"listener" poems
*
*hold me not
touch me not
maybe I'm clumsy-clumsy-clumsy!
have headache
want chocolate shake
maybe I'm lazy-lazy-lazy!
feel me not
mind me not
I'm cranky-cranky-cranky!
the mood is swinging
find me clinging
I'm touchy-touchy-touchy!
may be crazy
sometimes hazy
I'm moody-moody-moody!
stay away
go your way
I'm feelo-feelo-feelo!
just be there
patient listener
I'm despo-despo-despo!
here i contradict
have conflict
I'm psycho-psycho-psycho!
changing hormones
troubling estrogens
tell me not a fatso-fatso-fatso!
maybe I'll be ok again!
maybe you'll love me then!*
*
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 9:29 AM UTC
1748
The reticent volcano keeps
His never slumbering plan—
Confided are his projects pink
To no precarious man.
If nature will not tell the tale
Jehovah told to her
Can human nature not survive
Without a listener?
Admonished by her buckled lips
Let every babbler be
The only secret people keep
Is Immortality.
12.9k
they called me here
to this home
to this time.
I listened
I've always been a good listener.
as soon as I learned the
definition
of heed, I began.
it's my favorite word
and so I listened
and we're here
and it all just keeps working.
paying attention to the subtleties ,
the wind breeze,
the crows tease,
the bugs glowing, blue eye…
the crimson show,
the earth moved,
the air beneath this ground,
the vines lasting
stretch to protect the fruit
obviously
grown for us.
never a year before?
I truly wonder still.
when?
now, as he said.
it's now.
I'm only now.
there is nothing to await
though impatience is a mental normalcy.
our friend in the desert
made the connections.
she must have told me
though I don't
remember
hearing her.
I ramble sometimes
and listening is impaired.
of course I'm a work in progress…
it's mostly due to
depending on my memory
its impermanent in its
very nature.
now!
if I lived there, I would
have it a little easier
but I'm still scared of the dark.
one of the remaining fears,
a part of the message
sent;
called me here.
the lessons continue to
self realize
and appear, right
at my eyes,
never before
always on time.
always.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
Mister Sun was out
Lady Wind did whisper
Baby Clouds did not pout
Birds chirped for a listener
And now the seasons change
Through the tall grass
The autumn breeze blows
A warmth the air lacks
As summer does go
And now the seasons change
Winter comes with clouds
Heavily they sure will weigh,
Over the city over the town
Loom those clouds of gray
And now the seasons change
Back to the beginning
We return from where we came
Everything must start over
So it can continue the same
And again the seasons change
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
We saw each other for first time
Feels like this is not our first meet
We're so close like partners in crime
When we are walking in the streets
We are laughing at each other
Teasing about imperfections
Our status between me and her
Same vibes with nice conversation
She talks about her own story
And I would be great listener
Feels like I'm reading history
And I'm the only one reader
I'm lucky that's all I can say
Coz I met this girl and so glad
This day is one of my best day
And the best date I've ever had
Jan 18, 2021
Jan 18, 2021 at 7:59 AM UTC
Where do I see you my blue eyed mum?
In colours of rainbows lit up by the sun,
In the chair by the window with your tea and a crossword,
In the picture you drew of me when I was a young boy,
In the last birthday card you were ever to send me,
In the list that you gave me to help me get sorted,
The photo of you holding me as a baby.
The love that you showed never came with a maybe.
How will I remember you my blue eyed mum?
Thinking of others would name but just one,
Camping with children from near and far places,
Cooking meals in the kitchen for friends and for family,
Changing the subject whenever you wanted,
Asking me to speak louder because you could not hear me,
The eggs that you bought for me every Friday,
Making the dress for your youngest granddaughter.
What did I learn from you my blue eyed mum?
The list would be endless but here are just some,
The listener learns more than the ones that are talking,
Words spoken in anger may someday be regretted,
Hate towards others will only consume me,
The loudest voice heard may not be the wisest,
Happiness cannot be measured in coins or possessions,
Let beauty be seen in all colours, shapes and sizes.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
What is Poetry?
Is it emotions flowing onto paper?
Or is it the tranquil sea that holds the world's tears?
What is Poetry?
Is it the outpouring of emotions onto
A canvas of beauty?
Despair?
What is Poetry?
Look around you.
The lives of those surrounding yours are Poetry.
