"neglects" poems
Horrid and morbid, bitter, glittered and littered memories! Automotives, adaptive captives, movies, motives, Natives, locomotives, obsessive and possessive. Some awesome, brilliant, different, ignorant, persistent and resilient. ****** and exotic! Some memories are eccentric, fantastic, futuristic, magic, logistic, optimistic,
plastic, realistic, tragic or sadistic. Some random sizes with hidden prizes! Blameful, gainful, lameful and painful. Dreary destinies, diaries, inquires, weary rivalries, stories and theories in memory.
In theory, memories made from cheers and fears, jeers and tears!
Of amends, amens, omens, gems, hymns and stems. Memories
abbreviated and dedicated, deviated and medicated! Memories cased,
edited and erased. Evangelically, eventually everyone inherits! They’re like tiny merits! They spike the psych. They strike and are unlike. Memories of bites, defects, dislikes, effects, fights, flights, insects, logics, neglects, objects, plight, projects, protests, recollects, reflects
rejects, respects and suspects. Memories of fate and hate! Some are not great. Memories of schemes, screams or themes of dreams that seem. Memories of small, memories of tall! Memories in despise, memories
of lies. Memories of wise; beyond the skies, as I close my eyes…
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
"One lie weakens a thousand truths."
"Karma finishes what revenge neglects."
"Time heals, steals and reveals."
"The future is uncertain, but we play a part in its design."
"Help when you can. Pray when you can't."
"If your life is out of focus, it's time to change the lens."
"Instincts over impulse, always."
"The only thing better than a second chance is never needing one."
"Fear is a light sleeper."
"The devil is always looking for a dance partner."
"You can't change the past, but it can change you."
"Some are born with a silver spoon, others with a pitchfork."
"Even the smallest of pebbles has its place in the sand."
"Every tear has a name."
"Write your failures in pencil; your triumphs in ink."
"Hope is always listening."
"The best companion is your imagination."
"Two things you should always trust: your gut and your God."
"Scars speak every language."
"Only I think like me."
"We're remembered for three things: the times we did good, the times we did bad and the times we did nothing."
"Every underdog wants to be top cat."
"Love never travels alone."
"Hindsight teaches when the test is over."
"Dreams reveal what memories conceal."
"The problem with the world is the wolves outnumber the sheep."
"You can't spell tragedy without rage."
"Intuition is your strongest ally."
"Focus on the valley and the hills will disappear."
"Never trust an idle thought."
"A wounded animal always shows its teeth."
"When you ignore pain, it ignores you."
"The past and future are distant cousins."
"We're all buried treasures waiting to be found."
"Moonlight is for lovers and devils."
"Temptation always invites itself to the party."
"Everyone's story has a secret."
"Scents and songs are nostalgic reminders."
"Time is a tattletale."
"There's a special place in heaven for those who suffer on earth."
"Life is a dir†y fighter."
"Sometimes all that's left is a penny and a wish."
"The mirror mimics what the mind imagines."
"Tomorrow is a wild card."
"My favorite exercise is sleepwalking."
"What the blind man sees, the sighted man seeks."
"The ego is a phony friend."
"Luck will take you as far as fate allows."
"Two things that never forget: elephants and broken hearts."
"My train of thought has no conductor."
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC
today when i woke up i was frightened.
i tried to walk straight even though i felt hollow inside.
and although he wasn't here, he was still on my mind in the strangest of ways.
i thought of him and how he likes to buy things.
sometimes, and for a reason i'm still unsure of,
i mind what he buys.
say, for example, if it's for me i mind.
if it's for himself, i do not.
i thought of his old shoes and how he has yet to part with them.
i wonder why he buys things he doesn't necessarily need but only wants and refuses to buy things he does needs but doesn't want.
i wonder if people looking at his old shoes could make the same observation.
i thought for a moment but decided it didn't matter,
he loves his old shoes.
sometimes i think of "us" and how he looks at me as though i'm something really nice.
