Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"negligent" poems
This is a portrait of abandoment: rusty spokes, faulty breaks, and negligent owners. (I'm still lying on the sidewalk too, waiting for a reason to shift gears.)
0
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
Old bicycle lying on the sidewalk in the middle of town
thus by prosecutor charg-ed, with this crime so heinous~ed, the judge insisted on a super speedy trial, this, a special case-d "can't wait to hang this ***** be~deviler, got me a jail, second only to hell, if he thinks his hifalutin lawyers will get him de-roped!" I plead guilty to save the state some moola, avoid the expense of all the attendant hoopla, but in my tired defense, I said little but this, it was god who cursed me with this word-ly power! now I ain't saying I was naturally bad, but who are you to judge me so harshly , when all I did, with a tool god~given, was, tell people how beautiful they are, so close. never far, from bringing them forth to their fruition so my intentions were good, tho my goose is cooked, loonily, this I truthfully willingly confess, though just as bad, I was lazy, I was negligent, I am now hell-bent for many infractions, the greatest, chiefest of them all, was all the times, !!!!! ***read a poem much beloved by other's on this blue earth, weak from jealousy jealous, I never...reposted it! for their way much better than mine, and I was too selfish to praise them, so I expect I won't be too lonely in perdition, just another poet***                                                             !!!!!!!!                                                       addition *so children, teach your children well a poet's hell will slowly go by, if they fail to repost them hundreds of poems that mak'em gasp~laugh-just plain weep, for that will really **** (sorry lord) the one true judge wh gave us this wordy blessing, and is eagerly awaiting us special* sinners and that just might be my one true name… (Oh sinner~man! where are you gonna run too) [{(]})] p.s. this poem readily available to be reposted ('jes a 'gestion) even plagiarized elsewhere, but remember, when you, who stole it, somebody's a~watching whose vision is unimpaired. plus, I got new software invented by Ai trained teachers, so so, easy to find ya...
0
Sep 28, 2025
Sep 28, 2025 at 5:14 PM UTC
My True Name: "A way with words (and sentiments)"
thus by prosecutor charg-ed, with this crime so heinous~ed, the judge insisted on a super speedy trial, this, a special case-d "can't wait to hang this ***** be~deviler, got me a jail, second only to hell, if he thinks his hifalutin lawyers will get him de-roped!" I plead guilty to save the state some moola, avoid the expense of all the attendant hoopla, but in my tired defense, I said little but this, it was god who cursed me with this word-ly power! now I ain't saying I was naturally bad, but who are you to judge me so harshly , when all I did, with a tool god~given, was, tell people how beautiful they are, so close. never far, from bringing them forth to their fruition so my intentions were good, tho my goose is cooked, loonily, this I truthfully willingly confess, though just as bad, I was lazy, I was negligent, I am now hell-bent for many infractions, the greatest, chiefest of them all, was all the times, !!!!! ***read a poem much beloved by other's on this blue earth, weak from jealousy jealous, I never...reposted it! for their way much better than mine, and I was too selfish to praise them, so I expect I won't be too lonely in perdition, just another poet***                                                             !!!!!!!!                                                       addition *so children, teach your children well a poet's hell will slowly go by, if they fail to repost them hundreds of poems that mak'em gasp~laugh-just plain weep, for that will really **** (sorry lord) the one true judge wh gave us this wordy blessing, and is eagerly awaiting us special* sinners and that just might be my one true name… (Oh sinner~man! where are you gonna run too) [{(]})] p.s. this poem readily available to be reposted ('jes a 'gestion) even plagiarized elsewhere, but remember, when you, who stole it, somebody's a~watching whose vision is unimpaired. plus, I got new software invented by Ai trained teachers, so so, easy to find ya...
Continue reading...
