"liven" poems
Your stars glimmers
Belching, wrenching
Exposing my ethnic aura
A tape of heavenly bliss
The acoustic rhythm
Essentially subliminal
Satiably insatiable
Tracked traces covered
Your tree branching out
Railing through my bark
My bosoms blossoming
Tip-toe to my bareness
Your entirely arousing
A summation of beauty
A firefly to enlighten
Encased within to liven
A body I hold twinkles
Whistle magnetic presence
Sprinkle my mind to entwine
Assign your soul peacefully
A might, a light at sight
A whole in me,a one in you
Pluck, nip,smash,trap,stash
In dreamscapes and reality
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 11:37 AM UTC
The sun
Is glad to see your face,
Your unseen grace,
Your Hidden space,
Your
Silhouette now covered in sun beams.
It seems
You've been
Packed away for a very long time
Its almost a crime how you've
Shielded yourself from his hydrogenity.
The sun
Is glad to see your smile
Your pearly whites
And colorless lips
Soft,
Too cold,
needing,
Craving,
warmth.
His
Golden fingers graze your cheek
And Bring life back to your pallor.
Who knew
Living as a recluse would make you so blue,
So unidentifiable?
He Brings you back from the dead
Pulling your soul back out
into your flesh.
Fresh
And healed,
At least Temporarily
But it
is enough,
His touch,
To liven your now tanning skin
To Make you akin to his own:
A sunflower
Trapped in the dark
3 inches tall instead of 3 feet
Now starting to grow beyond skyscrapers with his aid,
if his light is what's causing you to
Stand up straight
His heat is what is reviving your heartbeat
A Crescendo from silence to a slight pitter patter
Almost as soft as rain.
Almost as if crying.
If you listen hard enough,
You just might hear it wimpering, waking up from it's hibernation.
It
Wants to go back to sleep
But he
Refuses to give up his efforts of recesitation
For he knows it isn't for naught,
For he knows that it is working,
Your heart stirring
Beating
Louder as you step further out of the door frame
Let him
Cradle your soul with his firey hands
Let him
Bring you back from the dead.
You Look so much more alive when you let him work his magic on you.
The world
Has missed you.
Looking around,
Your mind starts whirring,
Analysing The outside world.
The Green of the grass and the
Blue of the sky,
All Graces of the solar angel shining over you,
Shining into you.
Giving you sight,
Giving you life,
Giving you the things you couldn't have before.
Let his
Golden happiness seep into your freezing bones,
And,
Turn them into torches
And burn brighter, in the daylight
Than you ever did in the darkness.
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 10:53 AM UTC
Doctor, Doctor
I've trouble with my eyes
Then take these blue pills,
That's what I advise
Oh Doctor, Doctor
My bones are all sore
White pills I prescribe
They'll hurt you no more
But Doctor, Doctor
My heartbeat is waning
Take red pills for that
You'll soon be regaining
Please Doctor, please
My mind fades away
For that I have gray pills
You'll be sharper today
Its quite shocking Doctor,
My ***** is murky
Take these yellow pills
They'll clear it by Thursday
I mope around Doctor,
My mood's really flat
These rose colored pills
Will take care of that
You must help me Doctor,
In bed I'm a flop
Then try these long capsules
They'll liven things up
Tell me please Doctor,
What's inside these pills?
Why medicine, of course,
To cure all your ills
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 7:05 PM UTC
Tired, I awoke upon a lonely island beach
And gazed on a Goddess above the shore,
With sea foam hair, coral skin, what dream,
My salt eyes, blinded, open, wanting more,
Conspiring with rays of summer she shone
So bright, this daughter of the sun, we stood
I and my castaway crew, to that siren prone
As she led us to her mansion in the woods.
Her potions tamed the forest wolf and lion,
Spellbinding warrior poets to liven feasts.
Why then must she turn ***** men to swine,
By what she most desired contented least?
Desert falcon, my moly held Pharaohs' breeze
And what nil escape above the wine dark seas.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
The party starts at ten to three.
On the second floor,room twenty two
two vicars who had come down from Crewe were wondering just what to wear, to the shindig going on down there.
They collided,both decided to put on crimson frilly frocks,this was not a 'do' for cassocks or for smocks.
