"leeway" poems - Hello Poetry

"leeway" poems

How to start writing How to keep writing Write, write, write Writing Pick a subject for writing Make sure you reference your writing Write, write, write Keep writing This amount of words for writing Plus or minus 100 word max leeway for writing Write, write, write Still writing Quotes in your writing Punctuation for writing Write, write, write Writing Title for writing Page numbers for writing Underline, paragraph, CAPITALISE Your writing Margin your writing Spell check your writing Re write, research, rephrase Your writing Is this your writing? Question your writing Read Hate ***** up Start again Your writing Check your writing Get a friend to check your writing Panic, stress, just write Your writing ****** writing This will do, writing Print, bind, hand in Your writing Write some more as you sign off your writing Sigh Feel sick Crash Sleep Writing Wait, wait, wait Wait for someone to read your writing Judge your writing Mark your writing Wait, wait, wait Receive your writing Read another's writing about your writing Their writing, writing about your writing To write whether the words in your writing are good writing Therefore RIGHT writing Or Infact writing that ought not to have been written in the first place. Now tell me From this writing And writing And writing And more writing How do you write the words that you now want to be written?

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Sep 4, 2018

Sep 4, 2018 at 7:09 PM UTC

How to start writing How to keep writing Write, write, write Writing Pick a subject for writing Make sure you reference your writing Write, write, write Keep writing This amount of words for writing Plus or minus 100 word max leeway for writing Write, write, write Still writing Quotes in your writing Punctuation for writing Write, write, write Writing Title for writing Page numbers for writing Underline, paragraph, CAPITALISE Your writing Margin your writing Spell check your writing Re write, research, rephrase Your writing Is this your writing? Question your writing Read Hate ***** up Start again Your writing Check your writing Get a friend to check your writing Panic, stress, just write Your writing ****** writing This will do, writing Print, bind, hand in Your writing Write some more as you sign off your writing Sigh Feel sick Crash Sleep Writing Wait, wait, wait Wait for someone to read your writing Judge your writing Mark your writing Wait, wait, wait Receive your writing Read another's writing about your writing Their writing, writing about your writing To write whether the words in your writing are good writing Therefore RIGHT writing Or Infact writing that ought not to have been written in the first place. Now tell me From this writing And writing And writing And more writing How do you write the words that you now want to be written?

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This is the place Where one afternoon I'll dance by the rosebushes But be bleeding and bruised Darling, my thoughts would break you This heart is like a black hole Pieces of you are everywhere As the darkness unfolds Here is a day you begged to never come I'm melting then freezing Melting then freezing Its raw, its icy But hot on your breath This creation of god Motions to the devil So keep me where the light is This storm that you call personality Always changes Calm to ill My nerves are aching Pulsating Calm to ill So promise me If you decide to go before I wake You'll leave the light on If not at some point I will succumb for my own sake We can't downplay the dreary days I've lost myself completely But to keep going I just need to remember my name So could you whisper it sweetly? As far as the unsaid goes Were you scared Or trying to spare me? Be truthful now I can't afford to sink into your gravity This is a permanent winter The entire home is asleep but me They long ago committed To the heaviness of rosy dreams I fall victim to insomnia As my pillow is untouched They tell me I pose my ruins well As the next morning I still have a clutch I'll never be a champion So paint my hands gold Like a weak little bird in a man's hands I yearn to delicately unfold I think that I'm finally catching my breath But its not my air Its yours Tell me how to power through Because my nails are deep in the flesh of desperation And we mustn't forget Its only skin There's no leeway for hesitation.

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Jan 12, 2014

Jan 12, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC

Even the Dust Makes Me Cringe

This is the place Where one afternoon I'll dance by the rosebushes But be bleeding and bruised Darling, my thoughts would break you This heart is like a black hole Pieces of you are everywhere As the darkness unfolds Here is a day you begged to never come I'm melting then freezing Melting then freezing Its raw, its icy But hot on your breath This creation of god Motions to the devil So keep me where the light is This storm that you call personality Always changes Calm to ill My nerves are aching Pulsating Calm to ill So promise me If you decide to go before I wake You'll leave the light on If not at some point I will succumb for my own sake We can't downplay the dreary days I've lost myself completely But to keep going I just need to remember my name So could you whisper it sweetly? As far as the unsaid goes Were you scared Or trying to spare me? Be truthful now I can't afford to sink into your gravity This is a permanent winter The entire home is asleep but me They long ago committed To the heaviness of rosy dreams I fall victim to insomnia As my pillow is untouched They tell me I pose my ruins well As the next morning I still have a clutch I'll never be a champion So paint my hands gold Like a weak little bird in a man's hands I yearn to delicately unfold I think that I'm finally catching my breath But its not my air Its yours Tell me how to power through Because my nails are deep in the flesh of desperation And we mustn't forget Its only skin There's no leeway for hesitation.

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Too much alone Too much afraid Too much unknown Too much paid To let us go By the way For no show So they say Could I tell you a story Ole storyteller Like bees buzzing flowers With some honey on hive's mind It's a modern tale That has sat sail All sewn up At a rate of knots That black book Bought with blood money Dares to say it holds a name Spar - with these throat barnacles (Alternately feeding and fighting With their feet) bowsprit [bee block] know your ropes, carried away deep six It's a thieves cat o nine tales Captain of chewing the fat Or combing the cat I've never seen (one) better Dunnage topping a tonnage From that trusty barrage I'm everything on top and nothing handy An eye splice on a short rope Given and giving leeway Haven't got a clew for true whence such hails from ... So... She measures faces with her heart and hands And a camera lens for a few

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Jul 27, 2015

Jul 27, 2015 at 2:29 PM UTC

doppelgängers gangplank

Too much alone Too much afraid Too much unknown Too much paid To let us go By the way For no show So they say Could I tell you a story Ole storyteller Like bees buzzing flowers With some honey on hive's mind It's a modern tale That has sat sail All sewn up At a rate of knots That black book Bought with blood money Dares to say it holds a name Spar - with these throat barnacles (Alternately feeding and fighting With their feet) bowsprit [bee block] know your ropes, carried away deep six It's a thieves cat o nine tales Captain of chewing the fat Or combing the cat I've never seen (one) better Dunnage topping a tonnage From that trusty barrage I'm everything on top and nothing handy An eye splice on a short rope Given and giving leeway Haven't got a clew for true whence such hails from ... So... She measures faces with her heart and hands And a camera lens for a few

Continue reading...

