"morosely" poems
Anxiety is an animal
Anxiety is a carnivorous beast
Anxiety grips onto you and doesn’t let go, digging its fangs in
Anxiety has painful fangs
Anxiety has claws (retractable)
Anxiety sits on the edge of a table, meowing morosely
Anxiety digs its claws in when it doesn’t want to do something
Anxiety reminds you it needs feeding
Anxiety hisses, bites and scratches
Anxiety eats ferociously, draining you.
Anxiety gives you disdainful looks
Anxiety reminds you it needs feeding
Anxiety has tiny fangs
Anxiety reminds you again it needs feeding
Anxiety looks down at you with its hairy body from the top shelf
Anxiety will sit with you, out of spite
Anxiety is only doing so to remind you he needs feeding
Anxiety might fall asleep
Anxiety might bite your hand while you fall asleep, he needs food
Anxiety is fed
Anxiety might possibly maybe if you-are-really-very-nice allow you to pet him.
Anxiety falls asleep
You fall asleep
Anxiety reminds you he needs feeding, loudly.
Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 11:38 AM UTC
Ouroboros nartoomid breath
The winds ****** incense
A current washing through us,
The ethereal voice
Morosely sussurant whilst thine
Eyes mirror the cerulean truth of
The morning dews eusophobic miasma;
The rainbows spectrum of colours
Mephitically clasping the soul
Dyeing tristfully the silk of
Kundalinis utopia
Moulding archaic monuments
With the azure clay of
Lustrations evanescent cacodaemon,
Peccantly flying like a flag-
Reveries dreamcatcher idyllically
Reflecting conjured shadows
In the welkin mist.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 9:14 AM UTC
Lift it to your lips
& let what falls adrift in the form of ash
dissolve in the wind
as dried bone thrashing,
bashing against dust & grit.
Pull; take a long hit.
Dregs to be kept until last in the bottom
of your broken lungs,
taken as deep as breaths:
to rattle against your teeth.
"O", takes the lewd shape
of your chapped mouth as you break free
from your caged-in chest,
skeletons left sat, to wallow
as ashen bones & yellow teeth.
Hold your knuckled joints
against tenderest flesh of your upper lip
& sniff, as if a try to void
all signs of violent backslides
to clandestine nicotine meetings.
Flick blanked eyes to lit but
dying embers ground between sole & soil,
& morosely swear never
another, not one more; after
this next one, this last one, never.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 5:35 AM UTC
A mysterious island stands morosely free,
in the midst of the deep blue sea.
The waves crash upon the shore
covering the evil and all it's gore.
The brown leaves slowly fall,
from the tree that was once tall.
The beauty that lies in seclusion
is merely just an illusion.
Look at the sun shine with all its glory,
the rays trying to tell us a story.
Illusionary beauty that drifts between light and dark,
is a transient allure that will set; leaving a mark.
Clouds of birds rise from the tree
chirping noisily out of key
warning the poor young boy that within
the island was filled with sin.
Behind the rocks lie serpents slithering,
above the trees the eagles are soaring.
To all appearance the island is interesting,
hidden from the eye, evil is lurking.
The island is like a scary dream
where the birds will bitterly scream.
Trees cry out of fears
yet still, no one hears.
Shadows are bright,
grasses are blue,
nothing is right,
no one expects it to.
However out there the world is even more menacing,
destruction, corruption, the world is shattering,
enveloped in the arms of so much wrong
tell the island it did belong.
W.H.Y~
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC
A Victorian Girl, with eyes forlorn
Wild and elusive since the day she was born
Her features smattered with a blanket of tears
From barbaric acts exposed through the years
Through **** and pillage she never would yield
Some hailed her as foolish as her fate was sealed
She trekked for miles with liberal endeavour
Innocence and intrigue in equal measure
Till she encountered a fellow who furnished the chance
And brandished a languishing olive-like branch
He beckoned her forth with ravishing guile
Bearing pomp and splendor and a fraudulent smile
In mounting the stallion, the deal was done
As the lecherous libertine embodied the pun
He savagely severed her ivory threads
And fiercely penetrated the pallid spread legs
With a barrage of torment unduly unleashed
A Victorian girl, morosely deceased.
