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Terry O'Leary Feb 2017
Awaking blithe each morning,
with eyes upon the World,
I wonder, are we mourning
with ebon flags unfurled –
or are they but a warning,
some draped like snakes and curled,
stray stars and stripes adorning,
sent from the netherworld.

I wander through the garden
with nothing on my mind
and say 'I beg your pardon'
alarmed at what I find
as winds begin to harden
and fate begins to grind.

Confused, I watch my neighbours,
they're wide-eyed, unafraid
to halt all useful labours
and join the death brigade;
the ritters rattle sabres,
the frail and fragile fade,
morticians tap on tabors,
the potentates parade.

The military blesses
(in tunics somewhat browned)
its crimson-stained successes,
hell bent and heaven bound.
Such scenes no more distress us:
a ****** battleground,
dissevered heads with tresses
and arms and legs abound;
the fourth estate suppresses
the heaps of bodies  found
(collateral excesses
discarded in a mound).

Society regresses,
now living by the sword,
with torture and its stresses
upon a waterboard;
a captive kid confesses,
his innocence ignored -
fallacious facts and guesses,
the guts of justice gored!

With canting vindication
a big brass bully brags
(with pearls of perspiration
and swollen tongue that gags)
of third world  subjugation
for gelt and oily swags,
of human rights' castration,
and on and on it drags.

The manifold migration
of refugees in rags
while searching for salvation
soon finds compassion lags;
uprooted populations
are fleeing from their flags
else dying of starvation
as naked hunger nags.

With trump cards politicking,
two little hands (all thumbs)
may send the Mad Dog siccing.
Insane! All sense succumbs.

Atomic timepiece ticking
until the Reaper comes
as Geiger counters clicking
drown out the droning drums.

Cast out for not conforming,
I wander day by day
to find the earth deforming
as nature wastes away,
with bees no longer swarming
(expunged with garden spray)
and ocean depths transforming
(neath plastic overlay).

With CO2 performing
the climate's led astray,
the atmosphere's been warming,
the grasses ashen gray,
eternal tempest storming
while permafrosts decay,
and ozone holes are forming
in deadly disarray.

The people profiteering
descend a slip'ry *****
destroying, never fearing        
of running out of rope;
instead they sit back sneering
“our wealth’s your only hope”.

Yes, Armageddon's nearing,
it's doubtful that we'll cope,
for Evolution's jeering,
she's scanned our horoscope:
we'll soon be disappearing
with whale and antelope.


           Epitaph

The multitudes were jumbled,
some milling ’round the mall,
while politicians bumbled
when bracing for the brawl.

The World around us rumbled,
our backs against the wall,
as bombs were tossed and tumbled
across our broken ball.

My kneecaps creaked and crumbled
but I, too proud to crawl,
took but a step and stumbled  
yet found no place to fall.

And no one heard me grumble
although I tried to call,
or maybe I just mumbled,
as strength began to pall.

Well now the World’s been humbled
I seek an urban sprawl,
but since the feuds were fumbled
there’s nothing left at all.
Jon London Jul 2012
Woodcutter
Woodcutter

Where do you go?

Must you leave Hansel and Gretel alone?
"There's not enough food for our family home;
So into the forest both children must go
My wife is a nag she nags me til dawn;
To abandon them both miles from their home"

But
Woodcutter
Woodcutter

Where will they go?

"Into the woods, there's a place that I know"
Hansel and Gretel followed in tow;
Dropping white pebbles to find their way home
As they both looked around, their father was gone
Both Hansel and Gretel knew something was wrong.

They waited and waited for their father's return
The woods became cold, so cold it would burn.
Gretel was crying," I'm so hungry" ‘she sighed
"I know" said Hansel, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Can you see pebbles aglow with the moon;
A path to warmth and maybe some food?"
"Don't worry dear Gretel I'll get us home soon".
"But we have to be fearless we're all on our own;
As we walk through the trees that whisper and groan".

Before they knew it both children were home
The house was in darkness, the night stood alone.
In through the window both of them crept
Back into their beds and silently slept.

When the next morning came
Their mother so cross, so full of rage;
Knowing her plans had drastically failed.
She called to their father to meet her upstairs

Woodcutter
Woodcutter

"Why don't you care?"

"Both children are home," she spat with despair.

"I will lock them away for the rest of the day
With a small cup of water and bread which is stale.
Tomorrow you'll take them back to the wood;
And both Hansel and Gretel will be gone for good"

Woodcutter
Woodcutter

Where do you go?

Must you leave Hansel and Gretel alone?
"There's not enough food for our family home
So into the forest both children must go.
My wife is a nag she nags me til dawn;
To abandon them both, miles from their home"

They walked through the bushes and creepy tall trees
Hansel and Gretel held hands with a squeeze.
"Don't worry dear Gretel we'll both be fine;
I left us a trail, like the last one to find"

"I've dropped some crumbs along the way;
So we can find our way home again"
But much to his horror, the crumbs had gone.
His plan had gone so terribly wrong.

"I forgot about the hungry birds;
I'm sorry dear Gretel," were Hansel's words.

"The birds must have quietly followed
Now we'll never get home by tomorrow"
Gretel was crying, "I'm hungry and cold;
Please Hansel, please get us home"

He froze for a moment, haunted by sounds
A shiver he felt there were eyes all around.
Both children felt safer in the foot of a tree
"Hansel I'm scared, please will you hold me"

All through the night they huddled up close
The forest so cold like the touch of a ghost
They waited and waited for their father's return
But when morning came, there was little concern.

So both Hansel and Gretel set off on their way
To find the path to home again
As they walked through the forest they found a old cottage;
It looked very strange in the middle of the glade.

Dark brown it was and ***** looking
But it had a sweet smell;
Like biscuits were cooking

"It's chocolate"
"It's chocolate"
Breaking chunks from the wall,
"Taste some dear Gretel it's not bad at all"

"Well, well, well"
Come a voice from by the door;
"You children must be hungry,
Do you want anymore?"

"Don't be afraid, you have nothing to fear;
It's just little old me, there's no one else here"
Still hungry and cold, Hansel and Gretel
Went and stood by the stove.

"Look at you children you're all skin and bone;
Come a little closer, my eyes are old;
Tell me child, what is your name?"
As she locked poor Hansel away in a cage.

"I'll fatten you up then gobble you up
And your sister can stay here and clean"
"Please let us go, don't be so mean;
We were looking for warmth and something to eat"

"Look at you child, you're all skin and bone
But I can't wait forever or I'll be like bone"
"Girl, girl, go and turn on the cooker;
We're having roast boy and gravy for dinner"

"We'll add some salt and little red spice;
And we'll cook him slow, he'll taste so nice"
"Girl, girl, go and check on the heat;
And make sure there's room for parsnips beneath"

Gretel returned with a tear in her eye
"I think I've turned the heat too high"
"You're useless child" 'the old witch cried.
"I'll do it all by myself"

But as she bent down, Gretel looked around;
And nudged the witch onto the shelf

Gretel ran to save her brother, releasing him from the cage.
She held Hansel so tightly,  "I'll never eat chocolate again"
They chained and locked the oven door,
The wicked witch will be no more.

Grabbing some food for their journey ahead
A basket of coins and a big chocolate egg
"We're rich, we're rich" 'they both happily said;
"Now let's go home to our warm comfy beds"

Along the path both children walked.
Their father was weeping;
As they approached the door
"Your stepmother's dead, she controls me no more"

"Forgive me children for abandoning you;
For your father was weak, what could I do?"
"Hansel and Gretel, I love you;
You believe me children, don't you?"






Copyscape Protected
Hansel&Gretel;©Jon.London 2010/all rights reserved .
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2017
when a lost muse is no excuse,
when the mundane and the profane
are away on summer holiday,
and you are currently on the divine’s
'u **** - no write list'

nonetheless the itch in the private
spaces is driving you crazy,
write a poem, write a poem,
in the way a grandmother
(or a mother to a grown child)
whiny nags,
its a nice day, go outside and play
with a strange man
,
whatcha ya gonna do, the walls are all painted,
and the good bad boys are out of town, all with the  
other bad good girls,
who got there first,

but we will write of
******-rings and
other crazy songs you sing

it is not important you the reader understand every verse,
like Patton said, "it only matters that I know,"

which line is a joke,
which around your neck is
your customized yoke,
which is why:
plaintive wail to no avail,
the regret that never can be sated,
the frustration cratering inside the chest,
which is just,
(and unjust)
just enough
to make a semi-satisfactory smile
upon the lips appear

whose lips?
who cares?
as long as you don't have to hear me sing my poetry
but hear me smiling at
the power of whimsy writing
and the return of
my no longer muzzy^

Ms. Minx A. Muse-me
<£>
2:13pm
a poem in reserve for you, the Canadian girl
^muzzy - groggy, blurred

always about you and you

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2046630/to-new-beginnings-and-******-rings/
Angelina Aug 2016
Right now, as we speak, there's a little boy, aged five
Pushed aside on the corner of his mat, where he naps
His fingers are clenched onto shredded crumbs of bread
He managed to get his hands on this morning despite his mother's constant nags
About having to save the last few bits for his new born sister  
Ashes and rubble are his best friends ever since he can remember
Disturbance aches him no more
For everything he's ever known are dents  
He wouldn't know what the other side of the rainbow looks like, let alone both
For he's never encountered a rainbow during his yelps of pain
Pressure, abundance of destruction, humiliation
His innocent weeps never reach aid
He is now used to it
No more room to present emotion
For everything he's encountered will forever be frozen in time
He wouldn't know what peace is, ever
For contrarily that would be foreign to him
Therefore, somewhere in this world, silence takes over
This little boy whose whole life has been built on lies and disruption
Dorothy A Jan 2015
Shane Page made a quick call to his daughter, LeAnn, as he waited in the hospital lounge. “Hey, Dad, what’s up? You sound kind of upset.”

