"noughts" poems
Life is a river flowing,
Beautiful and challenging.
Begins with birth,
Ends with death,
Same source.
Life is a treasure,
Its contents has no measure.
Down the river of our life,
Roars raindrops of love and strife,
Laughter, dreams and sorrows.
Life,like the river splits into arms,
Moving where we want it to strum,
With courage and right attitude,
Not to forget HIS gratitude,
Either be islanded between our negative thoughts,
Or plunge down into a long waterfall of depressive noughts.
Let the sparkling water of life flow through us adventurously,
Vibrating, exciting and luxuriously,
Awakening every cell and fibre in us.
As the river of our life takes a turn and a bend,
We never know what it will send.
All we have to do is follow the right
path,
And not cross HIS wrath.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 9:50 AM UTC
Fighting demons
Bursting bubbles
He's in my head
Among the rubbles
Seeing that most things get done
He works at it from moon till sun
He tilts at windmills only he can see
Please meet.... Don Quixote
My affliction
or my soul
hearing voices
takes its toll
Fighting what may not be there
And if it's not, why should I care?
Before the windmills in my mind
Don Quixote....you will find
An empty veldt of muddled thoughts
On a crooked road to nowhere
A wasteland of x's and noughts
With no way to get there
A wilderness of abstract themes
And wishes that I need share
The guardian of what I write
Tilting windmills in my minds air
Hidden loves
Broken hearts
So much to do
just where to start
No Sancho Panza by his side
In my head he's stuck inside
Keeping madness at arms length
Don Quixote...my minds strength
Unfinished tales
Broken dreams
So little time
Or so it seems
A wayward soldier on his way
What windmills will he fight today?
The thoughts I write reveal what's me
Allowed outside by Quixote
An empty veldt of muddled thoughts
On a crooked road to nowhere
A wasteland of x's and noughts
With no way to get there
A wilderness of abstract themes
And wishes that I need share
The guardian of what I write
Tilting windmills in my minds air
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
When my mind is full
I watch my thoughts
I realise crosses
are really the same as noughts.
I watch my breath
fill up space in my chest
and pacify my ego's need to protest.
Control is not a prerequisite
of a happy soul.
The same way your 'other half'
is not a prerequisite to your whole.
So once in a while let it all go
receive yourself,
the highs and lows.
Don't 'empty' your mind
in attempts to unbind
unwind, rewind, or realign
for how can you?
When you've no idea
what you've just declined.
So when your mind is full
and paints your heart grey,
become mindful of the fact
your thoughts make you that way.
Apr 4, 2020
Apr 4, 2020 at 5:18 AM UTC
For the past two hours
this Mac has hypnotised
my gaze to its white screen
and every website has
sentries at the door -
Username ? Password ?
Already registered ? Login
When did we become so
chary one of another ? Were
folks so paranoid in the pre-
digital age when existence
had not been magicked into
noughts and ones in Silicon
Valley? It did not seem so.
(c) C J Heyworth July 2014
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
i love the fact that most people
rather enter the concept
of karma rather dialectics
to argue their point - makes
emily austen seem like a nutcracker
of ideas to come from
ikea as the self-assembled semi-detached
heights, otherwise known as wuthering, heights
or the disco-ball done in mahoganny eyed splinter
shine - sheens the spot!
it's just so ****** blocked nose rotten,
the opposite of polite society,
a bit like the middle-ages... reigning
paranoia imported from a lost colony,
library cards of blue indian peasants
turned into pheasants that did the cancan dance
all of a sudden... miracles christ couldn't even forsee!
i'm free every saturday if you're hashtag up-for-it...
never mind... i'll leave my quote and oil my phone-number
for a missing mobile telepathic nuance on
when differentiating blue indians with garam masala
and red indians with mohawks - easiest game of all:
snakes & ladders, noughts & crosses... garam masala & mohawks.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
The bar was deserted
But for The Captain and me
I was tending the bar
He was watching the sea
The North Wind was 'a howlin'
As the door opened wide
It was The North Wind just checkin'
To see who's inside
The Captain, was quiet looking out at the sea
He said on days like today, that is no place to be
She'll swallow you whole
Take your ship in one gulp
Crush all your riggings
And make the rest into pulp
When she opens her maw
The Sea don't care who
Is there for the taking
It's just what she do
I ventured on over
A fresh glass, with some ice
He said "what took you?"