i think,
maybe,
i am old shoes, too.
i know he doesn't need me but maybe it is enough for him that he wants me.
if he neglects the things he needs and only goes after the things that he wants then maybe i'm not so bad after all.
perhaps i, too, am i pair of old shoes.
perhaps it will also be hard for him to part with me.
i wonder if others could also make this observation.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
On forgiving former loves-
I understand your worry for uncertainty
It consumed you
Emerged as an ideal that you could not abandon
So you abandoned me instead
And maybe abandonment is a strong word
But I'm a strong man and I finally have a grasp on this
A clenched fist gripping empathy, not animosity
I understand your intentions weren't reckless
But a blinded truck driver can't avoid oncoming traffic too long
And accidents still design destruction
No matter how sorry the driver is after the fact
And sorry is much appreciated but still neglects the fact that
Heart brakes don't stop collisions, they construct them
I understand your past problems peaked into the present
And interrupted our intimate conversations
I had no problem erasing the demons you carried
To carry your baggage to the nearest trash can
To make room for our own difficulties
But I know attacking these issues alone was your preference
And I admire an inspired inspector of treacherous ground
I understand your passion wasn't illuminating
Our relationship's mansion anymore
Your embers resembled smothered ashes on love's battlefield
Your heart- a committed commander to Independence
The sovereign state selected to attack happy couples
But I won the battle and the war this time
Because my troops are resilient for commitment
I understand your calendar didn't coexist with mine
Still I appreciate your treated tenderness
Your existence improved my experience
Your love surrendered waving white flags
Which I greeted at first reluctantly
But over time I've come to recognize
The importance of self-harmony
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 7:38 AM UTC
When the moth no longer meditates on the cloth
When the fish fails to flit when it’s caught
When the calling crickets lose the will to whip up noise
When the eagle’s eagerness is evaporated along with poise
When all of nature neglects itself, adrift on its track
You’ll know for sure those feelings aren’t coming back
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 11:21 PM UTC
We were on a 2nd floor garden terrace. The three-quarter moon was doing its best to set a romantic, gin-mood, pouring a soft pastel-blue on the world, that softened hard edges.
A cool breeze wafted jasmine scents from a nearby tea-olive tree. We were alone, the only sounds were far off footsteps and my pounding heart. Wasn’t this romantic?
Fueled twice by desire I had dressed carefully and modestly, with just a subtle, but fancy, hint of sluttiness. My costume, carefully vetted by a company of five, calculating, non-virgins, was designed to be both alluring and as abstruse as Kleenex. I was a doll dressed, painted and scented to ****** Wasn’t I romantic?
We’d never kissed before, and I wanted him to kiss me with an almost moaning force of will. I brushed my skirt down and checked that my hair was in place with quick, fleeting hand motions that could have been butterflies in the reflected light.
We were sitting close together, I could feel his warmth, but nothing was happening and then, as nothing continued to happen, I began to fret, to sag, what was the glitch? Maybe..
I felt a warmth, his breath, I looked up and he kissed me, gently, then moved back a little. I smiled. I wanted to laugh, to shout, to jump around like my team had won the Superbowl, but I was very still, lest I scare him off. Oh, there were butterflies somewhere.
He’s smart. His mind probes the infinite but sometimes neglects the immediate. I wasn’t expecting a smooth move from someone who’s all knees, thumbs and elbows but, hey, I’m capable, and willing, to learn.
Aug 28, 2022
Aug 28, 2022 at 2:15 PM UTC
It’s irritating,
When words seem to be
Unfaithful blemishes
Of yesterday’s past,
And a constant annoyance,
Unwitting today’s unknown.
To think about your what if’s,
And should don’ts of,
Repetitive reminders from the scars,
Engraved in you’re witty,
But beating heart is a daring,
Challenge to an unfaithful mind.
The fear to hold joy,
When a dark rose neglects,
The power of a white one,
In it’s purified significance,
Unveiling the worth and,
And the death of its own demise.
