"leveler" poems
As twilight descends on the city
Bright lights adorn the cityscape
As if the stars have come to decorate
The bustling party, where everyone is invited
Streets, alleys, pathways, boulevard- sparkling
With electrifying wattage, reminiscent of the celebrations
People returning home after a hard day’s work
With a slouch, after the backbreaking toil
The city lights up to entertain the weary passersby
Gives some solace to the mind, before another day beckons
The grim reality of the fast-paced city life is forgotten
As it’s time to celebrate another evening
Despite all the hardships and bickering among each other
There is always the dazzle of city lights to bathe with life
Rejuvenate us and entertain us; helping to cope with reality
The city crowd is amazing, where there is always a crowd
Despite being surrounded by people, yet we are alone
People flashing a forced smile to greet each other
Food stalls are a great leveler, where global cuisines are served
Bringing the flavors across the world, to the local taste buds
Everyone is in the limelight, under the city lights
Even the dark alleys and treacherous places align seamlessly
Yet, the city sees so many segregation and prejudices
The city lights don’t seem to illuminate all minds alike
All said and done, let’s be a part of the city’s party
As we are all invited, and revel till the city lights burn bright
© Amitav (Radiance)
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
There,s not many upsets
in the FA cup these days.
Because the playing area,s
are in prime condition.
In the old days they played
on mud bath,s which were
a great leveler in skill.
Keith Wilson. Windermere. UK. 2016.
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
Changes
As people we are always asking for changes;
Spiritual, politically or just spontaneously
During the election a number of folks asked
and some even vote for changes
We hate, we love, and we deplore acts of violence
then and now: Now it haunts most people:
Some even would still consider shaking his hand:
Some got what their asked for, and some still undecided:
Let Us Not Become the Evil We Deplore.” By Amy Goodman
He never goes under the covers: he just love to be exposed
A ***** is a ***** in his eyes: He might asked to see the
Birth certificate, but not the death certificate:
but never the **** kit, the yearbook inputs or the
country clubs initial membership lists:
Birth for him meant still in control: death gone from one’s sight:
I was chatting to a friend one day, I said to him imagine
that everybody on this earth woke up one day
To find zillion of dollars in their procession:
What would that meant to others: the loss of the power:
Money is the leveler that runs the world
The bad things that we done in our youngers years
Will one day comes back to haunts us
The statutes of limitation is just the statue
Time will not be forgotten: Memories lingers
The pain, the shame of being in a humiliated situation
we are living in a divided country
Because, of so much greed and bigotry:
A change is coming: and it's coming soon
who run the worlds Girls!!!
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 9:52 AM UTC
who am i to say if the mozzer's lost touch?
what does my rough draft have
that is missing from his manuscript?
nothing. so, i'll sit down here
before the microphone and say,
Aug 8, 2019
Aug 8, 2019 at 12:53 PM UTC
The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armor against Fate;
Death lays his icy hands on kings:
Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and *****
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they ****
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate
And must give up their murmering breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow;
Then boast no more your mighty deeds!
Upon death's purple alter now
See where the victor-victim bleeds.
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb:
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.
-James Shirley
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
So in Novemeber rain
******* on wet cigarettes like babe at milkless breast
I am passed
by the jogger.
Tanned limbs wrapped in polyester
hair wet by salt and water
I entertain myself
with the thought
that we
are the two types of people
who come out on Monday mornings in weather like this;
scars turning purple in the cold
all numb fingers and gooseflesh
and their breath
as white as mine
against the dark of early the sunrise
is a great leveler
on days like today.
These are the mornings I do not go hungry
in fear of the growing space between my thighs -
the masters of illusion
can make themselves appear invisible
but I cannot conceal my disappearing act much longer.
I am sixteen smoker's cough they tell me
I have a heart murmur I take it
as irrefutable proof I have
a heart feeling
the early
seeds
of death settle
in my chest with every drag,
some things are inexcusable
and I am learning that I am not blameless.
A few too many nights walking under unlit streetlamps
do not make you a victim I am learning that I
am not the victim Atlas shrugging off responsibility
a person
can only carry so much guilt
before they bend and
bad backs run in my family
so
I may be a coward -
but I will never say I was not warned.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 7:41 AM UTC
What election has left us over the years, (divisions?)
Two and two doesn’t equal four any more in voting booths
Pulling the leveler, to cast ones votes doesn’t registered
Our candidates have already been chosen.
Our way of life is but a passing stain..(Permanent)
However, the flag of justice will wave either in mast
Or half-staff:
Oct 19, 2020
Oct 19, 2020 at 10:12 AM UTC
Even when I know that it wouldn't last
I still am trying hard
Enduring the moments of despair
cursing the fate for being unfair
Strong believer of miracles, filled with doubts
praying for rains, fed in droughts
Embracing the tear soaked pillow as if a lover
Drinks touching my lips turn sober
Thoughts on swings as if a child
defying strokes as aftereffects of the ride
I still believe that time is life's leveler
I still believe that one day everything will be fine
I still believe that miracles will happen one more time
I still believe,
For all I have is,
Endurance to perceive
Wait to feel
Walk till endeavor.
Forever.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
Funerals for him is killing loneliness
He sets the alarm clocks in time for the announcements:
If familiarize with the names of the dearly departed:
he lights up like the light on Broadway:
The dearly departed is at rest: his struggles with reality,
of how the world runs: is unsettling:
the funerals arrangements is always the same:
The tone of the announcers : slow and gloomy,
Black and white would always be the traditional attires,
and the hymn ash to ashes will echo in ones ears,
so long as the tears flow slowly throughout the services:
As they lower the leveler into the ground,
they are gone but not forgotten: R.I.P
Poet and death titles,
Death shall have no hold on me,
Death shall not make me sad,
I refused to mourn death: and that's the truth about me
Drinking and eating after the services: Is it a good gesture?
From soak tissues to soggy appetizers: the crowd pleasers
From the wet cemetery: to the living rooms floors
Poets feel and see the irony:
As they sat in their black and white attire, eating and drinking
Mount Gay or cold Banks beers:
The colorful graveyard welcomes another tenant:
Funeral for him is killing loneliness
He set the alarm in time for the announcements.
Fear man, not the dead: we two are so incompatible
**Regardless of whom you are or where you’ve been
You can be what you want to be. W. cement**
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC
It's clear that I have lost friends
That's what fire in your soul and the resulting fearlessness brings
I don't have a lot of intelligent open minded people rifling through my works or giving them the attending or attention they deserve. They might overlook the irony sarcasm, wit or inherent fairness that is so carefully crafted into endless themes. Sometimes a social leveler, others a defensive maneuver of a wounded animal or all out aggressive neutralizing campaign. Regardless, I never wrote for any of them, I wrote for me.
They were just lucky I let them see.
- The SS
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 7:39 PM UTC
Shadower of the valley, dying of wisdom--
strung along since seven holes played
the Charmer's flute.
The licentiousness of your poetry, makes
days of worship drag along, inspiring
idleness in all its wickedness.
Leveler of leagues, unlikely elbows falling
together in deeds.
You freeze a whorled dance in the hollowed
trunk of a tree, to wait out the world you
impel.
Forever retiring to the terrible weight of its
foundation, having had the gall to drink its
basest, bitterest secretion.
Poison by any, and no other name...quenchless
blows by the scepter of you in deserted time.
As the truth be hidden in plain sight, so they
to you for salvation.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 12:22 PM UTC
caution
be cautious, my mind says
and i'm halting
slowly pacing my thoughts
dragging them in a line
until i see which space is mine
and it's taunting.
the leveler
is the true decider
of where this will go
of what love will deny here
i am blood i am mire
hung up on the fence that you straddle
but i've allowed the noose and the wire
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
Nature, The Leveler: a Coronavirus Poem
by Michael R. Burch
The nature of Nature
is bitter survival
from Winter’s bleak fury
till Spring’s brief revival.
The weak implore Fate;
bold men ravish, dishevel her ...
till both are cut down
by mere ticks of the Leveler.
Keywords/Tags: nature, survival, bitter, coronavirus, plague, winter, spring, fate, weak, bold, time, clock, tick, ticks, levels, leveler, Apocalypse, Armageddon
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 3:04 AM UTC
The Leveler
by Michael R. Burch
The nature of Nature
is bitter survival
from Winter’s bleak fury
till Spring’s brief revival.
The weak implore Fate;
bold men ravish, dishevel her . . .
till both are cut down
by mere ticks of the Leveler.
Published by The Lyric, Tucumcari Literary Review, Romantics Quartely and The Aurorean. Keywords/Tags: nature, survival, bitter, winter, spring, fate, weak, bold, time, levels, leveler
Mar 27, 2020
Mar 27, 2020 at 5:07 AM UTC