisps of cries, light up the sky....
Soul searches but disappearing
cries please help,
Holding lifeless, so breathless
Sobs of redemption, seize upon preemption
Full fledged devastation, marks no exemption
Temptress aching, no remaking......
Soul Searching Indeed!*
Debbie Brooks 2014
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Crawling down the streets
on pouring rain
darkness cares of creeps
hovering their pain
the lamp post on their niche
thunder blunders a hit
to an abbey
where we used to meet
with white lane trails
and colored vales
a flashback in memory lane
Time used to stop and stare
for a while
to vanish the pain, I bare
and look a step back
from the mile
There...
were we used to melt away
from cones of treats
and giggled from candies
we barely eat
with swirling clouds in play
gazing our hearts
in the moss of grass, we lay
Then a change led you to leave
you cared nothing
but your selfish greed
anxiously I gave all of Me
but just to realize
you gave nothing of thee
As I die
a sign in my heart reside
an echo awakening
a brave woman, a reborn rite
with wiped away tears
and faking leers
she flaunts out her pain
A brave woman
brave enough to begin again
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 12:04 PM UTC
II Pet 1:9 coming to mind as I finished, lo, the complexity of this piece, and this: "...lacketh these things is blind and cannot see afar off--"
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXCIX)
How Shakespeare's lines 'non haunt the flag's detail
As't waves to bitter winds' capricious sense
Of play, with memries of late rallies thence
In tow, as all we'd grandly strut through'd pale
Before the empty eye of hours that scale
Down what we said was living, as pretense
Leers through the smoky limelight fading hence
Where leaves pile up too thickly for aught bail.
Is't cuz I've tried 'gain to be stylish fer
What fashion and say Vogue mag swore was due,
Tae learn my peers yet scorn attempts in tour?
Cuz even when I did succeed and do
All that "they" said should be, or called too poor
What we thought tops, Death mocks as ere we knew?
07Nov18a
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 4:27 PM UTC
Tonight I flicker dimmer than most
I'm alone with everyone here
Stabbing their plates and proposing their toasts
Tonight I feel my wings but they're in cuffs
I'm alone with everyone here
Speaking their words, laughing their laughs
Tonight I bear the arrows of discreet little leers
I'm alone with everyone here
Silently goading me with their mocks and jeers
Tonight I hear whispers muttered inaudible
I'm alone with everyone here
Inconspicuous fingers pointed under tables
Tonight I write but my ink weighs heavy
I'm alone with everyone here
They pile on my thoughts, usurping the calm...
Inciting a mind full of anarchy
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 11:05 AM UTC
mea culpa
mea culpa
mea maxima culpa
hear the song of the innocent
hung upon the cross
for the crime he has not commit
forced to plead guilty
by the precepts of society
whilst the crooked
stood at the base
shedding crocodile tears
eyes holding silent leers
feigning innocence
instigating chaos
taking into their advantage
dividedness, our ignorance.
here, the song of the innocent
nears its end
with his last, a doleful verse
"It is done"
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 8:08 AM UTC
We live in a straight world.
You might not think it’s true,
“Gays are coming out everyday
could be them next or her,
maybe you too”
Well I’ll take a minute to prove it to you.
If I told you I’m into girls
I’d see your brain short circuit in real time,
“But you don’t look gay” you’d say.
“Straight passing” is what they call
a girl like me, who still looks feminine
but doesn’t want the D.
This “luxury” of remaining in the closet
is really hurting my game,
Added another straight boy
to my list of those who lost it
when they heard me exclaim,
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m gay”
Let’s not forget the most important issue
“Gays will ruin the sanctity of marriage”
Here, I’ll hand you the tissues.
Man and woman, hand in hand, till death do they part,
and yet more than half of all marriages
end in the perfected art of divorce.
Far be it from me,
to take anyone’s right
to do and say what they want,
while you embrace the hate
and live fighting the inevitable reality
of any queer couple tying the knot.
It might be 2018,
but I still can’t hold a potential partner’s hand
in a public facility
without getting disgusted leers
and a dreadful look at multiple cases
of unprovoked hostility.
So, try to look me in the eyes,
And tell me I’m not right.
But despite it all
I’ll keep my head up high
And let that rainbow flag fly
Because this might be a straight world,
But love is love
is love
is love.
And that concludes this winded verse.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 10:05 PM UTC
Drip drop tear.
The darkness nears.
Your demons are here.
Drip drop tear.
Drip drop tear.
The shadow leers.
Your pain is your peer.
Drip drop tear.
Drip drop tear.
The heart no longer bears.
Death smells of fear.
Drip drop tear.
©Aastha
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
Only for you! It’s true! These eccentric-poetic and theoretic views! As we breakthrough those blues, those clues, the dues and the hues. I will wait, I will wait. Awaiting, through the chills the pills, the shrills and thrills! I will wait, I will wait. Waiting through the beers, the cheers, the fears, leers, peers and tears! Awaiting through the dreary and weary...
Through the lonely and phony years... Waiting through the erratic and sporadic. The drastic, elastic and fantastic! I will wait, I will wait. As rotting bait! I will wait, I will wait. Awaiting the date the debate, the fate and the weight. Waiting to articulate and procreate! Fascinating this procrastinating! However, I will endeavor and wait,
I will wait and wait.
Horary! Awaiting I say for our hour of power. Waiting for this blissfully and wishfully day that our disgraced, misplaced ways may physically brace with embrace, grace and trace! I wait and I wait. People wonder why I blunder in ponder? You’re like the flu doesn’t that bother you? Answer, father figure I never knew? Still I will wait,
I will wait, I will wait for you…
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:57 PM UTC
There's a secret men's club,
Of men at the pub,
We are men, we drink beer,
Loud laughter over here,
Slap shoulders, cheers,
We are men, we drink beer,
Bring the barmaid over here,
Let's drink beer, cheers,
Loud laughs and leers,
"I'll give you one, my dear!"
Men laugh, say, "Hear, Hear!"
Chicks walk by smiling,
What are babes thinking?
"Underwhelming,
Have a look at them,
They're no excuse for men!"
Men laugh and don't care,
More beers over here,
There's a secret men's club,
All the men down at the pub.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 5:00 AM UTC
Astonishingly! This poetry analogy is partially of a prodigy poet! It is of his endearment and endeavorment in our great Government that desecrated, medicated, sedated and segregated him. Doped! Desperately copping and hoping he made it! To add, no dad! An artistically rad-lad through the bad, the glad, the sad and mad. This destiny of a poet is also of apologies, felonies, formalities, legalities and theories.
Furthermore it’s of mournful and scornful-laughter! Capture and rapture, dreamingly and seemingly, chapter after chapter... Pondering and wondering is there a happily ever after? This destiny of a poet is heavenly, randomly and religiously, tellingly of lots of many thoughts! Some adventuresome, awesome, burdensome, fearsome and gruesome! Some loathsome, lonesome and wholesome!
Some of dreams, schemes and many themes! Some deemed and seemed differently, discriminately, indecently or racially true, from some views. Some askew and blue! Some of clues, of Jews, of taboo, tattoos and voodoo! This destiny of a poet; stunningly who could’ve and would’ve thought once, twice or thrice of this price? Of the cheers and peers, the jeers, the leers,
the tears and weary years... Therefore I say, some artist’s
clever art may create, dictate, relate and translate similar-thriller craftsmanship with negative, positive or relative penmanship. However, typically some probably will publicly criticize as a travesty. Some will harmonize, some will publicize or socialize, some will disrespect as imperfect, some will neglect, some will respect as perfect! Hark! I remark; brethren, children and women keep and upkeep that
creative spark! For in the dark or as you embark. Literally, morality and reality is in my poetry and story. Expect excellent, brilliant, decadent, resilient talent and testaments! Basically on final note! I positively devote, quote and wrote these eccentrically optimistic, rhetoric and theoretic poetically lyrical rhyming notes. Finally and bluntly, do not negatively amend, bend, pretend or transcend this end. Amen...
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
meaning of wishtastes
desires drive delusion
devils delve deepening
seeds to root loathsome leaves
smelt cinders graying goals
craving strangled contentment
under backalley blackness
beats heart sneeze two
cavalcade blue
cacophony in fast dreams
reseized by letting go of circus surlplus
reassurance of real love is real gone
gone is the relooped sad troupe armies of needinesses
truth proofed **** the magician disappeared
withdrew tears,fears, smears, and leers
now amongst new artful peers
The lions tail was a cobra coming with teeth under the door
awoke then broke my dreams end and don't hafta go back again
ego sinning by ego being a sin says ego
leggo my ego waffle a proper prophet
the jewels three sweet gleams eaten
gifts even the ego cant teacher the reached rifts
sewn up all dischordian accordian polka poked out eyes
belief swam away to the island of surprises
can I ? I can will it . Will then be faithful to real action.
kung fooled schools chop trees sticks
paper stones throw away
I can walk 6 feet on airs invisilbe stairs
ears heard alistening stream just the branch that froots
Shotgun riding to the holy holy holy
Dee vine
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 11:16 AM UTC
When he comes home and tears a piece of you away like chipping wood of a bark
And tells you you’re not good enough, "You’re really not that smart"
Refuses to walk out of the way when you're crossing his path
And leers at your skin like you're a worn piece of art
Touches your body and calls you scarred
But if the sight of another man's eyes made my body unclean
Is the dirt from my body or those eyes that seen?
When he slams a fist in your face like its an old punching bag
Drags you by the hair like an overused rag
When he forces his way into you "It wasn’t that bad"
Why is he allowed to operate heavy machinery
When the sight of my naked legs can drive him mad
"She must have been asking for it" "They're meant for breeding"
I am sorry the sound of my NO was so misleading
"Know your place" he says, women can't be leading
Remind him
That everything he can do, you can do bleeding
Remind him who you are and for what you are known
A force of nature that cannot be owned
The one they compare to the warships and the black widow
With the rage of the fire and the ice of the snow
Remind him.
That your storm will break his bravado if you just blew
For hurricanes were not named after him.
They're named
after
You.
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 2:44 AM UTC
She labors to smile,
irony draws lines
on her embittered face,
thick dark iron bars,
temporarily cage pain;
yet the risk
the two run is toxic.
soon they 'd have to face it,
unmistakable indications reveal,
her velvet voice over the phone,
conjured up an image,
drastically different,
a sadness now faintly asks
his permission to spread quickly,
confused he postpones, buying time.
guilt, a shaggy, smelly, hound
suspicion, its dominant trait,
lurks sniffing around,
the table they mutely sit,
like prisoners of unburied past
convoluting the plot,
by playing ***** tricks.
the air thickens
chocking both,
the haunt leers, licks its paws in glee
what is its intention?
"You look more or less
like him, my former lover-
I try to erase from memory
by every which way possible,
sorry about that, but i can't help it,
he traded in pain of many kinds
ingeniously, nothing else he did"
she shoots from the hip.
memory of an evil genius
was quickly resurrected by him
from the assortment of stereotypes,
vision of caravans transporting
gun powder kegs of bad memories, flashed
he had a match stick handy.
soon, everything exploded to culminate;
darkness devoured all, breaking limits.
caravans slog towards horizon, one after other still.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
Have you had a day
where you’re filled with
wild green energy
and you just have to
do something with it
before it hiccups through
your pores and hair?
Today was like that, with mist pulled
around snug, like a silencer on
the world’s nerve to speak.
And the people said the fog was
scary, creepy like a bad horror film,
posted pictures of it online like
some bad 7th grade
party from 3 years ago.
I didn’t see it though,
I was so wrapped up in
my own ****
Finally I got up and walked
around campus, to walk off
feelings of unrequited infatuation
and restless rejection.
At first all I saw was
murk around bare brown trees
as I imagined skeevy
yellow leers around the corners.
I turned up the pulsing purple
music clenched in my fist
and closed my eyes to block out it all.
After the fifth sappy song
I looked around and smelled
the mist move in,
looked up and watched
the fog fall down,
heard the street lamps buzz hungrily
saw their lights bleed into the haze
like a sluggish future scar.
The fog was so lonely,
so desperate for attention
it was ******* away
a night light’s only defense
against bedtime boogie men.
All the while I had wandered
the mist had been there
wanting me, shielding me from others
craving my breath that tickled it’s
jaded, gray overcast.
The clouds had pulled away
from the heavens to be
with us mere mortals
and all we did was **** them.
I stood for a moment in shame
and let the mist work it’s way
through me hair, gently.
I fished my selfish, pale hands from
my pockets and let the fog
chill them with vapory laugh.
I breathed in more deeply
letting the mist know that I
was sorry that I had not noticed
it sooner.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
Dawn, o Dawn
Sunlight that spills over a distant hill
Teasing the shadows of wheat and knell
Filling the cracks with a soulful lit
Expose the face, the shining face
The earth that shies from night
Expose the blindness of the earth
Just as blind in the light.
The fury that melts the dew away
Casts me long away from me
I stood outside, the weeping fields
Seeking the escape I need.
Futility, oh misery
It pulled me back, the seed
And forced embrace, to love the day
Despite spurn, implore, or plead.
The coming day, I hate the man
No friend of mine is he
Every day, oh, Dawn, oh Dawn
A disappointment to me.
Ev’ry step of Apollo’s path
Is paved with bitter tears
Each minute, forced to swallow
To see my failure’s leers
Each time the day begins anew
I’m forced into a darker world
One where pieces of the previous day
Are halved, split into
Shreds and shreds Oh, dear, oh, dear
You’d think spirit’d be all but dead
But what kills him more is not his thought
But what my eyes continue to see
When those eyes were drawn to me
The sun shows never was
It existed in the dark
Obscures like barley’s shadow does
And if, of course, it’s fantasy
A book intent with end
I’ll rip and claw the dawn away
And fiction I’ll defend
For if you’ll never grace my field
And reap the fruits that grow
I’ll just raze them, sky and all
The passion the earth will know.
A fictitious world, much more surreal
I love my own creation
The sunlight unveils the bitter truth
They are not food, but cremation.
If I could stop the coming dawn
If even for a moment
Darkness would bathe the far corners
Wasted lives atone it.
But that is bunk, the dawn knows that
Reality is taken in full
Who ever knew a crisp fall morn
Could be so utterly cruel?
Laying here, the sun moves on
Soon we’ll both be dead
To face the face, my misery
Confines me to this bed.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 8:22 AM UTC
Eyes
that know no religion , morals, nor mercy
Looked my way
Opened the cage of the little flapping bird in my chest and let it fly away
Bird keep it quite calm down
Hopefully I pray
Or love will rip you apart, burn you to ashes,eat your heart.
I make it stay
Oh bird, Her eyes are
spears, they're
Cold steel metal, don't bend, slow down, or waver .
Oh poor bird still singing hold yourself
apeice
Her eyes are
briers,
disguised as roses, claiming peace.
Peace left us for years now
this land is conceived with fear but it's knights are feirce
At times moans of torture
at times a sweet song of lust and Tease ,your love
All is fine when it doesn't reach your
Ears . I
was never one to surrender or lay back with ease. A rebel
stubborn rebel this little bird a beauty that leers.
My dear,
A bird will always sing.
A poem
That you shall never hear.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 10:23 AM UTC
I wish I could be brave.
The dragon leers it's angry head,
throwing flames so hot they peel paint,
scorch my heart,
and yet instead of donning my helmet and vanquishing the beast,
I clamber at it,
clumsily,
my armor too big,
my sword a child's toy.
Can it really be as hard,
as my quivering knees tell me it is?
In the movies,
the beast is defeated effortlessly by the lockers in school corridors.
"Hey, I've seen you around, fancy doing something sometime?"
But this is not the movies.
I ask the question
"What's the worst that can happen?"
but the visual replies that flicker through my mind are so unbearable,
I shut them off.
Instead, I stay mute.
I live a thousand lives,
a thousand moments,
with all the different dragons I encounter,
but the coldness I feel when the dragon and his flames have gone,
tell me I've missed my chance again.
I have a voice.
I can speak.
So why do the words elude me?
Just as I go to stutter something out,
my tongue a diving board of could be's,
the dragon roars
and warms my cheeks red,
my hands clammy.
Perhaps I first need to
love myself
before I can offer my being,
and my love,
to another.
But then again,
don't these sick,
twisted dragons enjoy
a girl with insecurities?
Instead,
I best stay silent.
Instead,
I best first conquer the beast within me.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
Among the silk and empty cans
Stood a queen of well-known plans
Ghosts of the slain warned above:
“Evil bore a gentle dove”
Yet sips of debt tasted sweet
In the shadows they would meet
Yes, the poison worked once more
Venom from a jungle floor
Leers and scowls were cast in haze
All to ease a tired man’s days
And broken souls hung from strings
Dripping the songs of lost things
And time came for his number
To meet his fateful slumber
During that final sentence
Roared a cry of repentance:
“Sweeter than the power of deception,
Is that bitter gasp for her reception”
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 10:09 PM UTC
It's said that the earth's magnetic
Polarity will flip
Every few hundred thousand
Years.
But my brain decides to flip
Every few weeks on a trip.
Every look toward the future,
With gloominess leers.
It's like riding on a train,
50/50 through rain
And the other part is on a
Precipice.
But it has no destination,
And's surrounded by insulation.
I can't seem to get off it,
But there aren't any stops to miss.
This journey I'm on, it's
Half pernicious existence,
Half psychotic persistence.
Looks like
I'll need to find a
comfortable chair with a
half decent view.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 5:05 PM UTC
I board a public bus
A graying bus driver is a woman and then morphs into a man
A normal experience within a dream
My eyes glaze over as I assume a state of aloofness
As I tend to do when surrounded by unfamiliar people
As some sort of defense mechanism
As if the otherworldly look in my eyes
Will thwart the formation of an ill intention forming in the mind of a stranger that occupies the bus with me
Just in case
Two older men are on the bus
I don't validate their existence
When I am aloof
It feels like I am the only person truly alive
Everything gradually grows dimmer
As my inner world roars as loudly as an amphitheater.
The bus drives for hours
I've never been on this bus before and I've never been to the town I am traveling to
I'm going there to check out a church
Even though I'm not a Christian
Hours pass...
I start falling asleep in my dream
The bus has no stops
Finally, the bus reaches the end of its route
I am dropped off in front of a CVS along with the other two male passengers
One scruffy old man leers at me and smiles at me
But I act as if I didn't see him
I have no idea how to get to the church
It's getting dark
All that is around is the CVS, the bus stop, and a road with an onslaught of cars driving in either direction
Why did I make this hours long trip if I didn't even know exactly where I was going?
If only I could cross the wide street to get to the other side where the bus stop for the bus back home is
But I can't
The cars were driving at fast speeds and their was a constant flow of them
So I stood in that nakedness of uncertainty and abounding possibility
Stuck and calculating
As the sun set over this foreign place I ended up in
All because I was seeking some purpose
And yet, it brought me so far away from home,
the comforts and luxuries and certainties of home
Yet, when I awoke, something deep and vital within me knew
That I will never find my purpose within the comfort of my home.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC
Last night I spoke with Caesar's ghost.
We'd quaffed a glass or two of wine.
But then the ******* made a boast,
How his blokes would be beating mine.
Now, a General I have never been,
I'm saying that reluctantly;
And could not argue what he'd seen.
Thus had to think most carefully.
Therefore I spoke of contact drills,
Of duty weeks and other thrills.
And of the things that I have seen
Tales of what I once had been.
But carefully, not beating breast,
For after all His was the best.
Recounting only what I saw,
Not saying much about my war.
But why not tell of where I've been?
Am I ashamed of what I've seen?
Or, I'm asking, is it wrong
To beat one's chest, to sing one's song?
That man of Caesar's who jumped ship
With Eagle held in calloused grip
Inspiring witnesses to roar
Then wade with him to Britain's shore.
Is he so different? Or might I say
To Caesar, oiy come have a look
At all these men so brave today.
Would you have put them in your book?
No, really what I'd meant to say
To Caesar was that on that day
He'd launched his men through thick and thin
Because he meant those men to win.
Whereas in our bold day and age
No matter who might shout and rage
We don't do that any more.
We'll fight, but not to win the war.
Which is why I left the swine,
Came back to Earth, peered at my wine.
He knew, thus his boasting leers.
I knew he knew, thus my shame and these my tears.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 11:46 PM UTC
dark’s peering into day,
wonder when the dew’ll lay;
time’s slowed as skies turn static,
least the hours are less erratic.
orange lamps glow
outside a misted window;
earthy rain’s falling hard
but fire’s lit and sky is starred.
sometimes mist deceives the eyes:
seen silent figures’ quick demise.
ocean spits over the pier,
almost as grey as the Wear;
lighthouse shines it’s steely beam,
illuminating the horizon’s seam.
heaven’s sealed with wrought dull iron,
far away seems unearthly Zion;
harvest moon’s not as vague:
illuminating an eight-legged plague.
crows spectate above and below,
you’d be surprised what they know;
change leers at every bend,
nostalgia seems an only friend.
the veil is thinner than before,
perhaps open is another door;
harvest season’s coming to an end,
fields of Elysium this way wend.
Oct 9, 2020
Oct 9, 2020 at 1:45 PM UTC