Room forty four up on the forth,was Lucy Ann,a double barrelled name of course,a horsey type who came by invite to liven lively up the night.
In number ten slept teacup Ken,who had never once imbibed,the porter was slipped a twenty,but was bribed to keep his big mouth shut, as ties were cut and Ken found Zen in a brandy glass,
and discovered parties were a gas.
The police arrived to room fifty five and found Miss Sterling doing the jive around the severed head of Fred the cook,
poor Fred never had any kind luck.
There is no escape from the party at Lancaster Gate and those who come are those who'll die
but the party is so flamin' good I'll try to sneak in,got to take a peek in room number twenty seven,where it's said,that the lady there can show you several kinds of heaven before you meet your doom.
Got to get in, get a room,check in time expires at noon.
I shall no doubt expire,naked by the fire in
room, one o one.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
This here poem is about a puppy, you need not know his name
Only in that he is a puppy, you should know him all the same
This here puppy had an awareness not unlike your own
He knew he had to lick his ***** and hide his ****** bone
This little puppy stumbled about, much like you once did
Back when you were a dumb as **** snot faced little kid
The puppy found his world confusing much like you still do
But unlike you this puppy knows he hasn’t a ****** clue
See here what this puppy knows, is that it’s ok to have no reason
To call into doubt what you think you know, isn’t ******* treason
This here puppy he figured out that his reality isn’t fixed
In fact it’s incomplete, not done, any beliefs he had were nixed
You could learn a lot from him, if you’d only stop a bit
Put aside your petty wants, try thinking while you ****
Wisdom and compassion you’ll see walk hand in hand
Be considerate of your actions, keep your head out of the sand
This puppy has no enemies and yet you have a million
If you lived but ten more years, I bet you’ll have a billion
Try being like the puppy, just appreciate what you’ve been given
Sometimes it takes just a smile to see why life’s worth liven
May 18, 2020
May 18, 2020 at 8:43 PM UTC
Doctor, Doctor
I've trouble with my eyes
Then take these blue pills,
That's what I advise
Oh Doctor, Doctor
My bones are all sore
White pills I prescribe
They'll hurt you no more
But Doctor, Doctor
My heartbeat is waning
Take red pills for that
You'll soon be regaining
Please Doctor, please
My mind fades away
For that, I have gray pills
You'll be sharper today
Its quite shocking Doctor,
My ***** is murky
Take these yellow pills
They'll clear it by Thursday
I mope around Doctor,
My mood's really flat
These rose-colored pills
Will take care of that
You must help me, Doctor,
In bed, I'm a flop
Then try these long capsules
They'll liven things up
Tell me please Doctor,
What's inside these pills?
Why medicine, of course,
To cure all your ills
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 4:58 PM UTC
When you're a writer, you get invited to strange gigs
sometimes, where usually, the audience is arty farty
or even a bit precious and pretentious.
You know, the blue rinse set.
But I was once invited to recite poetry in a bar,
where I knew my audience might be ******
or maybe even abusive, and wouldn't give
a **** about writing.
Yeah? Well, I'm a bit of a word warrior, really,
so I didn't back off.
I stepped right in for the fight.
I said straight up that my poem was especially
for people like them who thought that writers are
wishy-washy, woffling, **** weak and luke-warm.
So then I said,
PPPHHHaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrtttttttt.
Very loud.
I told them this was some royal raspberry,
just for people like them,
who thought this was going to be another boring poem.
And then I threw in a few words like, ah, **** doggy fashion,
finger up the **** you know, just to liven things up.
I told them what I really thought.
***** You! Especially seeing as how you think poetry’s
some wimpy, bleeding heart, limp **** stuff. Right?
So let's get right down and ***** here.
Which is much more interesting, eh?
And do you know what that says about you?
No? You bleeding, blinkered, blind-as-bats
broomstick-up-the-arsed, boring, bonehead ********
So don't call this poet piss-weak any more
or I'll hit you bang between the eyes
and up between your thighs.
I've got some things to say you'd better not ignore.
When it comes to words, I'm a gouger and a biter.
I'm a brawling, hard-as-nails, no-holds-barred street fighter.
I'm a writer.
Yeah, well, no surprise here. That made them quieter.
