"onlooker" poems
The lotus wades
Shallow water
Even and calm.
Her petals brighten
In the beating sun's rays,
Glowing of tranquility.
The onlooker grows jealous
Venom green with envy
While the lotus rests,
Mockingly green leaves.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
Red haired dame
black roots
dark brown eyes
thin lips
but smiles neat
handles the cell phone
between thin fingers
nails chewed
adding tabs
suggesting networks
that work best
thin tattooed arms
small busted
maybe less expensive
but it's better
she says
Johnny smiles
notes the small stud
in her lower lip
knows her cell phones well
that's for sure
he knows
next to nowt
just to switch
on and off
and send a text or two
and call
now and then
but it's Johnny daughter
who's buying
not he
he's just the onlooker
taking notes
for a poem
just like this
mental note as poets do
to catch the essence
before it takes flight
like some rare moth
into the night.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
I remember that day,
That faithful day.
The day I fell in love with you.
Right under that cherry tree,
The petals falling on our heads,
That day I looked into your eyes.
That faithful day brought about many moments of sorrow.
Some people chose to move on from us,
Like petals floating away with the wispy gusts of wind.
Those who chose to stay
And support us,
They are truly special.
Like rare flowers only found in the Spring.
But even if no one was left,
I would never leave you.
For we are a flower that never dies,
A tree that is never felled,
An unending embrace.
So even if there are no petals left on the sakura trees,
And all the flowers have been plucked,
We will still stay,
Our love unchanged.
Throughout the harsh winter
And the drought of summer,
We will never die.
When tests of strength are sprung upon us by the gods of the Earth,
We will stand firmly,
Implanted in the soft soil.
In the field of battle you are the sword,
Strong and courageous,
And I will be the shield,
Protecting you with the strength of my spirit and at your weakest points,
Even if blood were to rain from the sky,
And the tall, creamy pillars of this world were to crumble and fall to the ground.
Together, we are one with everything on this Earth.
We hail to no one but ourselves,
And we respect ourselves and the land around us just like any flower would.
But what the average onlooker doesn’t know,
Is that we are no ordinary flower.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 2:49 AM UTC
To: The brokenhearted girl
And to the boy who broke your heart,
I honestly hope he's happy,
I hope he's pleased with what he had done.
I hope he's sleeping peacefully, because you aren't.
I hope he shivers in pain, when he thinks of you
I hope his ears get tired of hearing your name
Over, and over and over again
Especially on nights when he's restless.
Especially on nights when he can't sleep
Especially on nights when his eye lids won't shut.
I hope he remembers the taste of your lips
And yearns for it when your lips hits the lips of another man.
I hope his dreams are filled with images of you
Images of you happier than ever,
Images of you finding someone that's better.
I hope when he eats, he remembers how your hand cradled the food
How your lips surrounded it and how your jaws turned almost hypnotically as you savoured the food the same way you did to his tongue.
And I hope when the lips of another are on him, they'll feel like yours
And her touch, will feel like your touch,
And her hair,
Her hair ..
I hope it smells like yours.
And I hope the kisses of another, will feel like lashes compared to yours
And i hope their touch, will feel like burns compared to yours
As if he's receiving a punishment for letting you go
As if he's receiving a punishment for falling in the arms of another.
As if he's receiving a punishment for using the word "love" too much.
And i hope the minute he utters "I love you" , he'll remember the times he told you,
He'll remember each one of them as if it was yesterday,
Remember which ones were lies,
Break down in tears
And comes crawling back to you.
But darling, don't forget to tell him it's too late.
Sincerely,
An onlooker
(h.s)
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 4:34 AM UTC
You are the centerpiece
All the crystal fragments of your perfect self
Refracting light like a thousand diamonds
Dazzling and mesmerizing me into a
Blissful trance
Strong enough to hold yourself up
A beacon in the vastness of the
Dance floor of my life yet
Fine and elaborate in design
You reflect stars into my eyes
Even though you aren't a galaxy
I'm ensnared in the cosmos
Of your radiance
Far above me is
Where you reside and I
Am but an onlooker like the rest
Continually startled by your brilliance
When all of the guests leave
My hall and take but a memories
I will remain spinning in
Circles alone
Unable to see anything but
The most marvelous part of it all
You
My chandelier
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
Murky water,
Depthless mud,
Drown by chains,
Bound by blood.
Onlooker, the key,
History, the judge,
Neglect, the decision.
Doomed to the sludge.
Filament of algae,
A shaky explanation.
The onlooker runs,
Blood left to damnation.
Onlooker lives,
Lacking of blood.
Drinking away his memories,
Of the murky water, and depthless mud.
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
....the fence
a mere edge
between souls
sealed with words to connect
...the fence
where boundaries cease
and hearts melt
an ore to precious to be molded
...the fence
not a side to be chosen
over the face we sit and stare
into the twilight and through the dark
until the golden morn
letting it cleanse
the crass of our thoughts!
...the fence
a giver of a perspective
granting the onlooker
a perched dimension
and yet calm enough
not just for your tears
be strong even through the ringing laughter
its neutral stance
never just defined the end!
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 4:21 AM UTC
Quite admirable , awe-inspiring , a divine piece of manufacture
It’s capriciousness is an equivalent of swooning of rapture
This carpet conveys itself as flawless , the fragrance is pleasant
The glossy finish generates a yearning to have it present
The blissful texture is mesmerizing , subject to perfect knitting
Not to mention it’s size is perfectly fitting
~
Though the alternative side seems worn and tattered
And the fabric surrounding is scattered
There are pockets and splits
There are strewed fiber bits
Along the edges are multicolored spots
And the yarn had formed knots
~
At that point the onlooker would become flustered helplessly
Were they to take it into their tenancy ?
Sure it was depleted
And maybe it was slightly untreated
Though it was equally handsome
Despite it’s opposing filthy expansion
~
Then the beholder would ponder a tad
And realize the flaws weren't so bad
They were to be contemplated abnormally
Though as well stood out morbidly
The allotment seemed now suitable
And each side was mutable
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
Today
received a mail
from asylum ,
send a check list
about
Who is allowed to
Visit the place!
These are
Doer for betterment of everyone,
Crusader of humanity
Harbinger of nature
Achiever of truth
Onlooker and caretaker
of concord.......
I couldn't able to positioned myself with any one
So, decide to stay on this planet only!
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
i swallowed my fear,
ignored my sadness,
laughed off my self loathing,
and danced on the edges of my instability.
now I'm sick to my stomach
with a growing tremble that demands
I pay attention.
my jokes have gotten old
and i can no longer pretend
i don't have two left feet.
i've been traversing this landscape
with my eyes closed,
and so far my steps have been lucky.
so lucky, to any onlooker
it might seem I can see just fine.
finally the reality of the situation
has found its way to my heart
and my hands.
i'm wandering alone,
bare to elements
and completely blind.
the late onset of my panic
could be a product of shock.
i've been running around like a chicken with its head cut off
for the past three months.
for three months i've been
burying any negative feeling
or thought
deep inside this decaptitated body of mine.
but holy hell,
i'm bleeding out
and the shock has worn off.
my eyes are open to vastness
that is unfolding in front of me,
and i'm still just as lost.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
The ship(notified) lost
leisurely drifts over waves
westwards, "Unhurried hereafter"
is the slogan written on it's mast
it would seem to an onlooker.
A net is cast wide,
to catch as much fish
as the tired crew now needs.
Each furious wave
that rushes towards the ship
changes tack, proclaims
a frothy message of peace.
No more communication exchanges
causing disturbances, no hurry any more.
None waits for the lost ship,
in any distant shore, with a binocular,
or spanning a Radar, uneasily .
The crew had already forgotten
every mission undertaken before.
It has no schedule, deadlines, plan
the ship feels more buyout than ever before
,just floats along, as if it's a tranquil thought,
towards the direction where
the purple sun prepares to set dramatically.
Accompanied by two astonished whales,
sailing along like two mates, the ship,
now a lone wolf,with a hidden yearning
has become more alive, once declared lost.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 1:36 PM UTC
The mirror on the wall
Its cold, glassy stare
Like an intentional glare
At Life captured as a reflection
Observing an image frozen
In our mind , the boundaries
Confined within us defining
Formation of a self-image
Instant Imprints of our conscience
That's searching through the depths
Of one's soul for the affirmations
Needed to sustain an ego
Standing tall over the mantle
Outlining the walls of a room
With hues from a color spectrum
Reflecting light onto the face
Of an onlooker whose eyes gaze
Into this mirror that's on the wall
© 2004 - Pres Hello-Poetry.com - All Rights Reserved
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 9:26 AM UTC
I can feel you slipping away from me;
imagine what it’ll be like without you again,
because it’ll be different than not knowing you at all.
As I sit on my bed and write
I can feel the empty place next to me
where you should be playing with your iPod
and cracking jokes,
singing and rolling over on your back with laughter
after we sang a funny lyric.
I’m imagining lying here with you,
discussing and smiling and giggling over
my first kiss, and yours,
but somehow the memory
leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
I’m reliving you and him
and I, the one on the sidelines,
the one spectating while the game is being played.
And I’m not even keeping score, not even waving a flag.
I’m the invisible onlooker, the one who doesn’t want to be there;
the high school student stuck
at a basketball game because they don’t have a ride home.
And no, it doesn’t matter what you tell me,
how much you say that you don’t mean
to leave me out or keep me at bay,
here you are, doing it again and again and again.
And it doesn’t matter how much you apologize,
because I’m starting to get the feeling of being replaced.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC
I have braved storms,
I've been stepped on,
I stood next to prettier flowers,
I discovered my powers,
Yet I'm still blooming;
I'm still standing.
I will not pull out my own petals
Just to satisfy an onlooker.
My loved ones, the bees;
They looked over me.
Made sure I have sunshine
and water until I'm fine.
Pulled out my weeds
and gave me all my needs.
You see, I'm the strongest flower;
And I'm still blooming.
-m.b
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 11:06 AM UTC
she grew up with a beach of sand next to lake
i grew up near a beach with jellyfish & sweet salt air; home.
so one day i will take her to where their eyes remind me of
a honeyed landscape of granual sediment,
millions and millions of years of erosion,
just to look soft & warm to the onlooker
the tide pulling in and out. the seagulls flying above, cawing, while a cool, sunny day shines upon the sparkling waters frothing with movement.
her voice is my ocean breeze.
May 11, 2024
May 11, 2024 at 5:01 AM UTC
ghosts I have known
lecherous dream beings
who curtsy with disdain
folly for their nourishment
a requiem to their ***
whispers of pluralism
seeking audience second advent
astrally disembodied onlooker
we shared some wine
flinched at entanglement
she asked me to stay and I did
we bumbled and the night lammed
forks in time birth specters
spooky children dally unquenched
suffering fools with great ease
because childhood is make-believe.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:44 AM UTC
The man stood on a box
In the middle of the park,
When people walked by
The old boy would bark
“It’s in the Bible,” he cried.
And some people would ask
What is in the Bible, sir?”
Prepared to take him to task.
“Everything’s in there, friend!”
He answered with a smile
Feeling the people there
Would stay and listen a while.
“Well, that’s an easy answer!”
One of the onlookers said.
“You have left nothing out!”
The orator nodded his head.
“The Bible has answers for you
To any question you can say.
It will be your salvation, sir
No waiting until Judgment Day.
It tells you what to eat and then
Tells you how to choose a wife.
It tells you how to go to heaven
When you reach the end of life.”
The questioner replied, “Yes, sir,
And it tells of women made of salt,
And a fellow who walked on water
Another brought the sun to a halt.
It tells of a boat quite big enough
To have two each of every animal.
And people floating up to the sky.
Don’t you find these things incredible?”
“Not all,” the soapbox man said,
“God can do any holy thing at all.
He has made the planets, the sky,
The heavens and the waterfalls.
God knows everything and he is
Who speaks to you in your heart.”
The onlooker shook his head, said
“So, when does that stuff start?”
“What stuff, sir?” the orator asked.
“The part where God speaks to me.
I haven’t heard a word from God
And I have been listening, you see.
That would be a truly wondrous thing
For this God person to finally do.
But, if God speaks to all of us
Why the hell do we need you?
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
lend me your ears
and i will tell you a story
there are truly monstrous
little creatures
running about
**WITH TOO MANY ********* LEGS**
one night
one of these monsters
revealed itself
to the terror
of its human onlooker
let me explain terror
in this instance
it is a feeling that may or may not
cause one
to literally tear one's clothes off
put on uninfested clothes
and flee the premises
and i mean flee
now i'm not saying
i know someone who would do this
but i heard this story
of a woman
that, in a state of such terror
in a state of such
severe heebie jeebies
tore around town
and screamed "too many legs!"
out her rolled down windows
when this medicine did not
cure said
heebie jeebies
there was truly a sight and sound
to behold
now i'm not gonna lie
it was me, ok?
don't judge
because of this next part
i am very proud
i just sang
my ever loving
heart out
to a 10 mile radius
and i mean i
*sang that ****
anyone who hadn't heard
"gorilla" by bruno mars
has now heard it.
and the energy i released
was profound
because i hit that note
*************
*I bet you never ever felt so good, so good
I got your body trembling like it should, it should
You'll never be the same baby once I'm done with you*
You [3x]
the "you" is the crucial part
and i'm telling you
i just sang the **** out of that song
until i got dizzy
and my fists hurt from pounding the
steering wheel
it gave me enough courage
to re-enter the premises
pop a bottle
grab my laptop
(while doing a little dance of terror)
and jump on the couch
the only problem
is that if you
sing the **** out of "gorilla"
literally 25x
too many legs
becomes the least of your
problems
you realize
quite absurdly
how at the present moment
you are not
making love like gorillas
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
Every morning I see the sun rise.
Opulent, magnificent,
Color splashing on the renewed Earth,
Opalescent wonder reminding onlookers
That color is only a feast for the eyes.
Mountains of clouds break against the ocean ceiling,
Asking the onlookers to dive deeper into the
Depths of the endless, glorious sky.
A master painter could not compare in excellence
Opposed to this ephemeral masterpiece.
Such detail in grandeur,
Holy awesomeness in finesse,
No mark absently fashioned
No stroke of paint unadorned.
Yet beneath this wonder
My heart longs for a sunset with no sunrise.
Let me play my part in the morning’s scene
Rather than sit as the passive onlooker
Never to create such beauty.
Jul 18, 2012
Jul 18, 2012 at 7:53 PM UTC
He took issue with the small gestures in life. The birthday message from a friend not seen in a decade, the idol chit chat that filled the cafe's, cinema's and other such places, proclaiming them fraudulent unthinking habit, a motion with no true sentiment and in return the followers of such social constructs took issue with him - or worse, pitied him.
He despised most human interaction because of this. Often being told that he 'rubbed people up the wrong way' or was 'too antagonistic' He just saw this as another excuse to expel him from the group (whatever that group was) All because he didn't partake in the usual social etiquette and fakery of the masses- this view only led to him being mocked further and neatly labelled as a stroppy, teenage rebel. His thoughts and voice cut down with replies of "Aaah stop feeling sorry for yourself!" "Stop going on about it!" " You're soo negative!" Because in all honesty nobody wants to be around a down in the dumps, killjoy, party pooper right?
He could find no solace in the little things nor understanding in the greater questions of life, so he drifted along. Bitter onlooker to a species so separate from his own. Desperate to somehow integrate into their ranks but convincing himself that such thoughts were mere acts of desperation.
And he was a desperate young man, desperate and despairing at his separation from the world and all others in it. Yet admittance to such feeling would rarely depart his form. No, he would mock and ogle at them from afar.
He would rather be Outcast than Cast Out.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
Can someone tell me
What it is
to live?
Dying seems easy,
An every-day event
And like weddings,
or birth,
adorned with flowers,
gifts like love, respect,
and memories,
so many silver spoonfuls
of memories.
Now I have seen it
so many times,
the old,
the young,
the kin,
the stranger...
In war
And peace,
In feast
And famine.
With duty,
with a duty of care,
an onlooker
full of compassion...
every-way
imaginable.
In places undreamed,
In inevitable areas...
In the family pews
On rainy dismal days,
And on the faraway ghats
Before a hot afternoon;
each experience
leaving a feeling
that one shouldn't be there.
Now everyone has packed
and shuffled,
And I have wrung my hands
for the last time,
I tell myself
unconvinced.
Now that everyone
has left me
In this landscape,
I look around
And recognise
nothing.
Age does not matter,
each one
an orphan,
each telling themselves
that it is for the last time...
Lead me away
from that funereal path
where they all are
and are not,
simultaneously;
something else
awaits me, down this byway,
across a different track,
In a different part of the mountain.
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 2:47 AM UTC
Tragedy is spectator sport.
No extra fee is needed.
The equipment never changes.
And there always seems to be matches to linger around.
Screams and taunts can be heard from the sidelines.
Almost always is the advice.
Wrong.
Yet no move is made to rid them.
Blood stains the bout in rhythmic circles.
Etched in over time.
For the paces rarely alter.
Blows are exchanged recklessly.
And the crowds lust for suffering elevates.
Slowly as the two cease in a stalemate of self loathing.
The mob moves on to the next victims to sate the everlasting hunger.
A hopeless unanimous decions.
Humanity.
Zero.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 9:45 AM UTC
her mind
wove assorted ornaments
of vivid hues
each stitch
an alternate reality
a story she wished she knew
her view,
a distant spectacle--
a casual onlooker
upon the lovely scene
emotions spin
making its own ball of yarn
a tight knot forms
she is
her own
great nightmare
distorted reflections
grimace in horror
her own doing
a black sea
bubbles and gurgles
liquifying sensual sins
beauty hides
the facade
of her own madness
(b.d.s.)
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 12:19 PM UTC
a dance, a waltz
captivatingly intense
like a dice being thrown
and the adrenaline of expense
what's more enthralling
to the onlooker's eye
than the blood red streamers
shooting up to the sky?
and what's on the mind
of a mad, callused arsonist's
other than the pleasure
of an embrace of a goddess?
my friend, its the chaos
and the rush of the game
its the sting of her arms
wrapping round once again
Mar 9, 2021
Mar 9, 2021 at 10:00 PM UTC
Believe it or not,
there are men who shriek like
banshees at the deathbed of a sickly dog,
and women that remain impenetrable
like the broadsides of an iron ship
at the prospect of loss. Not all
executives wear the silk tie
of haughtiness, but bump shoulders
with the rounded backs of street beggars.
And just as the moon waxes and wanes, organizing
the stars into a symphony of light, so too
do the clouds occasionally close the curtains
on the whole performance.
I am a poet but I do not cry.
I am a man but I do not push nor pull,
throwing around wantonly the weight of the cosmos.
I like to think that each of my billions upon billions
of atoms move as gracefully as swans
under their own microscopes,
forcing each and every onlooker to stare
and pick at their own skin
in a search for uniqueness.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC