"menaces" poems
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, sunset west moon flies east? ;]
air planes soar
beyond the limits they roar
in a longing stare they long
disappearing through the clouds and gone
arise arose arisen
and in my place still frozen wizen
they venture the winds purple skied time
to blend and wing the moon menaces racing in line
glistening afar
from the back of a wounded scar
archer to the future
claiming a bleach
where does it go?
where does it reach?
maybe Saturn not here
but the return is there
to the node of the belong flying up no fear
seems my flight gonna wait for years
the waxing gibbous flies
and I hope for dreams in the close of eyes
------ravenfeels
Jun 23, 2021
Jun 23, 2021 at 12:05 PM UTC
1609
Sunset that screens, reveals—
Enhancing what we see
By menaces of Amethyst
And Moats of Mystery.
2.5k
I have precisely not one but two stalkers, two malaise menaces in my hands. Well, not quite literally.
Its all in my head, you see.
They pervade my robust, iron clad, sheer willpower.
Hmph, not really.
The two little rascals, attractive ones at that, present themselves during frenzied times of scattered notes, inked fingers with frustration crashing in the air.
Frustration grows ever-so-slightly when they efficaciously whisper to you, it will only be five minutes.
They leech time off my circadian clock, inevitably painting black under my eyes.
A pair of smooth-talking liars, the scourge of the Student Underworld.
Their flamboyant, beguiling gestures of distractions, alas, it is far too much even for
my
mind.
Even doctors cannot prescribe a medical concoction to rid me of these pests!
Beware these criminals!
They need to be obliterated, removed, pruned away from us, young innocent seedlings.
I introduce you to... ughh...
Mr & Mrs Procrastination.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
This is the Genesis.
Incentives to diminish menaces.
Endlessness.
Will I finish this?
Infinite questions of aggression, are expressed when the deception of obsessions are a progression.
Infinite diligent stimulant from an incident, but im innocent.
And still I vent...
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, funny how a book can be translated by everyone's Mercury differently--edited;}
on a beauty so mystical on a plastered smile an essence so beam
yet not everlasting not in a bare nor a second tormenting blurt
such stars she begged them Gods for she tormented in a skeptic hurt
she trails her menaces to **** in a drip
of a bordeaux in a wine in a mindless sip
yearning erased letters from people from faces
a charm of a devil monster selfished her feels down her laces
a bound to the intimate
flushed upon the ultimate
of the hate of the ends
an evermore of upcoming pained centuries
moments the gods abide to hide to conceal
from human memory to blank and come across a past life to steal
then to the unconscious to plant on dreams and make souls heal
speechless left
one on the fictional
two on the cure in the weeks my delusional
believed seven constellated freckles pure by the character been held
mooned self-expressionism in sick mind delves I label mine
forever fallen saint on the line
--------ravenfeels
Apr 19, 2021
Apr 19, 2021 at 3:49 PM UTC
Wondering souls
All feeling so numb
Somehow my soul escapes from this destined hell
Lies and deceit
While far away menaces find a way to pry
All tempting fate
All the secrets are lies
Subsiding Pain
It throbs while it all slips away
Flowing blood drifts
Along with any of my self-consciousness
Looking away
While turning to hide
The sounds of sorrow
Theres a terrifying cry
Screech and scream;
a door of escape
Because once again you are tempting fate.
Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 8:08 PM UTC
**
Yo, I am the best this dude can do
You know, I am what's up
You better get to know me asap
I am what all chicks try to woo
I play soccer so well i don't pass
look at me, I'm world class
just follow me, I am the compass
Yeah, I was born to be bad-ass
Worries, I ain't got any
Always in good company
**
Salutations, I really do not know much
However, I wish the situation won't stay as such
This existence drowns me in confusion
A sentence to loneliness and delusion
I consigned happiness to oblivion premeditatively
After sadness and sorrow haunted me prematurely
I then had to ignore all emotions to survive decently
If happiness does not exist neither does sadness logically
Emptiness is lethal, death is certain if empty is the inside
Seeking knowledge can remorse the process, the last ride
Ride from stars to "who am i?" to "are they real?" with no guide
Captivity to knowledge requires evasion, evasion with no heart is suicide
*
hello, I am always hiding
because this body to me is binding
everyday, my hope in life is fading
will I ever end up deciding
I surely do not sound logical
but I too have feelings
I wish I could do so many things
24 hours of being would be magical
beauty can hide in ugly places
and a diamond has so many faces
in this body I am leaving my traces
I might be hiding but fear no menaces
*
Sharing a body is quite complex
Living every second in a multiplex
With a brain leaving you perplex
A primitive instinct and its reflex
A soul that has fortitude to flex.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 5:33 AM UTC
I want to build a country,
not just some dirt, not just a land
a nation so great, a fatherland.
Tú estarás ahí, mi amigo,
sonriendo, mirando al frente,
haciendo camino conmigo.
Nous ferons un pays sans frontières,
sans limites, avec des montagnes
faites de sable, prêtes à être soufflées.
Elle sera une patrie où les mers seront des étangs
et nos ciels ne seront qu'à un saut de distance.
We'll have families and friends,
todos los paisajes que el mundo nos ha de ofrecer
sans préjugés ni douleur qui puissent nous confiner.
We'll build a land where friendship will prosper
and traveling will be the fuel of our hearths
Construiremos un hogar que sea propio
sin esas reglas que nos separan
Nous ferons un refuge des distances
où on habitera sans peur aux menaces.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 8:02 AM UTC
This man has a gun pointed at me,
that extends from thumb to index in an L,
at me from his hip.
I can't see much through
my hand. Reflexive, if dampened
by a gristle of curiosity.
Weight shifts from foot
to toe to ball to other
foot. He doesn't speak
to me; to the floor,
but his gesture comes at me
through the atmosphere or
whatever analogous high ground he possesses.
The tip of the pink barrel
menaces like a treble scream
or a broken blackboard.
Shift. Shift and a look around.
It must be done quickly, he
looks at her to ask permission.
I imagine her too cold
for response: atoms
held in hexagons to keep
that inevitable crack from
toppling the salty gravity.
However they must speak
through the superaudible
for her stolid fluidity
resolves his change
(changes his resolve)
and his eyes stop dead on
me.
The laughter of that trigger
rustles through skin
and plays with bone.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 2:40 PM UTC
*Holding her hand , walking on the streets.
Realizing the life in those skipped heartbeats.
Exuding the attar, she dulled my senses.
Tremulous tattered talks due to spooking menaces.
Then she talked in her asthenic voice.
And suddenly everything was just background noise.
All I could do was , stare in her eyes.
And I glimpsed into her soul beyond visible lies.
She was the configuration of pain and hope.
Inside, she was in a scrimmage and clinging with a mope.
Zealously & tenacious , inside , she was a fighter.
I hankered to describe her beauty in my words, as a writer.
But to describe such aesthetical effigy I constellated nothing, not even a single word.
I was stupefyingly stuck , like a fallen wingless bird*.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 6:00 PM UTC
The air is heavy
None can breathe.
In this place
No smiles, just grief.
A barren wasteland.
Fallout from the Phantoms.
Menaces whose pleasures lie
In the pain and misery
Of those beneath them.
Their feet press
Down upon the chests.
Anxiety builds like
Pressure from a fire hose
Capable of tearing
Flesh from bone,
Crushing rib and spine
Leaving one in
Dread and despair,
Like lost souls
Over a scorched earth
From burning hell fire.
There is no joy.
No satisfaction.
No sense of community.
Only desolation and desert
With dead camels,
And vultures
Circling their rotting corpses;
Life ****** right out.
In here,
The fools leading fools
Leading the Intellect,
And no end in sight
From this eternal misery
JM 10/26/16
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 10:18 AM UTC
The lamplit page is turned, the dream forgotten;
The music changes tone, you wake, remember
Deep worlds you lived before,--deep worlds hereafter
Of leaf on falling leaf, music on music,
Rain and sorrow and wind and dust and laughter.
Helen was late and Miriam came too soon.
Joseph was dead, his wife and children starving.
Elaine was married and soon to have a child.
You dreamed last night of fiddler-crabs with fiddles;
They played a buzzing melody, and you smiled.
To-morrow--what? And what of yesterday?
Through soundless labyrinths of dream you pass,
Through many doors to the one door of all.
Soon as it's opened we shall hear a music:
Or see a skeleton fall . . .
We walk with you. Where is it that you lead us?
We climb the muffled stairs beneath high lanterns.
We descend again. We ***** through darkened cells.
You say: this darkness, here, will slowly **** me.
It creeps and weighs upon me . . . Is full of bells.
This is the thing remembered I would forget--
No matter where I go, how soft I tread,
This windy gesture menaces me with death.
Fatigue! it says, and points its finger at me;
Touches my throat and stops my breath.
My fans--my jewels--the portrait of my husband--
The torn certificate for my daughter's grave--
These are but mortal seconds in immortal time.
They brush me, fade away: like drops of water.