43
A pleasantly bubbling creak murmurs softly, complacently flowing as a creak does, day in and day out By the crumbling bank stands a strong willow tree, rooted by the prolfic stream Thoughtlessly taking the water of which it needs, a simple commodity to a tree of such stature and poise And gracefully, beautifully shivering at the base of his trunk, there lives a daisy, white and pure The willows roots indulge themselves, thirsting, thirsting for more Negligent to the flower below who makes its view that much more lovely Than just a simple stream, and who provides to the animals and children a blustery smile Beckoning them to the shade where they might play and the daisy might watch over them And as the roots take and take they choke the misguided flower, leave her to wither One soft petal falls to the grass rendering her no more than a tainted **** No child will ever present her to his good mother now Not now that she is no longer the pure beauty she once was, not with such an imperfection And though she may beg for mercy, she must weaken and give herself to the strong roots of the willow Until she is but a dying cause with browned stale edges and though she lay so close to life, stable life She does not possess the power to take rein so she the sage awaits the logger in silent knowingness
0
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
Daisy
http://hellopoetry.com/search/poems/?q=Betterdays **as is my wanton wont, when stumbling upon a new voice, the passed baton is herein handed off** am old man. my poetic voice is just memories that are repetitive lies and lines. speak in simple sentences declarative. this is nature's way. darkness approaching is indeed my au courant poem, mon actuellement. I have seen better days. I have read betterdays. now I am upset, distraught. here come another young hot bright votive voice, and I am being asked to believe that there are still words that raise hopes of betterdays. her bed chip crumbs, delighting, leave crumbs of pleasure in my soul. l like her big word poems, that leave me, fill me by: *siphoning all in a parched gluttony leaving behind a viscous residue and few glassine portals into a reflective world* better yet I love her mothering little god poems, letting me remember little boys who once loved a father *little god love radiant is thy smile, smallboy love, exudes from you, like a flower god's nectar, bestowed, with negligent love, upon a mother's world. i will drink my fill, everyday, whilst i can, for far to soon will you grow up.* don't speak eastern Australian, tackers and doona's, no clue, blue cats are a foreign breed, but the cat of this starfish mother, shares my literary tastes: *him, nestled, on the second, to uppermost stay, of the third bookshelf, in the study. he has filed himself, between, ogden nash and proust and it is there, he plans to stay.* let me not go on and in deeper, lest I delay you from her pleasuring thy tasted untested senses. so here I am all grumpified (at my age, you can make up your own words) unsure if un or satisfied, knowing that a woman, word whips me into a soothing frenzy of creamy morning coffee verbosity, a captive taker of life's ungrandest moments, poems of them, make to glory come. somewhere in the world, a woman writes of plain goodness of simple strife and simple lives, makes methinks that there could be betterdays still ahead, better poets surely, than me, and the day starts well
0
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
betterdays (read the new poets March 2014)
http://hellopoetry.com/search/poems/?q=Betterdays **as is my wanton wont, when stumbling upon a new voice, the passed baton is herein handed off** am old man. my poetic voice is just memories that are repetitive lies and lines. speak in simple sentences declarative. this is nature's way. darkness approaching is indeed my au courant poem, mon actuellement. I have seen better days. I have read betterdays. now I am upset, distraught. here come another young hot bright votive voice, and I am being asked to believe that there are still words that raise hopes of betterdays. her bed chip crumbs, delighting, leave crumbs of pleasure in my soul. l like her big word poems, that leave me, fill me by: *siphoning all in a parched gluttony leaving behind a viscous residue and few glassine portals into a reflective world* better yet I love her mothering little god poems, letting me remember little boys who once loved a father *little god love radiant is thy smile, smallboy love, exudes from you, like a flower god's nectar, bestowed, with negligent love, upon a mother's world. i will drink my fill, everyday, whilst i can, for far to soon will you grow up.* don't speak eastern Australian, tackers and doona's, no clue, blue cats are a foreign breed, but the cat of this starfish mother, shares my literary tastes: *him, nestled, on the second, to uppermost stay, of the third bookshelf, in the study. he has filed himself, between, ogden nash and proust and it is there, he plans to stay.* let me not go on and in deeper, lest I delay you from her pleasuring thy tasted untested senses. so here I am all grumpified (at my age, you can make up your own words) unsure if un or satisfied, knowing that a woman, word whips me into a soothing frenzy of creamy morning coffee verbosity, a captive taker of life's ungrandest moments, poems of them, make to glory come. somewhere in the world, a woman writes of plain goodness of simple strife and simple lives, makes methinks that there could be betterdays still ahead, better poets surely, than me, and the day starts well
Continue reading...
83
touch my face and feel my gut it's knotted up, punctured and twisted with knives of lovers lost look at me with shame and forget me no longer call me by my name, brother i'm barren from the child i chose not to let be yet still swollen from the emptiness stepping on nails, sharp as i pace back and forth tattered soles and tattered souls can't overcome the obstacle without proper shoes end my suffering with a needle or two let ooze the regretful sorrow that feeds on my sanity drain the abscess that is my conscience my conscious mind it throbs beneath my skin and whispers secrets from hell, ear to ear on sunny days tiny voices and threatening reminders of crimes not yet repented committed in fear of solitude ways to escape unknown, unwanted negligent to what could be because the what is distracts me traps me i must first love myself to be loved by you everyday is a chance to recreate we know that our limbs grow longer ingesting opportunity but hear me when i shout to you from the asphalt the world unwillingly grows smaller and smaller and chances are slimmer, slander ensures luck be eradicated because pieces of us have been amputated
0
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 12:22 AM UTC
Camping
(Act 1) As I lay there among the trees and the shrubbery Spread before me were fields of gold Weeds, flowers and twigs tickle my face And above me an azure sky Shining upon me by some heavenly divinity Light streams through gaps in clouds The sun beyond is impenetrable, a fortress of energy, and the clouds seem in awe For miles visible, grass twinkles with morning dew, So that I see flashes of reflection when I stare out across the horizon A chorus of starry wonder brought to this ground; When I try hard, I can calm the pulses of light in my eyes. The sea of glittering droplets seems to fade, But is never out of reach of my concentration. And I perceive rolling mists Hills that seem to swim to and fro and warp in and out of the skyline, And the wind silently brushes the grass, Gently moving the blades in a swaying rhythm Like the rhythm of my heart beating, yet time stands still And I can only absorb the pinks, greens and blues. All the gold, seeming like visions of eternity Momentarily I think all is boundless My transient thoughts alone may speak a thousand stagnant words, But that indescribable epiphany brought a river of speech and thought, With which I felt I could transcend the inhibitions and degradations that afflicted my mind, Soar above fields marked by fences and enclosed by vision and space As if I were to find a boundless pattern, to speak aloud words of wisdom, That I had been in this world for longer than that flash of inspiration that had brought me here. I am, and therefore I think about what I am. With all the force of crashing mountain-tops, Or the bolt of lightning splitting the air I am emancipated, as I ascend, beyond the negligent frontier of chaos Below me that gurgling pit of utter curdling mire, That entrenched the soul in fear, And its walls reached and leaned, unassailable, around me And now in golden fields, no restrictions placed on thought or speech, Logic or discourse still grip or rule me.
0
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 9:09 PM UTC
Golden Fields
(Act 1) As I lay there among the trees and the shrubbery Spread before me were fields of gold Weeds, flowers and twigs tickle my face And above me an azure sky Shining upon me by some heavenly divinity Light streams through gaps in clouds The sun beyond is impenetrable, a fortress of energy, and the clouds seem in awe For miles visible, grass twinkles with morning dew, So that I see flashes of reflection when I stare out across the horizon A chorus of starry wonder brought to this ground; When I try hard, I can calm the pulses of light in my eyes. The sea of glittering droplets seems to fade, But is never out of reach of my concentration. And I perceive rolling mists Hills that seem to swim to and fro and warp in and out of the skyline, And the wind silently brushes the grass, Gently moving the blades in a swaying rhythm Like the rhythm of my heart beating, yet time stands still And I can only absorb the pinks, greens and blues. All the gold, seeming like visions of eternity Momentarily I think all is boundless My transient thoughts alone may speak a thousand stagnant words, But that indescribable epiphany brought a river of speech and thought, With which I felt I could transcend the inhibitions and degradations that afflicted my mind, Soar above fields marked by fences and enclosed by vision and space As if I were to find a boundless pattern, to speak aloud words of wisdom, That I had been in this world for longer than that flash of inspiration that had brought me here. I am, and therefore I think about what I am. With all the force of crashing mountain-tops, Or the bolt of lightning splitting the air I am emancipated, as I ascend, beyond the negligent frontier of chaos Below me that gurgling pit of utter curdling mire, That entrenched the soul in fear, And its walls reached and leaned, unassailable, around me And now in golden fields, no restrictions placed on thought or speech, Logic or discourse still grip or rule me.
Continue reading...
37
You think that I'm weak and don't see what you seek. Wise eyes can see through trees, but can't stop a deer from stepping into the street. An arrogant doe not yet peaked, stares into the headlights, whose dangers she can't see. What matters is that they shine on you, negligent to the fact that they blind you too. Bathed in light a deer will never move, lost in their bright Narcissistic pools. Flying above, I can swoop and save, but first you must be willed to look away.
0
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
Deer Crossing
Calm was the air did its breath of slow utter Slight given was the pressure against the trees' clutter The tide gave toward the shore a bathing of fond A raindrop tapping the ripple in the water's pond Nature was it mothered to be the earth of pure Land, air, and water were the children of cure Howbeit born was the arrival of human error For Nature a victim she became of this polluting terror All content of luxury became poison when left forgot Expense became the drain of Nature when industry was begot Slave did she become with the negligent torture by all synthetic Water was it forced to swallow hard all fluids of hectic Land was it diagnosed with a cancer of slow plague in the cell Air did bleeding of all fresh had it become from the settled hell Human destined were they to rule yet abuse emerged their ego Dying may be Nature but reaction will not treat with regal Beware be the responsible for their prisoner has power of destructive No longer shall Nature absorb mankind's terror with constructive Balance of all earthly condition does support root from the wind Tool of value has it forever been used to course the planet's skin But in addition can poison fuel the wind's vehicle to maximum Point of breaking can wind unleash Nature with the pendulum Quiet will no longer be Nature idle in standing by Foresight will come with the storms to punish those with might A tower of gales shall it tear apart all houses of mankind Tides will erupt with anger to wash all those to the bind Burn shall explosion cooperate with volcanoes for the share Extrapolated be all ends of the heat spectrum beyond repair Survival can longer not it be for the humans to this breeze Nature wages the unmatched war till gone be the disease Launching from her fissure shall come the monsters' end For her ally of wind will one make the closing amend
0
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
Winds of Vengeance
Calm was the air did its breath of slow utter Slight given was the pressure against the trees' clutter The tide gave toward the shore a bathing of fond A raindrop tapping the ripple in the water's pond Nature was it mothered to be the earth of pure Land, air, and water were the children of cure Howbeit born was the arrival of human error For Nature a victim she became of this polluting terror All content of luxury became poison when left forgot Expense became the drain of Nature when industry was begot Slave did she become with the negligent torture by all synthetic Water was it forced to swallow hard all fluids of hectic Land was it diagnosed with a cancer of slow plague in the cell Air did bleeding of all fresh had it become from the settled hell Human destined were they to rule yet abuse emerged their ego Dying may be Nature but reaction will not treat with regal Beware be the responsible for their prisoner has power of destructive No longer shall Nature absorb mankind's terror with constructive Balance of all earthly condition does support root from the wind Tool of value has it forever been used to course the planet's skin But in addition can poison fuel the wind's vehicle to maximum Point of breaking can wind unleash Nature with the pendulum Quiet will no longer be Nature idle in standing by Foresight will come with the storms to punish those with might A tower of gales shall it tear apart all houses of mankind Tides will erupt with anger to wash all those to the bind Burn shall explosion cooperate with volcanoes for the share Extrapolated be all ends of the heat spectrum beyond repair Survival can longer not it be for the humans to this breeze Nature wages the unmatched war till gone be the disease Launching from her fissure shall come the monsters' end For her ally of wind will one make the closing amend
Continue reading...
32
Let us awake from the decay of strategic costumes where the incestuous fragrance of madness permeates golden dreams of eclectic strokes. Bureaucratic self-enhancement nurtures docile manufacturers of laborious compliance, whilst social conscience plummets to depths of callous and entrepreneurial versatility. Enduring imitations of an unsatisfactory kind is like pairing mint fondant with rich and savoury gravy which is acquired with strategic dishonesty. Oh, negligent wakefulness – will we ever arise and discern those lobotomised representatives in this legislative brothel of excessive absurdity? Shake me at one minute to midnight in the House of Lords.
0
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
Monarchical Slumber
We may only postulate the beauty that awaits beyond these gates of probability. Haughtily in wait of wax wings clutching the stolen tools that experience brings father laid out the flight pattern crying out against the vile lament. Examining the sun in melted, and falling feathers, against fathers wishes. drowning in the negligent sediments of the blessing, lost. flightless in sightless frost tossed into eternity
0
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 10:51 PM UTC
Icarus
Once I was at a house party in the highlands, I got very drunk. We were skateboarding on the large tennis court up on the top of the extravagant property which did not belong to any of us. I was trying to do a trick and the board flew out from under me and rolled out of control into the center net. I didn't know it, but I broke both bones below my wrist clean across. When I fell, I was initially disoriented. I remember everybody letting out a big gasp or "Oooh, ouch." I staggered to my feet and tried to assess the situation. I started to feel dizzy and fell back over. I think two people helped me back up and got me sat down in a chair. I remember the feeling that I was blacking out and couldn't breathe. "I think I am going into shock." I said to everybody around me. "I think I might need some medical attention." I said immediately after. Nobody really paid attention. "You're fine." Somebody said. I shook my head as to say no, but to no avail. Nobody was listening. "I need an ambulance" I passed out again. At some point, I woke up and drove myself home, drunk and with a broken arm. Nobody wanted to give their good time to help me, even though I knew everybody and I desperately needed it... The terrifying part about this, is that it has happened before. Know who your friends are Know how cruel and negligent they can be. Know how little drugs and alcohol care about you.
0
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
Negligence
*tick all applicable please use blue or black blood when exercising choice in the type of role applied for* Liberation                [✓] Vindication             [✓] Resignation             [✓] Transformation      [✓] *do you recognise yourself as belonging to a Demographic Of Brotherhood. Of Commonality to other hurting spirits* Hope without creases                   [   ] Hope, in spite of bruising            [✓] Train without brakes         [   ] A tunnel bricked at each end      [   ] Forest fire as result of volatile conditions and negligent spark                     [✓] *do you accept that the data you provide not only reveals everything you would sacrifice and be sacrificed for it       also                counts                             for                                    n· o· t· h· i· n· g*
0
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 6:32 AM UTC
aff· ir· ma· tion
Even wan hills looked better in threadbare light You were the whisper of a neon lights noses to the sky in a pitch plastic night I walked by their obstinate legs, haunted by a plastic bag gliding on negligent bursts. upon arrival roughly hung doors of understanding lit by cheap sulfur bulbs. The handles too large for small palms to turn my feet knew better ways home they ambled on beside my plastic ghost.
0
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 9:17 PM UTC
Plastic Bags. Plastic Night.
Symmetrical duplication, Sphere stained with plasma, Planet stitched by scars. Typical introduction, Sport tossed down for clone, World thrown curved to teach. Negligent abandonment, Phase grown out of claim, Life passed short in bloom. I miss the inventive, lost boy who used to live with all of his innocent, free friends playing in Neverland.
0
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
Prime
There are days of sun, and days of rain, and days where the wind will press your soul almost to extinction. Let things be, that will be. Real thoughts are mindless thoughts. Thoughts of the heart, of the skin, a wink of an eye, the blink of both. All meaning exactly what they mean. Just be yourself, your thoughtless self. Be selfish, negligent, foolish, reckless. Who cares! Be whatever you wish, whatever you are able to be. Just be you and accept you. Then change, if you may. We are made from changes! Remember, there are days of sun, and days of rain, and those special days where the wind made you grow. So, be the sunflower that welcomes the sun, be the tulip that merrily swigs from the rain, be the overgrown grass that bends and whistles as the wind runs by. Be a little of them all, and, who knows, if you can, dare to be more. Poems are not meant to be explained, but I will do just that. You are your heart, your skin, your eyes, but not your thoughts: try to be your physical self, your thoughtless self, and everything will always be alright. You are the animal in you, the plant in you, the god in you. You are all of these things, they are all you. And you are so much more! So, now, go on with your day, go on with your life, and even go on, if you must, with your after-life. But as you go, from now on, tilt your head a little higher, and breathe a little deeper. For, now you know: you are alive, and that, in itself, is what’s divine.
0
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC
Dare to be more
“The Huntsman” “There are plenty of fish in the sea”. What they don’t know about me... Is that I’m not a Fisherman. But instead I’m a Hunstman… Following the trial of the White Doe, I have a wish, and she has the power. Many years now I pursue her. This doe is one of a kind… She’s keen and clever. Her tracks are hard enough to find. With ease, she evades my traps. Each AND every one on the map. She never leaves my mind, yet she’s always out of sight. Craving to touch her pelt: a desire beyond any I've ever felt. Then like Divine Intervention I’m swept with rejuvenation On a cold winter night. She’s at my campsite. Pulling the rifle to my shoulder, The barrel aims for her eyes. She shivers like silver flags under the moon light . Hesitant, the rifle was lowered, I turn back. Realizing if I were to pull the trigger, it would mean the end of the journey. Negligent, I didn’t notice the White Stag. He impaled me, through my lung with his antler. My blood freezes onto snow covered lilies. Once I fell to my knees… I remembered my wish. I turn my head for one last glance. I crawl to the rifle for a second chance. I then whisper to her, “I want to be with you forever. That is my wish.” TJW 2013
0
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:22 AM UTC
The Huntsman
There is a day when dreams are Exiled, left to waste away -- The dry sands of tomorrow. Magnificent dreams, Too daring, ambitious, demanding, Cast aside, in hopes that they’ll Flourish on their own. We’ll dream once more… Tomorrow There is a day when opportunities Are swallowed by the tides, And sink to fathomless trenches Never to be seen again, For there might be another one… Tomorrow. There is a day when unspoken words With the potential to change a life sit In one’s tongue, embittering over time, Since someone else will speak them… Tomorrow. There is a day when the Earth will perish By exploitive and negligent hands. We were all aware of what was to come, So let us amend our ways... Tomorrow. Somethings simply just cannot wait. Perhaps tomorrow is a day too late.
0
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
Tomorrow
Careful casting blessings in tongues not truly understood It's said there is a serpent that entangles dragon's blood And spitfire be a voice so loose with foolish finds Looking towards inviting angels, but be the demons in disguise Karmic value matters in existence past the alibis So negligent some limbs behave upon the Tree of Life Do you count the numbers or apply them? Do the readings code the river stream? Divine and simple too easy to believe I'm starting to think that many will not in aeons, come to perceive Regressing back into the caves To fight the tigers with their blades Spirit can always evolve, but beside the spirit remains an umbra The serpent that binds as the helix to merge with yours Through the jungles in your mind and beneath your ocean's floor Tempting to eliminate duality in disavowing ways But comes the wave and overstep of the orchestra's score Written by the master architect to arrest ophidian psyche force
0
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
Obverse Hellion
Living alone in the arctic circle has challenges of its own. The weather drops to negative sixty degrees and during the winter months wolves watch you breath. Although this is a challenge I have found a challenge of my own. So, hey asked me, "Is there anything wrong, Jon?" I tell them no. I tell them I am fine. That I am happy. The cold, grips at my vocal chords. As the tundra spreads across my veins my body numbly forgets where I am. The mind that works all to often takes a vacation of blankets and existence. My fingertips sent in their two week notice without the strength to give a reason of departure. I am swimming in ice. Whaling like a baby, with everything to say and no one to understand. Rolling over the same spot that I swear I can melt into water. The weather looks down upon me, with closed ears. Negligent to the heart inside of my chest. Running away does nothing but create distance. My problems will never be further than the bottom of a bottle. Finding and reaching for the tongue out of my mouth. Asking me to accept the fate dropped before me. Mimicry, to act or mimic another object or animal. I became the tundra that day. Unforgiving to the existence in my chest. Misunderstanding to the tender chords that hold up life. Leading on that my heart will not feel again from this day out. Love will not play its games on my frozen land. Being polite will never help you hear boy. Keep running, I will keep extending my reach in front of you. Today I became, Cold.
0
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC
Tundra
Living alone in the arctic circle has challenges of its own. The weather drops to negative sixty degrees and during the winter months wolves watch you breath. Although this is a challenge I have found a challenge of my own. So, hey asked me, "Is there anything wrong, Jon?" I tell them no. I tell them I am fine. That I am happy. The cold, grips at my vocal chords. As the tundra spreads across my veins my body numbly forgets where I am. The mind that works all to often takes a vacation of blankets and existence. My fingertips sent in their two week notice without the strength to give a reason of departure. I am swimming in ice. Whaling like a baby, with everything to say and no one to understand. Rolling over the same spot that I swear I can melt into water. The weather looks down upon me, with closed ears. Negligent to the heart inside of my chest. Running away does nothing but create distance. My problems will never be further than the bottom of a bottle. Finding and reaching for the tongue out of my mouth. Asking me to accept the fate dropped before me. Mimicry, to act or mimic another object or animal. I became the tundra that day. Unforgiving to the existence in my chest. Misunderstanding to the tender chords that hold up life. Leading on that my heart will not feel again from this day out. Love will not play its games on my frozen land. Being polite will never help you hear boy. Keep running, I will keep extending my reach in front of you. Today I became, Cold.
Continue reading...
31
I try and try again  But **** still stay the same tho I'm closing off my brain doors No thoughts about insane hoes No more **** the hugs and the *** you give To me you're so irrelevant  You think it's so cute to be negligent  Well yo cute *** can hit the door and and never turn back A guy like me ? You earn that  Yo attitude be too whack You lack what it takes And I just don't have the time  This is a message to yo dumb *** It just so happens to rhyme.
0
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 11:11 AM UTC
We Through
War, war and much more. It’s good for the economy. War, war. Even the score. Reduce the rank of the enemy. The other guys were different And that made them negligent And earned them the fate Of a premature exit date. They will always suffer defeat That are not of the prime elite. Killing such a strange enemy Should garner no sympathy. War, war and much more. It’s good for the economy. War, war. Even the score. Reduce the rank of the enemy. The children are taught From the first days of school. We are the good guys And that’s the important rule. Bear that in mind, kiddies Because it will always be true. We are the champions here No matter what we do. War, war and much more. It’s good for the economy. War, war. Even the score. Reduce the rank of the enemy. Children with sticks for guns Learn to play their games. They get shot, but don’t fall. They know just who to blame. You missed me, they call Until the bullets are for real. Then, they learn to question What they were taught to feel. War, war and much more. It’s good for the economy. War, war. Even the score. Reduce the rank of the enemy. That’s what all war is for To make sure none are alive To fight the glorious holy war. So none manage to survive. With overwhelming enmity, Some faced down opposition By obliterating the enemy And earned their commission War, war and much more. It’s good for the economy. War, war. Even the score. Reduce the rank of the enemy.
0
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:29 PM UTC
WAR, WAR
Time remains negligent to desire and necessity, tumbling away, thieving choice. Absence and plea linger in the vastness formerly home to love and anticipation. Torment lurks, prowling, creeping, and waiting. Its talons prodding. Sickness twists and churns at the mess that has become my core. Anguished reflections of life or revelation in this infertile void Fraught inaudible cries like howling winds unable to spin out. Amassed coveted control. Now Impotent. Wasted. Futility absorbed by unventilated internal infernos. Pleading for relief that is not to be. I remain. Barren.
0
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 12:18 PM UTC
Barren
my laptop is warm it has been on for two days i am negligent
0
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
haiku #4
floatin in the air of innoncence holdin on to kisses that surpasses these shaded lips oh in this daydream in my corner of despair she stands loud as reasons which I cannot remand impossible to let go the rushed night and shy goodbye creepin home before the mornin light esthetic eyes that devour these invariable melancholic smiles of mine amorously disposed desire for deceivin bedshaped moves again, to put this body on fire   charmed in shame this au naturel attire suitably awaitin ur tardly arrival nice and slow utterin words for ur ears alone "take me down, kiss me below" 11
0
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
Newer Negligent Apathy
"I love you," you said Three times Sober Or, at least, after only two glasses of wine With an expression that wanted me to see its sincerity You thought about the way your face looked And how I was looking at it Which, naturally, made me suspicious Less of whether what you said was Or is True And more of whether you really believed it I certainly don't Although, regrettably, too big a part of me Hopes that you do But you won't even go out to lunch So the concept is moot If you dwell on me so frequently Where are you? Not here, in the growing rift Between our potential and reality Where I fume You flatter Whipstitching my raw edges But your adulations can't repair The fact that you don't know My favorite color My stance on religion Or the quality that I admire most In a friend Negligent though you may be I'm harsher still On myself Allowing you in, while I know all of this How you must find me! So easy Malleable And still I permit you "We're alike," you say And you tell me how you care So little About so much But not when it comes to me, apparently Or so said the lips That have only kissed me once Without seeking more But I kissed you then, anyway Knowing what would come Freckles Sinful dimples The unfathomable brown eyes For which you hold so much disdain The slightest gap Between your front teeth Your encouragements didn't stir me Already shoved From my resolution Before your many admittances And rare Melancholy musings -- These, perhaps strategic But disorienting, nonetheless I'll chalk it up to us finishing the bottle Which I started Frustrated Half an hour before you arrived And carve myself some apathy.
0
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 4:04 AM UTC
Professions
"I love you," you said Three times Sober Or, at least, after only two glasses of wine With an expression that wanted me to see its sincerity You thought about the way your face looked And how I was looking at it Which, naturally, made me suspicious Less of whether what you said was Or is True And more of whether you really believed it I certainly don't Although, regrettably, too big a part of me Hopes that you do But you won't even go out to lunch So the concept is moot If you dwell on me so frequently Where are you? Not here, in the growing rift Between our potential and reality Where I fume You flatter Whipstitching my raw edges But your adulations can't repair The fact that you don't know My favorite color My stance on religion Or the quality that I admire most In a friend Negligent though you may be I'm harsher still On myself Allowing you in, while I know all of this How you must find me! So easy Malleable And still I permit you "We're alike," you say And you tell me how you care So little About so much But not when it comes to me, apparently Or so said the lips That have only kissed me once Without seeking more But I kissed you then, anyway Knowing what would come Freckles Sinful dimples The unfathomable brown eyes For which you hold so much disdain The slightest gap Between your front teeth Your encouragements didn't stir me Already shoved From my resolution Before your many admittances And rare Melancholy musings -- These, perhaps strategic But disorienting, nonetheless I'll chalk it up to us finishing the bottle Which I started Frustrated Half an hour before you arrived And carve myself some apathy.
Continue reading...
67