“LeAnn, Grandpa had a heart attack…”

LeAnn’s dark brown eyes grew large. “Is Grandpa dead?”, she asked. She was fourteen years old, and a wise, sensitive girl who cared a lot about her grandpa.

“No, not that, hon. The doctor says he will recover, but he had some blockages and he needs some fixing up.  He’s resting right now, pretty comfortably. I just wanted you to know where I was and that I’m okay—so don’t you worry. Look out after your brother…” He sighed in exhaustion and ran his fingers through the top of his dark hair. “It’s going to be a while before I’m home.”

“Well, wait a minute!” she protested.  “Why can’t Trevor and I go with you? Maybe Mom can drive us up there.”

Shane started to raise his voice, “Leave your mom out of this!” Then he realized his tone was a bit harsh and said more calmly, “You two got school tomorrow and there’s no need for you to be here now. Anyway, I don’t want to involve Mom.”

Shane and his wife, Megan, have been separated for four months now. It would be more than likely that they would be getting divorced. LeAnn, and her brother, Trevor—who was eleven-years-old—were staying with their father. It worked out that they remain in their home.  

“Dad”, LeAnn insisted. “She’s still our mom…”

“Just look out for Trevor. Ok?”

Shane got off the phone, and just sat there staring at the television but having no real desire to even pay any attention. That was the farthest thing from his mind. Around him were a few other tired people, looking about as frustrated, tired or worried as he was.

It has been a trying year for him. Still struggling with his marriage issues and now he was dealing with his father’s health problems. At age thirty-six, Shane was a young father when he married Megan. He felt it was the right thing to do considering she was pregnant at the time. The odds were against them remaining married, but they made if farther than anyone would have expected.  He certainly remained married longer than his parents—who were married for seven years—but he blamed his parent’s divorce on his womanizing, cheating father, a man he did not want to follow in his footsteps.

Dr. Bakkal had spoken to Shane, earlier. “Your father’s fortunate he made it in when he did. He was in requirement of two stents, and he was resistant to having them put in. I told him if he wants to continue to live, he’d be wise to get them. Otherwise, he’ll be in the same boat, but now we can prolong his life.”

“So he’s refusing?” Shane asked. That was his father, alright, stubbornly pigheaded to the bitter end.

“Thankfully, he signed for consent and he’s allowing you to be included in conversation over his medical issues. But really it is a good idea for him to have a power of attorney. You are his only son? ”

“Right.—I’m it”, Shane responded. “Well, that’s my dad for you. He thinks he’s got it all under control. Anyway, I’d be okay with being power of attorney, but who knows if he’d even have me. I don’t need to tell you he’s a stubborn man. He’s a proud man—too proud.”

“That he is”, Dr Bakkal agreed. “He doesn’t have a wife who can step up to the plate?”

Shane laughed a little. “He’s had four wives. My mom was the first. The lady he has been seeing now I’m sure saved his life. She was the one who demanded he go to the hospital and she drove him here. But she called me up and says she’s done with him.” The strain was obvious, as it was written all over Shane’s face. “He’s a headache, Doctor. He drinks too much. He smokes. He has yet to meet a vegetable…”

The doctor stated, “But things don’t sink in until we are forced to face them, sometimes. And he thinks because he looks alright on the outside, he’s okay on the inside—a fairly handsome man—a ladies man—who is, one used to being his own boss.”  

Shane agreed, but his face was grimaced. “That he is, Doctor. That he is. Yeah, but when the ladies get wind that he ends up treating them pretty shabbily—well, I’m not going to fill in the details. Four wives should tell you the answer.”

Dr. Bakkal put his hand on Shane’s shoulder. “Ah, but you seem to have a good head on your shoulders. I’ve no doubt you have some sense.”

Shane nodded.

Nodding his head—drifting in and out of sleep—Shane continued to wait in the lounge. Soon, Shane’s dad, Carl, had been able to get into his own room. Shane was able to go in and see him. Like Carl had told one of the nurses, he was “all wires, tubes and coils” and he had “enough numbers lighting up on fancy gadgets to keep the place busy” as his vitals were constantly monitored. Soundly sleeping, he seemed much smaller in his hospital bed with his face half shielded by an oxygen mask. What a strange sight it was. He hadn’t seen his dad in the hospital since his gall bladder surgery several years ago.  It was a bit unsettling for Shane to see him this way.

He didn’t want to wake his dad, so Shane just grabbed up a chair and sat by the foot of the bed. Before long, he had fallen asleep, too. When his phone range, he was entirely confused as to the time, even to what day it was.

“Hey, Dad, how’s grandpa doing?”

Looking at his watch and then peering out into the darkness out the window, he answered, “What’s that I hear…in the background? LeAnn, is that your mother there?”

“Yeah, Dad, I told her. She felt like we needed her and she’s making dinner for us.” Megan could be heard in the background talking with Trevor.

Shane frowned. “Oh, great! Didn’t I tell you not to involve Mom? You are perfectly capable of cooking, LeAnn. You do a good job, and—“

LeAnn abruptly handed her mother the phone. “Shane”, Megan said. “You can shut me out from helping you, but you can’t shut me out from helping my kids. Don’t act like you couldn’t use a hand.”

“I’ll be home soon”, he insisted. “It’s really not necessary. I’m not trying to be a **** about it…”

“You stay there as long as you need to. I can call Uncle Sal and tell him you might not be into work tomorrow.”

Shane worked as a manager and mechanic in his maternal uncle’s car repair shop. “Megan, I am quite capable of doing this kind of stuff, you know!” He hesitated and gave in to what he saw as interference.  Perhaps, guilt compelled her to come over. After all, she was the one who walked away. She was the one who was unfaithful, the one who strayed.  He added, “You want to look after the kids—then fine. I’ll worry about me”.  

“Well, you got it! I won’t interfere too much in your life, Shane. You’re just a chip off the old block,” she remarked, referring to his stubborn father. “The kids and I are doing just fine. I got it covered! Okay?”

“Hi, Dad! Love you!” Trevor boomed out from the background.

Megan laughed. “You caught that, didn’t you? I think the whole neighborhood did”.

There was no use trying to resist Megan’s help. “Tell the kids that their grandpa is comfortable, sleeping like a log. They can see him soon enough.” He stopped as a nurse came into the room to check in on his father. They briefly smiled at each other.

“Give them each a kiss and a hug for me”, he said, lastly, almost choking up. He wished it was like it was before—the four of them under one roof. But that was not going to happen.    

Shane met Megan at a party. She was a college student learning to be a teacher. He was working for his uncle in his auto repair shop. The plans were set for Shane to take over that shop one day. Uncle Sal had three daughters, none of them the least bit interested in taking over the business. When he met Megan, he was doing well for himself.

It was love at first sight for him. He was attracted to her fun loving personality, as well as her beauty. Her blue-green eyes would light up the room. At first, Megan wasn’t feeling the same way. Shane did slowly grow on her, this “grease monkey” with his serious nature and beyond his years. They would talk about their future together, for they really did enjoy each other’s company. But then reality hit them in the face when Megan became pregnant with LeAnn, and they married very soon. He wanted to marry her anyway, but now it was a matter of integrity. Shane wanted his child to have parents who were married and for his kid to know him better than he knew his dad.  

Megan gave up on her schooling, not becoming the teacher that she dreamed of. Shane often wondered if she resented him for this—like it was entirely his fault—though Megan never expressed that to him. A few years later and Trevor came. Plans to go back to school were put on hold. That light in those eyes seemed to grow dim, but he didn’t really notice that she was unhappy. He seemed to lose focus.

Such thoughts were punishing at this time, and he tried to bury them deep down. It was amazing that he was able to have a sound sleep in the hospital, resting in the chair in his father’s room. Next time he opened his eyes, the sun was shining. He looked up, disoriented a bit, as he noticed his dad looking at him, a small smile on his face and no more oxygen masks.

