"meddles" poems
There are
7 different types
of love
elaborated by
the heart's
7 different
beats, decoding
7 different languages
that the mind
meddles with
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 4:00 AM UTC
Cupid teases me in the night
like a ghost,
invading my dreams.
He meddles with my ever-altering
unconscious mind,
a world I wish I could remember
before it gets swept away.
Please cupid, stop playing games.
He doesn't miss me.
Upon any unlikely encounter,
the last thing I would see is a delighted smile
let alone his warm embrace.
They say when you dream about someone,
that person is missing you.
Sounds like wishful thinking to me.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
Dax-
God's Eyes
~My Verse~
I've never seen God's eyes, but I've seen the devil's
He walks with men on earth at different levels
He knows the king we serve, so he hates and meddles
And prays that we all burn and turn to rebels
He tried to get my soul, but I'll never settle
I'll walk this lonely road from the 'burbs to ghettos
I'll take the gift bestowed and return a vessel
I am the one they chose, yeah-yeah-yeah
-----------------------------------------
(first yeah of the verse layered over the last yeah of the chorus, slowed and stretched out)
...-yyeeeaaahhh
I've never met god, no, I've never met the devil
Though I've seen 'em in the eyes of broken people
Both shrouded in lies, watch the line glitch between what's good and what's evil
They seem pretty equal, it's the playing field that's not level
An unholy holy war, creation V creator
You swear he hears prayer so it's a choice to never answer
The holy-ish trinity with it's narcissist center, the first broken family ever
Please do me a favor, before you expire, acknowledge the innocent lost to crossfire
-----------------------------------------
("They'll never see god's eyes, but they've seen the devil's" layered over "I've never seen God's eyes, but I've seen the devil's")
"They'll never see god's eyes, but they've seen the devil's"
He walks with men on earth at different levels
He knows the king we serve, so he hates and meddles
And prays that we all burn and turn to rebels
He tried to get my soul, but I'll never settle
I'll walk this lonely road from the 'burbs to ghettos
I'll take the gift bestowed and return a vessel
I am the one they chose, yeah-yeah-yeah
©2023
Oct 12, 2023
Oct 12, 2023 at 5:01 PM UTC
The monotonous haze of suspicion clouds her perception, Uncertainty meddles with speculation as she ponders,
A decision avowal.
Sep 14, 2021
Sep 14, 2021 at 3:46 PM UTC
US to Russia:
"Stay out of Ukraine!"
meanwhile, the US
still occupies and meddles
with Iraq, Afghanistan,
and all those Pacific Islands
and those are just the ones
we know about:
We don't seek morality;
we're just jealous and envious.
If **** hits any fan,
we want it to be our fan
******* up the ****
of whatever barbarians we see fit.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
I love the British weather especially the sun
But I really can't stand the rain
And I love the smell of fish and chips
It just meddles with my brain
I love the coasts that we possess
Even the Blackpool shore
And to see the way my children play
Makes me love them even more
I love the nitty gritty of politics
Although I'm not to keen on the tories
Their quite happy to cut this and that
Amongst their sordid stories
I love our sporting culture
But I can take or leave the glamorous WAGS
All bling and silly makeup
And the nice Gucci bags
I love our capital London
Especially Leicester Square
Don't understand our Queen though
With her funny little stare
And finally I love the nature
From the Hebrides to John O groats
Where the people are very rural
As they tend to their pigs and goats
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 6:41 PM UTC
Farewell, no—
Not a crow,—
But a lapse of lightning,
Flashes in films— with rocks thrown on a brim—
Creating verges on waters,
As it expands,— a mirror was formed
But shrubs are sobbing,— As the fog meddles with the river— So blinding; Then the mirror disappears
When droplets keep dripping,—
I could not see anymore..
"Find me..find me.."
Who are you?— "Find me.."
Are you a wolf from another pack?—"find me.."— Were you buried? — A breath? Or only pieces?— "find me.."
To be revived below the tree is a befuddling been..
"Find me.."
Somewhere, you are;
Somewhere, you will be—
I will find you..
In the misty voids, I followed you— and submerged to your world
The assuage of none,— oh, 'tis an eerie coldness—
Of belabouring sorrows and haunted dreams
The maze of narration leads to this path—
Summons the whispers of bushes that kept breathing and moving..—
Closer and closer..
In the silence— I sneak;
Someone screams,
(AAAAAAAHHHH!!!)
—Run and run; Never look back— For shadows are treacherous trolls,— Seducing temples—
Enshroud the wilderness to frighten the all grown..
—"I shall call you once more."
Suddenly, I tripped to the quarry
Serpents hissing; The Arachnids are stalking—
"Where is my fire?!"— I rattled to tend
One foot back— Murmurs chanting rituals to this goose
Spill embers! Spill embers!
Fiery torches cast my foes!
Now, I could escape.
