"nitch" poems
Every man has a calling
And my nitch is writing.
Mama gave me life and my name,
But poetry completes me.
Bless your soul Queen,
For my path is green
And my deeds are pure,
I couldn't ask for more.
I'm not a president.
But my words are important.
I don't need bodyguards
Only some pens and pads.
I'm not an astronaut
But a poetic juggernaut.
No ,I'm not a pianist,
But I play the note of a realist.
I'm a wordsmith and sageist,
That's better than a freak or sadist.
Call me a vessel of wisdom
Or frown and rot in boredom.
I may not be a musician
I spin words like a magician.
I'm a deep thinker and poet,
A writer and future laureate.
Jah gave me a unique gift
I'll therefore use it to uplift.
With it I can write, motivate.
Inspire, impact and create.
©IB-Poetry
25/11/2018
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 5:37 AM UTC
Doesn't it **** when your mind goes numb?
When all you can do is twiddle your thumbs?
A blank page before you has infinite plans
And all you can do is fold your hands.
To write such a sweet and lustrous tune
Sometimes it takes the entire of June!
And sometimes it never leaves your head
And it keeps you awake while lying in bed.
It tears at your talent and races your heart
That suddenly you've truly forgotten your art.
That after the years of praise and shower
You can't even recite portray a flower.
*It's petals are but some weeping hands
That fall upon such tiny lands
Which bees and such take a tiny hit
Of pollen so rich and....um.....shit!*
You tear up the pages and throw them away
This is the last time, on the same day.
It's finally done, you sit and you cry
The day that your lustrous talent has died.
So pain and sorrow consume your hour
All is thanks to that ****** old flower.
And your life has turned against the tides
And you life has become a puddle of lies.
To write a poem, a story, a book
To have a knack, a nitch, a nook.
You never give up and never retire
Until you pass your final hour.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
Alright all you pigeon chests
Came the sound of thunder from the open door
As Big Bad Bart replaced the space
Giant mountain man of lore
Making his way into the bar
Sweeping Nancy boys out of his way
Stepping up to the the jukebox
Kicking it till some good ole country boy music played
This mountain man has made it his goal
To grab hold and unsissify
Any Wimpy Wally's
That happen to catch his manly eye
He started off his conquest
Out in the great North wood
First stop The Red Eye Back Door Saloon
Need I explain the name to you
He went in with his moral barrels a blazing
But there wasn't much he could do
Village people the only band on the jukebox
Y.M.C.A. being the only tune
He didn't let that little nitch stop him
Or slow him down by any means
Giving America back to the menly men
And not the mousey men with their girly dreams
Till the day that Bart locked eyes with Stanly
In that San Francisco flower bar
Those two haven't left each others side
Going through life now arm and arm
They spend their time skipping through fields of pansies
Giggling freely hand in hand
The way Bart now feels this was meant to be
Mia Mono, Man to Man
Bart's lumberjack buddies can't believe it
And don't know what to think of their friend
Although they all secretly admit
He does look good in those Hot Pink Hot Pants
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 7:21 AM UTC
I gave you my soul
Wasn't that a costly toll?
You trace my scars
or are you drawing prison bars?
I tell you what i hate
Your friends i try to tolerate
I dont like this new nitch
Your not usually a *****
I love you
But it can be hard
You blame yourself for my crash
But then turn to conform with those I Bash
What does it take?
Just drive in the stake
Since Im such a life sucker
Atleast i could get away with my ******
Since im soulless
Since I hold you back
Since Im just a punk
Since I died to you
Rip my guts out and hang them like streamers
Run my skin in a grinder and have your confetti
Spike my blood with all your *****
Fry my fingers in the greaser
Throw my brain and heart in the trash
Burn my eyes and ears and lips and tongue
Use my bones to build a bed
Boil my nerves so i wont feel pain
But leave my feet
They are what i didnt use
I should walk, no run, away
But i already cut them off so it would be easier to end me
The perfect ******
My own death
Ill naught be caught
Ill finally get what i deserve
The ultimate gift of life?
Can i just skip it to hell?
I wish i had died that day
Why couldnt I have gone faster?
