"occupying" poems
What is the hardest part
Of being alone?
It's the quietness,
A stillness making
What ought have been a home-
a house.
It's filled with beds,
But those lover's nests
Are Empty.
And the thought is
As occupying as a dream.
A dream you cannot feel
Because the loneliness is keeping you awake
With no one to hold down your fears
And keep you safe.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 11:45 PM UTC
Community -
it's not so much a social force
it's not out to coerce
it's an embrace
and in the end
that's what it's all about
it's a focus on people
it's a focal point on community
a common unity of those entwined
common folk connected and over-lapped
those over-wrapped by common loves
securely bound by common ties
occupying common ground
filling common space
with a wrap-around embrace
that lasts a tight hold longer
that ignores odd body odour
an embrace that lasts
a whole lot together
- It's what we have
in common
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 4:07 AM UTC
He loved her and she loved him
His kisses ****** out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she ******
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and Sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains
Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Or everlasting or whatever there was
Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy place
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His word were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assasin's attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
Her glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon's gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall
Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop
In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage
In the morning they wore each other's face
17.6k
I am but willing prey to the wiles of the full grown moon.
She guards the night sky...
While I patrol these grounds...
Grieving over the seconds that have gone too soon.
I am a vessel... all emptied and barren.
what once was full,
now echoes faint
the glories of yesteryears.
Afloat still, adrift upon the currents... aimless and sullen.
I am a ghost... haunting no one but my own.
Immortalised...
Anchored...
to a body of mist and haze...
Occupying this space where worthy wind had once blown...
I am a beggar offering nothing but my open palms.
Hope etched tight
into my knackered knuckles
and calloused digits.
Please... take them in yours...
soothe them...
grant me your touch, your coveted balm.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
Cigarette butts and grey ash
like the static of a tv. screen
occupying every cup, plate and empty beer can.
Ruminating across my mind in circles
an answer remains at the heart of this confusion
too weak to acknowledge, or at least too afraid.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
The wheel of the quivering meat
conception
Turns in the void expelling human beings,
Pigs, turtles, frogs, insects, nits,
Mice, lice, lizards, rats, roan
Racinghorses, poxy bucolic pigtics,
Horrible unnameable lice of vultures,
Murderous attacking dog-armies
Of Africa, Rhinos roaming in the
jungle,
Vast boars and huge gigantic bull
Elephants, rams, eagles, condors,
Pones and Porcupines and Pills-
All the endless conception of living
beings
Gnashing everywhere in Consciousness
Throughout the ten directions of space
Occupying all the quarters in & out,
From supermicroscopic no-bug
To huge Galaxy Lightyear Bowell
Illuminating the sky of one Mind-
Poor!
I wish I was free
of that slaving meat wheel
and safe in heaven dead.
7k
Law,
All ye termites hacking ants are you without sin?
Twisting the law to your greed thus dethroning justice
Thou that dis-virgins the law to suit your selfish taste,
Did not equity say that none is above the law?
Money-thirsty vultures seeking positions to occupy.
Law hackers depriving justice and equity of her rights
Equity and justice now lives in shame of her virginity,
Almighty termite, do not your deeds speak evil of your sins?
I weep blood for justice and equity whose daughters you *****
Is there none whose conscience still breathe or lives?
Power-driven termites making uncountable promises
Yet accomplishing none but your calculated interests.
Equity,
All ye leaders that preach peace, are you not corrupt minded?
En-slaving accounts meant for public welfare
Yet you claim to have the peoples interest in mind,
Did not the law command you to let equity and justice smile?
Parasitic predators hi-jacking the country's economy
Filthy termites proclaiming injustice upon powerless ants,
Justice hackers, do not your conscience judge your judgments?
I wish that you allow justice and equity have her way.
Law benders at whose feet equity and justice bow
Rippers of the law, at your hands justice is twisted,
Is your nature as humans so inhumane?
Little wonder the earth lives in fear of your tyranny.
Justice,
All ye slanders of the law, why not sheath your swords of corruption?
Your unchecked power has broken the wings of justice
Thereby making equity a widow without a husband,
Remember your oaths to serve with justice and equity;
Did you deceive the ants that voted you in to serve them?
Chameleons occupying seats of filtered ambitions
Woe betide your conscience for refusing to judge you,
Are you not guilty of molesting the law?
I mourn for the shameful death of equity and justice.
You that crafts the law to fit your suit of corruption
Remember a day comes when justice will laugh again,
And you being powerful cannot escape the law of Karma.
Karma,
Murderers of the law, will you also bribe karma?
I doubt if you can buy the law of karma with money.
Thou whose gluttony corrupts justice and equity,
Don't you feel guilty that you disvirgined the law?
Equity and justice now roams about in nakedness,
You that preach the law, are you true to yourself?
Heartless spiders cob-webbing the law to entangle poor ants
Did not equity bid you come to justice with clean hands?
Yet with filthy garments you condemn innocent ants;
Mind you that someday the law will rise again.
All ye scavengers of justice and hackers of the law,
Do you think you can **** the law of Karma?
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
Just Let It In
this
language,
the perplexity
of this language,
is damaging to me.
how can there possibly
exist such an impeccably
imposing combination of
words that still manage to destroy
a soul as wasted as mine? somehow
words discover these fine little cracks in
my wall, as thin as the head of a pin. words
are like water, rushing into whatever space they
can invade, occupying whatever volume they discover.
this water trickles through the fragmented spaces, traveling
all the way to my heart, transforming me in the way they seem to
alter us all. it is these words that i take with me. words reverberate in my mind,
disrupt me to my core, degrade me. your words are the ones i perpetually carry with me...
any...all of them. yours are the ones that elicit the simultaneous firing of every
single neuron in my brain. there is something about the magic of your words
flowing together...whispered into my ear. they move through me like
a stealthy, lone snake, undulating in a field, stalking its defenseless
prey; slowly...at first glance, not appearing to be a perilous threat
...then piercing me all at once with fierce strength and
determination, devouring me without appearing to
acknowledge that maybe i still...still want to be.
to be whole. and i do. my body craves
the sensation of being complete,
not torn apart by the nonsense
of your daunting words
disrupting my spirit
and making me
despise the
necessity
of language.
i wish i could
void your words
from my brain, but
my mind is helplessly
inconsistent; i can never
forget what i long to,
scarcely remember
what i must; and
my peculiar mind
*
certainly* will never
forget the sound
of your words,
just like water,
flooding me.
taking me
over.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 2:44 AM UTC
<>
you pout and defer, dancing backwards,
claiming, blue is now blackened
from underuse, incapable and incapacitating revival
*saying eyes cannot see, distinctly, neither near or far,
the tremble of love, forgot & distantly absent,
but I know, a heart’s sensory muscles never die,
though weaken they might, underused, un-exercised
denying that inspiration
no longer resides with in thy sensitivities,
has fled, undercover of smoking forest fires
all the diurnal hazards that invade, occupying
my internal spaces once filled by poems
you conceived, birthed, in a pleasured haze,
came so fast, you bare recall agony accompanied,
but not the ecstasy of the end resultant!*
***you know it’s you of whom I write, but,
a note not shaming names, but messages
countless private messages have I sent
begging, beseeching, give me your gifts***
once more, you owe me not, though I
oft irritate with my deafening pleas,
yet only denials continue, my pleas ding
but dent not, the tired fear of your exposition
so speak to you plain,
feed my soul selfish
like in years gone past,
there are holes in mine
that require your elixir,
creamy softness that moistens
my face with tears of your words
originating, astound, enfold**
not later, not soon, not excusals,
write for me NOW, WRITE FOR YOURSELF,
but leave me not forsaken and thirst un-slackened,**
Answer! To whom do you owe your poems?
Jun 11, 2023
Jun 11, 2023 at 11:30 AM UTC
Her mind is an observatory.
A really fun one. You know,
With rock candy at the entrance,
And a gift shop full of unique keepsakes.
Like compassion.
And warmth.
And when you step inside,
Her constellations are painted upon the dome ceiling,
Telling a story only visible
To those willing to connect the dots.
A story of glowing blues
And scattered specks
Of burning red,
With a dark void
Occupying the gaps
You so desperately wish to fill.
She has an entire solar system
Inside of her,
Hidden within the stars.
A heart as gold as the sun.
A soul as old as she wants.
And when she speaks,
You fall in love.
Because you don't have a choice.
Her voice echoes amphetamines
Along the walls of my skin.
Her smile shines
Like the crooked panels
On every straight paved sidewalk
I've ever known.
And when I look into her eyes,
The universe stares back.
I think she's a goddess.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 9:04 AM UTC
i long for pleasant days.
days that feel like new beginnings,
days when i feel as if i am floating,
when each and every
fiber of my being
feels content with letting go,
tying loose ends,
shedding dead skin.
when my body no longer
feels unworthy of
occupying a space in this dimension,
when my brain no longer
allows toxicity to occupy a space
within it.
i long for moments of silence.
solace for my soul,
a place for the skeletons
in my closet to
rest their dust-covered heads.
i long for happy summers.
when i no longer fear
the thought of love.
when i no longer imagine love
as an ugly ****
devouring a flower bed.
when i no longer imagine you
resting in someone else's.
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC
Nina Simone, occupying ears singing about bed and dressers.
Sparsely populated
young couple
Interrupted by saying amusements.
Only two stops
I know where to get off
I knew to mind the gap
I'm a responsible citizen
Voter with a valid railcard
Only two stops
Purchased a ticket
Only two stops
I can not throw up in that time
I can not clear my system of over-priced beer
A niche in the market
Exploited in the name of money Making let's just raise them
let's charge extortionate rates for an autoimmune disease
Paying to support a normal drinking culture embedded into the narrative
Growing by in the western world Listening to Nina Simone
Only one stop now you'd never know what life would be like
Without loud pop charts entertaining a few leaving the others yearning the return of ABBA when times were simpler and people cared about Eurovision and illegal music was your own
“Tickets please”
He seems awfully jolly for a late night shit-shift on Arriva Trains Wales
Who's making him work and why's he So ******* happy about it
Real extra effort! Soul sapping in my opinion
Last stop gotta get off.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC
The Highest Excellence
The highest excellence is like (that of) water.
The excellence of water appears in its benefiting all things,
And in its occupying,
Without striving (to the contrary),
The low place which all men dislike.
Hence (its way) is near to (that of) the Tao.
The excellence of a residence is in (the suitability of) the place;
That of the mind is in abysmal stillness;
that of associations is in
Their being with the virtuous;
That of government is in its securing
Good order;
That of (the conduct of) affairs is in its ability; and
That of (the initiation of) any movement is in its timeliness.
And when (one with the highest excellence) does not wrangle (about
His low position), no one finds fault with him.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 2:26 PM UTC
some greedy little bitter man has put together a picture-perfect person and out of pure laziness and malignant attempts at control he pays off a psychopath to make it happen but we’re just a little body, flesh and bones come between them and their paychecks so why not make it easier? they made a factory out of our garden and nothing grows in factories it’s manufactured, easy as one two three four five six, we’re all sitting on an assembly line waiting for some alcoholic man to shout at some pimply-faced twenty-something “FASTER! FASTER!” so it begins! press of a button, we’re created, step one: your parents were given the baby books, kids! infants, they’re all the same anyways. they’re not individuals yet, they haven’t been encoded so relax, parents. want them turn out like you? sure, do what your parents did, worked out well, eh? been occupying this factory your whole life, then? well anyways, step two: they spend less time with you because you’ve been in this world for three years so it’s time you get out on your own…. step three: they gotta YELL and scream and children aren’t supposed to touch things or say things or scrape their knees because that’s more work for the adults, and they work all day, just like they were programmed for, good little machines 'cause they forgot what it’s like to be a baby or an animal or a plant or a God but also the resentment, a child wants to live but how ridiculous? there’s no life in industry… all about the money baby step four: you buy your education because it builds your character because money says power but when did meaningless power equal respect? I don't know but they force you into reading the same old instruction pamphlets left in the break room at the plant for the past century or so and five: your turn to work for fourty years in this polluted place because it’s hard to break free from twenty-three years of moulding into a cookie cutter you never did fit, that’s why it hurts so much when they try to push you through, your muffin-top is sliced right off and you’re contorted to fit the view of perfect sugary sweetness but just to make sure you're ready they coat you with vanilla icing to cover up your imperfections, perfect, now step six, and this one is the doozy, and because you’re **** broke: go back to mom and dad’s and grab those baby books and again and again and again the cycle repeats and repeats and repeats….
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 9:03 PM UTC
The squirrels played havoc around the house,
picking stuffing from the porch swing,
packing it into their cheeks, until they were swollen,
pregnant, to fluff their nests with synthetic cotton.
They bounded about the yard stopping to squeeze
fallen walnuts, like supermarket melons, to see
if they were ripe or rotten. Their neighbors,
the gopher and raccoon and rabbit
were overrun by the squirrels myriad brood.
Some (squirrels) sought refuge in refuse, chewing large
holes in the trash bins. This would feed many a raccoon’s
hungry mouth, but none of them would show thanks.
When the numbers began to spill over from the trees,
the squirrels began occupying the gutters, causing sheets
of ice to cataract, frozen down the sides of the house,
and then when the old man found stuffing from his swing
in the attic, enough had become enough. Something
had to be done. This blatant malfeasance must
be dealt with, and so he would devise a plan, a trap.
The old man stood watching the plump little devils
bounce and leap around his yard, when he saw the bin.
And wriggling the fingers on his upturned paw, a sinister
plan curled onto his face in a dark smile. He went out
to the trash bin and filled it with water, only halfway,
no more. He dropped a lightly pumped, bald
basketball into the bin, and smiled when the first
squirrel drowned in it. Everyday, the old man wriggled
his fingers and smiled his dark smile,
until he found synthetic swing stuffing
in his bed, and realized he had lost.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 1:07 PM UTC
I have been living in these huts lately,
As this life seems aimless and desultory,
Slowly flowing like the splash of drops over the board,
Hallelujah . For me, it's still our God's handwritten story.
Two cents quietly sit in my little pockets ,
And they still fit perfectly in each,
Same as our feelings, as they huddle around our hearts,
Occupying the bijou portions and trying not to leach.
I will hold on till the day, staggering away,
In my tattered clothes, till the color withers and my story stales,
Lingering in the huts, with a hue of nostalgia,
Ailing but not wailing, after a series of massive fails.
Before God finishes writing my story,
I believe he will hand me the pen, its a fact, not a lie,
And with you by my side, I will scribble my glory,
I'll dress you your Gossamer, and myself a Suit and a tie.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 11:08 AM UTC
i threw rocks at time
tried to shatter the face of each clock
that mocked me today, but
i was unable to slow the seconds
that pulled me away from you
feeling childish, i gave up
and time paid no mind to me
as the bus sped away
and i walked home, my mind spinning
with visions of plane tickets and suitcases
and the spaces hidden around this city
that we've been occupying all this time
i saw sunshine smiling down upon rough, empty rocks
and a hill sloping steep toward the water
that we sat by
and i saw the places i have yet to show you
and i am so sorry, but the happier i am
the worse i feel
as the days slip past me
and i am always one step closer
to leaving
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
India was a secular state even before recorded history,
We welcomed all religions even before time,
Jesus is said to have come to Kashmir after Good Friday,
The English were welcomed just for business,
But what they did was occupying the nation,
As if that was not enough in itself they tried partitioning us,
After they endured the second world war,
They did decide to leave India to mind theirs,
But they decided to divide us into two.
One was the Islamic Republic of Pakistan,
Another was named as the Republic of India,
While they just tame corrupt extremism,
We tame irrationally extreme corruption,
We host unrealistic & unimaginable scams,
Sinners of all kind in the world are present here,
But there is some hope from our secular identity,
We are a progressive nation and I am so happy today.
One day will definitely come when India will be reunited.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
Love is not about possession,
I am not yours, you're not mine.
Yet this room once was empty and now we are the two souls occupying this place in this space and time.
We go out and come into each other's presence which has created souls that became intertwined.
We must unravel to remember that we are individuals, with different heart's, different brains and eyes.
All we can do is learn and gain understanding by looking through our windows to understand each other's minds.
Yes we're in love, in a place where no other souls can ever occupy,
for we have built this room with the first words spoken and a touch that sparked the vibe.
Don't ever forget that it can slip through your fingers, no matter how hard the grip, no matter the time;
just don't hold on so tight.
Because I am not yours, you're not mine.
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 2:55 PM UTC
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##### Castle,
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 9:50 AM UTC
i make these decisions without thinking
but then again, don’t we all?
there are some things that must be done
on the whim of a heart
or the quiet suggestion of a sudden realization
that the path to take has been cleared
so did i do the right thing?
i guess i’m just not used to opening my mouth
without thought to precede every syllable
and so decisions like these
take me weeks
and this has taken me days of split-seconds
long steps strung together
to make one big breathless change
and i am not left in the wake
of all this, no, i am
riding along
and i know this for sure, a new feeling
of certainty that i missed
feeling alive, occupying my own body
i missed the lack of control, i really did
and i missed the fear
i have grasped this feeling
and made it mine, while it has taken me
by the hand and pulled me forward
before i could ask a second time:
did i do the right thing?
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
*I'm tired
And since I'm not eating
Then my energy
Is non-existing
I'm barely keeping my eyes open
As I type in the words
For this poem.
I'm trying not to make typos,
But it's hard when you only see
A cloudy version of the keyboard
Since your eyelids are slowly closing.
Outside people are enjoying
The sun
Which for once
Are shining over Denmark
But I'm just sitting inside
The University of Copenhagen
Occupying myself
So that there's no time
For crying
I bought myself a new book
One by Niccolò Machiavelli
I plan to read it
In the holiday
And I'm really looking forward to this
Since through the last four years
People have often recommended me
To read it...
So while Green Day's "Panic Song" is playing
On my headphones
I'll finish my poem
And return to my book
'Cause though I'm tempted
Then I can't keep wasting my time
Writing poems
Just to I keep myself occupied.
Maybe I'll take the book
And go read outside
In the sunshine...*
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 9:05 AM UTC
Our love is just biological and physiological.
It is too many of prefixes.
I need less BIO-logy and more LOGICal.
When our bodies are moving together you bite my neck and I say **** I hate this song”
We are not real.
Five minutes later you’ll be texting with someone else
And I’ll be occupying my new private room – kitchen.
we no longer hear each other, we just listen.
No longer see each other, just watch and look through.
All that remains in common between us is only dishes
and then it was me who bought it.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 9:10 AM UTC