(September 2010)
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 4:12 PM UTC
A constant struggle
Putting together fractions of the unsolved puzzle
Smashing your head against the wall
As you lament by draining your waterfall
Rupturing every bit inside you
Expressing the powerlessness you thought you outgrew
Sono innamorata
Flowing through me like burning lava
It's unfathomably superb
Keeps you on high hopes
And a stage of being morosely absurd.
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 1:22 PM UTC
The ocean was a monster
Following her, swallowing her
She ran and ran until she couldn't run anymore
The ocean, freezing blue turned maroon, caressed her
Comforted her
Swift as a coursing River
The wind pushes her over
Trees swaying with fury
Her eyes fall closed
As the waves consume her
She watches the sun set, orange over the mountains
She closes her eyes, thinking of everything she had seen, done, read, dreamed
She thinks of the literature licking lollipops, the words working wonders
Now the moon shines bright, high in the sky
She smiles morosely as one last gelid wave washes her away
Forever
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 12:41 AM UTC
it strikes several time a day
—the dread—
carves me out like a soft squash
my torso becomes a vast painful cavity
the will to live stares morosely down,
frayed wires of puppet strings snap about my head
the soul holds me paralyzed over the void
lest I throw myself in
it is not my time
I don’t remember how the episode passes
I just know that it does
and I am free to move again
mechanical and numb through the day
at least, for a few more hours
Jan 30, 2023
Jan 30, 2023 at 5:13 AM UTC
It's 11:20am in OHare
and I'm here with Sam Adams'
cardboard cut-out,
sipping his hard work,
chasing my breakfast,
picking up where Starbucks left off.
But really, I'm avoiding the tired,
unenthusiastic bodies nesting at my gate,
with their dilapidated muzzles,
with their deadpan expressions,
with these head-and-shoulders of
malcontent- of brewing disappointment-
floating morosely above their respective
boarding passes, passports,
and food court receipts
clutched in cranky knuckles.
And so here I am, sitting at
Facade, raising a second glass
with cardboard Adams,
and I kinda have to ****
and I really have to ***
but there's no way in hell
I'm joining the rest of my flight.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
My scars-
Be they wounds condemned
To forever blemish my skin.
And to my scars,
Be they reminders
Of the battles of my past
(like falling off the swing set
on a hot summers day,
or fighting him off
in the dead of the night),
Yet heed warning of the impending.
And though one may say,
"In time, all wounds heal,"
I still sit
Stewing morosely in my thoughts
Many a night, at 11:21pm, wounded.
And as time goes by
I still recall the scruff of your beard
Against my cheek,
As well as the weight of your words
Bearing down on my plastered mind.
Crushing me.
Spoken aloud,
His words were so very powerful
And so very wounding.
And time will never heal that pain.
(a.m.) 02/15/14
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
See the hollow ruins lying on my face
They are constructs of guilt, masks of disavowed grace
Listen to my heart and the tones of its moans
It shifts back and forth like the saddest metronome
She looked like the product of a naughty night’s vice
Hung out in the crooked parts of town and bedded men not too nice
My hands raised her from squalor and carried her home
Whereas I was made of flesh bindings, she was chrome
Over love, the decadence took precedence
Her lavish comforts enclosed by a white picket fence
As my walls broke down, hers added cement
I gave her mansions of love and she gifted me a poorly pitched tent
My breath was choked, my mind confused
Twilights strung together and morosely fused
On a particular night, she marched towards, I, a speck
Dug her claws into my back and whispered poison towards my neck
“How does it feel kissing paranoia’s twitchy lips?”
“To look out from such a height and spit on all the tiny blips?”
She banished me from riches and abode
Stole my smile and had my chariot towed
Like Lucifer, my angelic wings had been clipped
On my soul’s sanctity, a golden Goddess sipped
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 12:58 AM UTC
To forget or not to forget.
I shall drink my last cup of my dreams of you.
As I stare morosely at these bottles around me.
Each broken bottle is a story, of me, of us.