I said ..."now, be nice"
"With weather like this"
"There's leaks front and back"
"And if I don't mop them up"
"Then I will get the sack"
He smiled as he drank up
One gulp and all done
He used to come here
With his grandson and son
But, that story is longer
And a good one to know
But, today, t'was just him
And he was rarin' to go
"The Sea is a monster, you can be sure of that"
"That's a fact I am saying, as sure as I'm sat"
"She'll swat you down hard, like a little old gnat"
"And to her it'll be nothing more than a pat"
"To Davy Jones Locker, she'll take you today"
"And once you are down there, in the locker you'll stay"
"A witch like the Ocean, she doesn't half play"
"When the water starts talking....you hear what she say!!!"
He swirled round the cubes
Made a noise, looked my way
I was already pouring
His fifth of the day
"Barkeep, be wary"
"The wind is the start"
"It's the voice of the water"
"It'll sure break your heart"
"She'll take what you give her"
"And she'll return you squat"
"Like a big old hard game"
"Of 'x's and noughts"
"She's a powerful mistress"
"And fickle as well"
"But, be on her today"
"And she'll take you to hell"
We sat watching closely
As the storm rattled glass
We both were quite nervous
And we hoped it would pass
The storm came in early
Two weeks 'fore the season
And we knew out today
That the water'd be freezin'
The Captain dozed off
Facing out to the sea
There was now just the storm
A sleeping Captain....and me.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
I'm waiting on a number of things:
When will you reply, though I gave you wings
To fly away if you will, and you have the right;
I'm waiting for inspiration to strike me in the night
That I am again OK without you - I don't need to feel
My heart implode when I read my old poetry, to steel
Myself when I see apparitions of what I had desired,
To blush and reproach myself for being lost, uninspired,
And pining after you again like a whipped cur; When
You hold space for me IRL
And my messages aren't a URL
Of something that I thought would resonate with you, again
I lose myself, hoping I can gain because you gain, and then
It just feels like I'm throwing my love into a void, again.
I don't just give energy like that; I don't just give thoughts;
I was divinely inspired, and I thought your beauty grand
And lovely, and still those aren't the words, and still this Noughts
& Crosses is a stalemate; And you're cross, and I'm five grand
For nought, and flippin' babbling because I'm so, so lost
And I long for your presence and your voice for me, warm as toast,
Nourishing as honey, real like salt, alive for water, and eternal
And lavender. I can forget roses, even if you like them too; lavender, like you, is eternal.
Feb 28, 2022
Feb 28, 2022 at 3:55 PM UTC
Noughts and crosses
Pains and loses
Heartbreak on repeat
The boring same beat
A game of stalemate
A life wrapped in fate
And it's not over
Three in a line
And it's not over
I guess I'll be fine.
Circles and lies
Fail to dry my eyes
Can I not cry?
You could not even say goodbye.
Not much to win
For, these weak bones are thin
My thoughts are not real
Your mind will not care how I feel.
And it's never over
Three or six in a line
And it's never over
My soul did once shine.
Leave this life
You created in your mind.
For you and I
Have had our time.
Noughts and crosses
Uncontrollable forces
A wild, empty city
Busy faces with no pity.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
Like a moth to a flame
Again and again
Incoming thoughts
I'm crosses and noughts
Feelings emotions and other such things
Flying around, the emptiness rings
Screaming at me, telling me to feel
Though none of it really, ever seems real
I want it to stop but I can only hit pause
In a black hole of nothing and trapped in it's jaws
Pulling me down when I want to soar
Keeping me trapped on the floor
Neglegted by all and treated by none
The ego, my feelings and more are all gone
And I'm left in the dark with nothing to say
But I need to get up, need to start the day
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 8:17 PM UTC
Light hearted when I am with him
Devastated when we are apart,
I am a dreamer; he is a lay backer,
Without a genuine heart, our love is
like a unnatural clip from noughts&crosses
hate destroy lives, love can bring it back together
However, what is left of my Love for him dies each day:
We are apart, because it is impossible to settle this kind of love
We never dance; we never kiss on the dance floor
Our rhythm never entwined, he had no rhythm,
So I never experience a kiss on the dance floor,
Feelings alters when replace by loneliness
Love bails,
when a marriage fails,
wishing and hoping that our love would
be enough to hold them
Unlike a poor man's flowers picked fresh from the fields..