Let the white turn red
With what i have bled
Here is your christmas cheer
Feed my ashes to your ******* reindeer
Happy Holidays
Merry Christmas
Let me do this perfect ******
Then you can say your happy and merry a little cheerier
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 6:55 PM UTC
There is a space inside the Heart
A hollow bit with walls and room
To let in more than we assume
Could even ever fit there...
It stretches out and it expands
To fit the open hands and minds
Of lonely strangers and old friends...
It's such a lovely spot.
We should, I think, keep broom at hand
And Spring-Clean every once or twice
To make it nice and comfy soft
For visitors who stop here.
And even maybe sweep the steps
And offer up a sugar bowl
With creme and comfort and a spoon
Next' to the coffee ***
There is a space inside the Heart
A little nitch (with room to spare)
I often find my self in there
Just waiting for a visit.
So come on in with Saint or Sin
(The Open Heart cannot define
The difference of the two)
The coffee's warm
and so's the beer...
I'll leave a light for you.
Apr 10, 2011
Apr 10, 2011 at 7:07 PM UTC
The firelight casts
an amber glow --
reflecting this amber season.
Acorn garlands hang
with ease;
bowls of walnuts
waiting to be shelled.
Pumpkins brighten nooks--
vases filled with
silver maple
dispel any gloomy nitch.
Apples wait to be baked
and pomegrantes
are a perfect display.
Dogs sleep by the
hearth,
dreaming dog-dreams
of running through
the fallen leaves --
while I make a wreath
of last summer's blooms
gone to seed
and bittersweet vines,
their vibrant berries
aglow.
Through the window
I gaze at the Autumn sunset:
tawny gold, pink-tinged peach
and pale blue-grey.
The air outside is chilled
a hint of Winter's cold
to come.
But hearth and home
are warm,
embracing this season's gentility.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 9:01 AM UTC
deep in the shadows of my tired mind
down into the shallows of my pain
I look into the Misty depths
And see i remain in Chains
my soul stands at the window
and the images I see won't pass
the visions I've seen linger
and has carved a nitch of darkness
in my heart
I placed my hand upon the mirror
and felt the touch of pain
through the glass
the sensation of bitter suffering
burned my flesh
a low raspy whisper or hum
is heard in the rythme
of such a sorrowful melody
I paused and realized
it was my own cries I heard
I tried to pull away
but I've already imprinted
my soul with damage
draining the life right out of me
my head hurts as it pounds
at my temples
I'm so tired now
but fear keeps me awake
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 10:23 AM UTC
i will remain speechless, i am speechless. the only way i show these pains and scars that reside deep. so deep it gets tough to swallow, and the first thing that i can think of is learning to lash out and hate someone. or hate myself for something ive done to ensue loving my life. in the fragile places of me i become weaker and learn to build walls around me. i was king. i was a giant on the walls of jericho and now i bow my head in refuse's to see the faces of any. i was a prince. and now with water and bread i will live.
with the sacred of silence i risk the balance of my entire nitch to live livelier than the ones that live among the gin. a grin i lose and wage to gain and eyes that sue as they faint and detain but win my gamble at a smile again a choice of smoke and i partake in sin. but i will not boast just let me anebriate and take that strong drink until i am wasted drunken until God pity me and lead me and send be angels to aid.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
Too many Thoughts all at once
yet I seem to find comfort in the chaos
I may look lost but no one ever really knew where they were going
My patience tested on a daily
and my actions questioned at every movement
But what are my motives?
Am I slowly losing my mind
or am I living too fast
Everyday seems like I'm on auto pilot
Can't remember the last time I cared
I'd find my nitch but I don't know where I put it in the last life
I forget what I did but I relive it somehow
Follow the stars but they don't often shine around the city lights and I'm not following names on a sign because those roads have already been explored
Boots laced up nice and tight let's see if I can catch some wind and finally fly.
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 7:26 PM UTC
KEYS UNLOCK DOORS
Waiting on a new storm or are we wanting to take on another form
Lost on the brink just idling biding for time to make that link
SHOUTING out what was the key that was missed ,will finding it let them be reborn
Paths await, with this little debate,harder with hills ,many willing to guide us around this obelisk
Preparations made, set to travel finding a direction to unravel,will we find the light before the dawn
Locksmiths maybe becoming the new messiahs ,need a pick to find that nitch
Going out also means reaching in ,focus on an entryway to open a hatch, hopefully letting us find a new zone
Certain questions don't always wait patiently, seeking solace while turning handles to resolve that itch
Skeletons in a closet still have a door and require a skeleton key to uncover ,
opening new entrances to not be alone
Passageways with more gates locked but never permanently blocked,a golden ring holds keys to be used based on our needs ,new admissions to help enrich R.C.
Always a new door for us but will we know which one or will it open up just another home or room that is worse?
Thank you for reading,your thoughts are appreciated. Rick
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
This is for when you are down and feeling blue.
Give a heart to heart and time will stand still.
When you need somebody just imagine and they will be there.
No guilt will come to you, no splitting hairs.
For a nitch in time could save your life.
Three days from now you will be free from strife.
To save your life multiply your life and you will be moonstruck.
It is better than any high off of any drug.
Twenty-seven days and they will all ascend to heaven.
With that you never free from eleven.
To all you saints and the lonely hearts help your knowledge grow.
The basic need we all need to know.
Let all be bestowed onto you.
With that knowledge we grew.
It is good to be kind and caring.
Within this is the truth I am bearing.
Can we see each other for who we are?
We should practice this whether here or far.
As the clouds pass over.
We see the blue of the sky, I wish we could forever.
Twenty-four hours goes as the world turns.
The rain falls like ash; which to the skin it burns.
Before the crackling fire we have formed.
At the end of the day another lesson learned.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 8:37 PM UTC
Faygo and ******* **** and a little braded naughty nancy who ain't really named nancy Tom Clansy sheets nasty. ***** nasty. Sheets nasty thats frequent from the New York jogger flopping floppy frogger. She stunk like hose water pan handling cleanly. Oh and touch my weeny weeny from the scene where Scheen bees. Hurt my hind haunches like the stank from the seat where old Ponch sits. Cooties grissle cookies wish, I wished yes betch I ****** up I bet-cha you're a ******* **** that facades as a proof fan because my homie used to use my Moving Van, but ****** I don't know your crow's feet until. Well.Well. Well know until this thesis because I wanted to write how more I **** **** with Rechard Simmons on the Weeknd's Porsche hood with permission because we isn't weight bizz-nitch. I'm itching Oren Ishy Iishi can you open up the crusty crumble, Wait I waxed my ******* ******* waste on bleach. I ******* bleached her *** buster with more catching up then mustard sauce. **** your Oddity I'll grab enough ***** from Fun-yun bags that reak fathered pharamones. Oh. I moaned Oh. Oh. Oh. I moaned.
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 4:59 PM UTC
There are many different walks of life
some are twisted, some are nice
and some are just plain cruel.
A Baker with a wheat intolerance
An actor without a part
A farmer who’s afraid of sheep
A banker with a heart
A politician who cannot lie
A Doctor with a cold
A clumsy loud mouthed loose lipped spy
An origami exhile – out of the fold
A discharged army general
turned red faced personal trainer
Or the local park bush lurker
who’s found his nitch as a social worker
The violent ******* criminal
released from behind bars
now spends his weekdays
putting tickets on parked cars
But the worst walk of all,
the most hopeless and empty
is to sit ideal at home
and watch daytime tele.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 9:57 AM UTC
My room is all cleaned up
and my confidence is back
I have tell you now
living hasn't always been my knack
But with this sweet essence of acceptance
I think I've found my nitch
yes when people like my art
I find Im not so much a *****
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 2:00 PM UTC
Scribble scratch
The world shall hear my words
Scritch nitch
Paper is outdated
Scratch scribble
The art of poetry is dying
Nitch scritch
Thank god it’s being saved by tech
Scrabble scribble
Poetry learns to thrive once more, but at the cost tech
Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
Thats up to you
Scribble scratch
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 6:23 PM UTC