“Hell, Son”, Carl said in a gruff voice.. “You look worse than I do”. Carl’s thick head of grey hair was disheveled, and his usually, neatly trimmed mustache was invaded by surrounding ****** stubble.  

Shane got up and stretched and said back, “Thanks, Dad. Good morning to you, too.”   He looked at his watch and added, “Glad you’re alive. You scared the hell out me. You got your grandkids worried.”

“Well…get me out of this ****** hospital and I’ll show you I can get around just fine”.

“Whoa! Whoa! Superman—you are not! Just lay back, relax a while, and do what the doctors tell you.”

“Like what?” Carl asked with a furrowed brow.

Shane was careful not to lose his temper. “Well, for one, you can quit smoking. Two, you can give up the *****. Three—take your cholesterol medicine…”

“Ok….ok….you sound like your mother now”.

Shane knew it would go in one ear and out the other. He stood by the window looking down in the parking lot. “Yeah, Dad, Maybe I do sound like Mom, but someone’s got to tell it to you straight. Put some sense into you. Stop just for once and think of someone else besides you. If no one else, think of LeAnn and Trevor.” He paused and added, “Think about me for once.”

Carl laughed and mocked him, “Poor, little Shane’s got it so bad. I’m not against you, Son, okay? You’re a big boy, so man up! I’m sixty-nine years old! My old man was gone by fifty.” He started having one of his coughing spells, his cough like an old smoker’s cough.

Shane shot him a sharp look. “I guess I’m a fool to expect any better. Can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear—as mom always says. Obviously, just wasting my time here!” He went to grab his jacket to leave.

Carl boomed, cheerfully, “Well speak of the devil!”

“What?” Shane asked, unaware of what was going on. He turned around and there was his mother standing in the doorway. He smirked and said, “Mom, I’m surprised to see you! LeAnn, right? ”

Rosina smiled and nodded as she entered the room. With salt and pepper hair, and an olive complexion, she commanded the room with her presence. Carl always referred to her as “Queen Bee”, for she had that quality—regal like a Roman statue when he first laid eyes on her—though she was down-to-earth in reality.

Carl groaned at the thought of her coming. “Is it safe for a person to be in here?” she asked, in her grand entrance.   She whipped Carl a stern glance. I’m not here for you!” Then she gave a look of concern her son, and told him, “I’m here because I’m supporting you, my dear. And yes, LeAnn called me.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and a quick hug, and he returned the loving gesture.


“Mom, you didn’t need to drive over an hour to come up here. But since you are—have a seat.”

“You sure as hell didn’t, Rosie”, Carl echoed.

“Oh be quiet!” she ordered Carl, putting him in his place. She dismissed the offer of the seat, and told her ex- husband. “I’m worried about my only son, but I also am interested in how you’re doing…if my grandchildren will still have a grandfather. Take better care of yourself and maybe they will.”

Shane comments were sardonic. “Maybe miracles still happen…like quitting smoking, boozing, and maybe doing some walking and healthier eating…but since when has Dad ever listened to you or me?”

Carl attempted to sit up and get out of bed, but the effort was ridiculous. He groaned in pain. “Give a poor guy some rest, already! You two are just a couple of nags!”

Rosina sneered. “Old nag—old hag—*******—say what you want about me, but you know I’m right! Anyway, you are outnumbered. Or am I, Shane, and the nurses and doctors all talking out their rear ends?”

Carl made a face. If only he could just get out of here.

“Honey”, she said to Shane. I’ll be downstairs in the cafeteria. I’d like some coffee. You can join me down there if you’d like and we can talk.”

“In a little while, Mom, thanks”, he replied.

Rosina walked up closer to Carl and put her hand lovingly upon his chest. “I really do want you to get well, old man. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care.”

“I know you do”, Carl admitted. “That is one of your faults. You don’t stay ****** forever.”

Carl was more scared than he would let on. He hated hospitals. He would do anything to just be back home in his recliner, watching a football game and having a few beers. What he wouldn’t do for just one puff on a smoke, too. Anxious, he tried to hide his fear, but it was just a smoke screen. He didn’t want anyone to know how he truly felt, nor did he want anyone to feel sorry for him.

There was silence for several minutes. Shane had said all that he should say. After all, he knew his dad probably wouldn’t listen. “Hey, Dad”, he finally said. “LeAnn’s going to her school dance. There’s a boy that likes her, but I’m really not ready for that.”

Carl grinned. “She’s a pretty girl, alright. Takes after her grandma when she was something else—way back, you know. The girl looks more like your ma than you do, though always felt you took after her look instead of me”. Carl’s background was English, Scottish and Welsh, and Rosina was full Italian. To Carl’s side of the family, he looked like his dad. To his mother’s side, he resembled her. Trevor took very much after Megan, with light brown hair and those blue-green eyes.

“Yeah, she is growing into quite a beautiful young lady”, Shane agreed “I got to still go dress shopping with her…and, oh, let the fun begin!  Can’t think of anything more enjoyable than a day of running her all around the malls.”

“Well, let Megan take her, for God’s sake! Or let your mother do it.”

“Dad”, “It’s fine. It may not be my thing, but all the stuff I do with Trevor—going to his baseball games, soccer, to karate. Well LeAnn was more into that stuff but she’s getting more into girly things.”

Soon, a young woman came in with Carl’s lunch, and placed the tray in front of him on his table. “Cute, huh?” Carl remarked about her after she left. Shane did not say a word.

“You need to get back out there. Get out and meet a nice girl”, Carl said, picking over his food. Jell-O, apple sauce, broth, a roll and juice—he wanted a hamburger. But how could he get a good one here? There were too many “spies” as he called them watching over him.

At the moment, Shane seemed miles away from his dad. Whatever he was saying made no impact. He made it a point not to speak of his problems with Megan to his father, and he liked it that way.  By Shane’s expression, he felt his son was holding back on something. But the truth was, so was he hiding something.

“I got myself into this mess, I know”, Carl declared about his heart attack. “I came close to saying, ‘Sayonara—that’s all, folks!’” His remarks were typical—just blow everything off. He joked as if he wasn’t fazed by it all.

Shane had now closed his eyes, and kicked back a little, “Uh huh”, he agreed, though he was simply responding without thinking about what Carl really said.

Carl didn’t want to be tuned out. He had something to get off his chest. He said, “ Well, all that’s done and said, maybe this is the right time to tell you. Got plenty of time here with my own thoughts.” He hesitated, for it wasn’t easy for him to say it. “ It’s bout time you know”, he said. “I think with me almost bitin
Hoping2bhelpfull Jan 2014
Out of work
Unemployed
It’s only been 2 days
You’re overjoyed.

Two weeks later
Unemployment check arrives
Much smaller than your pay
How will you survive?

Getting drunk and getting high
Drinking beer in the early afternoon
Watching ESPN and daytime T.V.
Hoping something comes up soon

On the internet looking for a job
Used to drink beer everyday
Times are tough
Not sure you can get the same pay.

Your old lady is asking questions
She is on your case
You tell her not to worry
But she just gets in your face.

You could spend this free time *******
But she’s got her head all messed up
She thinks there is a crisis
Nagging you while you’re down on your luck

She now makes more money than you
She holds all the cards
She tells you what you doing wrong
She likes being in charge.

What could have been a grand old time
Now has turned into an awful bind

You sit there and stew and stew
She can’t keep her mouth shut and lays into you.

She nags and nags and nags
Why don’t you apply over here she brags.

Every time she walks in you let out a sigh
You sink down in the couch and try and hide

She begins to speak you roll your eyes
She can’t give it a rest why why why?

And now she becomes the one you despise
Why can’t she just let sleeping dogs lie?

You have two choices before you.
Get a job or dump her
You know what to do
Chances are she has already made a choice about you.
O Prince, O chief of many throned pow’rs!
        That led th’ embattled seraphim to war!
                      (Milton, Paradise Lost)

O thou! whatever title suit thee,—
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie!
Wha in yon cavern, grim an’ sootie,
     Clos’d under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstane cootie
     To scaud poor wretches!

Hear me, Auld Hangie, for a wee,
An’ let poor ****** bodies be;
I’m sure sma’ pleasure it can gie,
     E’en to a deil,
To skelp an’ scaud poor dogs like me,
     An’ hear us squeel!

Great is thy pow’r, an’ great thy fame;
Far ken’d an’ noted is thy name;
An’ tho’ yon lowin heugh’s thy hame,
     Thou travels far;
An’ faith! thou’s neither lag nor lame,
     Nor blate nor scaur.

Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion,
For prey a’ holes an’ corners tryin;
Whyles, on the strong-wing’d tempest flyin,
     Tirlin’ the kirks;
Whyles, in the human ***** pryin,
     Unseen thou lurks.

I’ve heard my rev’rend graunie say,
In lanely glens ye like to stray;
Or whare auld ruin’d castles gray
     Nod to the moon,
Ye fright the nightly wand’rer’s way
     Wi’ eldritch croon.

When twilight did my graunie summon
To say her pray’rs, douce honest woman!
Aft yont the **** she’s heard you bummin,
     Wi’ eerie drone;
Or, rustlin thro’ the boortrees comin,
     Wi’ heavy groan.

Ae dreary, windy, winter night,
The stars shot down wi’ sklentin light,
Wi’ you mysel I gat a fright,
     Ayont the lough;
Ye like a rash-buss stood in sight,
     Wi’ waving sugh.

The cudgel in my nieve did shake,
Each bristl’d hair stood like a stake,
When wi’ an eldritch, stoor “Quaick, quaick,”
     Amang the springs,
Awa ye squatter’d like a drake,
     On whistling wings.

Let warlocks grim an’ wither’d hags
Tell how wi’ you on ragweed nags
They skim the muirs an’ dizzy crags
     Wi’ wicked speed;
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues,
     Owre howket dead.

Thence, countra wives wi’ toil an’ pain
May plunge an’ plunge the kirn in vain;
For oh! the yellow treasure’s taen
     By witchin skill;
An’ dawtet, twal-pint hawkie’s gaen
     As yell’s the bill.

Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse,
On young guidmen, fond, keen, an’ croose;
When the best wark-lume i’ the house,
     By cantraip wit,
Is instant made no worth a louse,
     Just at the bit.

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,
An’ float the jinglin icy-boord,
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord
     By your direction,
An’ nighted trav’lers are allur’d
     To their destruction.

And aft your moss-traversing spunkies
Decoy the wight that late an drunk is:
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys
     Delude his eyes,
Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
     Ne’er mair to rise.

When Masons’ mystic word an grip
In storms an’ tempests raise you up,
Some **** or cat your rage maun stop,
     Or, strange to tell!
The youngest brither ye *** whip
     Aff straught to hell!

Lang syne, in Eden’d bonie yard,
When youthfu’ lovers first were pair’d,
An all the soul of love they shar’d,
     The raptur’d hour,
Sweet on the fragrant flow’ry swaird,
     In shady bow’r;

Then you, ye auld snick-drawin dog!
Ye cam to Paradise incog,
And play’d on man a cursed brogue,
     (Black be your fa’!)
An gied the infant warld a shog,
     Maist ruin’d a’.

D’ye mind that day, when in a bizz,
Wi’ reeket duds an reestet gizz,
Ye did present your smoutie phiz
     Mang better folk,
An’ sklented on the man of Uz
     Your spitefu’ joke?

An’ how ye gat him i’ your thrall,
An’ brak him out o’ house and hal’,
While scabs and blotches did him gall,
     Wi’ bitter claw,
An’ lows’d his ill-tongued, wicked scaul,
     Was warst ava?

But a’ your doings to rehearse,
Your wily snares an’ fechtin fierce,
Sin’ that day Michael did you pierce,
     Down to this time,
*** ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse,
     In prose or rhyme.

An’ now, Auld Cloots, I ken ye’re thinkin,
A certain Bardie’s rantin, drinkin,
Some luckless hour will send him linkin,
     To your black pit;
But faith! he’ll turn a corner jinkin,
     An’ cheat you yet.

But fare you weel, Auld Nickie-ben!
O *** ye tak a thought an’ men’!
Ye aiblins might—I dinna ken—
     Still hae a stake:
I’m wae to think upo’ yon den,
     Ev’n for your sake!
Heather Moon Feb 2014
Dad
So my father,
he goes into the store to buy his $10 a pack for cancer
while he still attempts to hide his addictions from my sister and I.
Now I don't think it would bother me oh so much
but his frugal attempts to sweep the dust under the rug is like using a mop instead of a broom...
We see the crumbs leading to your door from the cookie jar.
Yes, we all have flaws, but you,
you
weave shamefully through the under layers of darkness, devoid of any resemblance to a heavenly nature, you fall like a night creature weaseling through crooked creaky cement alleyways, your gremlin spirit set ablaze.

LIFE, I revel and roll within the taste of each second, I run the grain of life across my tongue until saliva fills the creases and far reached corners of my mouth. I tap my finger to my lips like a true virtuoso, a connoisseur of life. Life.

My father's addictions completely derail me,
not even so the notion itself, I mean yes, but his blatantly obvious ways of avoiding confrontation not only from us, but also from himself.
Like Pinocchio's nose, my fathers back gets hunched more and more, his breath quickens when we draw close.
Father you are not prey, in fact if there be a predator, it is you unto yourself. I can no longer help but to roll my eyes when you tell me for the fourth time in the day that you must take out the trash so as to have a smoke.
I am fed up, excuse me sir, the trash will still be there no matter how many times you take out the "trash" .
The only "thing" that won't be left after you're repeated offenses of the benign chore will be you're dignity because you are so naive and ignorant in the way you dodge truth. How can you live respectfully when you don't respect yourself? Nor do you value what you are spitting out to your own daughters.
I am addicted to life,
I breathe it in with passion,
I embrace the truth within me
and have an eagerness to expand my wisdom.
How come father you do something that you know is a betrayal to yourself? How come you hide away in that old bar, the one with the flashing(flickering) light on the outside, dingy worn out red leather(plastic)booths on the inside, the bar located in some musty  little hole in you're brain and a blind spot on you're heart.
You sit in the back in a lonesome booth slumped like some chump, stuck in a stump, you ooze and wheeze not even grasping for air, no fight left within, you are like mucus, a toad melting into the ground. Sinister and swindling in the greed of you're gut. Your ***** mopey yellow eyes and the shameful acceptance as you indulge in the baths of life's luxuries whilst you poison your body, trash what you hold dear and continue to block out that little annoying voice.
The voice with the cracks in it,
worn out from you're games, the voice that nags and pleads. The one that catches you before you order another round, take another smoke break, the one that pulls you, tantalizes you with it's simple sweet natural charm in hopes of distracting you from your self harming ways.
The voice that chimes in the second you raise your fist to punch me. The voice that is screaming at you when you lock eyes with mine and can see my fear.
Yeah that voice, the little punk one that returns even after the crime of your actions has been committed.
After the music stops and it's just you and the world.
but even then
I don't think you will hear it.
You're living on the edge of the pavement father.
No you wont hear that voice, not when you're twisted and contorted into the sideways way of things. You killed that voice long ago, when you wound yourself deeper and deeper like a clock in time,
when you twirled yourself into that little empty pub, with a quiet pool table, with no hope, a sanctum of greed.
Yes, you're guilty, yes it was you.
It was you who killed the voice inside of yourself.
You killed it when you traded
your dignity and your truth
for yet another
$10 dollar pack of
emptiness,
lies,
and forfiet.
I find as I get older
I have to censor what I say
I can't say that a happy man
Seems very, very, gay

I never got the memo
When certain words were made taboo
I never got that message
I' missed that one , did you?

My Nan would send my brother
To the shops to get her ****
I know we aren't allowed to say this
I've been told by P.C nags

I remember the old story
Of Black Peter and St. Nick
Now you can't say either one
or you'd be branded quite the *****

There, I used another one
*****, somehow made the list
Has anyone seen the memo
It's the one note that I missed

You must call someone Richard
You cannot call him ****
**** political correctness
Just brought me back to *****

If you sit and watch the telly
you can't put your feet up on a ****
that gets us back to gay again
The PC folks would hit the roof

Don't start me on Brazil nuts
Remember what we all called those ?
If I put that down in writing
I'd be PC'd in the nose

Men and Women are all persons
This PC stuff just makes me sick
But, just look at them both naked
There, I've worked back round to *****

It takes the fun out of saying swear words
You have to censor all the time
There might be a PC zealot
waiting for a language crime

So, in closing let me tell you
And I will do it with some class
They can take their PC memo
And shove it up their....buttocks (I think is the term used nowadays)!
Dandelion May 2014
Mummy I love you
It pains me to look pass your shell
To see that inner being
So many struggles that seem bleak
As your daughter
Helpless, what can I do to ease the pain?