They signify no crime.
Let us retrace our steps: I have deceived you:
Nothing is here I could not frankly tell you:
No hint of guilt, or faithlessness, or threat.
Dreams--they are madness. Staring eyes--illusion.
Let us return, hear music, and forget . . .
832
She sat and stared at him, so weak, afraid
of losing him now - without speaking out
about the years spent with feelings portrayed
as a dream - ’twas painful to think about.
Years spent - staring into his eyes, aware that
she was in his arms in his mind, dancing
choreography in their façade, flat
moments live to him… She remained acting.
There he lay, tubes jammed in all crevices,
his lungs given breath by machines, his heart
a controlled rhythm by metal menaces
that ****** his soul, stalled bittersweet depart.
Here, he breathed his last while holding her hand.
It troubled her, that this she could withstand.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 3:22 PM UTC
The mission bells rang out and
the faithless were hung out
to dry,
today is a good day to die
or as good as it gets.
Menaces and threats never satisfied and
they died where they stood.
But it was Joseph of Arimathea who
came to be here
when the faithful had gone
and it was his words that shone
some heard him wrong,
but not me.
On the hilltop where olives gleam
against the towers where I
have seen
ghosts of the past
I saw it at last and
misunderstood,
that's as
good as it gets.
The look that says it all
says nothing at all,
but the eyes say everything
you'd ever need to know.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC
“Mysterious Waters of the Naked and Nervous”
She begins her life
along with nine-thousand seven hundred fourteen siblings
in the shallowest part of the pond,
just four days after being laid as a jelly egg
attached to a fern leaf bent over humid water.
On day seven she sallies to neighboring weeds
using a very circular route
quietly clings to **** watches with terror
as brothers and sisters are attacked
by sharp beaked birds
swooping down to chew helpless tadpoles,
devouring membranes that cover their gills and necks.
One of few tadpoles to survive to day ten.
officially becomes a tiny pitch black pollywog
with continuously wiggling tail and small round mouth
of ***** jaws that scrapes across tiny plants,
searching for something to eat.
She greedily swallows microscopic animals
found inside pond bottom ooze
and slime which clings to pond’s surface.
Devouring a particularly tasty ooze meal,
she is horrified to witness
tadpole brothers and sisters eating each other,
siblings extending their bellies
by swallowing extended family.
Mostly tail with fine stippling of gold,
within twenty-four hours she breathes
from two gills at each side of her throat
as hind legs suddenly sprout
rounded buds that soon turn into toes
amazing her how fast she can propel
away from murderous dive bombing birds of color.
She first demonstrates courage
by a successful attack of black fish that menaces her for hours.,
******* on its fish fins until they are ragged,
not in anger or self-defense
more for tasty algae trapped within them.
But it does feel good to be able to destroy instead of being destroyed.
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 8:22 AM UTC
harmful to others
beloved by many
i feel foolish for even speaking
of course no foul deed goes unpunished
but a slap on their wrist
equivalent to a slap in my face
how do those live feely?
the menaces in society?
hiding behind gentle faces and sweet smiles
underneath it looks sickening
it’s beyond a spoiled barrel
the rotten apple contaminated all
you and your friends sharing the same mind
they'll combine the guilt and mental gaslight
i feel foolish for even speaking
i feel foolish for letting this grow
when i should’ve ripped out the roots
Sep 25, 2022
Sep 25, 2022 at 2:37 PM UTC
macabre menaces resided inside,
all surviving on only organs
and
reality.
the earth and the ether
were far better places,
the day prior to the outbreak.
before the madness..
like dust motes,
we were collected in the sunlight.
after the madness...
like dust motes,
we were erased.
Jul 29, 2011
Jul 29, 2011 at 4:28 AM UTC
Guided by the stars,
a better life,
a safer life.
Their new world worth
the journey and its dangers
for their progeny.
We try to keep things as they are,
ruled by fallacies, and fears
of their strange languages,
faiths, mythologies.
Harsh voices shout with menaces,
'Send them home from whence they came
to their hollow caustic lands.
We should keep our own traditions,
Angles, Saxons, Celts and Jews.'
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 2:05 PM UTC
Nuit, des amours ministre et sergente fidèle
Des arrêts de Venus, et des saintes lois d'elle,
Qui secrète accompagne
L'impatient ami de l'heure accoutumée,
Ô l'aimée des Dieux, mais plus encore aimée
Des étoiles compagnes,
Nature de tes dons adore l'excellence,
Tu caches les plaisirs dessous muet silence
Que l'amour jouissante
Donne, quand ton obscur étroitement assemble
Les amants embrassés, et qu'ils tombent ensemble
Sous l'ardeur languissante.