I'd shut them up. So what did that prove?
I'd just abused and confused them.
It made me think, well, why did I bother?
Poems are for believers and lovers, aren’t they?
They don't need me to fight for them in bars.
Poems just are.
Yes,and some of them might live
as long as the stars.
Mike T Minehan
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
I'm having a bad day and I don't know what to do
I'm just sitting here, with a frown on my face
Maybe someone will make me laugh and it will liven up my spirits a little
Who knows? I might just have a bad day
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
It's 4am and I'm curled outside a train station, waiting for the sun to rise.
The city of Dublin can liven up your live, but the bitter cold is not something to smile about.
Is home life really this bad that I would want to starve myself, walk on cobbled streets all day until my feet are in agony with a feeling of terror.
Sitting on a park bench, I realized God was all I had.
Experiences like this make you realize what it is to have absolutely nothing and when one is tempted by a lifestyle of greed and materialism.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
Pretending is such a lovely game.
To be a wizard casting spells.
A princess wishing to be saved from the top of an evil tower.
Pretending to listen..
Nodding your head in unison with words.
As if they need your nonverbal gesture to sleep at night.
Pretending to care..
Going through the motions without so much of tender hand on a shoulder.
Forcing a smile back at them as if we were dogs ready to attack.
Pretending.
Always Pretending!
The game has lost in our thoughts.
Wake up!
Liven your soul.
And stop pretending.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 10:38 PM UTC
Tired, I awoke upon a lonely island beach
And gazed on a Goddess above the shore,
With sea foam hair, coral skin, what dream,
My salt eyes, blinded, open, wanting more,
Conspiring with rays of summer she shone
So bright, this daughter of the sun, we stood
I and my castaway crew, to that siren prone
As she led us to her mansion in the woods.
Her potions tamed the forest wolf and lion,
Spellbinding warrior poets to liven feasts.
Why then must she turn ***** men to swine,
By what she most desired contented least?
Desert falcon, my moly held Pharaohs' breeze
And what nil escape above the wine dark seas.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
The serpent speaks words which are undeserving fables of hurtful intentions raging within her
I took a deep breath in an instead of a push back, my kindness was sweetness aching her teeth
Her sugar rush of confusion relayed a headache and her fangs and her poison took a step back
I gleamed with a smile of trust and amazement
As pure kindness does **** an old heated heart
I can't blame her or shun her for her bitter ways
I can only lead in example in style with grace
Because a serpent is tantrum of an entitled stranger
Or maybe a wounded solider battling herself yet to heal from a dysfunctional heart
And I am a lady regardless of such things I've done in my past or can't admit to the world
A master of disguise with innocence behind me
A pyramid that stands after storms and abuse
I've known no avalanche to strike or defeat me
Only negatives that lingered to help me develop
I've known no artist to win in an instance
Or a luck so clever to keep running back to
I've only known that terror and darkness and hatred are cured by the kindness from the wise ones
And coincidence is more than some kind of echo
It is purpose we seek and sometimes we question
But the truth is our purpose is to blossom like wildflowers
And even flowers need help from rain drops to flourish
And sunshine to liven that inconsistent rain
So be the sunshine or you might end u a serpent
Praying on kindness only to **** you in the end
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 2:27 PM UTC
I’m scared that you will
walk away someday,
and forget all about me
and I know I might
sound really selfish
but please stay
forever
I know someday
when we grow old and
don’t have more life
back to be liven in our worn
bodies, you will leave me
I will leave you
death will divorce us
and
I am so scared
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 6:49 AM UTC
The many different shades and variety of colors envelop my entire world
Through I also can't help but see in monochrome
The palette where I mix the possibilities
Each are beautiful in it's own way
Adding to the depth and richness
Art is beauty to the beholder
Every detail, every shape, every color, every thoughts or feeling put into it
I hope that people would envision what I have experienced and seen
Red's passion, yellow's brightness, blue's coolness, green's gentleness, orange's energy, white's purity, black's shades, pink's affection, purple's dignity, gray's neutrality.