There’s a sage at the doorway Negating affinity as a leeway. He never spoke to me though he’s there I shunned the thought lest I did care. Grew up in envy To those – they never saw right through me; How I yearned for that man’s attention And from others’ sage I longed discretion. A battle occupied his thought, A war seldom won, constantly fought. For such warrior was taken abashed Looked at me, ‘I can’t take you back.’ Grounded within me was the silence, Left and right I sought for solace. Never sure if could amount to anything in his eyes, Until I found out he too was never sought off despite. Desperate - in a sense As I took hold of a pretense; Had not the Divine stoop down to reclaim What I had yearned for the sage, I blamed. A treble in my throat croaked, “Father” Despite holding grudge I never bothered Spoke nor utter a thought in my mind. There, I froze with teeth to the grind. Truth encountered my despot idealism, Tried hard to renounce the criticism. It’s weight – truth only subjugated my hate; “Love – unless you embrace it, cannot placate” Fell on my knees, armor exhausted itself around, Wrung over my shoulders arms of the One who found Me clinging on the border of insight and despair, Only His Will my broken, calloused heart molds into repair. I glanced back at the sage, I met yearning eyes, Sought he, his worth for me and found no despise. All along, had I known, he too was a broken and contrite; Would not I, received much bestow what is right?

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Mar 23, 2014

Mar 23, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC

Ode to Fatherhood

There’s a sage at the doorway Negating affinity as a leeway. He never spoke to me though he’s there I shunned the thought lest I did care. Grew up in envy To those – they never saw right through me; How I yearned for that man’s attention And from others’ sage I longed discretion. A battle occupied his thought, A war seldom won, constantly fought. For such warrior was taken abashed Looked at me, ‘I can’t take you back.’ Grounded within me was the silence, Left and right I sought for solace. Never sure if could amount to anything in his eyes, Until I found out he too was never sought off despite. Desperate - in a sense As I took hold of a pretense; Had not the Divine stoop down to reclaim What I had yearned for the sage, I blamed. A treble in my throat croaked, “Father” Despite holding grudge I never bothered Spoke nor utter a thought in my mind. There, I froze with teeth to the grind. Truth encountered my despot idealism, Tried hard to renounce the criticism. It’s weight – truth only subjugated my hate; “Love – unless you embrace it, cannot placate” Fell on my knees, armor exhausted itself around, Wrung over my shoulders arms of the One who found Me clinging on the border of insight and despair, Only His Will my broken, calloused heart molds into repair. I glanced back at the sage, I met yearning eyes, Sought he, his worth for me and found no despise. All along, had I known, he too was a broken and contrite; Would not I, received much bestow what is right?

Continue reading...

Alexander K Opicho (Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected]) As its social phenomenality Grows with zeal and verve Humanity of love befits Beautifully Elaborate explanation To enable both young and the elderly To have clear and useful Knowledge and insight Of what is love; Shakespeare in the prime Of his bardness decried it A foul protégé of individual beholder Christ confused it for self-immolation In the succor of the universe Leo Tolstoy thought that It was minimal ownership of land Umberto Eco in his scriptorium Declared it man’s impaired judgment Kenyan cubidmaestroes deem it human foully To create a leeway to keep change of a Casanova Mahatma Gandhi called it caste blindness Mandela called it zero apartheid Both in Luther King sang the song Of nonviolent revolt But me I will boldly clash With the precedent civilizations To call love foolishness of a man And shrewdness of a woman As for both man and woman the very love In un-fangled in truth that it can’t pay bills.

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Jan 8, 2014

Jan 8, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC

alexander-k-opicho

Alexander K Opicho (Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected]) As its social phenomenality Grows with zeal and verve Humanity of love befits Beautifully Elaborate explanation To enable both young and the elderly To have clear and useful Knowledge and insight Of what is love; Shakespeare in the prime Of his bardness decried it A foul protégé of individual beholder Christ confused it for self-immolation In the succor of the universe Leo Tolstoy thought that It was minimal ownership of land Umberto Eco in his scriptorium Declared it man’s impaired judgment Kenyan cubidmaestroes deem it human foully To create a leeway to keep change of a Casanova Mahatma Gandhi called it caste blindness Mandela called it zero apartheid Both in Luther King sang the song Of nonviolent revolt But me I will boldly clash With the precedent civilizations To call love foolishness of a man And shrewdness of a woman As for both man and woman the very love In un-fangled in truth that it can’t pay bills.

Continue reading...

I have been unmade and made anew bolts loose, screws askew metal stitches holding jagged words abrew Light a match, no make it two don't smile at me I know its true don't construe my issue with you respects not owed and its not due don't feed me lies my trust you blew spooned shards of glass masked subterfuge. Don't cast me out don't look away I'm a stowaway renegade castaway what makes you think I will obey? I know the face that I portray like I'm asking to be betrayed but cut some slack, bits of leeway I'll scrounge for scraps don't make me pay you cut my tongue, I won't soothsay the odds for me will soon outweigh just watch I'll drop this masquerade and I'll cutaway to counterweigh this disarray replay this wordplay display of swordplay 'cause I'm a stowaway renegade castaway -Esther L. Krenzin- -Roguesong-

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Apr 1, 2019

Apr 1, 2019 at 11:57 AM UTC

I have been unmade and made anew bolts loose, screws askew metal stitches holding jagged words abrew Light a match, no make it two don't smile at me I know its true don't construe my issue with you respects not owed and its not due don't feed me lies my trust you blew spooned shards of glass masked subterfuge. Don't cast me out don't look away I'm a stowaway renegade castaway what makes you think I will obey? I know the face that I portray like I'm asking to be betrayed but cut some slack, bits of leeway I'll scrounge for scraps don't make me pay you cut my tongue, I won't soothsay the odds for me will soon outweigh just watch I'll drop this masquerade and I'll cutaway to counterweigh this disarray replay this wordplay display of swordplay 'cause I'm a stowaway renegade castaway -Esther L. Krenzin- -Roguesong-

Continue reading...

I want to write this poem Like a band-aid For a knuckle scrape the stucco frustration The adrenalin shiver Maybe you look at your fingertips And know you'll never be a doctor A poem that finds you peaceful We go to exrtremes so often This middle ground has leeway Move around in it There are things I need to say Halfwritten letters Stacked inside a gut-heavy dumbwaiter And if I ever found the courage to pull the rope I might choke This poetry gets scared sometimes I know you get scared sometimes There are memories you re-live Like a masochistic dvr Or a photo album labeled "Let's not go back to this place" I want there to be poems in response to this A literary anitbiotic For the sickness we create There is a reason chemistry makes use of the alphabet And I find myself searching for the language Like a child holding his head up to the rain with his mouth open And wondering why he never feels a single drop touch his tongue Like a scientists he decides that the water evaporates because of the heat in his breath So he holds it It has taken me years to finally understand You don't need to hold your breath But you do need to be still And the reason you think the rain never touches your tongue Is because your tongue is already wet And you Every moment of you Already is poetry

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Apr 13, 2013

Apr 13, 2013 at 5:12 PM UTC

I Want There to be a Poem for This

I want to write this poem Like a band-aid For a knuckle scrape the stucco frustration The adrenalin shiver Maybe you look at your fingertips And know you'll never be a doctor A poem that finds you peaceful We go to exrtremes so often This middle ground has leeway Move around in it There are things I need to say Halfwritten letters Stacked inside a gut-heavy dumbwaiter And if I ever found the courage to pull the rope I might choke This poetry gets scared sometimes I know you get scared sometimes There are memories you re-live Like a masochistic dvr Or a photo album labeled "Let's not go back to this place" I want there to be poems in response to this A literary anitbiotic For the sickness we create There is a reason chemistry makes use of the alphabet And I find myself searching for the language Like a child holding his head up to the rain with his mouth open And wondering why he never feels a single drop touch his tongue Like a scientists he decides that the water evaporates because of the heat in his breath So he holds it It has taken me years to finally understand You don't need to hold your breath But you do need to be still And the reason you think the rain never touches your tongue Is because your tongue is already wet And you Every moment of you Already is poetry

Continue reading...

Is it where you come from that matters? Is it your history, your line of descent? Do they really know you, they chatter Would they sit down with your friends Where do you come from they ask What is your story they say Will you do away with your mask Let them know you if they may What went before doesn’t matter Only the present counts It’s a fresh start you barter For your past in the ground But when it comes down to it They still want to know Where did you come from Where will you go You choose your own fate Your life is in your hands Your future’s for you to make You’re not bound to the land Let them know you by your deeds By your words and by your song Do they need to trace your feet To know where you belong? What is a reputation - But a binding rope No leeway to stumble For it’s a slippery slope If the days gone by are to colour Every speech and action Where is the scope to discover? Aren’t our lives but a fraction - Of what they could be If we believed we were free To set forth and make waves Or float along with the sea But then again you may say - Do people really change? Can they let go of the hate - Washed clean by the rain? And can we trust someone who lays No claim to yesterday - For whom nothing can vouch But the words of their mouth? If one is constantly changing - Then where does one stand? How can the others trust you - How can they shake your hand? Is trust merely an illusion We conjure up for ourselves - To alleviate the confusion To put reason on the shelf? One day we all must choose When there is much to lose Whether to cling to the family tree Or take flight and be free Those you grow up with are forever They’re the ones you never leave Where you came from is your start The first page of your story But it can’t tie you down It can’t hold you back You mustn’t be afraid For in the attack They may have the armour of the known And the weapons of their forebears But you will have freedom And an army of others Your brothers in thought And ideals and humanity Sisters with whom you fought The winds of disparity So I suppose what I’m saying is The only story worth telling Is the one that unfolds In the final reckoning

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Sep 16, 2021

Sep 16, 2021 at 7:06 AM UTC

Judgment Day (Repost)

Is it where you come from that matters? Is it your history, your line of descent? Do they really know you, they chatter Would they sit down with your friends Where do you come from they ask What is your story they say Will you do away with your mask Let them know you if they may What went before doesn’t matter Only the present counts It’s a fresh start you barter For your past in the ground But when it comes down to it They still want to know Where did you come from Where will you go You choose your own fate Your life is in your hands Your future’s for you to make You’re not bound to the land Let them know you by your deeds By your words and by your song Do they need to trace your feet To know where you belong? What is a reputation - But a binding rope No leeway to stumble For it’s a slippery slope If the days gone by are to colour Every speech and action Where is the scope to discover? Aren’t our lives but a fraction - Of what they could be If we believed we were free To set forth and make waves Or float along with the sea But then again you may say - Do people really change? Can they let go of the hate - Washed clean by the rain? And can we trust someone who lays No claim to yesterday - For whom nothing can vouch But the words of their mouth? If one is constantly changing - Then where does one stand? How can the others trust you - How can they shake your hand? Is trust merely an illusion We conjure up for ourselves - To alleviate the confusion To put reason on the shelf? One day we all must choose When there is much to lose Whether to cling to the family tree Or take flight and be free Those you grow up with are forever They’re the ones you never leave Where you came from is your start The first page of your story But it can’t tie you down It can’t hold you back You mustn’t be afraid For in the attack They may have the armour of the known And the weapons of their forebears But you will have freedom And an army of others Your brothers in thought And ideals and humanity Sisters with whom you fought The winds of disparity So I suppose what I’m saying is The only story worth telling Is the one that unfolds In the final reckoning

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Alexander K Opicho (Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected]) So keen and careful on An impending superlativity Very willing and ready to counter it In the mighty of their lonely evil machinations African relatives as black in the hearty as they do in the skin Fangled to matchless stature in their scramble for ignobling Africa Refusing to listen to reason of voice by echoing uselessness in their sentimentality From the past historicity so redolent in the glory of peasantry a sit of nugatory bigotry Relatives, kindly is implore you to your accurate antonym, it is imperative When are you bound to set free Africa from the curse of inheritance? Give Africa a leeway for freedom of thought, investment Entrepreneurship and corporate glory, pliz By easily novating yourselves Relatives with true Customers And fellow Professionals Africa.

0

Jan 1, 2014

Jan 1, 2014 at 6:30 AM UTC

alexander-k-opicho

Alexander K Opicho (Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected]) So keen and careful on An impending superlativity Very willing and ready to counter it In the mighty of their lonely evil machinations African relatives as black in the hearty as they do in the skin Fangled to matchless stature in their scramble for ignobling Africa Refusing to listen to reason of voice by echoing uselessness in their sentimentality From the past historicity so redolent in the glory of peasantry a sit of nugatory bigotry Relatives, kindly is implore you to your accurate antonym, it is imperative When are you bound to set free Africa from the curse of inheritance? Give Africa a leeway for freedom of thought, investment Entrepreneurship and corporate glory, pliz By easily novating yourselves Relatives with true Customers And fellow Professionals Africa.

Continue reading...

Alexander K Opicho (Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected]) My people have seasoned the art of begging They don’t want to beg when begging is necessary My leaders have compelled our people to beg Begging that what they have leeway to graft Begging is couth only when it’s necessary But not because there is plethorae Of willing donors who are not even better Addiction to begging is a political syndrome, Africa has to stop temerarious begging Otherwise the burden of debt will erode Your sons and daughters away In to the ocean of facelessness For the slave master owns controls Only labour of the slave But in contrast to the borrowing vice The debt master controls the soul Of the borrower.

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Jan 18, 2014

Jan 18, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC

alexander-k-opicho

begging syndrome

Alexander K Opicho (Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected]) My people have seasoned the art of begging They don’t want to beg when begging is necessary My leaders have compelled our people to beg Begging that what they have leeway to graft Begging is couth only when it’s necessary But not because there is plethorae Of willing donors who are not even better Addiction to begging is a political syndrome, Africa has to stop temerarious begging Otherwise the burden of debt will erode Your sons and daughters away In to the ocean of facelessness For the slave master owns controls Only labour of the slave But in contrast to the borrowing vice The debt master controls the soul Of the borrower.

Continue reading...

Jumping, bouncing and swinging from tree to tree In a sparse forest just outside a village on the outskirts of Antananarivo They adapt to the changes flung at them and strive to survive On the ground a troop leaps sideways side by side in a straight line What a comical spectacle However solemn their purpose, they must find a home The little one abaft of the line Takes one last glimpse at the home he leaves behind Oh it’s up in flames now and bulldozers knock down his trees Beyond, just yonder Over a hill further down south, the prospect is in sight A new forest with new opportunities It’s denser; it hasn't caught the eye of encroaching villagers They forge on towards it in that spectacular procession High up in the trees they mark their territory Males call out to females and they howl in response The young ones frolic in the underbrush They mate, they eat, they thrive Another forced migration There they go again in that sideways march More deforestation for infrastructure There must be leeway for civilization one way or the other One must wonder now What future lies in store for these that have no place in government? Their trails fade away from the Malagasy ecosystem Their lives hang in a balance at the brink of extinction Will our grandchildren ever get to appreciate The extraordinary feats of agility they display The gymnastics they perform from day to day On the trees and on the ground in the jungle everyday Ostentations of dramatic optical presentations In their furry coats of monochromatic patterns Perhaps they will disappear and my son’s sons may only get to Read about them in the has been list of the annals of history At this rate since erecting urban jungles Of tar roads and skyscrapers is the order of the day They might even be able to catch an obscure image of the lemur In the form of a costumed trapezist mimicking one Or a twisting contortionist in The Cirque Du Soleil Nellie Nkosi

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Apr 13, 2015

Apr 13, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC

nelleah-nkosito

Jumping, bouncing and swinging from tree to tree In a sparse forest just outside a village on the outskirts of Antananarivo They adapt to the changes flung at them and strive to survive On the ground a troop leaps sideways side by side in a straight line What a comical spectacle However solemn their purpose, they must find a home The little one abaft of the line Takes one last glimpse at the home he leaves behind Oh it’s up in flames now and bulldozers knock down his trees Beyond, just yonder Over a hill further down south, the prospect is in sight A new forest with new opportunities It’s denser; it hasn't caught the eye of encroaching villagers They forge on towards it in that spectacular procession High up in the trees they mark their territory Males call out to females and they howl in response The young ones frolic in the underbrush They mate, they eat, they thrive Another forced migration There they go again in that sideways march More deforestation for infrastructure There must be leeway for civilization one way or the other One must wonder now What future lies in store for these that have no place in government? Their trails fade away from the Malagasy ecosystem Their lives hang in a balance at the brink of extinction Will our grandchildren ever get to appreciate The extraordinary feats of agility they display The gymnastics they perform from day to day On the trees and on the ground in the jungle everyday Ostentations of dramatic optical presentations In their furry coats of monochromatic patterns Perhaps they will disappear and my son’s sons may only get to Read about them in the has been list of the annals of history At this rate since erecting urban jungles Of tar roads and skyscrapers is the order of the day They might even be able to catch an obscure image of the lemur In the form of a costumed trapezist mimicking one Or a twisting contortionist in The Cirque Du Soleil Nellie Nkosi

Continue reading...

A warmth passed through photons From thousands of miles away, A warmth passed through my heart From connections to my brain, You give me that same warmth As the Sun gives in full brightness, And so I hope you'll forgive me When I express my blindness, There's more to me than seems To meet your eyes my gorgeous friend, I long for you to truly see what I can bring to lend, A steady hand, a steady heart, A faithful pair of eyes, I wish most that you consider That none of this is lies Changing beyond belief My faith, my heart and my desires Like some inch worm with too much food I metamorphosize Into a better man I grow With every breath I take, I wish to express to you "Love", In my lungs I build strength To take the steps I need to take And fight what holds me back, I need to fight any callings and Stay on the right track, I can do it if I have the support I need, okay? So please, for now, give me the leeway to find my own way. I'm not a missionary though I know I'm a good guy, And it is this very thought which keeps Me awake at night, I hope and know I'm good enough, To at least attempt your presence, So feel no fear when we speak please if you are feeling hesitant, I'll do my best to not scare you And rush this large decision, And if you say "No," that's okay, No hurt will come from fission So take your time and when you feel A choice is at a close, Let me hear what you have to say Because Who really knows.