Lorsque l'amie main court par la cuisse, et ores
Par les tétins, auxquels ne se compare encore
Nul ivoire qu'on voie,
Et la langue en errant sur la joue, et la face,
Plus d'odeurs, et de fleurs, là naissantes, amasse
Que I'Orient n'envoie.
C'est toi qui les soucis, et les gênes mordantes,
Et tout le soin enclos en nos âmes ardentes
Par ton présent arraches.
C'est toi qui rends la vie aux vergers qui languissent,
Aux jardins la rosée, et aux cieux qui noircissent
Les idoles attaches.
Mais, si te plaît déesse une fin à ma peine,
Et donte sous mes bras celle qui est tant pleine
De menaces cruelles.
Afin que de ses yeux (yeux qui captifs me tiennent)
Les trop ardents flambeaux plus brûler ne me viennent
Le fond de mes mouelles.
737
Impending rain through the gut rut strain
A letter stamped and ready to gain
Impending media menaces straight on through
A touch of pepper was what she wanted to know
A listen of the booth towards the man's moon lit
Whistle for the sinister because we all got sisters
Either you hear me
Or you ain't got nothing to say
Good night to the morning because I ain't trying to see you
We used to be something but things got boring
Bent post cards meant everything she meant to lie
Cut another piece of that fibbing apple pie
A showman knows when the audience is rolling
They breathe it in and know when it stinks
Thanks for the lot but smother me another time
I got some reasons I ain't feeling fine
Puking out the nonsense so I don't walk it off
Curb stump near me so I can start to bear it
A silly **** bump near the ever clear rear
Wishing for the fear to leave me every night dear
Dawn break sticks near my window right about now
Eye rubbing madness for the cook that boils sadness
Cash for me with my woman far away
Round this corner I think I might have my stay
Jun 7, 2011
Jun 7, 2011 at 10:17 PM UTC
Vaincus, mais non domptés, exilés, mais vivants,
Et malgré les édits de l'Homme et ses menaces,
N'ont point abdiqué, crispant leurs mains tenaces
Sur des tronçons de sceptre, et rôdent dans les vents.
Les nuages coureurs aux caprices mouvants
Sont la poudre des pieds de ces spectres rapaces
Et la foudre hurlant à travers les espaces
N'est qu'un écho lointain de leurs durs olifants.
Ils sonnent la révolte à leur tour contre l'Homme,
Leur vainqueur stupéfait encore et mal remis
D'un tel combat avec de pareils ennemis.
Du Coran, des Védas et du Deutéronome,
De tous les dogmes, pleins de rage, tous les dieux
Sont sortis en campagne : Alerte ! et veillons mieux.
612
This resident hedonist
is feeding false promises, premises,
had precedents
lacks presence
get off our premises president
our countries bloodied and blemished
supposed genius turned menace
made a promising entrance
now with vehemence, menaces
subverts his messages, sentences
burn our nemesis' edifice
don't hide in the crevices
its prescience
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 4:42 AM UTC
The Devil wears a condescending Crown of Aristocracy.
Behind the beauty of the aristocracy he led,
and sometimes romantic and eventful lives he savored,
lies a darker story: a legacy of deception, violence and unrepentant greed.
An aristocrat whose ground are his virtues and talents and pain,
Pouring one mischievous ingredient after the other,
All for a play of exploitation and influence,
The Devil has passion, but barely a soul, thus an erroneous aristocracy he rules over.
He was beautiful and ******
Blemished in earthly pleasures and loss of his prodigious being,
The Devil lacked emotion and acted upon logic until he lost his heart,
His crown was adorned with half lamentation, half echoes of his past, out of dark menaces.
IA
Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 12:20 PM UTC
(Qui avait laissé prendre le feu à ses habits.)
Ce feu, quels torts a-t-il donc faits
À votre Laure, qui se fâche ?
Plein de respect pour ses attraits,
Il n'en veut qu'à ce qui les cache.
De jamais le lui reprocher,
Pour moi, je me ferais scrupule.
Qui craint que le feu ne le brûle
Ne doit pas trop s'en approcher.
Joigne les effets aux menaces ;
Tant d'imprudence est à punir :
À l'étourdie, à l'avenir,
Ne laissez que l'habit des Grâces.
Cette sage sévérité
En nous trouvera des apôtres.
Refusez-lui la charité,
Ce sera la faire à bien d'autres.
Écrit en 1790.
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