So beautiful to my fading sight
Let me liven up this boring world
Full of routines and a cage
Dying the world
In my messed up mind
Let the creativity unleash itself
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
prepare for the high gates to fall.
for the great bowl of us
to submerge under stolen soul waves
& atomic guts.
the seven year tribes; or
fissure of statehoods and broods and brother against brother.
end drenched in whisky blood,
& desperado cheese.
fungus.
[the rebellion kids] with their drums and sling-shots,
get their throats cut in the open street sweet heat
& blitzkrieg.
all first-born hearts plucked
from atop the great pyramid, preserved, and in
frosted time-capsules.
yet the leopards remain healthy.
while cities plunge into putrefaction &/or
radioactive ****
from **** to corner to tomahawk
in skull death note.
beaten back to the parking-lot of a best western;
in the battle of sacramento;
is an ammo-less infantry drummer,
& a bleeding medic.
they laugh and snap morphine tips
in the revelry of their final formations.
moon crescent
slows and all the woods liven with flocks of small children.
they live on plant sugars, wild
mushroom and boiled water.
they hide in caves of ancient etch;
old time-gone man & woman & buffalo.
they hunt owls with homemade crossbows
& cook the meat on holy spits.
grinding the little bones
into tincture rubbed beneath their eyes.
this, to exhume an astral essence.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 4:56 AM UTC
stop fronten
yes you the boys i once fancied
we all know you missed out
let a good thing slip by
all in the name of swag
swag + hood status + reputation + ego
you sleep alone
liven with mom's
no queen to defend the king
check-mate
we all grow old and alone
not all with regret
dyeing young is a myth
a blessing for few
stop fronten
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
(sonnet)
Tired, I awoke upon a lonely island beach
And gazed on a Goddess above the shore,
With sea foam hair, coral skin, what dream,
My salt eyes, blinded, open, wanting more,
Conspiring with rays of summer she shone
So bright, this daughter of the sun, we stood
I and my castaway crew, to that siren prone
As she led us to her mansion in the woods.
Her potions tamed the forest wolf and lion,
Spellbinding warrior poets to liven feasts.
Why then must she turn ***** men to swine,
By what she most desired contented least?
Desert falcon, my moly held Pharaohs' breeze
And what nil escape above the wine dark seas.
.
Aug 8, 2020
Aug 8, 2020 at 8:39 PM UTC
You really think you cool running around like a fool thinking youre funny screaming I got money you got me at a loss acting like yous a boss trying to **** when you nothing but bug you have no education smoking **** everyday liven that life you say but you don't get paid you're broke this life you live is just a joke don't ever step to a real because blood you'll choke I'm not saying not to have fun just do t run around pulling a gun acting like a **** cause you will never be get a job and get paid you're better than that fake *** life you liven turn it around and start given but you can't and you won't cause you are nothing but a joke
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
Tired, I awoke upon a lonely island beach
And gazed on a Goddess above the shore,
With sea foam hair, coral skin, what dream,
My salt eyes, blinded, open, wanting more,
Conspiring with rays of summer she shone
So bright, this daughter of the sun, we stood
I and my castaway crew, to that siren prone
As she led us to her mansion in the woods.
Her potions tamed the forest wolf and lion,
Spellbinding warrior poets to liven feasts.
Why then must she turn ***** men to swine,
By what she most desired contented least?
Desert falcon, my moly held Pharaohs' breeze
And what nil escape above the wine dark seas.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
LIVEN ON THE RAZORS EDGE
Remember how we used to dream
the things that we were not
I was your knight in shining armor
in our concrete Camelot
We played so many different parts
like actors on a stage
We’d escape through picture magazines
just by turning page to page
Back when we had nothing to lose
by taking a chance by breaking the rules
When we were dead end kids living on the razors edge
and I was King of the streets and you were queen of the avenue
When we were dead end kids living on the razors edge
our castle was a run-down candy store our kingdom the theatre Bijou
And it’s good seeing you again
though it’s been so many years
Since I played your Lancelot
and you my Guinevere
I’m glad to see those special times
neither one of us forgot
And that we no long need to dreams
the things that we are not
Back when we had nothing to lose
by taking a chance by breaking the rules
When we were dead end kids living on the razors edge
and I was King of the streets and you were queen of the avenue
When we were dead end kids living on the razors edge
our castle was a run-down candy store our kingdom the theatre Bijou
sp-theatre / English / theater American English
By VjKelly 1993 © for my song RAZORS EDGE
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
Ariseth watchman, O' prophet's dust off the dirt from thy feet. Ourn messiah is close, Iisoús Christós,
He's at the narrow door
Knocking; hair white as
Snow, countenance as
A white sun.