Thank you for bringing me to this world
The worries and frustration in nurturing
I am forever grateful
For your sacrifices you've made
I will never forget those times
Where you were the only one I could rely on

I'm sorry for being rude
Ignoring your nags
Dismissing your efforts
I could not appreciate
I could not understand
I was too young and naive then

As the years pass
My wish is for you to love yourself more
To be who you wanna be
Start to live a life of your own
Not to live for us your children
Mummy, I love you
Some thoughts about understanding more of what it takes to be a parent, a mother to her children. Silent sacrifices that goes unappreciated. No amount of words can describe how blessed I am. Thank you.
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
Snorers all
scattered world-wide
in offices and homes
in boardrooms
and bedrooms;
O Snorers all
loud and clear
low and shrill -
listen ye
to the loud wake-up call
as from Rip Van Winkle's Snore

stand up united
and drown the howl of protests
against snoring that is surely no less divine
than the Chorus of Angels in Heaven -
for the great God who made the Aurora
no doubt also conceived of the Divine Snore!


and so, stand up, ye sonorous Snorers!
unite! I call unto ye!
unite against the detractors
and the critics
and the complainants
and those of low culture
who cannot
lie still and listen to Snoring
as one rightly would at a concert hall
listening to the delightful play
of a quartet of violins


O how long will you take it lying down,
ye blessed Snorers of the World?
let the world know
the first divine music was indeed the Snore;
and the very height of human communication
is the unabashed snore
for all other modes of communication
lead to mis-communication
but the language of the snore is always exact and crisp!
the message of the Snore always precise!
the meaning always loud and clear!
and the very height of the snore
(let us declare to the world)
is the couple in bed
snoring away together
beside each other
making such divine music
making love with the rolling thunder of snores
so that one might say:
do we have a couple of wild boars
copulating in the next room?




stand up, O Snorers of the World -
and defy the mockers
and those who seek divorce
on grounds of insufferable Snoring;
stand up against those who sue
for loss of sleep from
friendly, neighborly Snorers;
stand up now
against these losers, these whingeing nags
uncouth and untutored
in the mysteries of the art of the Snore!
stand up and with one loud blast of
a universal Snore,
with one melodious Snore
let us
drown their dissenting voices,
their unprovoked cacophonous complaints!
stand up, Snorers young and old!
unite, Snorers black, white and gold!
defy the world! O ye Snorers
of quite nights and of lazy days:
let us overwhelm the world
with the pleasing symphony of Snores;
let us bless the ears of the world
with the dulcet streams of varied notes and arias!
stand up! unite! - O much-maligned Snorers of the World!
with one voice raised
in a triumphant Snore
let us declare:
*No longer will we be silent!
Our voices will be heard!
Edward Alan Apr 2014
You mumblers and raspers
Of resp'rat'ry rattle:
Open your throats!
Forsake ye! the gaspers,
You quoters of cattle
And prattle of goats!

Or lay ye with horses
Whose tongue ne'er divorces
Those ivory choppers,
Those sibilant stoppers;
You lispers: beware,
Whether stallion or mare,
While you nibble your oats!

Stop your speech-stumbling!
Go suckle an udder
You dizzy, damp calfs!
Restrain your talk-tumbling,
And swallow your stutter
Nor utter foul laughs!

You outspoken nags
Mimic bolt-broken stags
As you bleed allegations
Down paths of my patience
And clatter your antlers;
What heavy-hoofed ranters
For no one's behalf!
Red Frost Jul 2016
I know there's something wrong but I don't know what.
I know I have to change but I don't know how.
I know that I'd stop crying but I don't know when.
I know some people hate me but I don't know why.

Nobody loves me, that's what I'm starting to feel.
Nobody needs me, that's what they made me feel.
I am but a burden and that's what I'm feeling.
Torn between the thought of dying and trying.

I wish there is someone who'll listen to my rants.
I wish there is someone who will understand cries.
I wish there is someone who will tell me I am right.
I wish that someone would tell me: everything will be alright.

I wish to cheer people, when they have to deal with life.
I wish to be useful, to the ones who brought me here.
I wish to be someone, who would listen silently.
And not to be someone, who is selfish, nags and rude.

I wiped my tears, but they didn't stop falling.
I faced the floor and they just kept pouring.
I stopped hiding my tears, 'cause nobody noticed.
I cried 'till tears ran out and blood started falling.

I don't want to live dying, but I don't want to die living, like a corpse in daylight, walking.
Life is beautiful, life is cruel
Life is a gift, with endless burden

I should've been selfless, and learned to appreciate.
I should've understood them when I wished to be understood.
I should've been more careful, with the things that I have said.
I should've been a good kid, and listened to my parents.

If only I wasn't me, with a different family.
If only I had something I could do so perfectly.
If only my steps, had the right foot to start with.
Would I still be sitting here, waiting for my death?
b e mccomb Jul 2016
Anxiety keeps Depression
Up all night and then
Depression sleeps
All day.

And every day they
Argue over the things they
Did or didn't say
Did or didn't do.

Sometimes they watch
TV together
But they never
Enjoy it.

Anxiety is in college and
Depression doesn't help her
Edit her papers when
She asks nicely.

Depression had a good job
She enjoyed but she ended up
Losing it and now Anxiety
Nags at her to find another.

Neither of them can
Find friends, so even though
They hate each other
They're all they've got.

They keep trying to date
But every time one brings
Home someone else, the
Other scares them off.

Depression is messy
With piles everywhere
But Anxiety keeps the kitchen
Spotlessly clean.

Anxiety can't stop bossing
Depression around
But Depression can't stop pulling
The covers over her head.

Anxiety and Depression
Are roommates
In a mental
Apartment building.

And I'm waiting for Anxiety
To forget to renew the lease
And Depression to be too
Tired to do it herself.
Copyright 11/21/15 by B. E. McComb
SassyJ Mar 2016
A ***** drills inside my core
It nags, graps, pans, the hands
They knot in spins and twists

My crux left at the river side
Breathing,gasping fast, faster
Body out in the open rawness

Persisting resistance of the force
An outward shield winning
Winged left,right, up, down

Another day, a greater pace
A passive taste, ranting in haste
In bricks *****, all I taste is hate

All walking in dead silence
Heads shouting with dreams
A roll of sweet and sour sate

Echoes of taxes and budgets
How will they evolve us?
Snatching more from pockets

The rockets burst to mock us
Pulling our all to fund them
Nuclear bombs creating tombs

Distribution of lies and wars
Missiles disposing as lyrics
An objectification of reason

Figure brushes on magazines
Incisions of bits and **** hoots
To boost of the hot posed ***

No truth is scaffolded as real
A psychological brainwash
Pollutes and limits indefinately
Human interactions can leave one vulnerable and emotionally drained. How much are we socially indoctrinated?
The revolving dreams of the social structure and institution!!!
Nothing dies, it bursts to birth
Before the requiem is half done,
Before the suitable tears are shed
Or the mourning of the underbred
Nags out its course, the death is dead.

The sighs shoot into the long trombone
It blows so hard it shakes the earth.
The flowers in a breathless rush break through;
If one has collapsed, then out spring two,
Insatiable for things to do.

It is unnecessary to atone
For sin: he is the losing one;
With all his conjuror's cheap disguise
No geese fly north because of his lies
No cause is lost, and nothing dies.
Kelly McCarthy Mar 2014
I can’t sleep.
An endless wandering
piano strain
caught between
broken
finger
bones.

She lays
her head
against his
chest
listening
as
ships
sail
across his
heavy heart.

A sad
mourning
wail
of
wind
echoes
in
each breath
he takes.

I hope
that
soon
death will
come
like
hundreds
of arrows
in
the night.
Each aflame
with the
lies
and conceit
of  the
human race.

Only then
will I slumber
content
beneath
the skies
of
moons
and stars.
Glistening in
continuum
with the chorus
of
small voices
and the movements
of the
universe.

A haunting
twisting
melody
that
reminds
us of memories
and their purpose
of nostalgia.
The notes
that
urge
us to go
on.
To hope
when hope
is gone.

Because I can’t
sleep,
I dream
of brokenness
and hopelessness.
A darkness
darker than
the night
disturbs
my unseen
eyes
and billows
beneath my
hair.

I look to them
both,
standing
so close to
the edge,
and I pray
like sweet honey
that
drips from
cultured
lips,
I pray for
them both,

The girl and the boy who haunt my sleepless nights.

I watch
as they
peril
in
my demise,
slowly
my brain
rots away
and
my limbs
deteriorate.

They have
nothing
left
of me.
Only
a fleeting
idea
that nags
at their
consciousness
each footfall
bringing
them farther
from my
soul
and closer to
their empty
air.

It was
like
they too
never existed,
as both
fall
to the
violin
that soundtracks
their never-ending
sorrow.

The girl and the boy who haunt my sleepless nights.

Now we
both
will
slumber
forever
beneath
the moons
and
the
stars
for
eternity
forever
content,
unsatisfied,
restless.
I just can't sleep. No matter what I try. And this haunting album "Memoryhouse" by Max Richter has my mind reeling. It's so overloaded with feelings and emotions I had to write. And this is that result of that.
Here's the link to his album on Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6ACE59988DC25193
PoetWhoKnowIt Apr 2013
Something's off.
Something's strange.
I cannot see,
nor Rearrange.

I feel it near
Pressing my heart
Only to wonder
where does it start?

Is it in the sky?
in the trees?
or could it rest
within the seas?

It stares and follows
Without a care;
My eyes go searching
my focus tears

No matter where
No matter how,
it stalks my conscience
Here and Now.