I feel the sorness in my throat and its burning slowly.
I feel old. Shall I forget these years? I can’t believe these years has been mirage
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 4:27 PM UTC
You're imperious, brusque, pugnacious and seemly ominous.
You're nothing but trouble.
I hate you.
You're just a drug wrapped into the shell of a human being without a care in the world
A pill killer wrapped into a shell that's secretly dejected.
A butterfly who's inside wing is morosely designed to hide everything inside.
I hate you
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
I haven’t dreamt of you in ages,
Yet last night you crept in,
The product of some subconscious fever
I wish you’d have the courtesy to keep your distance,
Because although I miss you the way gasoline misses spark,
I still remember the impact,
Broken glass crunching underfoot
And sirens wheeling away my innocence
I remember colors bleeding away to grayscale,
Like a black and white film morosely painting a plot
Where the actors simply grimace at each other
Over grievances unbeknownst to the audience,
The denouement arrives to show us a lone chalk outline,
Roll credits.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
I must now write for you a poem
As I sit here all alone.
Tales of some random Girl on Facebook:
My friend askin’ “Whats been up?”
“ugh..life.” I say to him.
Realizing I’m sounding morosely grim
I continue with a story
Of how my life was once filled with bitter glory
But on second thought…
…”Nevermind I tell him.”
“You have other things to do than listen
But now I must sign off this facebook
And if you care later I’ll let you look.
Look into my mind
Just to see what you can find
Explore me Like Indiana Jones
Veering through the winding traffic cones
Don’t go crashing unexpectingly
Because my minds not filled with the expected.
But instead with the dead..resurrected. “
“Sorry if I’m not making sense.” I apologize
Hoping that he doesn’t one day search my eyes
And find the inner me
Locked inside but I’ve always been free.
“Goodbye” I tell him.
“See ya” He answers.
“But before I go..”He types
“Can I call you later tonight?”
“Maybe we can talk and make plans
Or I can tell you better who I am.”
I ponder his offer for only a second
“Sure.” I say
“My number is..”
Bam. And just like that..
Chat Disconnected.
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 5:58 PM UTC
the ......needy
******* the night
with raw madness
seeking to be a
"lover-who-need-not-be-loved!"
seeking death
--
the crippled night
collapses and damages
every child's dream
but the mothers and fathers
are in burning beds
cuming morosely
with fake unity
--
the seas yield their songs
to the psychodelic
musing
of the vagabonds and waifs
who will be crushed soon
by economic necessity
--
"who cares?"
rings loudly in the
mystic dying dawn
no-one answers
there are none to answer
no one
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 10:27 AM UTC
The soft wind yet breaks on my cheek,
Its frigidness does my heart keep,
Inside its breath and wantings weep,
I lost everything in the haze of sleep.
-
Upon a drifting willow's bark,
I spied the sights of twisting arc,
The ax that had here made its mark,
Had morosely torn the tree apart.
-
I found there that nothing may change,
Yet everything has something to gain,
The profit in sales of wilting and pain,
Has lead to self-proclaimed "insane."
-
Footprints in sand with tide washed away,
Echoes enchant the hive mind, astray
I walk only to get through wretched today,
Tomorrow holds no reason to stay.
-
Love contaminates the air I breath,
Infections break in my head and seethe
How does one follow this revolting creed?
I know not this virtue, it escapes me.
-
No folly of mine found in books of lore,
I'm not kept hero in tomes of yore,
I remember naught of all before,
And I lay down to die in the awaiting shore.
-
Bitter and relentless does my heart scorn,
That I wish to remove it and flesh betorn,
That my hopes may bring sickle to corn,
That I pray for mourning's distant morn.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 3:52 AM UTC
I had a foster parent who was
Active duty, military recruiter, Army branch.
I remember him distinctly because of one thing:
His tattoo, which stated a morosely true fact,
"Only the dead have seen the end of war."
I questioned him on it, one day,
To be answered with a gruff response containing,
"You'll learn when you get in the service."
And now that I have left them,
Left his house, and been placed in a group home,
I've only thought about one thing:
Serving my country like my foster father does.
And to do that, albeit in a completely different branch,
I would be truly honored.
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 11:41 AM UTC
Stranded for years upon this tormenting land
My heart yearns to leave the forsaken sand
With new wings spread, I will freely fly
To touch the sun, the beautiful sky
Determined to escape, I diligently build
Using every last brainpower I've willed
Day by day, feather by feather
This will be my greatest creation ever
Finally, after so many dreadful years
And all the painstaking tears
My wings are complete, I'm ready to soar
Standing before a cliff, I see the new door
Taking flight, I battle the wind
Reaching the sky, it's more than I imagined
Watching the world below me disappear
I'm suddenly embraced by immense fear
The distance increases ever so morosely
and danger lurking, more and more closely
Doubt enters my mind, I quiver and cower
Will I reach my goal or lose my power?
My wings are melting, the sun is near
Flashes of memories of all I hold dear
This must be the end, I'm holding my breath
But all is blurry, this must be my death
I find myself upon cool, green grass
The sun is gone, what was to pass?
Underneath the moonlight, upon new land
I notice something different about my hand
A black imprint on the tip of my finger
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC
Everything is Alive
Even Me
In the corner of solemnity
As I sit and stare
with a pensive glare
I’m not the only casualty
If you linger around
and listen for the sound
Of a hollow heart
snapping in two
Listen more closely
You’ll note quite morosely
The other heart
might just be You
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 4:05 PM UTC
I’ve been left alone in my class as I always am.
I observe how beige encrustings work on the ceiling humming electronically in this feeble light we have with our current weather like mistied silver with choked charcoal out of someone’s throat stoic with inexistent illness.
It seems to me I’m pressed with time to go out as I usually am
by some codexes
but I just can’t help being glued standing to my chair and watching with an unspecified wistfulness and melancholy as students’ bike
/
come and go here from above
/
and no one knows how many afternoons of watching or window sill standing I’ve spent like that,
where the window the teacher has every time overlooks one
of these trees only I keep in my mind’s eye
and all that with me included stays
abandoned (but not exactly morosely) to play the part of watch keepers lasting still
like pillars no one will account for.
And l felt how my shift there and the thing I and this room made chose you to be answered there.
And as I couldn’t help but keep carrying the conscience luggage with you within it so carefully whilst I was blending my abandoned singing there with how you might be transfixing yourself in perplexities of uncertainty.
And I’m telling you I read your text place just when it came, have been carrying you as my desired task to, as an injured animal yet with no degradation this state. I kept making a letter I would give inside my eyes and small fidgets of hands.
I wonder at how it is I who writes
and how it is You who writes.
One another.
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 9:46 AM UTC
In time and heat sand burns to glass
the glass cradles more sand
The sand keeps time morosely
amidst the engulfing heat
and ponders
if in time
it will become glass
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC
It was a dream.
It was.
When you held me in your arms;
a sweet minute of slumber
and abated fallacy.
When you looked at me
with digestive eyes; I guess
never was I impervious.
When you planted
a damp kiss: Illusion's flower
and saw me off.
It was a dream.
When you sighed into my ear
a madness so warm yet
so morosely beautiful. (I...)
It was a dream.
When you drove under the stars
above asphalt black and cold,
on that crying night of June. (Save...)
It was a dream.
When I watched your
lips darken with the ashen sky;
and you laid unmoving. (...me.)
And it was a dream.
It was.
I just never was able to rouse.
Mar 14, 2011
Mar 14, 2011 at 6:45 AM UTC
What don’t you know about life
That I might be able to
Ponder, guess, describe, relate?
Why does my voice, the lilting phrases
Put in places left over from
Some overlooked template, matter?
Written words tell only what
Resides, stirring morosely, in
Time. Tell of the ticking away
Thoughts which
Long to perpetuate
And be looked upon again,
Known again.
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 3:02 AM UTC
I morosely chew on my pencil top.
silently sigh at the damage done.
I look at him, my breath stops,
Him,
the bandage to my broken heart.
Drizzle of glitter from the stars
My version of pixie dust.
Jul 5, 2020
Jul 5, 2020 at 1:38 PM UTC