Waken, liven up thy hope,
For ourn lord hast risen; all thing's made subject to him.
Art thou ashamed of the great "I AM",
O' Christian? Is thy lamp trimmed, full of oil? Or is thy lamp half full.
Art thou ready? Or playing
World as time ticks through.
From thy slumber, wash the crust out of thy eyne, judgements soon to
Befall this sphere, get thy mind
Settled, focus on what's right.
Watchman watch, O' prophet's write,
Yeshua's coming as a thief;
To rapture up his bride.
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poets poetry
©prophetic poetry
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 9:42 AM UTC
And here is my life taking a serious turn,
Will leave me with the marks of cuts and burns
Will you,
Will you stand by my side?
They said, never mind, certainly God will help
And listen to your endless cries and painful yelp.
But I need at this moment a soothing lap
Which can give me the needed solace and serene nap
Will God?
Will God abide?
That's why I was asking you to stand by my side.
They said God cannot be everywhere and thus created mother
And as a pillar to your life he gifted you a father.
But they don't know there is something known as the age
Which helps in almost nothing else putting you in a cage
You cannot wet your eyes on your parents shoulder
When they expect you to be brave and bolder.
Will they?
Will they sustain my swelling tide.
That's why o' dear I was craving for your side.
Before you be judgemental and term me selfish
Lemme show you the other facet which you may cherish.
Inside me are vast clouds of love that continuously hover
Waiting for someone worthy enough to start their shower.
They are divine for their sensation can liven the autumn bare
And magical as they always ornate a rainbow rare.
They are sensitive as pleasure make them roar.
And revenge for others out of hatred result in downpour.
Will you,
Will you let the unfathomable love die inside?
That's why, That's why I was wishing you'd get up and stand by my side.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC
cinders of lust glimmer in the darkness
the heart races with ever so quickening beat
the blood pulsates & swirls with madness
calm is only existent with the dowsing of passion to quell it
the cloaked night sky will liven itself with bursts of starlight
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 9:42 PM UTC
I'd rather be a hobo
OVERDOSED ON A HAND FULL OF NODOSE, NOW I'M HOPING TRAINS WITH HOBOS. BEEN LIVING IN THE SAME CLOTHES. HAVEN'T HAD A SECOND TO SHUT MT EYES, IT'S STARTING TO FEEL LIKE I'M LIVEN 75,000,000,000 LIVES. SEEN GOOD MAN HANGING BY THE BOTTOM AS EVIL MAN ON TOP PLOT TO SLAUGHTER THEM. THE POOR ARE THE ONLY ONES BRINGING IN OFFERINGS ALL WHILE THE CHURCH CHOIR SINGS SONGS OF REDEMPTION. BAPTIZING THE LIES OF EVIL PEOPLE, WHY THE RICH MOST BE BELIEVERS. A HOLEY WAR FOUGHT BEHIND DOORS OF OIL RESERVES, BURNING HOLES IN THE O-ZONE, BURNING GOOD PEOPLE IN THEIR HOMES. THE POPULATION, A MASS PRODUCTION OF SLAVES AND CLONES, JUST TO SAY IT'S GODS WAY, PRINT IT ON THE MONEY, AND GIVE HIM HIS CUT EVERY SUNDAY. LOOKS TO ME LIKE WE'RE LIVEN IN THE LAND OF WHO EVER HAS THE UPPER HAND AND HE GETS TO CALL HIMSELF UNCLE SAM. COULD IT BE THAT FRIENDLY FIRE WAS THE INTENT, COULD IT BE THAT WE BELIEVED LIES THAT ARE PAYED WITH OUR LIVES. COULD IT BE WHILE RUNNING WITH OUR HEADS IN BETWEEN OUR KNEES THE RAT RACE CAME AND REARRANGE OUR DREAMS. SO WITH WOOL OVER OUR EYEs EVIL CAN CHANGE INTO IT'S GOOD DISGUISE.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 3:44 PM UTC