No!— The ravens,
I shall not be abducted
Hastily, I blew my feet—To leap in sleek,— As to surpass the endless drear—
I am not a kin to your lair..
—
Hence, I was a fool
Befallen is me,—
When I stepped to the end side of knoll
This rebel is a victim of sheer torn scheme
Help me..
I need to find you..
Help me.. Please, help me..
Please..
A nowhere eagle swooped me from my lore
Bounce away from this pity storm,—
And let these wings fly to the morn
The lenient Stratus Clouds— Bolstering my spirit— Up here, there are no hostiles and skulls
That it declared to me, as well,— "Away from your madness— Perpetrators are attracted by insane vigor. Cease grubbling illusions!
You must seek to believe that it is there, and not unknown."
I conformed to my Savior.
"Find me..find me.."
It was more vivid and louder..
The glimpse of gables, I see now— with a Cross at its top
"My eagle, nest me here"
—"You are here..Enter within."
(GASPS)
Where am I?— I remember there were smoke and mounds;— Above me were clouds..
Wait, why are you smiling?
I shall pant— for I am petrified by all those obscured hollows,— Quite absurd?— Shake me instead
Now I ask you,—
"Who are you?"
—You found Me!—
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 3:10 AM UTC
Swing my phallus,
a lame attempt to keep balance on this spinning rock.
Better ruled by short stick then take stock in anything serious.
mind shut move forward
what we can't see certainly can't hear us.
Only an ******* pumps fists
This abashed soul lumps his blame on the short comings of others.
Disdain, a fort built from pillows and covers
tumbles under the absent look given by scorned lovers...
I picked a rose
pricked a finger
now my love is left to linger with thoughts of red blood
all because I was too impatient to grasp it
a casket lies in reserve for this paper soul
it doesn't take a fool to see that penciled trees won't grow
so here i stand thumb up head down
gratuity, a hole filled with water and rubish
forms beauty in this mind an oil rainbow doth permiss
But thats just it
a shimmer, a sheen
that gleam a thin slice of cold metal
the only rebuttal a reflection, depth shallow
if mirrors speak no lies pull thIs finger out of a hat
devise an angle to cut glass which speaks truth
not crap, or a whacked crack at fact.
A fallacy presented forms false return
allows me repentance from all that i've learned.
Solace in dreams?
a world of things
which feints refuge, gives refuse and meddles
muddied the sleep sought to steal from the night
replaced it with fists, your form, and a fight
a plight is where i stand to sit
despite the case i planned to rip
Eyes turn to days distracted thoughts juggled
nights turned to pains, sore throats, bloodied knuckles
Upside down
or inside out?
... to be continued
-2010
Jan 25, 2010
Jan 25, 2010 at 12:11 PM UTC
It seems that me and cupid
Have fallen out again
Because i called him ' stupid'
Because he caused me pain
Now if your'e gonna side with him
Then thats your choice ..i guess !
But when he meddles without consent
Of mine , he makes a mess !!!
How many times does he need ?
Will he ever ..get it right ?
Find 'my love' the truest of
Instead of all this shite :( !!!
Dec 16, 2011
Dec 16, 2011 at 9:29 AM UTC
The poverty I am saddest about
( his shoutings about politics )
…..he read that online
mine poetry about this poverty
the stupidity started scolding me
declared instantly me-moi as its enemy
its words, so absurds
a lunatic so terrific
not its area nor its section
I oft write in Dutch and this is mine declaration
I do now one step lower
From “it” I step a bit lower down to “his”
his profession does not read poetry
but he thought he could read
poetry poesy and poems
true very pity
not his art nor his profession
he meddles in everything
mine poetic wings, not his thing
(contin.on Part 2)
© Sylvia Frances Chan
Copyright Protected
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 2:21 AM UTC
winter
seems to revel
in it's
intrusive freedom,
to meddle.
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 10:53 PM UTC
No
song because
These are the kind of words
That no one sings.
This is a theme
we shouldn't repeat.
What we have is
Just a passing moment
Only a short poem
I hope you never see.
No.
There's nothing beautiful about this
Nothing beautiful about sin..
But you make it look so heavenly.
Tainted so my broken heart bleeds
Symphonies in every beat.
My
Every word's a sword.
Is it suicide then
When I tattoo myself with my pen;
Write my pain into permanence.
My late nights spent stuck in bed;
Yearning for a warmth that you never send.
I watch the coming dawn from the safety
Of my covers I-I-I'm tired from a sleepless night.
Happy that None can see me cry when the sunrise greets the new days sky
And I'm not feeling right
Cause I been left alone
To face a world
unknown
But
If I called you'd answer right?
If I text you when the moon's high,
And the darkness has settled,
And my mind meddles
With the idea of you,
You'd reply right?
If
I told you I need you…
Is that too desperate?
Rhetorical question
But I understand your objections
Of who I am.
For I now know
Know why the caged bird sang...
And why he fell silent.
Aug 6, 2019
Aug 6, 2019 at 11:37 PM UTC
Oh how the sunset
Meddles with me
Golden flecks
Searing the sky
Split me open
And pour my tears
Like milk into a cats dish.
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 12:04 AM UTC
They splatter words into the atmosphere,
decorating the space with linguistic revelations and insight.
They weave terminology into sentences that blanket their passion
As he challenges, she debates feverishly,
it's a feat of wit and cognition.
Laughter and glee fills their beings and she pauses,
He says, "I honor thy stoic morning mask of incandescent art with a graceful bow"
All the while her heart swells with the incandescent composition he delivers.
His prose pauses her.
His mind captivates her.
His soul welcomes her.
She's fallen for a global linguist,
stunted in his travels due to a pandemic.
He has no space for her existence in his heart's scape,
Yet he leads her into this fantasy illuminated by the words he meddles.
She continuously falls without hesitation or fear.
Uncontrollable.
Feb 27, 2021
Feb 27, 2021 at 3:40 PM UTC
i'm beyond stressed.
i can't help but wonder when the good lord will let me rest.
the pressure is building upon my shoulders.
like the ocean swells that crash upon the cliffside boulders.
all of these tiresome, daily meddles.
i'm waiting for the moment it all comes crashing down and the dust finally settles.
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 7:59 PM UTC
All along in my tongue mother comes she stays for quite a long time. it was all in my head when i decided i had my own taste because i certainly don't, i had been so tasteless before i was growing out of a broken moon in mother's funny womb.
My tongue is the ungrateful one. at least i can appreciate the fact that i once had purity but when in this silly world nothing greater than intensity and dirt all over the place so, basically mother saved me. she'd put all her might on my tongue and god it is definitely infinite!
Now stomach is exhausted and head understands too much, now and then they both ache for each other, they both are trying to ruin me again and burn me with jealousy. for all what i've done is mother's doings, for all what i've tasted is mother. honestly i can't remember anymore how neutral tasted like, how my own tongue tasted like.
All along in my tongue mother has been lazy and a queen. nothing moves her except i remove my own tongue, but twist is she only comes and stays and she never goes. (god isn't this pointless, what use of your face if i can't see it, if my feet keep dragging me further from your back, if my glasses keep shattering and my eyes full of sand?)
(Nothing is keeping me away from you anymore, even when mother nags in my tongue and sour thing meddles with my throat.) i have been emptier before but nothing matters anymore, i was here before i am not, now i must have known the taste i've lost because of mother or not because of her, it's actually nothing at all.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
•*For Thyreez,
because she aspires*•
<>
most of us, no,
almost all of us,
collectors, of those little things,
real, substantive,
kept in that drawer,
reminders of collected moments,
of places people, successes, tragedies,
lumped together because,
just because
they constitute the pinpricks,
the meddles, safety pins, needles
of our lives, some treasures,
and a few collectibles of
black trimmed saddies
I have such a drawer,
admixture of single cufflinks, spare buttons,
Aaa batteries that might still work,
expired credit cards, charging cords for
devices long ago discarded,
a whole class of items I call
you never know when
some slides, pics from prehistoric times
when we never dreamed of magic phones
as life’s mini storage units
even I had
a lipstick kiss napkin,
just in case, when was required a
need a brevity taste of
a sad time-in-‘n-out
and back again
to feel human
but the mission critical
little things
do not fit in a drawer,
for they are the action’s & visions
we seize and keep in shadowy unseen
but inserted
grey cells
the taste, aroma, of that first cup of coffee
made by whoever was up first,
brought and placed on the nightstand
with a nudge, that failing, a very wet
kiss and a foot-beneath-blanket-squeeze,
the feel~touch of a particular locket,
the never-to be-removed-ever,
till it was
placed perhaps in someone else’s
drawer, shoebox, attic, or lost
in a ‘can’t be foundering place’
we probably have all three;
the drawer, the memory triggers,
the lost items that cannot be
lost, or forgot nor found
and I think and add all these,
I realize that this script
is
one such of the places,
where we put things,
we might need someday,
or maybe never but,
•you never know when!•
Jan 4, 2025
Jan 4, 2025 at 8:18 AM UTC
how your eyes gazed across the vast oceans.
how your heart and mind wondered how you got here.
in the middle of nowhere, your song meddles with the distortion of waves.
afraid to fall.
afraid that when you need help it won't be there.
the sun is shining, your skin burning.
the sharks nearly got you.
the boat shaking,
the waves nearly got you.
one light shone, the sky dark,
the trees painted your eyelashes and the waves made the tears of your eyes.
light flashes.
camera clicks.
you remember again,
you were in that popular clique.
at home.
you cried again.
at the boat.
you were afraid to swim again.
can't change your fate.
going through a lot.
a star shone,
the Savior was born,
he reached down,
and you danced upon your heartache.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 11:43 PM UTC