But no one realizes the faithful
Beauty of a dark rose.
To sting, to warn to challenge,
To be truthful to the subconscious,
Of the heart that also has protection,
Held and brace by pericardium.
Even the heart needs to be comforted,
And the mind in need of consolation,
So remove the stones blocking your eyes,
From your visual death,
Of growth and compassion,
Love is blind,
The mind is weak.
Then there is fear,
You can overcome.
So overcome it,
With the passion in your eyes,
The smile that you have,
For the very truth of your wellbeing.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 9:20 AM UTC
I love the girl who is too young to smoke cigarettes but lights them anyway. She sits on the high school bleachers at 9 on a Sunday night, gets tired of the smoke in her eyes, and tosses eventual death in the trash can.
I love the girl who has never enjoyed the taste of alcohol but feels like Holly Golightly when she holds a glass of Cabernet so she drinks it anyway. She sits in her grandfather’s lounge chair on a Monday night, plays the songs he taught her on the ***** neglects her English essay, and leaves the red remains in the bottle.
I love the girl who cannot stand the sound of my guitar, but pretends to like acoustics because she knows the music brings out the best in me, and that even if she asks me to stop, I will play anyway. She lies on the floor on a Tuesday night, wishing she were in another town too small to be called a city, listens to melodies that remind her of where she is, ignores my creations and leaves my heart in her hands as she finally falls asleep.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 1:39 AM UTC
*Come, listen all -
listen to a very gentle fable
Of Donkey, Dog and Man
and the friendship
amongst these three*
1
Donkey and Dog are loyal servants;
they’ve served the same master
all their lives
It’s night now and
Donkey and Dog sleep
in the courtyard
while Master
snores in the house
A thief sneaks in
through the gate
and donkey whispers
as gently as he can:
*Hey, dog…There’s an intruder;
Why don’t you bark and let master know?*
And the old Dog growls as
quietly as he can:
*Why don’t you bray aloud
and raise the alarm?*
*Hey, but you’re the dog
and you’re man’s best friend,*
Donkey whispers in the dark
Man’s best friend, eh?
says Dog.
*But is man the dog’s best friend?
I’ve served the master for ages
and now that I’m old he neglects me
and is talking about taking another dog.
I bet he’ll have you skinned alive
when you’re dead!
To the dogs with him!
You bray if you like.*
2
*Oh I’ve never seen
a more ungrateful being,*
Donkey says.
*Master is the best
and though he treats
us harsh
it’s all for our own good.
But your ingratitude offends me
and for the sake of decency and justice
and for all the values I hold dear
I shall have to do
a watchdog’s duty instead.*
And with that
the donkey brays aloud
and the cacophony is heard
in all the village
and the thief runs away as quickly as he can;
and the master comes running out with a huge stick
and seeing the donkey braying madly
with no cause but its own stupidity
the master beats the donkey well and proper
till all his own hands ache
and he goes back to bed
And now Dog and Donkey
lie down again together
in the courtyard
and Dog says to the quiet Donkey:
*Looks like you just found out
how it feels to be man’s best friend!*
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 3:17 AM UTC
"I want to be a boxer" he said
Stomping his foot, his face red.
Angry at God for not making it happen
Now! Before his resolve does slacken
"I've got the skills for it." he whines
He neglects his practice half the time
He doesn't realise, it seems,
The difference between a hobby and a dream
"I've won many a fight!" he shouts
Those brawls with friends don't really count.
He did once won the junior championship
And into each conversation, he lets that slip.
"I can make it!" he says, His gloats, incessant
His actions, childish, His views, arrogant.
“Life’s so unfair!” he always cries
Though with all his heart, he never tries
He’s chasing the rush of winning a battle
But at the thought of war, his courage rattles
“If only I could follow my dream…” he muses
One day perhaps he’ll run out of excuses
His wistful eyes gaze at boxing rings,
Lost in the visions of glory they bring.