All my trust,
All my hope;
It's mindless talons
with these elope

It nags my sleep,
It nags my wake-
Were I to run
my breath it'd take

When I'm to lie
in my bed
it lies right over
my eyes- blood red

And in my wake,
I stop and think
with every word.
at every blink.

Walking- a rock
within my shoe
pulling it out
so easy to do

Yet this fiend
makes me believe,
No worthy to heal.
never to relieve.

Maybe ticks alone
will save-
Or maybe tocks
help find it's cave.

Never leaves.
never goes.
forever here,
my forever clothes
Odd feeling...
W Winchester Jul 2014
of trying to keep a schedule
trying to stay updated
pleasing my **** fans

im getting sort of tired
of trying to be... "deep"
"thought-provoking"
and "pithy"

**** that.

i do not write to please you
i do not write because i want "votes"
and "comments"

i do not write to even keep my sanity in check
not anymore

i write because something nags me so much
that i either turn it into words

or **** myself

simple as that.

so please
please do not think
that my oh-so-romantic poetic suffering
is all for you

it's not.
it most definitely is not.
people on other websites are nagging me to update something and read their stuff. I am losing my mind (said literally) and you want me to devote my time to being some featured critic on your novice romantic novel? *******.
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
The minutia of cotton fledglings, I play them over and over
In my head, the most enjoyable, a layer of dynasty added to
The mallard kingdom. And a rocking horse swims across
Each pond too, its head heaves and nags creating massive, huge,
Undulating circles around circles. One more coat of gesso and then
Even I, in my speckled red paint Commune jeans, and holy holy Protestant tee shirt, I can travel the world; maybe even brush up on my
Cuyp.

Whipping through the sedge-brook grass, busting out, shooting Through the other mucilaginous nimbuses rolling
Outward first, then fled upward into the beacons of the heavens-
Shouting, whistling, oozing albicant heraldic pillars and shields.

Twenty more colours to mix.
Together, the mallards and ewes and rocking horse, and I;
prancing, little dots, filing into order. Where nursing
Against the sunken pillows of grain, I enter each round of
This papyrus jungle. Neatly folding my hands around each
Milky white shade, rushing out  into the aurulent sunglow. .
*Aelbert Cuyp: 17th Century Dutch Impressionist Painter
albicant: white; becoming white
aurulent: gold
Nishu Mathur Jan 2017
I forget worries and cares
The unrest in the world I see
When I look at fields and flowers
When I behold a tree

I forget what nags a day
A sigh, a tear and cry
When I see a galaxy of stars
A golden moon in the sky

I forget jarring cacophony
The discord and the strain
When I hear a stream gurgle
And the patter of summer rain

I forget what ails the heart
With the breath of the breeze
It soothes and calms the spirit
It brings quiet and peace

I forget worries and care
When in Nature's company
Disarmed by her gentle wonders
Her beauty and her melody.
Chloe Zafonte Jun 2019
I'm 7 years old, I'm alone on the playground as kids call me Dora because of my olive skin and short hair. Teachers see but they don't care. I go home, my father is high and beats me to a pulp physically and mentally. It's my fault because I act up and everything he does is father like and gently.

I break down and hardly speak. When I did I was told that I was stupid and to nshut up. I would sit in my dark room in tears, listening to the laughter of my siblings and peers. Dreading the sound of his footsteps that were so loud, they shook the chandelier.

I'm 13 years old, my mental health goes down hill. I'm angry, violent, in need for attention, making up lies, pulling stunts and finding myself in detention. I'm a teenager now and too hormonal so I'm always getting the belt. I speak to counselors and CPS. But my Father "loves me". I receive no help. I'm just a troubled child and a mess.

I'm 16 years old. My parents divorce. Life gets better then takes a turn for the worst. My dog passes away at the age of seven. Her being my only support, wishing I could join her in heaven. No one understands the loss I feel or the anger I display. I endure the silence of my room, the only thing I have left of her is her collar and the memories she gave me of when I was smaller.

I'm 17 years old. My boyfriend of 3 years drops me out of the blue, I find another guy who's new to replace the hurt. It went from laughter to walking on eggshells. He would make accusations and jump to conclusions, leaving me in a state of confusion. I'm trapped and made me question myself. I couldn't leave, the attention I was receiving was my self help.

Months later he leaves and sets me free. I celebrate, yet feel alone because love is what I need. I'm online sending naked photos to men I'll never meet, thinking they'll fall in love and run away with me. This is how I dealt isolation and misery.

I'm 18 years old, last year of high school. My "best friend" turns on me like a snake. The school leaves me stranded in her constriction. I'm a wreck to the point where I want to end it all in my bathtub. I stop myself, realizing that this was not the answer. I continue my days in despair. Knowing it was just me against a world that couldn't care.

I'm 19 years old and I say that I had enough and seek therapy. It helps with my emotions but not my home life. Waiting for life to pick up, I continue with strife.

I'm 21 and we all get evicted from where we live and have to stay with my grandparents. Who would not hesitate to shank my mom with a shiv if they could, but this is how I had to accept life in a toxic environment and not as I should.

That same year I get to move out and be on my own. In an apartment in the city most known. I meet a man one afternoon in late June and before you know it I'm pregnant and we're over the moon.

Six months pass and the lease is up. And he has no interest in renting a place together like I'm a waste of space. I move into a shelter not realizing the choice I made was a huge mistake.

The house mom nags and nags, treating me like I'm five. I spent hours and hours waiting for my boyfriend to arrive. But she prevented me from seeing him, I was again alone. Third trimester pregnancy and I'm doing back breaking chores under her force. I'm carrying heavy objects and a baby inside me like a horse, and I'm in pain.

I wanted to move but had nowhere to go, my boyfriend got into drugs and he's absent. I have no comfort from anyone because they don't understand, I'm suffering but doing what I can.

A monster of a girl moves in. She steals and hurts my infant son. No one believes me and thinks I'm wrong doing. I'm there for most of the year and her only three or four, I'm the bad guy and they like her more. I'm being framed for things I did not do, she and the house mom were the perfect two. We fight and I get kicked out!

Instead of being devastated, I leave and life took me to a better route. Trauma stays the outcome pays off.

I'm now 23 years old. I live in a beautiful apartment that I worked hard to get. My son is now one, the year came and went. Life has been peaceful and we're happy as ever. At night, I look at the sky and remember that every single traumatic fight, mental scar and slaps to the face. Lead me to where I am today. That I'm not a failure or a disgrace. Life has trails and is not a speed race.
Erin-Mai Jun 2013
In all the silence a piano shall be heard from the upstairs room,
A beautiful girl that came out one day of her mums womb,
Growing up was hard,
Being away so long,
No more father no more brother,
Just a mum and a couple dogs,
First she lived out of state,
Never did she hesitate,
Now with the fear of living here,
She made a lot of wrong doings and mistakes,
Learning from the past,
As she sat and watched the hour glass,
Learning everyday how the states can be so bad,
Different people, different places, different ways of doing things,
In every single place was the same familiar face,
T'was a face in the reflections,
Of buildings big and tall,
By the rivers edge, deep or shallow,
Wide or narrow,
This reflection helped her to stand tall,
But the one thing this reflection did was help her to never fall,
Everytime in the reflection,
She saw her mums face,
It told her to be proud, and stand her ground, and to never let things get her down, even if she felt out of place,
Even when the rivers were dry and the buildings collapsed,
She remembers that day from her past,
The one song that she played for her poppet; yes it was her only friend, a doll, back as a child before she grew up tall,
She played her piano so beautifully, Then one day she stopped...
The pain and sorrow from the fear caused her to lose all at all costs,
Friends were there to show they cared, but she grew stubborn and couldn't see,
Past all the hurt and all the pain,
Past all the anguished misery,
Locked in a room behind a door,
Soft tears had wet the bed,
Days went on and weeks went by,
With the same thoughts stuck in her head,
"I have no friends, and nobody cares, why am I living in this stupid place, my mum only nags that I do so wrong, that I need to grow up and get my own place, for what cause i'm losing a race?"
As those tears hit the bed,
With the thoughts stuck in her head,
Her phone was ringing off the hook,
But she never even glanced,
Didn't even give one look,
It was all the people calling her, for all the days in a week,
She kept on sobbing and her heart was throbbing as she was in so much hurt and pain,
But all the friends calling her saying
"Don't give up just yet, for you have so much more to gain, keep your head held high and stand your ground, do not lose this race, show the others that you can win even in this evil place, stay positive and keep your smile, for it will be all you are worth, do everything you can for us to never leave this earth!"
She walked to her piano,
Took a seat and played her mums favorite song,
It brought back all the memories of how she was to grow tall and strong!
Tony Luxton Jun 2015
Someone's speaking in the kitchen,
though I know I'm on my own.
It's no ordinary sound of house.
We do not usually converse.
Its chatter is perverse,
so dialogue leads to friction,
when it nags me into cleaning,
while competing for attention
with the garden, growing, greening.
Like twins they twist my tolerance.

That speaker's spoiled my thinking,
so easy to displace,
but I'll stop his broadcast bleating
and tune to inner space.
David Shaw Apr 2016
The Last Kiss

Since Nan died the black dog circles, the scent of grief in its nostrils, waiting, sensing my vulnerability.

Regret sits heavily on my shoulders, for words said and not said, for journeys not taken, for wasted opportunities, for unsaid goodbyes.

Denial prods me unexpectedly, the reality hard to accept, where is she?

Self pity nags at me, an indulgence not to be tolerated, but it creeps in.

Remorse visits me; could I have done more to ease her mental pain?

Loneliness engulfs me in the quiet times, the darker hours; activity and light loosen its hold.

Anger irks me; it arrives sporadically without real reason.

These emotions, relentless, unyielding, almost my constant companions, take turns to envelop me in a dark mantle called grief, which must be worn, sometimes pushed aside, but never removed, a reminder of the debt which is owed, and paid out of love, with copious tears, but hard to bear.

Life is not the same since Nan died, but she is embedded in my mind, where I go she goes, etched deeply is the memory of our last kiss as she lay still and cold.
This was written just after the death of my wife of 55 years.
barnoahMike Aug 2010
If they have them on Handlebars and steering wheels,,WHY aren't they always there when YOU need them Most??  {grips ,you know, those things you hold on to}...  If  Grandma Elizabeth was always telling me to say "Stand behind Me-satan",,,How come I'm always turning around and looking for him??  I'm sure glad Water was made just the Right thickness and AIR just Light enough ,to **** it in,,Aren't YOU??   Hunger, it sure has a way of "just-Keep-on-showin-up",,  It sort of Nags at you,Tugs at You. Urges You on, Leads you to seek it's satisfaction...Is there anything else in Life that Behaves in Just about the same manner??  Why does it seem that all the things That are Bright and new Right now,,can"t be seen as what they really are,,10 years from now??  Should we buy only 10 year old things,,or even 19, just to be safe,and Paint Past pictures of them on the walls of our mind??  Funny Thing about Clouds,,some are Wispy and Signal WIND AHEAD,,,some are Full and DARK to signal the oncoming storm,,Some are Fluffy and light, moving ever so slowly, announcing the Gentleness of the Day..  Have you tried catching one Lately and feeling it's very existence??  Who WILL JOIN me in cloud flying,,a GIFT from THE "ONE IN CHARGE"....
COPYRIGHT @2005 BY BARNOAH       Mike Ham
Jordan Fischer Jun 2016
A beautiful butterfly beams by in the brisk bright morning hours.
The alliteration of the first line is enough to make you swoon.
Beauty comes in many forms as such as an amazing altogether auspicious line of aggressive, aggrandizing well written word play

But just think of the amount of well written expression that was possible with any of those starter lines.

Instead you are full of nagging narcolepsy that nags at your knees.
Falling below even the fewest standards
Nick Strong Dec 2015
Hanging by the post box red front door
Since 71
A long trench coat, shade of green
With flat cap on top, peak smudged
From fingers that had gripped
Pulled it from a head,
Both, an umbra of post war world gloom
To the boy, now the man who looks at it
Memories contained within its pockets and creases
Of boiled sweets handed to his bairns
Of neatly folded plastic bags,
For the necessary emergencies
He was so convinced he’d meet
Of hands that belonged to the coat,
Strong, firm that tousled this man’s hair,
Yet gentle and playful, full of fun
Of the head that wore the cap, the grin,
The mischievous glint, when his Peg wasn’t looking
As he slipped some coins into this boy’s tiny hand
Stories told, of times before the war,
Of stopping trams, driving pigs through N’castle
As a butcher’s Boy, on slaughter day
Of the day he met his Meg, down by the coast
Of showing off, and coming a cropper
And oh, how his Meg laughed
A coat holding so much of the past,
Of shipbuilding by the dark, ***** Tyne,
Boats that loomed over the houses
Taking this boy to see them launch
Dreaming of exotic, oriental places
He would never visit
Of betting slips, crumpled in pockets
From long gone nags, who caught his eye
Torn envelopes with Megs writing,
Bread - brown, tin of carnation milk (small)
Rich tea, sultanas, flour – plain
A use for his plastic bags,
My Granda's love was called both Meg and Peg.
Suitcases get tagged, prepare for jetlag
  As you mount the stairs to the plane
Four layovers on your way over
  You hope it doesn't drive you insane

Announcements vague as your house slips away
  Leaving for another country
You flew the globe and moved your home
  Five times before you were twenty

Now the transit stays just can't faze
  Your ******* travel attitude
You never feel sick with the seats you pick
  And adjust well to the altitude

But something inside nags and asks why
  You're always in constant motion
You wonder how it would feel now
  If you'd never crossed that ocean

You forget the feeling and just quit dealing
  With memories left behind
But the thoughts come back, you've got some packed
  In the luggage of your mind
My wife always nags me.
This seems to be a problem with most women I marry.
Or most women in general.
They all nag me.
I'm laid back.
Or as my past wives say,
"lazy".
Sure, you could say that,
but I prefer the term,
laid back.
Anyway,
so my wife is always nagging me.
"Do the dishes" she says.
"Do the laundry" she says.
"Vacuum the house" she says.
Eventually, I would do it.
But the nagging got worse.
"Fix the squeaky front door" she says.
"Clean out the gutters" she says.
"Sort the trash from the recyclables" she says.
Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore.
I had enough.
So I took my wife,
and threw her in a vat of acid.
I watched as her skin slowly melted off her body,
like ice cream melting on an ice cream cone,
minus the stickiness.
I watched her hair dry up,
and disintegrate into nothing.
Her fingernails slowly fell off,
and her eyes began to slip out of her head,
as she let out a final scream.
She looked just as beautiful as she did the first day I met her.
My eyes feasted on the greatness before them,
although it does get kind of boring after the fourth time.
Nonetheless, I still enjoyed it.
There's nothing like throwing your half asleep wife in a vat of acid on a cold Sunday morning.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
Luminosity Cat Jul 2013
The pain you see is unbearable.
Day after day you take up the knife.
Day after day you wait and pray.
You wait for a hero, but still no one comes.
At school you are ridiculed.
At home you feel the world weighing in.  
Your little sister nags just as much as your parents.
Bullied, friendless, and alone in the world.
You decide it's time to die a cold hard death.
You write a note, and slowly take the pills.
Time for dinner, your sister enters.
She leaves, your parents come.
They cry, they scream.

Two years later - The bully blamed himself, so, death already set in.
Your best friend, has no friends.
Your parents divorced due to arguments that set in.
Your sister is anorexic and dealing with depression.
Your teachers all moved because they didn't stop it.
The kids in school blame themselves, some even had the nerve to drop out.
Your grandparent's blame your parents and never come to visit.
I've been there, I know the feeling of wanting to commit suicide, but think about the effect your death could have on the people who really cares.
wolfbiter Oct 2013
I can only identify Autumn as entirely bittersweet
I cringe at the sting of it as I breathe it through my teeth.
Isn’t it ironic how it’s viewed as beautiful in most eyes?
The season when everything transforms and withers away and dies.
The leaves changing colors, the forests in flames
And the vague sense of comfort in the shortening of days.
It’s underneath the ocean of stars I overanalyze my place
And I realize I’m just one out of the entire human race.
There’s something about Autumn, when everything dies,
That nags at me, insisting that I acknowlege I’m alive
And that no one can take that life away from me but me
I am not like the forests and the leaves and the trees
And I do not need to engulf myself in the colors of the flames
And I will not wither into nothing in Mother Nature’s name.
It is not neccesary for me to die once a year
Or hibernate all winter just to dismiss all my fears.
So why is it when I breathe Autumn into my bones
I become hyper aware that I’ve constructed people into homes
That have long sense been forclosed on, windows boarded up
And I’m the last to understand that the doors are locked and shut.
"That habit causes chronic homesickness," the doctor explains,
"I have no cure to give you, I just have something for the pain."
It’s in a self-medicated stupor I re-evaluate and say,
"I’m the only one to blame for why I ended up this way."
And in my cloudy mind state I think of what I’m fighting for
It’s been years of battles, mostly won, but I fear I’ll lose the war,
For overnight Winter will creep up to my window and make its way inside
And the tired worn out troops I have left will be taken by surprise.
My mental health will grow sleepy but I’ll push it to stay awake
And I’ll cling to that last dying ounce of comfort Autumn gave.
OnceWasAskim Aug 2022
My heart hurts… I feel it physically. Tug. Tug. Tug. My breath shallow and stilted. My face, in a frown. Burrowed brow. Eyes sunken. With a sadness that permeates them.

You know, sometimes I see people notice the sadness in my eyes. Of all people, I can tell my Mother In-law sees it.

They catch a glimpse of your sadness, mid conversation. And they don’t understand it, but they can’t explain it away. So it nags at them.

I can’t hide my sadness. It’s inside me, just below the surface. Oozing out of me at inopportune times. It feels like it’s soaked into my DNA. It’s me now.
It was a little insane but who
Am I to judge?
You See ....my friend had a theory
how our world came to where it was

So as he told it to me, is how ill tell it
it to you, but not caring if ur believing
But simply I am just repeating
As I found it oddly intriguing

So, it all starts where a society of
of real gods all live
And their kids are subject to
Learning about their power& gifts

And as an assignment school kids
Were told they had to create reality
On a fictitious planet where it'll
inhabit a species with mortality

Using the knowledge you were taught
In science Eco system building
Using philosophy, math. Art anything
You've learned can help your vision

Now the rules of such a creation
We're to calculate things right
Cause once it's created it's living
And we don't extinguish life

So the teacher explained that if
You create and it goes off course
You can only watch it destruct for
example if u Forget a food source

If you forget to make the
physical bodies of the beings
To be properly resilient enough
to match the environmental skeems

You are forced to watch in horror
As the death u caused slowly comes
And only then will you know
What it takes to be a god, and no one

Will have similar projects so no ones
right or wrong that's why you create
It's imaginative and limitless
As long as u properly calculate

So only a week later long before
the deadline when projects are due
one student who made a planet called earth,
that reflected green and blue

And he asked his teacher if he
Could induce the process of creation
Knowing well, that inducing creation comes
after due date&presentation;

So the teacher replied that
Normally he would say no
But ill be honest im curious to see
if u finished only starting 7 days ago

But before you do. I hope you know
The ethical obligation
That comes with creation, don't
U wanna re work calculations?

Cause they need a way to breath
And have a way that their body
Can self remove or evacuate
And the student said like a hobby

I loved I recalculated made
Adjustment after adjustment
So if I'm missing something I won't
Find it cuz I can't see nothing.

So the teacher said go ahead
And the student left that night
To induce the roots that
Wi grow the fruit of life

So time passes and it's time
To present to the classes
This student presented last&when;
he showed earth all of them laughed

And since there is no wrong or right
The student was puzzlesd
As his classmates started asking
Questions so flaws shoe but subtle

"Why would free will have a need"
When u only need to program
The nucleus to force morality
Now it's on you when your plans

Are wrong, but the student
Explained that he could not plan
Like most others did cuz there are
Copious variables when they can

Make their own decisions and
Be there own gods
So I only gave them
the power and respect that we all got

Cause most of your planets are built
By plans, predetermined by control
Where as mine gives them the tools
Without manipulating them wit goals

Only the fear of survival and a
Heightened consciousness so
well aware before acting on wrong
as instinct warns, so they know

What they should do, and would you
Want a program instead of intuition
Robbed of the right to make decision
cuz in my Opinion that is no vision

of someone creating something livin
So overlooked my pessimism
So existence wit decision prevents
planet prison, think of a mechanism

Something designed to mimic
Life mearly living a planned cycle
So most of your plants are more
Mechanisms then life cause vital

Is the presence of survival so
It can serve as a reminder
That recklessness has consequence
To show control of what transpires

Is there's and with this I moved
On well aware it could end
Badly but sadly the same free will
I gave as a gift could curse them

And that's when his teacher said
Class congratulate earth
As I've never once had a student
Factor in free will which births

Authenticity of life otherwise
Your planet is a replication
This projects meaning is
built around the fact that your creation

Wouldn't really be a creation as
A school would never allow
A class of students to cause
creation with no knowledge of how

Uncontrollable true creation is
And that no creations perfected
And bearing the pain of knowing
Something exists in pain directed

By your creation so be patient
Don't spawn life just to see the odd
So the lesson,its dangerous
playing god so it's important u be a god

That's when the teacher dismissed
The class but asked his student
That created earth to stay after
Class so we can decide who is

Gonna break it to my bosses that
You created life
And when they were alone
teacher said plz fill me in and shed light

On how you got everything cohesive
I had to write a new thesis
Many times and felt so blind even
After schooling to breed this

Planet the way you did, how do
They breath explain
So he said out of the choices I had
For elements the easiest to maintain

So it's constant and remains
Is to have what's needed to breath
Surrounding them and that way the
wind acts to spread what they need

So all I had to do was create
an Eco system that's supported by
The same thing but used in a cycle
Opposite to another, so .....in my

case, earth is filled with What the
dominant and sub-dominant life needs
Just like a fish needs to be in water
Earth uses oxygen as its need

So upon designing plant life a tree
And other plants breath
Out the oxygen the eco system needs
so I hope the environment we

Left to them is taken care of,
So the teacher nods and says
One more question which makes
Me wonder if ur advanced or lead

By luck but what was your
thought process when programming how
A basic nucleus functions you
Added so much detail so now

I'm asking why greed, anger and
Other emotional gauges got
So complicated when these emotions
Develop in evolution with thought

So the student replied, ill be honest
I created earth to reflect me
So now I'm more bonded to my
Creation and empathy from me

Would lack if in fact I failed
To know how it felt
To be lonely. Scared or angry
And despite how there all felt

They make us constantly aware
Of ourselves leading to improvement
On a scale more significant so
They would have to be stupid

To not notice with how complicated
They are by instinct and emotion
That if the environment gets bad
Or poverty is had there's a notion

That nags inside them knowing
Something's Wrong and they'll fix it
But ill let u know as time passes
What happens no I'm sorry it isn't

Allowed to go with you. There's
Many issues, and unwritten law
All creations must be stored with
The proper personnel who log

A the findings as some bindings
Have taught us In the past
That evolution after creation has an
Outcome that is worth to track

Each creation and note the
Changes and evolutions as they
May hold the answer To a question
We won't ask til later so I say

You deserve a pat on the back
But we may very well be introuble
As its my job to make sure u don't
Stumble upon it but befuddled

Am I at how you factored In key
elements we purposely leave out
So when your creations crash it's
No harm some as the lessons passed

Cause reproductive systems are
Graphed and added to the math
When your much older in university
Although they teach in class

To give the female of a species
The means to self conceive
With only eggs and the fathers
DNA but still you achieved

A sustainable process, and
If as a novice u can do this
There's no telling what your future
Creations will teach us, but with

All of this comes responsibility
So lets go call the authorities
And let them know we are in
Possession of an unlicensed piece

Of science and be proud. That
U didn't just play god
You weighed the responsibility
And took well measured steps not

Even taught to you, and even
If earth is not with u
It still reflects how complex you as a
God think,so lets hope earth will too

Cuz any misanthropy is misplaced
As imperfections reflexion
is why conception of perfection
Leaves a contradicting impression

Cuz the same section that's stressin
Abnormalities exist
Is the same formality that makes it
normal so this paradox insists

That something is what it isn't
And it isn't what it is
Like love and hate, a perfect life
needs a nature where antonyms sit

And in essence this is why your
world leaves me impressed
But most ppl dont understand this
Theory and will judge it a mess.....
Jellyfish Aug 2015
I close my curtains once the sun comes up
I ignore the light and keep myself closed off.
I'm sick of the brightness when I'm in such
a dark place
Does no one understand, they should go away?
The darkness is soothing, but also leaves me
with a wanting; some special kind of craving
it nags at me even when I'm safely sleeping
Which should be a place where it leaves me
but sadly there is no such place
**It always finds me.
Marka Acton Nov 2014
When the toilet flushes
        the water goes down a little slow
Doesn't look bad enough to worry about
        so you tell yourself, “It will be OK.”
The next day the flush is not getting better,
        it is far worse….
Waiting for the moment you’re stressed & hurried
        then a massive eruption occurs!
Leaving a brown lumpy disaster all over the floor.

Disgusting you say? I’d agree!
        But we humans do it to ourselves all the time.

We get upset about something little
        that won’t go away
It continues to pester and because it nags
        the next small slight sticks a little more
Knowing we need to utilize the plunger
        Helping these issues find release
But we don’t, we deny forgiveness without
        understanding that it was never for them.
It was so the excrement doesn't overflow
        leaving a mess too difficult to clean up.
Rachael Judd Mar 2015
Was it love?
That shot us into thin air making our insides burn
Like the universe was punishing us
And setting fire to our heart?
Was it lust?
That turned us into the dust that collects on your bedside shelf
That your mother nags you to clean?
Was it love?
That made us break into abandoned buildings at 4 a.m and see flashing lights outside the broken glass windows
Then racing into the trees with racing hearts that could barely breathe?
Was it lust?
That pushed us into this nothingness but disire and we craved every part of one another until there was no space left between us?
Was it love.
Or
Was it lust.

— The End —