0

Feb 3, 2016

Feb 3, 2016 at 7:22 AM UTC

Cheesy metaphors refering to you as the sun, pulling descriptions from your complexion and hair

A warmth passed through photons From thousands of miles away, A warmth passed through my heart From connections to my brain, You give me that same warmth As the Sun gives in full brightness, And so I hope you'll forgive me When I express my blindness, There's more to me than seems To meet your eyes my gorgeous friend, I long for you to truly see what I can bring to lend, A steady hand, a steady heart, A faithful pair of eyes, I wish most that you consider That none of this is lies Changing beyond belief My faith, my heart and my desires Like some inch worm with too much food I metamorphosize Into a better man I grow With every breath I take, I wish to express to you "Love", In my lungs I build strength To take the steps I need to take And fight what holds me back, I need to fight any callings and Stay on the right track, I can do it if I have the support I need, okay? So please, for now, give me the leeway to find my own way. I'm not a missionary though I know I'm a good guy, And it is this very thought which keeps Me awake at night, I hope and know I'm good enough, To at least attempt your presence, So feel no fear when we speak please if you are feeling hesitant, I'll do my best to not scare you And rush this large decision, And if you say "No," that's okay, No hurt will come from fission So take your time and when you feel A choice is at a close, Let me hear what you have to say Because Who really knows.

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18, no sense of purpose. A bottle of pills and ***** later, you're lying in a hospital bed. You're not awake right now. People keep asking me to give you some advice, saying, "You know how it feels, right?" How do I talk to someone who's hardly even there? This hypocrisy echoes like a church bell in my head, I don't practice what I preach. I ask people to reach, out for me, out to help, but I can't even reach out to you? I can't help the fear. How do I tell someone it'll all be okay, especially when I'm still fighting to find a reason to stay, myself? I last saw you at Christmas, a family event. You even had me fooled, cleaned up, new job, going to school, further than I ever expected to be myself. But here we are again. Same place, same tricks. You're supposed to turn 19 next week. I want to say I love you but I'm scared to delve that deep. I want to say I love you, but I'm already a mess. I want to say I love you but I can't lose somebody else, I can't go to another funeral. I've never been to a funeral for someone over 18, please, don't make that change, don't make the number raise. Smoky blue eyes, can you see past the fog? Haley, why won't you stay? I promise, it fades. I'm not strong enough for both of us, give me a little leeway, try, stop pushing me away. Haley, please, Tomorrow's a new day. July is unbearably hot in Wisconsin. Lose yourself in the sun's rays. Not the ***** Not the pills. How do I reach out to you? I can't stop the fear.

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Jul 14, 2015

Jul 14, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC

18, no sense of purpose. A bottle of pills and ***** later, you're lying in a hospital bed. You're not awake right now. People keep asking me to give you some advice, saying, "You know how it feels, right?" How do I talk to someone who's hardly even there? This hypocrisy echoes like a church bell in my head, I don't practice what I preach. I ask people to reach, out for me, out to help, but I can't even reach out to you? I can't help the fear. How do I tell someone it'll all be okay, especially when I'm still fighting to find a reason to stay, myself? I last saw you at Christmas, a family event. You even had me fooled, cleaned up, new job, going to school, further than I ever expected to be myself. But here we are again. Same place, same tricks. You're supposed to turn 19 next week. I want to say I love you but I'm scared to delve that deep. I want to say I love you, but I'm already a mess. I want to say I love you but I can't lose somebody else, I can't go to another funeral. I've never been to a funeral for someone over 18, please, don't make that change, don't make the number raise. Smoky blue eyes, can you see past the fog? Haley, why won't you stay? I promise, it fades. I'm not strong enough for both of us, give me a little leeway, try, stop pushing me away. Haley, please, Tomorrow's a new day. July is unbearably hot in Wisconsin. Lose yourself in the sun's rays. Not the ***** Not the pills. How do I reach out to you? I can't stop the fear.

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Twin babies were talking Snuggled up in the womb Heads bumping, legs tangling ‘You’re taking my room’; ‘Uh-uh,’ said the other ‘It is you in my space; Hey, do you buy into Life after this place?’ ‘Of course,’ said his brother. ‘There is life after birth! Right now we’re preparing To live out on earth!’ ‘No way,’ said the younger. ‘You will have to agree, There’s nothing more after-- For what…could it be?’ ‘Perhaps,’ said his roomie ‘There is leeway and light; In here, you’ll admit It is dark and it’s tight! And maybe, just maybe We will walk on our feet; For all that we know We will drink and we’ll eat!’ The doubting one chuckled; ‘That’s the utmost absurd, Nonsensical notion I ever have heard! This is all that there is; This is all that we need! We’re too wobbly to walk And the cord gives our feed!’ Then shaking his head With a thumb-sucking snort ‘There’s no life after birth; The cord is too short!’ His big brother held fast With a kick to his rear; ‘I think there is something That’s diff’rent from here!’ ‘Fat chance,’ said the younger ‘There’s no more than this sac. And what proof do you have? No one’s ever come back!’ ‘Perhaps they don’t want to.’ Responded his brother. ‘Perhaps, they’re caressed in The arms of their mother! Perhaps she is singing A lullaby tune In a soft rocking chair ‘By a big harvest moon!’ The younger twin gurgled And wrinkled his brow ‘If there is a mother, Then where is she now? A mother’s a folk tale, A legend of lore Please read my lips brother This is it, nothing more!’ The big brother scolded, ‘Stop making a fuss! If there was no mother, There wouldn’t be us! She’s all around us It’s in her that we be; I’m sure there’s a next life, And mother’s the key! She’ll tend to our hunger Our tears and our thirst. I already love her And speak to go first!’ The younger one let out A tantrum boohoo ‘You always go first; I’m telling mother on you!’

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Feb 11, 2016

Feb 11, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC

jeanelle-averett

Twin Babies Were Talking

Twin babies were talking Snuggled up in the womb Heads bumping, legs tangling ‘You’re taking my room’; ‘Uh-uh,’ said the other ‘It is you in my space; Hey, do you buy into Life after this place?’ ‘Of course,’ said his brother. ‘There is life after birth! Right now we’re preparing To live out on earth!’ ‘No way,’ said the younger. ‘You will have to agree, There’s nothing more after-- For what…could it be?’ ‘Perhaps,’ said his roomie ‘There is leeway and light; In here, you’ll admit It is dark and it’s tight! And maybe, just maybe We will walk on our feet; For all that we know We will drink and we’ll eat!’ The doubting one chuckled; ‘That’s the utmost absurd, Nonsensical notion I ever have heard! This is all that there is; This is all that we need! We’re too wobbly to walk And the cord gives our feed!’ Then shaking his head With a thumb-sucking snort ‘There’s no life after birth; The cord is too short!’ His big brother held fast With a kick to his rear; ‘I think there is something That’s diff’rent from here!’ ‘Fat chance,’ said the younger ‘There’s no more than this sac. And what proof do you have? No one’s ever come back!’ ‘Perhaps they don’t want to.’ Responded his brother. ‘Perhaps, they’re caressed in The arms of their mother! Perhaps she is singing A lullaby tune In a soft rocking chair ‘By a big harvest moon!’ The younger twin gurgled And wrinkled his brow ‘If there is a mother, Then where is she now? A mother’s a folk tale, A legend of lore Please read my lips brother This is it, nothing more!’ The big brother scolded, ‘Stop making a fuss! If there was no mother, There wouldn’t be us! She’s all around us It’s in her that we be; I’m sure there’s a next life, And mother’s the key! She’ll tend to our hunger Our tears and our thirst. I already love her And speak to go first!’ The younger one let out A tantrum boohoo ‘You always go first; I’m telling mother on you!’

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What is it about this night that attracts me? It's the same dark Indian sky - a battle-field of grey and pink clouds, scattered stars. A biker at my door step nodding in acknowledgement. The next moment I am a pillion zooming past dusty streets and honking cars - such chaos. What is it about this night that calls me? It's the same old destination - more trees and lesser people. A highway as a leeway to all perils of this hateful city. This ride is a big U-turn and I'll be back To the same cacophony, same city trash. What is it about this night that strikes me? It's the same me, wearing the same old pair of jeans, A jacket to meet the cold, kohl in my eyes. Same oggling at the silent, cold night Still searching for something eventful to happen Till the cold chills me and I wish my haven. Not until you reached for my numb hand on my knee And placed it on your warm, alive chest, Not until I felt the rhythmic thud within, did I realize What is so special - It was feeling reality and acceptance - Life is so much more than just me. It's in the wide night sky that cuddles me, in every person with a heart that beats, in every moment you allow yourself to get old and live with experiences, in places, with you.

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Jan 18, 2013

Jan 18, 2013 at 5:48 AM UTC

What is it about This Night?

What is it about this night that attracts me? It's the same dark Indian sky - a battle-field of grey and pink clouds, scattered stars. A biker at my door step nodding in acknowledgement. The next moment I am a pillion zooming past dusty streets and honking cars - such chaos. What is it about this night that calls me? It's the same old destination - more trees and lesser people. A highway as a leeway to all perils of this hateful city. This ride is a big U-turn and I'll be back To the same cacophony, same city trash. What is it about this night that strikes me? It's the same me, wearing the same old pair of jeans, A jacket to meet the cold, kohl in my eyes. Same oggling at the silent, cold night Still searching for something eventful to happen Till the cold chills me and I wish my haven. Not until you reached for my numb hand on my knee And placed it on your warm, alive chest, Not until I felt the rhythmic thud within, did I realize What is so special - It was feeling reality and acceptance - Life is so much more than just me. It's in the wide night sky that cuddles me, in every person with a heart that beats, in every moment you allow yourself to get old and live with experiences, in places, with you.

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Guarded none other than fetcher of bone Defacement and then removal of insides-blatent Cometh you will stand ground of his thrill May ye join fleshly hobby and thus- make small talk Granted -sensations unheard of will consume whilst pale palms grip prudent warm death The common road, a gateway yet, that **** pleasant leeway no kind of our kind deboned and taken summon the already passed much helpless animal unshaken

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Feb 27, 2012

Feb 27, 2012 at 12:49 PM UTC

Bone Fetcher (For Ishmael)

Guarded none other than fetcher of bone Defacement and then removal of insides-blatent Cometh you will stand ground of his thrill May ye join fleshly hobby and thus- make small talk Granted -sensations unheard of will consume whilst pale palms grip prudent warm death The common road, a gateway yet, that **** pleasant leeway no kind of our kind deboned and taken summon the already passed much helpless animal unshaken

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Some call me a prophet Others see me as a derelict These stories I’ve stored in my head Can easily be twisted to fantasy Am I reliable? You have no choice But to take what I say and believe At least for a little while I believe the listener Is as naïve as I seem Sitting on every detail Every word While visiting Southwark I met a variety of characters From different means of life With different perspectives on the world Looking innocent has its advantages It gives me a leeway To invade other’s privacy And extend the truth to the edge of fabrication Have you ever questioned a storyteller? We all seem friendly We talk highly of everyone we meet Until we dive deeper into their secrets The Squire Composing music is his forte I say it sounds beautiful And he seems fresh as the month of May The Friar A gossiper full of language I hope to understand To grasp A Sailor Having bad joints From extensive labor. He must work substantially to acquire those injuries The Summoner Full of white pimples Yet drinks red wine As red as blood I create a story Yet can end it all the same I tell you what you want to hear Not what reality presents in front of me For life is not exciting Without a bit of imagination. And with my mastered poker face It may be impossible to seek out my lies The darkness inside us all Can peek its head at any time Consuming us into a downward spiral Of lie after endless lie So am I reliable? We’ll just have to see. So here comes a story Told by me.

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Apr 24, 2015

Apr 24, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC

Some call me a prophet Others see me as a derelict These stories I’ve stored in my head Can easily be twisted to fantasy Am I reliable? You have no choice But to take what I say and believe At least for a little while I believe the listener Is as naïve as I seem Sitting on every detail Every word While visiting Southwark I met a variety of characters From different means of life With different perspectives on the world Looking innocent has its advantages It gives me a leeway To invade other’s privacy And extend the truth to the edge of fabrication Have you ever questioned a storyteller? We all seem friendly We talk highly of everyone we meet Until we dive deeper into their secrets The Squire Composing music is his forte I say it sounds beautiful And he seems fresh as the month of May The Friar A gossiper full of language I hope to understand To grasp A Sailor Having bad joints From extensive labor. He must work substantially to acquire those injuries The Summoner Full of white pimples Yet drinks red wine As red as blood I create a story Yet can end it all the same I tell you what you want to hear Not what reality presents in front of me For life is not exciting Without a bit of imagination. And with my mastered poker face It may be impossible to seek out my lies The darkness inside us all Can peek its head at any time Consuming us into a downward spiral Of lie after endless lie So am I reliable? We’ll just have to see. So here comes a story Told by me.

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I see the mechanical men that peddle the illusion of wheels which drive down to the crankshaft,staffed by robbers and thieves that steal into the day putting a tax on the way you would speak, and I peek in through the keyhole of Whitehall, dragging the chain and the ball that is tied to my leg,and sooner or later I will beg for some leeway from the mandarins but they'll say, 'Go away little man,we are the mechanical men in the doing of things and we'll bring blood and thunder,put you down 'til you go under,don't bother us now', I have bowed to their power and ****** on their shoes,I choose not to be used by the ones who abuse the privilege of rank and position. Please tell me that this is not true, that the election of robots to Westminster is actually down to me and to people like you, and we get what we vote for,the ***** dealing,wheeling out manifestos,posing for papers,oil cans for arseholes and bolts for their braces,automatic voices,you've got so many more choices than this shower of **** do your bit,a bit of research,search online, easy most of the time,vote for them and you'll vote for anyone,vote for anyone but, the mechanical men have replicated in them and all is lost,we are screwed,might as well use the suicide pill. I will.

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Nov 16, 2013

Nov 16, 2013 at 4:15 PM UTC

john-edward-smallshaw

Many boxes to cross

I see the mechanical men that peddle the illusion of wheels which drive down to the crankshaft,staffed by robbers and thieves that steal into the day putting a tax on the way you would speak, and I peek in through the keyhole of Whitehall, dragging the chain and the ball that is tied to my leg,and sooner or later I will beg for some leeway from the mandarins but they'll say, 'Go away little man,we are the mechanical men in the doing of things and we'll bring blood and thunder,put you down 'til you go under,don't bother us now', I have bowed to their power and ****** on their shoes,I choose not to be used by the ones who abuse the privilege of rank and position. Please tell me that this is not true, that the election of robots to Westminster is actually down to me and to people like you, and we get what we vote for,the ***** dealing,wheeling out manifestos,posing for papers,oil cans for arseholes and bolts for their braces,automatic voices,you've got so many more choices than this shower of **** do your bit,a bit of research,search online, easy most of the time,vote for them and you'll vote for anyone,vote for anyone but, the mechanical men have replicated in them and all is lost,we are screwed,might as well use the suicide pill. I will.

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A breathe of fresh air Or a simple breeze But when Doris is scorned She will strike with ease Tearing a path through a well planned day Ripping apart that what gets in the way There is no mercy, no leeway or pity An invisible force, she can level a city Wreaking havoc and damage untold No heed for the stupid, the brave or the bold

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Feb 23, 2017

Feb 23, 2017 at 10:11 AM UTC

A breathe of fresh air Or a simple breeze But when Doris is scorned She will strike with ease Tearing a path through a well planned day Ripping apart that what gets in the way There is no mercy, no leeway or pity An invisible force, she can level a city Wreaking havoc and damage untold No heed for the stupid, the brave or the bold

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you may be kind of strange i've been meaning to confess from modern takes on elegance you usually digress your words are sometimes muddled rather jumbled and askew i know, these sound like grievances, but they're reasons i love you! your silliness is incomparable your wit can not be beat and trust i'll never treat you like you're just a piece of meat i hope my words aren't shocking some leeway you must give to a gal who just can't fathom how without you she would live! so keep up your nutty antics my dear they are divine and know that im delighted to call you my valentine!

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Feb 18, 2014

Feb 18, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC

you may be kind of strange i've been meaning to confess from modern takes on elegance you usually digress your words are sometimes muddled rather jumbled and askew i know, these sound like grievances, but they're reasons i love you! your silliness is incomparable your wit can not be beat and trust i'll never treat you like you're just a piece of meat i hope my words aren't shocking some leeway you must give to a gal who just can't fathom how without you she would live! so keep up your nutty antics my dear they are divine and know that im delighted to call you my valentine!

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This life is an asylum where we are patients unwell, possessed by the need to move and escape. Some believe that they are heroes, some believe they are nothing but most of us here are fools who have maybe thrown this life away, we surround ourselves with material objects by which we feel will bring to us less grief and pain, and when asked what it is you love, you lie saying that there is no one nor anything to. "What of your father, mother, brother, sister? What of them?" This was the only truth where you would not reply for they truly do not exist. Your father died the death of a drunk, a fool. Your mother a ***** a poor one a that. Your brother was weak and had no will so he chose to end whatever was left of his life. Your sister.. your sister was young, beautiful but she was thrown as a stray where she was left for dead with her last breathe. You were however not left then, visited continuously by them “the doctors” they came asking you the same question day after day. "who or what do you love?" They followed on with money? Beauty? And words which all meant nothing to you and you replied with the same arrogance of the fool that you once were. Shouting, screaming and yelling at them. "I despise everything, the same way you fools despise your god with every tiny, petty ounce of faithless worship." Soon with time, so too did they leave you as you are… as you always were, alone. However they did not understand that it was time alone that you needed, time alone to collect your thoughts and calm yourself down, only they did not realize that, and so you were left aside… Years passed and you were left with only the care for your daily needs. Food, washing's, sleep and medicine. Years passed when finally you were visited by an astonishingly young stranger, a girl, one who was around the age of your younger sister at the time. She was filled with youth, beautiful, almost as if she were a goddess from heaven, one that you never thought you would meet in this life… she walked up to you in a slow pace with her feet hitting the marbled laced floor with a rhythm of *** and tat, and when she finally arrived before you she asked. "Who or what is it that you love?" And you replied, whole-heartedly with a never ending single or so tear running down the side of your cheek. "I love the incomparable chaste blue of the sky, the mimicking and ever so toning white of the clouds, the marvelous clouds, in all its beauteous visage. I love everything in all its beauty." And you said so with a smile that ran along the sides of your cheeks, with a tear that soon stopped, in a room resembling reverie, in which a stagnant and almost as if never ending atmosphere of negativity just vanished… leading your idol soul bathed in regret and anguish away to a better place under a new moon of voluptuous dreams.