“It’s my calling.” He brags, unable to see
The clear path leading him to his “destiny”
On self -made hurdles, he always trips.
It seems on reality he’s losing his grip.
In this mind, there is ample confusion
On the difference between a dream and delusion
As time passes, one day it’ll be clear
That all that stopped him was his own fear
But until then, he lets the truth be unheard
For isn’t it easier to keep blaming the world?
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: of the EBook THE BULLIED, by Alan Johnson
(The Nonromantic Man is the art form most often described as a character sketch. It falls in the realm of poetry, which I call poessay. For it is not poetry by itself or an essay.)
The Nonromantic Man
Non-romanticism is the inability to overwhelm one’s ignorance of the opposite *** needs or desires. The non-romantic man is one who buys his non-pool playing wife a pool table and soon thereafter invites his friends over every weekend to play pool. He calls women ******* and ‘hoes. He rises late at night to fix a sandwich, leaves the spilled condiments for his woman to clean in the morning, then after a cigarette, with mustard still being on his breath, wakes her up for a ***** call. He gains weight and then demands that she go on a diet. In harmony with his poor values, he neglects to compliment the new sexed up dress that she is wearing but does notice that she is wearing too much makeup for him. He has to be reminded of her birthday or any other should special engagement. The result his gift is not well thought out, so he buys her a cheap necklace just like the times before. He has no taste for poetry, sensual lyrics or the practice of setting the ambiance which moistens the trail of splendor. He takes his woman out to dinner and complains about the dinner’s high prices, and work, and her in-sensitiveness to his problems, and…At least once a month, he rolls off the top of her and falls asleep while she stares at the ceiling and prays for a difference.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC
Frustration does me no good
It hurts, neglects me & builds resentment
I want to overcome my frustration
I will do it too
But for now, I am too dang frustrated
to get over my frustration
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
forgetting to notice
the freshness of rain on his skin.
a hug.
the heat of a coffee cup on his raw palm.
a smile given by a stranger.
the air.
a set of loving lips that wrestle his.
a man on a ledge
neglects simple pleasures
and looks down at the asphalt.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 6:12 PM UTC
Hey there little puppet girl,
Sowing at your broken heart,
Puppeteer can’t pay his bill,
While you just fall apart,
Hey there little puppet girl,
I bet you where once new,
But now your cloth begins to furl,
And that heart of yours is two,
I see your dusty rags,
And patches of different cloths,
Your mouth it sags,
And you’ve been nibbled by moths,
Hey there little puppet girl,
Puppeteer he neglects you,
Once kept you shiny-now keeps you dull,
Puppeteer he forgets you,
But I see you reaching out,
Begging for his touch,
Mouths sown shut can’t shout,
And only one button eye can watch,
Hey there little puppet girl,
I know that you can’t cry,
But you reek of lost will,
And a need you can’t gratify,
Hey there little puppet girl,
I bet you where once new,
But now your cloth begins to furl,
And that heart of yours is two,
I see you little puppet girl,
Ripping at your stiches,
You’re no longer rational,
Your mind is specious,
Hey there little puppet girl,
Ripped to little pieces,
Puppeteers little pearl,
Your value he decreased it.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 1:00 PM UTC
Walls were pressed and hammered
Therapy for workers, curing pangs of comforts
They sat between fleshy webs of knuckles
On lunch break they would pluck pouts of moldy fruit
If only she could hear summer of 98’
Glimmering puddles and sinkable reasons
She could test her strength with Goldfish and a drippy, chocolate cupcake
Matching deserts of skin covering joints young enough to bend
They spat against another, sweating. Tapping
Smoother than honeymooners in a convention center
Frigid or uncontrollable, no one could tell
The breezeway connected teeth, the left chipped in the corner from
A muddy softball game. Their team won 7-2.
Wide enough to squeeze uncooked macaroni shells between
Became the dusky neighborhood game.
Transitioning humans, males most likely, whispered fears between that gap.
He was different. He waited in outside the doors, near the trash bins
With grumpy janitors, muttering, “fuggin’ kids” and things like that.
She loved how ugly they were then.
Her thoughts trailed him, what was left of him, as he paced
Searching for the mug he left there, no
There, holding wet tissue, no
Soggy cupcake liner
Cupcake, shortcake, cake, cake liner
Rainbow or musty brown from 346 degrees Fahrenheit
Baking Therapy Class held in her kitchen
Maybe because she could pound at the dough and it would never fight back
She neglects the finale of rumbling coffee exhale since she knows
He’d never come back. Not here or any party she threw.
But on another hard drive she saved photos of September 20th.
She’ll flip mindlessly through a Cosmopolitan, until she can forget his name
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
Her look is holding
Her dreary and depressed eyes digging into me, perplexing
The scarlet red rose petals that ring around her pupils entrance me
She stands tall, strong and contained
Strong like the world trade before it was struck down against it's will
She's only awaiting her time
She puts on a good act
Nobody can tell that
Behind her strength and pseudo-bliss hides a lifetime of sadness and self-hatred
The perpetual clock dictating her existence ticks endlessly until she too falls to the ground
Inevitable.
Masks her bottomless pool of insecurities with a smile
Compensating for them with a false ego the size of the sun
Acts like she is better than everyone
But she knows that she's not
Her mind set on keeping all the feelings hidden
She rejects help
Neglects the ones who care
Thinks she can do it all by herself
But we know that she can't
Her wrists full of scars and regret
Her eyes like an endlessly flowing water fountain
Caught in a recurring state of despair
Despite all the people who love and who care
"Everyday is a battle", I tell her, hoping that she will open to me
"And it's mine to fight", she replies aggresively
I try to share with her my days
I subtlely urge her to do the same
I want to help her heart to mend
So all her hate and pain can end.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
two roses-
growing in the same bush-
surviving off the same soil-
growing into something beautiful-
becoming something greater-
growing as one
the sun-
shining bright upon them-
encouraging their growth-
lighting up their future-
calming their senses-
kindling the passionate affair-
moving them closer together-
more intimate and dear
the sun neglects its obligation to one of the roses-
refusing a light source for the bloom-
leaving it wilted and begging for nutrients-
brown and fragile-
dying as the sun proceeds to rise over the other rose
the second rose continues growing along with the sun-
in spite of the downfall of the latter-
almost mocking the lesser decaying bloom-
because it has a source of light encouraging its growth-
safe and sound-
not giving any pity to the rotting flower beside it-
soaking up its own source of light-
and not sharing any rays with the decaying blossom-
rendering it useless and unwanted
the selfishness of the one rose-
refusing to share its sunshine with the latter-
results in solely one rose-
instead of two roses
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 12:49 PM UTC
filtered water neglects
the body of necessary
minerals…
If I am to know
the true nourishment
you bring to the table,
you must show
yourself to me…
unfiltered.
Apr 21, 2022
Apr 21, 2022 at 6:52 PM UTC
And we held each other as we weeped for our earth.
Our mother.
Mother nature, she gave birth to us and watches us as society hurts us, neglects us, and abuses us.
Feeling her tears in the rain, and her pain in the cold wind, her worry within the brewing storms, and discomfort in the scorching sunshine.
We take comfort in one another knowing someday things will get better my beautiful sister
And no longer will we cry tears for our mother's creations.
For our mother's home.
For our bodies that the world is destroying.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
You are a boy of metal
One who doesn't recognize his own value
Precious metals all the same
Their sum only equals your eyes
And neglects the rest of everything you are
Pure silver ringed along your pupils
And gold dancing across the edges
Gallium words melt my heart
This periodic table of you
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 3:33 PM UTC
Boy meets girl.
Girl marries boy.
Baby comes nine months later
— blessed little killjoy.
Boy neglects girl.
Girl henpecks boy.
There'll be hell to pay
for slighting Helen of Troy.
Such an elegant fear,
this alliance, and yet,
when it's held in selfish hands
it merrily dissolves,
turning as tedious
and drab as Shakespeare.
Boy annoys girl.
Girl leaves boy.
It takes a special kind of madness
in building to simply then destroy.
Turn the other cheek
and Judas will kiss that one too,
reduce the bairn's fever
by visiting daddy's igloo.
Weekends are pay toilets
and happy meals,
frustration is a word all too real.
When did antipathy begin to rule?
About the time diplomacy was forced
into playing the fool.
The good times no one catalogues,
this life has gone straight to the dogs.
The Iditarod Trail extends
from Seward to Nome.
Run the race and make believe
the kids are tucked in safe at home.
According to Dorothy
there's no place like it.
Jun 23, 2023
Jun 23, 2023 at 6:50 AM UTC
I'm tired of screaming
And not being heard
I'm tired on blabbing
On and on
It's absurd!
Just wake me up
From my forever sleep
And restrain from my master's keep
The dark forbidden tomb
That is my cascading mind,
Is trapped forever,
Frozen in perpetual time.
Striving for perfection
You get nothing but "perplextion"
Confusion
"Bemusion"
Mystification
It's my only relation.
As I wander in dead darkness
I feel the heat creep up behind me.
I feel the flame lick my neck
I feel the cold linger
No longer a speck
A speck of hope
A speck of fear
A speck of soul I cling to dear!
My love is my torch
My love is my lamp
Even when God's tears drip and fall
Trying to make my spirits damp.
But I tread on
Through that doomed sepulcher.
I tread on...
No one can help her.
They say God has a plan
One everyone must follow
Right up to the very man...
A plan called fate
A plan I hate
A plan that dooms us all in state,
The state of fear
We wallow in,
The state we hear of indifference...
Every night I hear the screams
In my commemorative dreams
The screams of my peers
That echo in my ears
They match my own
My silent screams
They mask my dream
Their silent screams
From neglect above,
He neglects to save me
For I fear to speak aloud
For I fear to be misunderstood
From what i suffer...
The count down to the ever-stated doom
Is pounding in my head
A heartbeat that is hushed
Am I really so dead?
Wish me luck as I travel to space
The clock goes tick
I have one wish
I wish for freedom
I wish for tears
I wish for more people with ears
Ears that will listen to the cries
Of everyone
Everyone that dies
But everyone must die
So now it's my turn
Wish me luck
Send me to space
Please! get me away from this place
I want to be free
So please
Let me be
Count down
say five
Don't drown
say four
Not from my tears
say three
Not for many years
say two
Just please Lord forgive me,
say one...
For I have sinned.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 5:11 AM UTC
That is not a mild story,
She neglects it;
That's a sunken bittercup black.
Only what can be told;
Sip it up, never call her again.
Like a sign of approval
On your daily fetiches,
No sugar, skim right;
As you're taking it in, she can live with it.
Learn how affected one is
Under caffeine,
How it mingles with you,
Becomes your resting point.
Like it's when you wish
You could be dormant;
Only then she reciprocates.
Let it help her recapitulate
Your story:
Passage in sentences,
Words into syllables,
the dull infused with some glory.
May 20, 2022
May 20, 2022 at 4:54 PM UTC
circumstances changes the
man-you-al
neglects you,
negligence a criminal offense
against a young woman’s
every essenced senses,
neglect is regret coming
the unthinkable
that I guess is the
“not me joke”
neon sign
winking and buzzing
endless
by doctors orders(!):
stop being a macho idiot,
get thee to a
nail salon,
redo
updo
thyself
from toes
to fingertips
in a
remarkable stunner
of a
pink,
that says to
those glaring untruths
of unworthiness
I am beautiful
and
I
will be loved
if you only
think
pink
Oct 19, 2024
Oct 19, 2024 at 8:35 AM UTC