"painstaking" poems
The eyes of a supernova seeping into mine
So harsh, so hot, but so soft, so loving
Passionate but patient
So much in so few
It’s so warm
Cheeky grins and burning desire taunt me
So painful, so explosive but so comforting, so alluring
Painstaking but playful
Ablaze though we’re scared
It’s extraordinary
There’s no words to match this melodic image
So sweaty, so intense but so quiet, so calm
Dreamy but real
Like a fantasy
It’s blissful
The sensation of fire melting to stardust
Embrace it, taste it, love it, feel it
Crafted and delicate
Two stars colliding
His pulsating heartbeat needs me
My longing kiss needs him
He’s my lover boy
And I’m his
It’s so warm
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 11:50 AM UTC
Corrupt and quiet
Brain damaged
Like a mental hemorrhaging
A ****** heart's craving
Tattooed on your clear skin
Running hands over it
Dusting off your innocence
Dancing on ground that's caving in
Men and women in pain
Broken children going insane
Holding their breaths
Hearts heaving in their chests
Painstaking memories
Sipping tears from souls unclean
Empty verses, lyrics obscene
Children who will never be seen
You've lost your health
Now, what do you have left?
***** just like the rest
Nothing to show, no family crest
Tear jerkers
Hard workers
Acid-bathed men
You simply cannot win
Thoughts under arrest
Burning names off the list
Fighting with a pointless fist
Lost in the lifeless mist
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
*i don't understand how you feast with the wolves
and partake in the festives of painstaking fools
but all the while feeding the devil his food
you'll find there's a plate that's been saved just for you*
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
i want to experience things.
life,
and all of its ins and outs.
its beautiful sorrows and painstaking highs.
i am a girl hungry to see the world.
ready to consume the sights i have yet to see.
to drink in revolutionary ideas with my mind.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC
At spawn of first light
Darkness embarks into the recesses of hibernation
And so begins the blinding incline,
the inevitable blonde coiled wreaths frustration is on the rise
forces a discharge so multiple and emanate,
the skyward black shrinks back
from panoptic reaches,
into a delinquent weakened rumor
When this daily task of ridding the black ends a victor
The climb continues upward in a high sky setting
Consequential over the mornings painstaking labors
Wiping from his brow,
in a waving motion
To release mists over global hydration
By welcoming this morning dew,
the earth is one more day new
and can take great relief in this rebirth
Assuring all parched famine will gain resolve
taking in their absolve
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC
wondrous words,
shades of colorations,
this pain,
artfully slow, steady stalking,
finale staking into
my hardened heart
with tireless twinges
of loss and constant regret,
painstakingly plinking away,
leaving pockmarks of bullets shot
at the concrete ring-fencing,
failing to protect me from just another,
**oh god not again,
have no mo' time**
for jes one mo' time
love's aftermath regret,
bitter acid wash,
that cleanses nothing,
for you are already nothing
when love loss wrenches/rents your
soul's garments with knotholes of
unfashionable distressed
distress
**better not to have loved,
better, better, better,**
than this battering silent hurricane
invisible thunderstorm internally,
than respects no seasonality,
for which the meteorologists
can predict neither its path or its
final cessation
painstakingly,
did I build my walled shelter,
only to fail-fall to the siege machines
of beauty and desire,
and
once conquered,
with fire and heat,
*they burnt me
from the outward edges inward,
and I am not a
Phoenix*
see the stooped slow white walker
more than dead, yet alive enough
existing to be witness to
his own devouring,
his hands wrapped round
the stake in his chest stuck,
painstakingly
protecting it,
lest its removal
be one more undoing of the
painstaking man
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
it's too late to fret
about decisions made
and ties cut, past tense.
it's hard to see it
without the glaring minutiae
of my demise.
I'm scanning the walls
for a change of subject-
Polaroids and butterfly carcasses,
city skyline sketches
and old cigarette advertisements
in gilt gold frames;
satisfy yourself.
my mind is saturated
with degenerate cogitation-
a stew of pantheons
and painstaking nihilism.
my bones are brittle
and begging to break
and my eyes are growing heavy,
with the weight of it all.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
I love the way you stare at me blankly from behind your coffee.
You take slow, painstaking sips...
It suggests exciting ***
I love the way you sensuously lick your lips,
every time you put the cup down.
I love the way you're not flirting with me.
I love that you tell me your **** looks amazing in those leggings.
I know.
I love the way you say my name-
distantly,
boringly,
disinterestedly.
Your mind a million miles away, on another man-
You tell me how nice his **** is.
I smirk and tell you I'm glad that we're friends.
You're a special kind of torture.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC
The rock that once balanced on the mountain
has now tumbled down and blocked the only pass,
the valley remains cut-off, unable to sustain
even prayers could not move the big stubborn mass.
When great minds converge, they carry burden of hopes,
when creativity has to come out of neccessity,
esoteric ideas amalgamate with ladders and ropes.
Sheer force was unable to move the heavy bull
the ram was dropped and chisel was chosen,
it was time to think whether destruction can be beautiful
That which cannot be moved, can be carved to perfection
suited to your need, can bloom with painstaking nurture.
The valley now has become a source of attraction
with a tall structure on pass, called a gateway to the future.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 6:49 AM UTC
Oh, Progress! We found you at the back of
The movie theater, spidered around a boy
And we watched. Progress, couldn’t you
Wait til the previews were over?
At least we could tell he was gentle.
Which reminds me of the story of the father
Who beat his son until the son
Could beat back, and after the son
Killed his father he went cross country
Beating everyone on the way
Beating the mailman, the bar back, the students
He kept on traveling until he knew he was
Unbeatable
And he traveled more and went on beating
When he met his dad in down in Santa Fe
They sat down to drinks and talked
About beatings and beatings
Then they kept traveling West.
Yes, Progress you were a ***** girl
Ignoring whatever went up on the screen.
18 seconds of mutilated armies and a Noble Charmer’s
Ascent to the throne.
17 seconds of painstaking laughter and a fat man.
19 seconds of a young man’s rise to success
His defeats, resilience, his ceaseless winking
And his moral fiscal triumph in the end.
16 seconds of naughty men in suits drinking highballs.
For a movie theater, the chandelier was immense.
Dangling, finely cut glass
Suspended over the audience, crystals tapering
Down to rows of translucent points.
Apr 26, 2011
Apr 26, 2011 at 1:54 AM UTC
You, photo sharing
pop-up rhymester
a one-day glory
for a full-time jester?
is that all you’ve got?
exulting in adulation
of ‘up thumb’ display
painstaking toil
for a chirpy convey
much bother for naught
go away from that evil
a rectangular cage
a duality so curbing
too daunting to assuage
surely, not asking a lot!
banter a bit, out of the cage
break her reckless grind
a cursed double-life
no cage to hide behind!
it wasn’t what she thought!
mother’s day isn’t just a day
it is your lifetime, borrowed
moment by moment
nourished and hallowed
a vicarious life – don’t let it rot!
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC
There comes a time,
When darkness will sadly shroud,
When one must be strong,
Strong enough to see that darkening cloud.
There comes a time,
When a rose will not be found,
When one must be strong,
Strong enough to hear that heartbreaking sound.
There comes a time,
When sadness will overcome cheer,
When one must be strong,
Strong enough to taste that painstaking tear.
There comes a time,
When cities will crumble, spent,
When one must be strong,
Strong enough to smell that enflaming scent.
There comes a time,
When evil will start your death,
When one must be strong,
Strong enough to feel that life-ending breath.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 6:53 AM UTC
Vintage Chanel lives rent free in my mind
the colors are deep, subtle and magical.
Over time, the originally soft textures,
become luscious, like a lover's caressing touch.
In college, you dress down,
you want to blend in, not stand out
gods forbid you flag entitlement
and draw envy's barbed compliments.
The simple styles bear the twin burdens
of camouflage and practicality.
In Paris, fashion can be capricious,
but elegance is a silent conversation,
with its own intricate vocabulary in drape,
line, fabric and in painstaking choice.
In places where fashion matters - Paris, Manhattan, the Hamptons,
it can signal position, the way uniforms signal authority everywhere.
A splash of fashion can not only have a fabulous effect
on how its wearer feels, it can tell important stories.
I’m told that, in back rooms, where fortunes are awarded or lost,
fashion can announce arrival, rank, and intent.
It can whisper new wealth, in upstart display
or a threadbare, silent duel with mounting debt
.
.
Songs for this:
The Way It Is by Bruce Hornsby & The Range
Read Between the Lines by The Bingtones
Aug 5, 2024
Aug 5, 2024 at 2:21 PM UTC
Words are always
Rearranged and rearranged
Scrambling
Manipulating words
Stating with conviction, firm
Purpose esteemed from my own heart
With no promise of anything to be earned
Sometimes my words are just for me
Unless others can similarly see
What I am trying to convey
For you to come with me
And stay
To portray alternate meanings
To explain our feelings
Words just come and go
As long as they make sense,
I suppose
Poems that could make sense to
No one else
Give meaning to myself
I shape the sentences in my own way
The things I can never actually say
Writing the words of my desires
Or just simply writing because I am tired
Sometimes I feel alone,
Just me, here,
One
Or my mind just wants to run,
Away without time to think
And my heart begins to sink
But these poems are a definition
Of me
Words that I have crafted
Within all the letters scattered
Upon the sea
At times I write with no clear direction
Or I choose carefully with painstaking
Selection
It is beyond me
How letters can transform
Into words, so free
Scrambling
I find it like some sort of game
How can I force my words without sounding
Lame
Sometimes I feel so loved
You, me, we
And I write to confess
That with you
I never feel anything less
And I state my fears
That one day I wake up
And you won’t be here
Poetry is my cries
The way I question all the whys
In life I perceive
All it takes is for you to
Believe
In the words that you read
And your soul can be freed
Scrambling
Like the rearrangement of words
Till you find some sort of meaning
Poetry makes life so less
Absurd
With simple rearrangement of
Words
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
Dandelion Flights, so Dandy
He's a Swell kinda fella
If you catch him at a proper Hour
He gets the Rosy Red, ya See
Reviews Legends, some about
Storming the Beaches of Normandy
Gritting Power of this Jaws,
Leans in close for Dramatists Pause
An Aged Mouth, the Black of Life
Spits over into his World of Words
Spirits gathering, the Deadening in Delivering
The Tales of the Long Lost Listeners
I Revel in the Imagery, Mindsight Sees
Battlegrounds Soundtrack
The lapping Tide, the remote Tanks and Warplane Engines, the dusty soldiers yelling out commands,
Words too faint to Understand
but the Sound of Fear, Gutwrenching, Rage, Pits of Painstaking, Heroic Strain
I'd so easily slip back in Time
To relive his Stories of Lucid Dreams
WAKE-UP ISN'T CONTRAST
I Only Will my Eyes open
After a Silence has Befallen
My Lids Jolt Open,
As I survey the Scene, Listening, Feeling for any Sign and Everything The Moment collapsed
In to the Present Presence.
Reaching over the Table
I felt for breath and the Old Man's Essence, I sighed and shook my head Knowingly
This Man who fought all Those Battles and Lived to Tell, Would not leave in It's Retelling,
not from this World nor the Next
No way, Not this One....He was just One of the many Spirits that passed through from Time to Time, and needed
an Ear to hear His Story...
I certainly didn't Mind...
Ethereal Sport is my Truest kinda Scene.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
Marble black bark grow bed sheets of parchment attached by
strings. Spillage of pink arises from the abdomen. Fused clothing fibers substitute layers of bark.........
The vivid aroma of rot and feasting maggots harmonize...............
A cadaver drilled by burrowing insects. Beetles, flies, pismires, and parallels. A carcass crammed with 200 seeds. Bulbous seeds in the nose. Deposited bulbs rooted in brain tissue. Thick specks of white nuzzle into flesh emerge. Squirm out of the cubicles. Insects feasting simultaneously............
A figure emerges from the edge of perception. Routinely gorging the cadavers vital delicacies. Amid spouts of fainting spells.......................
Grabbing lumps of brain matter. Shoveling it towards his gaping hole. Ravenously consuming the bland ashen chunks. Gripping the cranium and sipping the diluted ***
Sliding two slippery marbles into his gullet. Then suddenly publicizing his medals amid his fangs. Deteriorating into slush immediately........
Piercing the stationary ticker with talons. Shortly guzzling the dense scarlet metallic droplets. Promptly the sticky liquid cerise matter slithered into his craw. Hurling the white speckled rims simultaneously in glee. Than consuming the exterior synthetic.........
The corpse is convulsing..wheezing..........chest withering in pain. Man devours his own living corpse, neglecting to swallow his toes. A daily phenomenon……to devour yourself.
What of the toes? Looted by a motivated businessman the next day. “Oh the painstaking horror of humanities hunger,” the motivated businessman then asserted into thin air.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
If the eyes are the window to the soul.
Yours is powerful & captivating.
In your eyes it's like an Egyptian sunset.
Not knowing you I regret.
A unique soul of purity & gold.
Lyrics sung & told.
Your body died before it got old.
Millions of albums you produced & sold.
Music you left thee earth.
Perfected and rehearsed.
An unpublished memoir.
Transcended & soared.
Wish you had stayed to give us more.
"A slave to money then you die".
The sudden end of your life made me cry.
I wish alive in the flesh you had stayed.
Too early sent to your grave.
The way to independence you paved.
I think of you all day.
And dream of you every night.
An end too soon was not right.
Rest in peace.
Your spirit was released.
I hope your soul is alright.
Descended from flight.
A private person but a public figure.
Generous never a gold digger.
Your voice & music was a gift to all.
You stood 5 feet two inches tall.
Your angelic face & in your high heels.
Your performance made us feel.
Happy or sad.
Too bad you couldn't have been my daughter's dad.
You would have been the best husband or father.
I was too naive to be bothered.
Heartbreaking.
Painstaking.
Forsaking.
Unchanging.
What's remaining.
Take care.
I wish I had been there.
You had gorgeous hair.
Soft hands.
A talented band.
Thank you for the entertainment.
It had been a pleasure arrangement.
I have never been to a concert.
Large fanatic crowds going beserk.
Not my scene.
Sorry if I was mean.
I didn't mean some things I said.
An apology I could've wrote for you to have read.
I wish I could've married you to share your bed.
You are truly one of a kind.
Too bad time can't rewind.
Our spirits each other will hope to find.
Your life was thee most precious.
To bring you back the most is what I wish.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 1:09 AM UTC
Despair
Trapped under tons of rock
How did they pass those 17 days,
A brotherhood of men
lost like a child’s shoe in the sand?
Rationing a morsel of food and water
for who knew how long
fate as uncertain as the stale air
and then another seventy days
of darkness and despair.
Freedom
The gradual progress of the drill
and all the careful calculations
before the flimsy cage,
Encapsulated in a tube of rock,
a miracle of engineering,
determination and daring,
birth canal, difficult and painstaking,
a tunnel towards the light of freedom.
Faith
The prayer of a voice
from the depths of the desert,
A scrap of paper
Waved like a banner of life,
A freed miner kneeling,
resisting for a moment
the magnet of family.
to give thanks in faith.
Joy
The raw emotion
ore from the womb of the earth
the intensity of pain and joy
in the faces of the children
as their fathers returned from the tomb;
a world waiting in the glare of hope
a world for once joined in joy.
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 2:00 PM UTC
You have now left an inefficient existence in the dust
To greatly savor a newborn energy
No longer looking at life with a dreary cast
You can see the truth with clarity
A vibrant glow has been gently summoned forth
Brightly illuminating the darkness
Boldly restoring resilient confidence to your waiting soul
Removing dark shadows from your countenance
Go forth and now sow the seeds for your life’s garden
Attentive, with painstaking care
Step back softly and smile with sweet satisfaction
As you, carefully watch them growing there
Continuously bathe your garden in the vibrant glow
Ushering new growth into the light
Then stand quietly still with the proudest adoration
Inhaling the beauty blooming in your sight
Aug 7, 2010
Aug 7, 2010 at 7:14 PM UTC
The road beyond is
Long, and untraveled.
Empty, barren,
And I step forward.
Cold and damp at my bare feet
But determined to find my way,
I continue.
Every step,
Painstaking.
Every time I stumble,
Heartbreaking.
I keep going.
Rocks and rough ground
My feet begin to bleed.
But I must walk this road.
I reach the end and look back.
Avast mountains and lakes,
There lies the beginning of the road at the horizon.
Miles I've come,
And all too soon I could fall,
But I grasp your hand as you pull me
Over this railing,
And save me from falling again.
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 8:06 PM UTC
If he begs you to get back together with him and then breaks your heart,
He's not worth it.
If he tells you he'd sleep with your best friend,
He's not worth it.
If he brings up your past in which he was not involved in,
He's not worth it.
If he maked you want to douse your dreams in gasoline and strike the match against his cheek,
He's not worth it.
If he makes you feel like you are not a priority,
He's not worth it.
If he doesn't cry when you say goodbye for the last time,
He's not worth it.
If he doesn't let you call him late at night because this whole thing is killing you inside,
Then he's not worth it.
If he makes you want to take bottles and bottles of pills just to keep you from thinking about him,
Then he's not worth it.
He's not worth crying over day after day.
He's not worth the untouched food on your plate.
He's not worth those twenty pounds that you lost from lack of hunger.
He's not worth losing sleep over.
He's not worth beating myself up to death.
He's not worth the millions of missed calls you've sent him.
He's not worth the desperation in your voice when you beg him to stay.
He's not worth any of it.
You say you're confused and he doesn't give you closure.
He has all of your things in his house still,
And those things no longer hold value, because he's not worth the pain.
He's not worth the agony.
Talk to yourself in the mall, in the car, in your bed whenever you feel alone.
There are things you never got to say.
But talking to him at this point just makes things worse..
Block his number and all of his social media.
The thought of him ever wanting to come back to you after this will burn holes in your shoes.
He never really appreciated what you had to offer.
And trust me, I know it hurts.
But your friends will never have the right words to say.
Your family won't allow you to drive to his house in the middle of then night when you are broken and hell bent.
Romance, for me, so often ends in painstaking heart ache.
So you need to gather yourself.
Get up.
Brush your teeth.
Take a shower.
Eat a homecooked meal.
Go to work.
Start working out.
And get this boy off of your chest.
Scrub your self in the shower.
One day, you'll realize that this no longer hurts you anymore.
You've done it before.
And you can do it again.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 5:28 AM UTC
Derived from the remnants of sacrificed thought
fragmented reminders of lessons taught
**** the device used to rose tint our sins
and shatter mirrors that sustain fake grins.
With self painted visions, we are pacified
Convinced...
Horrors inflicted have been indemnified.
Tied to past convictions we cannot shed
commitments that exist solely in our head.
Painstaking attempts to make justified
the pain that we've caused that cannot be denied.
Who are the victims of decisions we've made?
If given the chance...
Our suffering for theirs, could we bear to trade?
Whispered snickers hint at retribution
offer redemption but no solution.
Mistakes which drizzled in unspectacular drops
collected in pools and drowned cultivated crops.
Prisms of pain inflicted by selfish choices
Cut deeper...
When we ignored the pleas in our victim's voices.
Pointed fingers say all that needs to be said
our peers may believe us better off dead.
But the harder we try to fix our mistakes
the more ground we lose, that we cannot retake.
With guns to our heads, and a knife in our back
No weapons...
Us against the world, and we're under attack.
Weight of responsibility burdens our souls
sapping our strength and confusing our goals.
Stripped of our artillery, naked and exposed
inside we're screaming but appear composed.
The enemy looms larger with each of our errors
Weakened by defeat...
Realization strikes, We are the true terrors
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 9:54 AM UTC
You once told me, over drinks, that
" 'first sight' isn't a thing."
I think at the time we actually agreed but
I guess we didn't think about
what that would ultimately mean because
now we still have to find an answer.
Then, how long does it take to fall in love?
The length of three movies we will never watch all the way through?
The time it takes to make a clever joke,
drink a few glasses of ****** wine,
or finally wash those **** dishes you are never motivated to do?
Long enough to roll my eyes a thousand times,
listen to a Radiohead album,
or battle three rounds of death rattles and the flu?
How about the amount it takes to share 100 cups of the best coffee,
finish a gallon of milk,
or to deliver the evening news?
Or maybe just the mere moments it took
to memorize your eyes and their exact shade of blue?
To determine the specific time length it takes to fall in love,
would be impossible,
and a definitive answer found, I would probably doubt,
but at the very least,
I can tell you that it is a hell of a lot less than
the painstaking time it is taking to fall back out.
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
Every day, as the clock strikes ten
You march into the office
Swinging your arms back and forth
In a crude imitation of Herr ******
As the eyes of every employee
Focus on your cold, black ones
As if by magic
A deafening silence fills the office
As Hope turns into Despair
Trust turns into Betrayal
Confidence turns into Insecurities
Love turns into Hate
And Peace turns into Pieces
As your ringing voice fills the air
Resulting in a cacophony
Louder than those infernal firecrackers
Everybody's worst nightmare comes true
As you yell at your team
Mocking all their painstaking efforts
Dehumanizing them with casteist remarks
Your voice cuts into their feelings
Like a knife through butter
Leaving wounds so deep
That the scars shine brightly
For the rest of their lives
You are not an employer
You are a cruel, sadistic tyrant
Hiding behind the facade
Of a concerned maternal figure
However, as with all tyrants
The day will eventually arrive
When you are toppled
From your lofty throne
Your business will sink
Just as the Titanic did
You will be in huge debt
Your ill-gotten gains evaporating into thin air
As your erstwhile employees have their last laugh
It is you, who will be left
With wounds so deep
That the scars shine brightly
For the rest of your miserable life
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 10:59 AM UTC
Seems that ‘entertainment-sake’ started off with ease,
But now the pain is greater and it's hard to contain it.
Whatever need be said here's my attempt to say it,
I hope this doesn't leave me jaded,
Even more so than before, so, here’s the statement.
Like a disease, I maintain a deadly anger,
Just to appease the needs of basically strangers.
And when I can't breathe, they blame me for the strangulation,
And heave heaps of painstaking sensations
Upon me. And all I do is remain complacent, so they
Don't see the side of me I'm containing.
For now I'm safe from the day they find me hanging in the basement.
I need to save myself before it's too late to reclaim it.
I just hope these words are enough to make me complacent.
Embracing all evil things that bring me to the brink of insanity,
I’ll compose the fable, as much as I can purvey it.
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 3:44 PM UTC