Those feelings that extend and pour out to one another is Poetry.
What affects you, runs through your being and
Makes you who you are.
Who you are is Poetry.
Poetry, the undying form, style, wanders through the generations.
An emotion?
Love is Poetry.
An indescribable emotion flowing from the depths of the soul.
Such is Poetry.
Reader, listener, friend.
No poet can say what Poetry is.
Similes, metaphors, analogies,
All just chalk on the board of life.
A poet can't describe Poetry.
Even now I am left in the fog of understanding, contemplation, and wonder.
So, friend, again I ask,
What is Poetry?
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 2:24 PM UTC
You light me up like a Christmas tree
And I feel so juvenile
But I'm too chicken to say how I feel
Because I'm still in denial
Because there's so many words you've said
And I've wondered if they were for me
With so many words that I've said
You were always listening
Because I remember my words
And it appears you did too
You're a very good listener
For someone I've rarely spoken to
Because I'm running towards you
But is this the right way to go
I'm chasing after someone
Who I don't even know
We're flirting with the line
And I'm on the edge
Are you going to cross
Or stay true to your pledge
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 4:14 PM UTC
The black horse of nocturnal dreams
That of which the cursed angels sing
The black horse
Of man's design
The black horse of untold times
Braided mane fiery long and flowing
Riding into the darkness all knowing
I am that which feeds the demons fear
Hidden in a blind man's tears
The black horse of lost tomorrows
The ghosts of suffering and sorrow
Thundering hooves of the written word
The sound of blood trumpets can be heard
Bringer of nocturnal dreams
That of which the dark angels sing.
The black horse with deep earth eyes
Vicious wind of the people cries
The black horse of lost tomorrows
The ghosts of suffering and sorrow
The listener of your agonized screams
The bearer of your darkest dreams
@ Copyright Tammy M Darby 3/6/2016
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 5:29 PM UTC
When you speak, the listener understands you. When you write, the reader understands themselves.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 2:59 AM UTC
Many books you might have read.
But, did you ever read the reader?
Many songs you might have listened.
But, did you ever listen to the listener?
Many places you might have explored.
But, did you ever explore the explorer?
Many events you might have experienced.
But, did you ever experience the experiencer?
Many journeys you might have voyaged.
But, did you ever voyage to the voyager?
Many facts you might have known.
But, did you ever know the knower?
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 1:38 AM UTC
3am, my bestfriend..
She certainly knows me in my most unadulterated form...
My anxieties, my fears, my frustrations...
3am, my bestfriend...
She is really good at keeping secrets..
For when I wake up in the morning, no body knows a thing
3am, my bestfriend
She sure is a good listener..
Listens to my sobbing, when I stuff cloth in my mouth to make sure I dont make any sound...
3am, my bestfriend
She is also a good counselor
Consoles me till my.heart is empty, till my eyes are dry...
3am, my bestfriend
I dont doubt her loyalty
I know she ll be there for me, every time the soul in me cries for help
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 10:41 AM UTC
In the light
Shadows are prisoners
And prisoners we are to our shadows
But if shadows could speak
I think they'll say
*I am no prisoner
I am but a listener
I guide the light
and shape
the stars
I am detailed
craftily inked
I am what links
us all*
**In the darkness
Our shadows are free
And we are free from our shadows
But if shadows could speak
I think they'll say
***I am beyond free
I am everywhere
omnipresent
and omniscient
I shade what most
aren't aware of
I am the protector
The keeper
of all secrets
I am defined
by none***
But if shadows could speak
will anyone still feel lonesome?
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC
Darkness suffocates me.
Ever-present blackness fights to enter my bloodstream
Worming its way through my pores
While tendrils of grey fog claw at my eyes
Obscuring my vision
Suddenly a light appears.
The tendrils retreat,
Skittering into the surrounding shadows
White fire circled by a hazy purple brilliance,
Floating in my direction
A positive thought.
Possibility
“I am a good listener.”
Corny, yes
But I like that
For a moment, I like me
Connection
Brilliant fire envelops
Light radiates from within me
A supernova, I shine overwhelmingly
Before collapsing in on myself
With the light gone
I lie in darkness,
but not despair.
Glowing dimly,
A flickering ember sits in the corner
Hope
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 1:01 PM UTC
Your origami snapper came along
tucked into my wallet
things like that don't travel well
but I managed
they suffered a lesion to the spine
snappers are apparently weak there
maybe we can work on growing a backbone together
handmade gifts mean the most
less, when it was made in whimsy and flimsy
more, because it gave me false hope
maybe it's a sign
like a uke-playing octopus
maybe friendship is all I need right now
your origami snapper is a great listener
It sits on my desk
Either mocking or pondering, I can’t tell
Snappers are hard to read that way
Maybe if we showed more emotion you’d
notice
but action requires reaction
and somehow the origami rose I made forgot it’s origami thorns
But there could be blood on my hands
From a beautiful friendship I so recklessly slaughter
pulling up roots like weeds
adding wistful thinking to inimitable memories
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
music
ebbs and flows;
within my small frame
comes great power
inside my fragile body
emotion is overbearing
into my soul
the listener peers
ever so delicately
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 7:49 PM UTC
catch me like a fish
everlasting supplier of light rays-
warming the soul like a cup of hot tea on a sleepy sunday afternoon
- melancholic -
swaying the universe
the mermaids sing in the mornings
mesmerizing the sailors
and i am the singer and the mesmerized
i am free. i am free from the ropes. free from the chains of a dreary existence. i can feel it i can feel it on the tip of my eyelashes with the swells of tears pouring out.
- renewal - - relief -
i am a good girl. listener of tall tales and fantasies. spur of the moment night crawler caller.
i spin a beautiful web of fantastical clouds. from ropes to cakes.
pick your poison.
i am a bad girl. keeper of secrets. silent truths bundled under creative happiness and weakly disguised love affairs.
- blink and it’s over -
i’ll lie in your lap and watch you write-
spinning fantastical tales of glorious awakenings. new beginnings.-
pull my hair up to attention. i am here. i am wanted. want want grab me.
want//need. clever disguises. silent truths. wispy truths.
childhood pencil marks. pig tail sneakers.
truth drops into heads.
eyes drop onto the floor.
teeth sink into lips.
heart drops into stomach.
limbs fold over limbs and the being falls slowly upon itself.
when i wasn’t mine.
she wanted me more than she could stand. stabbed me with a ************* pencil. made my heart drop into my ************* stomach.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
reverence in poetry. everything to every person.
reader claims they can a necessary skill for
uncover the reverence. successful hypothecating and
in the scripts that (buying)poetry-creation outta nothing,
life straight hands me, tell them what thy want to hear,
for collection & correction, and they’ll call you laureate,
secretarial transcribing, instead of good listener
binding, typo correction or just a keen observer-fakir
mundane are the tasks, just take what they give ya,
that’s all them muses ask, dress it like Joseph in a
don’t interfere, taken what’s given, coat of many colors,
bow, curtsy, show respect, don’t let on your plagiarism
treat its aspects/instincts correctly is all them, redressed legally
you’re just the pass through agent, true you, gotta be smart about it,
patient for no payment expected, variant spellings, swinging verbs,
be our adherent, not our truant, be discreet, they’ll call your script
we appoint don’t disappoint, a real keeper and give love or sun,
accept our patent, render legit mucho poem emojis accoladeya
as for this reverence thinge devil in a blue dress, walk the streets
if I do my job ok, on any day, grabbing snatches of overhearings,
any poem could save a life, pressed into a single tunic, you think,
if I get the commas placed, he a genius, knows my thinking,
just right, the periods period, exactly, what a great poet and
while obeying the speed limit con/hu-man par excellent
them muses so **** pleased even fool muses, too full themselves,
by this true confession released, muses who think we stink and
and self deprecation, couldn’t do it without them
they call me reverend, great pretenders by stealing
imagine them silly folk, everything in everybody and
calling a big fat liar. all thieves and cape riders,
reverend, duh, the end original liars, pants on fire
before midnight and after 3:20am April 7~8, two oh nineteen
any message you send becomes my intellectual property, fool....
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 5:24 AM UTC
A borrowed attire
A ***** curly fro
A slant set of shoulders
A "lawn" that is mowed
Soft caramel skin
Four new tattoos
Old holes from piercings
No longer in use.
A taller frame
And a nice juicy ****
******* to match
But a small little gut
A refurbished heart
A genuine smile
A great listener
Keeps old things on file
A charming stare
But not much to say
She'll sneak in your heart
In a phenomenal way
Ready for anything
When put to the test
Yes, she has her flaws
But she's close to the best.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 5:16 PM UTC
"You can join our group," he says,
"But only if you look everyone in the eyes."
I freeze.
Surely he is aware by now that the words
Autism Spectrum Disorder
In my chart were not placed there for fun?
Surely he is aware by now that finger twitching, body rocking,
gaze avoiding
Are not for my frivolous pleasure?
Surely he is aware by now the absurdity of what he asks?
I am autistic.
Burning irritation of the eyes and panic aside,
Staring creepily into another human's eyeballs
Would render group a waste of time, no possibility to listen.
He knows this.
It is his prejudice that keeps him rooted to the spot.
I can feel the weight of his expectations boring into my forehead.
Explaining what it is to ask this of me,
I remind him that drawing this line would be excluding me because
Of my autism.
I tell him he would be losing a valuable participant,
A deep thinker, a creator, an avid listener.
I tell him he would be discriminating,
That I am protected by law.
Oh, no.
He budges not,
For he does not dislike autistic humans
So long as they act like they are Neurotypical,
So long as I pretend to be
Someone I am not.
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 12:22 AM UTC
We serve the one that is the father of sithis and the void
The master of what isnt and what is change.
For his dark embrace and loving shadows will keep me hidden
My warmth will come from his dead kiss
My life in service
For the Dread Father
She knows it all
She always know
And we do her biddings
She is the head of our body
We are the listener and four speakers
We are the thumb and fingers of her Black Hand
We serve you
Dear Night Mother
Our brothers and sisters
we are one
In the cloud of the fathers embrace
And in the time we all go to him
Brothers and sisters
What is the color of the night?
Sanguine, my brother
We are one
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
I have started this letter one hundred times. I have referred to you as my friend, my "cousin", my love. No term seems more right than brother, as you have grown with me, and we have lived our parallel lives. I have known you since the day I was born, and I will know you until the day I die. I have long since memorized each freckle on your face, each vein in your hand, each scar on your hip. I am saying this in the hopes that you will understand why it hurt so much when you looked me in the eye and told me to calm down.
As we skipped rocks in the river that runs past my house, you complained to me about the cousin with the crazy feminist ideals. I laughed it off, and tried to reason with you, trying to teach my dear brother a valuable lesson. That's when you stared at me, with those gorgeous, piercing eyes, and you said, "I know women think they don't have rights, but like...just calm down, okay?"
Not okay. It will never be okay. It can't be okay until boys like you stop ignoring our pain. Stop writing off our suffering as hormones and gossip. Stop telling us that our feelings are invalid.
You have always said that I was your little sister. As children, you were the first to teach me how to throw a punch, so I could take care of myself. You were the first to grab me by the hand and whisper, "I will never let anything happen to you."
If you wanted to protect me, if you wanted to love me, if you wanted me to have what you have, you would not ignore the hardships of myself and my sisters. You would not tell me I'm making it up. You would not tell me to calm down. You would not stop until everything really was okay.
I wonder how much you actually know about feminism, and how much you actually know about me. Once I thought you had memorized each piece I have given you, the way I have memorized every curve in your body, and every corner of your brain. I suppose, looking back, you never were the best listener.
The day before you came to me, angry about the unfairness of your parents. I would never say to you, "I know you think it's not fair but like...just calm down, okay?" When you came to me about your anxiety, I would never say, "I know you think it's hard, but like...just calm down, okay?" I would never ignore your words, would never patronize your pain, would never tell you to calm down.
Something inside of me has been broken ever since that day. The day that I realized that my big brother wasn't always the good guy. Some days, he's the villain. Most days, he's part of the problem.
I will always love you. You have been with me since my first breathe, and I'll be ****** if you're not there for my last. I will always listen, always hold you, always love you, always be here for you. But the one thing I refuse to do is dilute my anger for you. I will not sugarcoat my oppression, will not sweep away my sadness. I will not calm down.
And maybe, with you by my side, we could make things be okay.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC
The possibility of free declamation anchored
And lucid, inescapable rhythms
Do have meaning. They're strong as rocks
In the deep-toned Aeolian mode
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
A Poet could not but be gay,
The Impotence to Tell –
Still makes a poem a surprise!
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 10:54 PM UTC
Growing up I was always told I was a great listener
Oh how I have strayed from that time of late
Sorry for I never felt heard until now
Aug 16, 2022
Aug 16, 2022 at 12:21 AM UTC