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Jan 26, 2015

Jan 26, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC

Leeway ruminate

This life is an asylum where we are patients unwell, possessed by the need to move and escape. Some believe that they are heroes, some believe they are nothing but most of us here are fools who have maybe thrown this life away, we surround ourselves with material objects by which we feel will bring to us less grief and pain, and when asked what it is you love, you lie saying that there is no one nor anything to. "What of your father, mother, brother, sister? What of them?" This was the only truth where you would not reply for they truly do not exist. Your father died the death of a drunk, a fool. Your mother a ***** a poor one a that. Your brother was weak and had no will so he chose to end whatever was left of his life. Your sister.. your sister was young, beautiful but she was thrown as a stray where she was left for dead with her last breathe. You were however not left then, visited continuously by them “the doctors” they came asking you the same question day after day. "who or what do you love?" They followed on with money? Beauty? And words which all meant nothing to you and you replied with the same arrogance of the fool that you once were. Shouting, screaming and yelling at them. "I despise everything, the same way you fools despise your god with every tiny, petty ounce of faithless worship." Soon with time, so too did they leave you as you are… as you always were, alone. However they did not understand that it was time alone that you needed, time alone to collect your thoughts and calm yourself down, only they did not realize that, and so you were left aside… Years passed and you were left with only the care for your daily needs. Food, washing's, sleep and medicine. Years passed when finally you were visited by an astonishingly young stranger, a girl, one who was around the age of your younger sister at the time. She was filled with youth, beautiful, almost as if she were a goddess from heaven, one that you never thought you would meet in this life… she walked up to you in a slow pace with her feet hitting the marbled laced floor with a rhythm of *** and tat, and when she finally arrived before you she asked. "Who or what is it that you love?" And you replied, whole-heartedly with a never ending single or so tear running down the side of your cheek. "I love the incomparable chaste blue of the sky, the mimicking and ever so toning white of the clouds, the marvelous clouds, in all its beauteous visage. I love everything in all its beauty." And you said so with a smile that ran along the sides of your cheeks, with a tear that soon stopped, in a room resembling reverie, in which a stagnant and almost as if never ending atmosphere of negativity just vanished… leading your idol soul bathed in regret and anguish away to a better place under a new moon of voluptuous dreams.

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My love, You’ve wandered astray Shortly after May. Would you agree, love? We share a mind, But you’re so far away. Please return and play Unlike humankind. No one can separate us In lining of silver and gray Traveling on our sleigh Likely being a klutz Finishing each other’s thoughts; Leading others astray From our right of way. Let’s finally take some shots. Drunken at the bar, Standing and beginning to sway While having a delightful day We shine like a star. Jumping into bed, Giving ourselves leeway For tomorrow’s day, Along with its dread.

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May 16, 2016

May 16, 2016 at 2:52 PM UTC

Where have you gone, my love?

My love, You’ve wandered astray Shortly after May. Would you agree, love? We share a mind, But you’re so far away. Please return and play Unlike humankind. No one can separate us In lining of silver and gray Traveling on our sleigh Likely being a klutz Finishing each other’s thoughts; Leading others astray From our right of way. Let’s finally take some shots. Drunken at the bar, Standing and beginning to sway While having a delightful day We shine like a star. Jumping into bed, Giving ourselves leeway For tomorrow’s day, Along with its dread.

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What's the smallest living being on earth? a graduate of music school First class degree won with some leeway but that can't pay for my MOT, no way four hundred and thirty seven quid and 26p to pay for new suspension ball joints and wishbone, wiper blades and an emission test pass grade and now my car has scraped a "pass with defects" I hope someone made a wish as the old bone cracked as they took it to the tip with the entire contents of my bank account I wish I was back home again, scared to answer the phone again but now every phone call I'm praying for a gig. For nine grand a year I wonder how well she would do in the next few tests if she'd have a long career ahead after a short rest or if she would still be run into the ground, one day kicking the bucket at 90 miles an hour on the M4 back to Cardiff; I recently found she won't quite make it to one hundred. One hundred miles an hour! Such power, so close, but no cigars for me any more - I can't even afford to smoke rollies. When I'm seventy I'll start again whether I want to or not, I need that one lifetime guarantee. If I make it to seventy. Hopefully boredom, rejection and ************ aren't causes of early mortality.

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Jul 26, 2018

Jul 26, 2018 at 7:54 AM UTC

The Smallest Living Being on Earth

What's the smallest living being on earth? a graduate of music school First class degree won with some leeway but that can't pay for my MOT, no way four hundred and thirty seven quid and 26p to pay for new suspension ball joints and wishbone, wiper blades and an emission test pass grade and now my car has scraped a "pass with defects" I hope someone made a wish as the old bone cracked as they took it to the tip with the entire contents of my bank account I wish I was back home again, scared to answer the phone again but now every phone call I'm praying for a gig. For nine grand a year I wonder how well she would do in the next few tests if she'd have a long career ahead after a short rest or if she would still be run into the ground, one day kicking the bucket at 90 miles an hour on the M4 back to Cardiff; I recently found she won't quite make it to one hundred. One hundred miles an hour! Such power, so close, but no cigars for me any more - I can't even afford to smoke rollies. When I'm seventy I'll start again whether I want to or not, I need that one lifetime guarantee. If I make it to seventy. Hopefully boredom, rejection and ************ aren't causes of early mortality.

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I woke up today wondering why everything hurts I took the road never traveled I happen to be the first Through the door in light chasing shadows in the dark it was worse The path of most resistance the distance drive that's how it works ambition determination and commitment employ your worth in my search arguably no dispute been refute and disdained abhorred because I contra the ordinary contrary to what's been saying I took the road never traveled the high road the freeway the path most resistant which consist of no leeway No leaders of consistence no reference refer too reverence from virtuous virtuosity a virtue virtually reality unreal what I'm close to I see it before it happens with know I told you's true? who told who as I trot through the babbles my foibles chatter that's what's the matter It's the path of most resistance the road never traveled.

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Jul 24, 2016

Jul 24, 2016 at 12:06 PM UTC

jamaal-j-ferguson

The road never traveled

I woke up today wondering why everything hurts I took the road never traveled I happen to be the first Through the door in light chasing shadows in the dark it was worse The path of most resistance the distance drive that's how it works ambition determination and commitment employ your worth in my search arguably no dispute been refute and disdained abhorred because I contra the ordinary contrary to what's been saying I took the road never traveled the high road the freeway the path most resistant which consist of no leeway No leaders of consistence no reference refer too reverence from virtuous virtuosity a virtue virtually reality unreal what I'm close to I see it before it happens with know I told you's true? who told who as I trot through the babbles my foibles chatter that's what's the matter It's the path of most resistance the road never traveled.

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