Without adversity
Free for plucking, never got a chance to blossoms
my love for him was marginal:
However, nothing but deep respect for him
a part of me will always have to choose,
so, I choose to be happy , I choose loneliness
before, confusing pity for love..
Aug 27, 2020
Aug 27, 2020 at 9:00 AM UTC
We are but chromosomes
Away from
Knuckles upon the floor
Clothes,
Shoes,
Naked,
Bodies, hair upon all
Of us, we are only smarter
By fluke
**** erectus*
Neanderthal
Homo-sapiens
"Are we the next to fall"
Machines with thoughts
Able to move think for them selfs
Noughts
Zero's
Cognitive
Thought, realization that the
Creator is below the creation,
"Are we the masters of our own downfall"
We have reached the time
When one must progress
And the other becomes
A museum Piece attached to a wall,
*"Here is a Copy of **** sapiens"*
"Last breading pairs in the"
"Humanity Zoo"
There used to be billions
But know there are fewer
Than a hundred, a gene pool
Nearly extinct,
But cross breading is
A worthy course mixing
Human
With
Machine,
And so the time has come to pass,
That those that were on top
Are now the last on the bottom of
"The food chain"
There time came then passed..
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
You finish off my sentences
You help complete my thoughts
Although we are quite different
"I'm an x, and you're a nought"
My life is full because of you
And the one thing that we've got
Is that we are quite different
You play "x"s, I play "noughts"
Together we're a power house
A team that knows it's way
But, separate, we're unorganized
That can't get through the day
We make each other better when
One is cold and one is hot
It's because we are quite different
You play "x"s, I play "noughts"
If the game should ever change
And we went a different way
I don't know how I'd make it
I'd not know just what to play
I wake up every morning knowing
You're there to be in all my thoughts
It's because we are so different
You play "x"s, I play noughts.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
Thinking about it; quite a silly game
Unless they are positive thoughts
Do not go down that route
You'll get less crosses and more noughts.
Negative thoughts; who thought that one up
The only road to this is misery and pain.
Better off with positive thinking and then
you will have everything to gain.
But it is hard when one is stuck in a rut
Stuck and there is no light that one can see.
Better is it not to stand tall, head upright
then your nose to the ground, falling to the knee.
Flop, everything can be judged as a flop
But think differently, start up over again
Thinking can be quite a dangerous act
Be careful otherwise you'll find misery and pain.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
Time called,
it wants its watch back.
So too did love,
it wants its fake relationship back.
Literature left a message for you,
the book you stole should be returned.
Oh! You’ve just missed music,
it said that album you murdered is pressing charges.
Time called again,
just to make sure you got the message.
Check the machine,
there’s one from Platform Eight.
Bonfire night 2011 just hung-up,
it wants you to know never to return.
An email just came through,
from that film we knew every line too.
What was that,
you use people?
Oh! Politeness dropped by,
he said he’d like to slam every door he ever opened for you
back into your face.
Wait a second,
I’ll put him through-
it’s time, he wants to speak to you-
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 9:53 AM UTC
A single sober thought against a scape of memories
To simply wish for stillness upon an ever-moving sea
Silenced for the centuries as for me now to behold
Tempting not to walk away, to bide its time to come
Season only changes face twice for the human mind
Now to guess the use of being born then just to die
Elderly the woodworks, fragile beauty bitter-grown
Such it is the way of man, the seed among the sown
**Savour this scarce, small moment
Deep in the wake of a weary-worn world
Silent and long forgotten
My bed underneath a shroud of snow**
Cinnamon and broken toys, a songbird out of tune
Easy pride in scarlet dress romanticised to blue
Earnest words, a rarest toil to feed such cynic sight
Raising hope to see despair rewrite the dearest lines
Serenity now roams the sphere as if to call me home
Such yet little precious light, a beacon sight of old
Where the age once had a fright so readily to share
Now every night seems easier with every step to take
**Savour this scarce, small moment
Deep in the wake of a weary-worn world
Silent and long forgotten
My bed underneath a shroud of snow**
Come now
Enter my room
Take me back into the deep dark
The night unknown
A slave to the sunlight, kin to the moon
Within the cobweb of life all noughts become one
**Savour this scarce, small moment
Deep in the wake of a weary-worn world
Silent and long forgotten
My bed underneath a shroud of snow**
©2018, Adrian Betz
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 4:30 PM UTC
It may be Sunday out there,
but in here it's ninety seventy-four, in here behind the bedroom door where the lights burn bright like that disco ball that blew our minds last night.
it's a noughts and crosses kind of a day, we make our marks and gurgle away and marks is what we are, cosmic stains on the universe, washed by the winds of countless stars, strands upon strands where each moment stands alone, a space of our own in a place full of plenty, but it's 'seventy-four behind the bedroom door and I don't care because she's so much more than the wandering rings that sing to themselves, in the galaxy we are pixies and elves and someone else is stacking our shelves, we play party games and if we are cosmic stains, so what,
what we are is what we've got and that's 'seventy-four behind the bedroom door.
In time, if there is an in, we shall strip off the moonbeams that dance on our skin and begin, to gurgle again, to take one more spin, to ride some and more behind the door back in 'seventy-four.
It may be Sunday out there, churchy hats and churchy hair, but where the lights burn bright behind the bedroom door it will always be nineteen seventy-four.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
Tomorrows dreams,
broken seams,
crystal thoughts,
binary noughts,
lust for life,
edge of the knife,
warmth of the soul,
colour of coal,
retreat to within,
wrapped up in tin.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
Dry luck
flakes fallow forehead.
(I’ve come for you.)
It promises, a hundred times, to grow
and recklessly rakes the earth.
My nails: long, pointed, poignant.
Digging into and in with my hands.
Crossing and holing XXO
(I love you but you’re lost.)
Jun 23, 2011
Jun 23, 2011 at 1:46 AM UTC
watch'ah watch'ah want? giggles?
you got them... trans-gender males allowing
civil partnerships and all the loss of a taboo prodigy...
the other side of the spectrum you have feminism gorging
on the catwalk motto of 0... yep, with trans-gender males
getting licorice stuffed pillows you deem to call *******
funny thing... those exfoliating breathing apparatus items ****
i forgot the plural, and yes, correct, ascribing
a quality to the **** word, moor adjectives with a sunset)
pairs... now you have feminism on steroids
with girl bodies too taboo for ******
and too into-it with muscular ***** wanks
when fat was **** in painting and
breast-feeding... so one spectrum-end (dual zenith-nadir,
you choose) gets implants...
the other works out with Arnie for a flat
muscular chest that could breast-feed
a tapeworm... but hey! our politics is
a solid ace in poker... we better export this
**** to the middle east and laugh about it...
but i tell you... too prolonged the pyramids'
influence on this region,
had god interfered in the Aztec geography
we'd see no dodo right now
(inclusive of memory and memorable recounts
of the Galapagos shortcrust debriefing
in historical terminology suddenly
inspected suddenly lost
for want of cure so that history isn't
just a deja vu - hubris Gemini hatching
in a tetragrammaton)...
buggers are really keen on proving the sudden
eclipse... that's the global aspect of the plague...
everyone cared for what happened with the sudden
churn of wanting sleep...
and the greatest modern pathos? insomnia...
it's the great utopian counter -
or a lack of interpreting dreams, equating to
"life is meaningless".
lack of freud to be exact, as in:
the only hierarchy in theory is a hierarchic
stance on applicability being vogue -
everything else is hushed or broomed or ushered
into Hades so that utopia is a sinking ship
like Pompeii or Atlantis (Thomas Moore -
or should i write Thomas Morse? cradle for the
blind, a book of Braille for the sight-able
hell-bent to make bureaucracy of obstructions
in a game of noughts and crosses in the playground).
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 11:47 AM UTC
We seem small under the same stars
Underneath the balcony and the dying bride
A lonely shore, a sight to behold
Where only once I got to see my dreams
**I see you, I see you
Through my cradle bars
As a prisoner I’m calling upon you
Why wary
Why obsessed with stories
Written with empty words so long ago**
Think of me in moments of contentment
In sceneries only bare in their sincerity
Silvery drawn, perfectly composed
The first star of fall within a foreign shade
**I see you, I see you
Through my cradle bars
As a prisoner I’m calling upon you
Why wary
Why obsessed with stories
Written with empty words so long ago**
Taint my skies in black and blue
Sometimes dear noughts turn into nothing
**I see you, I see you
Through my cradle bars
As a prisoner I’m calling upon you
Why wary
Why obsessed with stories
Written with empty words so long ago**
©2018, Adrian Betz
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 6:12 PM UTC
Sonnet: Second Sight (II)
by Michael R. Burch
(Newborns see best at a distance of 8 to 14 inches.)
Wiser than we know, the newborn screams,
red-faced from breath, and wonders what life means
this close to death, amid the arctic glare
of warmthless lights above.
Beware! Beware!—
encrypted signals, codes? Or ciphers, noughts?
Interpretless, almost, as his own thoughts—
the brilliant lights, the brilliant lights exist.
Intruding faces ogle, gape, insist—
this madness, this soft-hissing breath, makes sense.
Why can he not float on, in dark suspense,
and dream of life? Why did they rip him out?
He frowns at them—small gnomish frowns, all doubt—
and with an ancient mien, O sorrowful!,
re-closes eyes that saw in darkness null
ecstatic sights, exceeding beautiful.
Published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea. Keywords/Tags: sonnet, newborn, baby, birth, labor, slap, breath, screams, life, sight, vision, mrbson
Sep 14, 2020
Sep 14, 2020 at 12:44 AM UTC
There are lots of noughts in millions
lots of trees in acres
and winds will blow in gales
and thunder can roar in white skies
and labourers will do labour
and will always lean oh study trees
or find its shade to hide underneath
some things never change
Dec 4, 2021
Dec 4, 2021 at 9:39 PM UTC
Now I beat my brow, and how.
She wrote this on her arm in the poetry workshop.
Poetry? That will never amount to apple crumble- a mumble, from a passer by.
Whose eye twinkled. Answer me. Whose eye twinkled?
It spake of the forlorn and well worn wristbands from picnics with wistful bands.
Coherent thoughts in liquorice all sorts
Amount
In the end
To noughts.
And crosses
on hot buns in the local bakery.
That one's spelt bread, b-r-e-a-d.
A whole army fed,
On the pep of a rally to charms,
Sound the warning alarms.
******** alert.
On the winding country roads,
Squishing toads
***** nilly.
What's that?
Too tired to think?
Two-tyred, so blink
“And you're there in a jiffy”
Said the giraffe,
For the laugh.
There are children there
And also, every which and where,
Boy do they stare
Unaware,
Without the slightest inkling of the remorse
That we learn to impinge in our gaze
An apology for existence,
“Just coincidence”
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 11:17 AM UTC
Don't wanna see cats that krap
dogs that yip and yap
babies howling
lions growling
how to use up unused dowling.
Give me something I can chew
something I can sit and view,
without having suicidal thoughts.
You're like noughts without the crosses
the caber no one tosses
a lump of no good tree
it's no wonder
that you're free.
I'm going for a tea.
(fed up near Felixstowe)
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 2:31 AM UTC
What is your greatest luxury?
Music every time for me,
To greet the day with a tune,
Not the end of the world soon,
So don't waste thoughts,
Negative thoughts are noughts,
Don't let thoughts drag you down,
Even if you play the clown,
Hit the music, folks like thee,
Lighten up, music is a luxury!
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC