"partnered" poems
The machinesed drones droning ozones
made of homogenised genes by replicants
from clinical doctrines and empirical indulgences
Soulless and efficient, bred for duties destructives
Capitalist fodder, programmed ready for earth's ****
Regulate as required, inputted subs with pigs hearts
Made followers with voracious appetite for blood
mechanised barbarians on leash with one track mix
Human shire horses in designer shods and faulty gauges
Manufactured manufacturers limited and corollated
Factories, dormitories partnered with like, watered
and bedded till tomorrow, audiod to the Sterling whip
Given ample ales, keep blinded and chained
Distract and cater to baser instincts, *** *** ***
Free 'love' free *** valueless values, what values
Enjoy kids must return to work desk seven on the dot
Time is money, clogs and production
waits for no man, do or your pleasures denied
Money, money money, honey for bees, honey for drones
Soulless, dehumanised, pale, aged at thirty, heart attacks next
Vacuous ghost programmed dunces
Malfunctioning entities devoid of humanity
Superficial plasticated robots, destruction default
Industrial pieces with industrial minds
Chemicalized drunks with wired brains
They roam around screaming freedom and power!
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 8:28 PM UTC
As a delicate flower,
you bring beauty to a barren garden
with your wondrous smile.
Despite the harsh winds of Life,
you are firmly planted in God's hands
and stand upright in strength.
Your tenderness will always be evident;
avoid those who would look
to trample you under foot.
Let Jehovah's spiritual principles
blossom fully in your life -
Be a blessing to others
and reflect the brillance of His Light.
Author's Note:
This piece was written for a contest, sponsored on the behalf of Uguandan orphans. Many children have lost their parents to the HIV/AIDS virus, including Violet. This particular event was partnered with showmercy.org to get personalized poems, a blanket and a stuffed animal to each child in need. We are all God's children; please visit showmercy.org and show some love.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 6:57 AM UTC
I grieve for you in the cold quiet of winter
My absent child, my long lost son
Warming my hands over dying flames, frost covered smouldering clinker,
By the wood where icy streams run
Through the shrunken sedge, and barren fields
Stretching for miles, empty of meaning.
The landscape like a worn photograph yields
Your tremulous smile, then nothing.
Here, you ran with startled steps
Through the yielding sheaves, yelling with surprise,
Chasing indifferent spiders, and discomfited birds
With hatred in their pebble pool-dark eyes.
Querying awkwardly spoken words, small
Tenacious fingers that caress and clutch
Every passing object, loudly chuckling, wisely playing me for a fool
A silly father who loved too much.
On the anniversary of your leaving I required solitude
Partnered only by memory
Away from familiar crowds, the booming, barking fusillade
Of the present day commonplace urban itinerary,
Where only the crackle of snow
And the fleeting trajectory of birds
Distracts my slow
Marshalling of comforting thoughts.
The cottage where we lived haunts the shallow glade,
A shrouded ghost swaddled by the half-light,
Positioned squarely like an old man, its cladding beginning to fade,
White branches like dead-fingers that gleam in the night.
In the closet are your dust-sprinkled toys, a yellow plastic duck,
A cheap skateboard, ancient video games,
A guitar you never learnt to pluck
A chess board on which you pulverised my endgames.
In the preserved furnishings of your bedroom
Your school work gathered into stacks
Barely visible in the gloom,
Our life together in disorganised packs
Denoting year and level
Development and academic achievement,
If any, (but I mustn’t once again cavil)
Indicating, even in your earliest years, a specific bent.
Standing on the mantelpiece, propped up against the wall,
Are brightly coloured, polished pictures
Of you. Plump, blonde, agreeably small
Dancing, standing, jumping, grinning, absurdly wistful mixtures.
A bitter echo resonating from the shadows
A cold thought darkening into memory
The spectre of your voice disappearing in the meadows
Having left all of us! Having left me!
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
the hand that rubs my body down
is soft: softly veined &
of a powder-white translucence; transcribed
from dover chalks to run down my
chest, backs of my thighs.
the hand that rubs my body down
curves in sweet musics 'round my soul;
the shrill but beaut'ous rasp of skin
on skin
-- of fingertips tracing strange poetry
along my spine.
the hand that rubs my body down
holds in its palm a sacred oil;
anointing me at midnight hour. muted
bewitchments; burns the candle
down to a nub.
the hand that rubs my body down
calls for christ in attics of sunday
afternoon ... crosses its fingers in
spiteful fits
of piousness.
the hand that rubs my body down
takes the shape of golden scarab;
sets aflame my eyes of beaming azure &
finds in me a willing servant.
the hand that rubs my body down
wakes me at dawn, partnered
with an extension of pinpointed
warmth: the touch of her breath upon my cheek.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 7:41 PM UTC
I
Whether inner or outer, the matter is naught
Many sought after what cannot be bought
Though heart and mind is where it all lies
An impeccable vision beyond your mere eyes.
The signature mark of human kind
Dream and reality all intertwined
Cold as ice, hot as raw fire
Grand aesthetic for all to admire –
Seldom achieved, unable to build
Quenches all thirst, all hungers fulfilled
With all imperfections, itself so flawless
Rules are negated; thus, it remains lawless
Greatest of weapons bound by no defence
For it may be subtle, yet so intense
Partnered with love, a potent ideal
Beauty will call, no need to conceal.
II
Silence lay steadily against the barren walls
Aging wood, icy stone
An empty carcass rotting away
Unable to feel or be felt
Allowing nothing in or out
Though a poison seeps within its walls
Changing it, from what it was once before
Now wearing a mask as if to disguise,
The unseen horrors lurking inside
Goblins and ghouls are the least of your worry
For what lies inside is far more heinous
Beauty’s opposition, readily awaits
No longer a guise hiding the truth -
Reality is met with eager eyes
A stammering figure soundlessly screaming
Hauling chains and a mirror of lies,
Though not evil, a choice in itself
Ugliness within can often be mended.
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 4:44 PM UTC
I used to march past the days,
Now the days march past me.
I used to shape and mold the clay,
Strange,
- How the clay mold’s shaped like me.
There used to be a song about me,
Now I’m the only one who sings it.
Last April’s trap was set for me,
Strange,
- How I’m the one who springs it.
I used to be less lonely then,
But now the world’s too crowded.
I won’t see Sun in the rain again,
Strange,
-Now the summer’s clouded.
I used to dream of things to come,
Of all the words yet to be said.
Now I only dream of what’s been done,
Strange,
- How waking makes sleep dead.
I used to live a happy life,
You can measure it in tears.
If you can still weep you know not strife,
Strange,
- Now my eyes are clear.
I used to fill the air with sound,
All the while saying nothing.
Silence now seems more profound,
Strange,
- I’ve had enough of bluffing.
I used to look at Stars above,
And wonder on their purpose.
A dot of light: not hope or love.
Strange,
- How blessings turn to curses.
I used to live inside a book,
Perhaps too much, I feel.
The book inside me’s been unhooked,
Strange,
- What truth fantasy reveals.
I used to have an open heart,
Poorly partnered with closed mind,
What’s left open soon falls out and apart,
Strange,
- Their position reversed now, I find.
I used to love a fiery girl.
I know that love was true.
Now I chase the past in a broken world.
How Strange,
-To say adieu.
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 4:08 PM UTC
Layman's troubles, you fickle bode,
Who picks apart my breaths incentives,
And hastens my growing old.
Oh why can not you find
But one excuse to leave me,
For if the move was partnered
I'd grin and jump across the sea,
To find a locked up place to hide
Til' you decide to change your mind,
And sure you will,
You have before,
Then came with troubles new;
Searched, and found me hidden beneath the floor.
I hope some day you'll understand
My eyes of darkened shades,
And why they churn a fire burning,
Wishing you would end these days.
Only then will I choose to leap
Across the sea once more.
For a chance to walk on ground not burdened
By my troubles
That burn all open doors.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC
I write this story of grief
On a piece of paper
Or a plastic cup
Whether be it filled with water
Have it crumpled up or torn apart
As long as I have a pen or pencil
A hand and mind to pour it out
I speak the words I'm spoken
And I write the things we were all about
Expressing in past tense
I try to recollect yet forget the past
Of broken edges that kept me safe and sound
From tempting love and growing lust
A hand that won't keep still
Partnered with a body with an aching itch
I trust my mind but it's my heart that speaks
A hand kept still, a hand craving for bliss
I am stuck at a loss for words
A pen in hand, the impatient ink
Teeth gritting for a paragraph of her
Pages kept blank, with a hand unstill
A pen or a pencil, longing for touch
A plastic cup, half empty, half gone
Mouth thirsty, craving for lust
n.j.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 11:31 AM UTC
A hero to no one except myself
Just there to fill up space in a crowded room
Told that the only things I want are fame and wealth
A Ticking Bomb ignited from the start
But neither I nor you know when I'll blow
And all your comfort will be ripped apart
I want everyone, but wanted by none
I'm just an option, never the choice
I'm just a second daughter, when he probably wanted a son
I'm carrying bombs in each of my 20 hands
And expected to blow them all out in a minute
People believe I'm just someone who can count all the sands
When people are partnered up with me
I hear a groan, a sigh, a rejection
But this is not who I am, just who you think me to be
When I look into a mirror, now dusty and haunted
I don't see a ticking bomb like everyone else
Just a girl who wanted to be wanted
Oct 2, 2024
Oct 2, 2024 at 3:52 PM UTC
I am a diminutive black stone
pity is why I happen to be known
laughed upon by others of my kind
to my true beauty they are blind
or am I beautiful at all says my subconscious mind
Shame filled, insult weathered
my soul feels tarnished tethered
If I only had one life, one night one day
What would be sat beside these black stones along the way
dazzling magic, daunting
the other partnered stones gripped by the haunting
The radiance
The grace
its throne
Why is it paired with this simple black stone
Through your complex and masterful shape
these diamonds let my poise escape
As when these basic black stones placed with you
black stones will make their first unshameful debut
Diamonds and black stones together tonight
you will cause a new time to ignite
Thank you diamonds for your time, care and respect
you have made this final page to this chapter…
Perfect.
This was written for the lovely life long friend that accompanied me during Highschool Graduation. Having the best looking date in my entire graduating class is something i will never forget - Thank you Allison
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
*for my friend, the artist,
Ayesha Joy Burkey*
the answer simplest,
is there any other way?
we paint, fashion jewelry,
even human beings,
for and from
wire, stone, DNA,
and paint
our harshest critics,
ourselves,
always we busy saying,
not good enough
so South Dakota,
breathe release,
let one whom,
you have never
in flesh seen,
see you through
the ten plagues,
to a promised
answer~land
long have I searched for my
flawless poem,
knowing it my be
my next one,
each a doorway
to the next
this one,
and the
one before,
never good enough,
keep the essay going,
in fourth gear
so South Dakota,
in hot springs,
salve and be saved,
rapid city breaths exhaled,
in Jerusalem,
see the deal sealed
breathe release,
read out loud,
for hereby,
and nearby,
your voice must join me,
in this semi-silent
collaboration to make
this solo poem
into a
partnered painting
all yours,
your very own
can't you believe,
the mere question
you posing,
within,
the answer,
reposing...
The creation act,
frailties fraught,
what we design,
never good enough
but we paint on,
for the paint,
when eyes embraced,
says
*a piece of my grief
herein encapsulated,
and so on and on,
to the next,
thus it's entirety
lessened,
one step closer
to diminished
you, grief painter
right hand cunning,
me, grief writer,
lest we forget,
through our art,
that even if our
words fail
our tongue, the ears,
to comprehend,
to communicate,
to convey,
but the eyes
they,
cannot be denied,
eyes,
that have gazed upon your
painting prayer
Of course you heal,
tikun (repair) of your world,
in every brush stroke,
you answer,
sufficient,
dayenu,
and then you
Restless Painter,
ask again, and answer,
af p'aam lo maspiq,
never good enough,
and I say it once more:
can't you believe
the mere question
posing,
within, the answer,
reposing...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*"Two small paintings are part of a number
I did as an assignment
when I went to stay with my son.
One of his OCD symptoms
is seen in a difficulty to get through doorways.
When I showed the collection of work
to my teacher she said
"do you realize you are painting open doorways?"
And indeed, the motif was there
whether abstract or realist.
Can one heal a child through paintings?
Or one's grief at being helpless to change things?"*
A.J. Burkey
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
I may have already saddened
-
a sameness in the parrots we care for
-
our suicides
fight
for position
-
we twin the parable
this one: she pushed the baby carriage and in her going made quite
the parabola / the baby bounced but was dead the baby
bobbed
-
habitually I displace:
the ether / a god’s trenchancy
-
the academic scholar of woe whose grave I would visit
uninterrupted
whose stone now is a lonely letter f
who would’ve partnered with me to abandon
my freighted usage
of lonely,
-
of heart, of amateur eulogist
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 11:52 AM UTC
*His Tango seduced
and inflamed her passions
But,
it was his Waltz
that captured
her heart and soul
Alas,
he has grown tired
and no longer hears
the music
Leaving
her un partnered
as she dances alone*
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
your normal is different from mine
sometimes the way I view myself
can be gripping adoration
until I look down the pedestal
I stand on
signaled by sparks in my nerves
fueled with thunder and horror
a burdening obstacle
too frequent to avoid
to look at the side profile of my body
envision disordered fathers
partnered with chronic alcohol issues
to replace something once admirable
but not anymore
bottles slip out of grasp
as they fall asleep
to look at my body when binding
envision exaggerated paint on easels
voluptuous shaped circles
for the blueprint of this body
destined to be crammed
in three layers of compression
to be in my body
envision paranoia
in every action took
cranking the car engine
to function faster
as if there isn't more duties it holds
than to drive
envision having reflexes to defend
a potential not definite touch of a hand in a 10 feet radius
envision being hyper aware of sound
as a barn owl to darkness
processing sounds above and below
saturated senses sabotaging stability
your normal is different from mine
corrupted custody of mind
failure to overcome the lies
manifesting in ways
you can't describe
today and always settling
for comfort that's destructive
too irresistible to let go
to repaint my picture
Sep 10, 2020
Sep 10, 2020 at 1:24 AM UTC
Now as the cold paraded its barren stride
Across the unkept fields
The land glows with a subdued affection
And illuminates perceivable years
Across the expanse walks my dame
Pacing with ease, steps true and light hearted
A flowing ribbon stair igniting sacred memory
Her eyes, my passion shines to vent the unexpected
As well there should be cause for grace
Where for the moments that made us dissipate in a fog of static memory
And dissolve in to the setting sun like ash into dark waters
For no man walks this earth unscathed
And I, as being one of the many, am not partnered with exception.
I will spend the time I have been given
With you memory not on leave
And appraise ever image of your presence
Before they wither, and can no longer be perceived
Your whisper will speak life when I slip away
Only above city lights does she ever walk with me.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC
Light from a prism
These petal’d flo’ers grow
Breath in weighty breaths
Versicolor whispers that quietly follow.
They step alongside you
And spring in veneration
In the alluring prints you left behind,
Like groves from every indentation.
But, it’s the same
Where her footfall goes
--Abreast the creekline
--In grassy seas,
--On the concrete
--In the seconds that pass by me.
I so want,
But one flower
To fill up, reserved for that one fair.
Still, though I grab
For my partnered hand,
Thieves on breezes steal them away
Wilt, as I pluck
Flowers from the footpath
And look ahead
To see no flowers
Wilting nor even dead.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
Told you to leave, our lovely lord of home,
Unable to bask in your audacious pride;
You dimmed my wretched goddess—one who bore weeping life
Religion worthy, as though it was your strained role,
So let’s create a cult; a sculpted path to follow-
And our naïve leader we told you to fly
Your impressionable look at us: wry,
Partnered insanity, commendable.
My lord of home is naïve, lovely, insane,
Seed of tainted bloom; you brought painful life,
And you have sorely attempted love, the still
Blistering heat of cigarette on skin
Yet I asked you to leave without sigh,
My murderous savior of swaying self.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC
The rising sun crushes his soul
and the night devours his dreams
lost in his own obsessions, relief is the only thing he seeks.
misguided love pulls him further in
and each and every day will be his last struggle
that smile that comforts and eases his pains
drives him closer each and every day
alone in his world, he pities all others
secretly desires their simple and seemingly misguided lives
he sees the dark truth in others
their ignorance and happiness in the little unimportant things
surprisingly perceptive, he sees other from an untouchable and safe distance
his self-proclaimed superiority saves him the blatant wanting
his drive is for recognition
and someone to end his twisted course
that has turned his life into a undesired and unremitting ritual
endlessly searching
he finds the one
his demure and unassuming savior
he clings with all thats left
hoping with each breath
but his fate is lined with misfortune
and partnered with disillusioned sentiment
a pair not even she can render
their story ends the same
he goes on in secluded shame
a failure he has realized, destined to be his life’s legacy
a lighted piece in the unvarying end
the once hopefulness which guided him
now dissolved into a resentful dissatisfaction
but, that is life, the way it has been, a fool he was to think she would bring along its end.
Jun 20, 2010
Jun 20, 2010 at 12:18 AM UTC
Abandon.
Such a beautiful thing is a shell,
floating it sings 'tho half-empty,
sculptured for strength in excess
of accents or patterns an ecstasy
with wave-lovers has undressed
its close-partnered togetherness.
Oh shell of beauty, gone forever
your wholeness but in a sea-bed
still white your glisten measures
pace with the breakers in restless
dance of sheer abandon even yet.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 2:13 PM UTC
I call friends
Those who
I have been drunk with,
But not only that -
That'd be too easy.
To be my friend
One has to have seen me
Dressed in womens' clothes,
Or have watched Juno for the first time,
Or have watched Lion King over and over,
Or have seen bright new colors together,
Or crossed an ocean with me,
Or shared during 5 years dreams of a lifetime,
Or dragged me out of a downward spiral,
Or have been invited to my parents' house,
Or new it had no locks (most of the time),
Or have played 16-bit games with me,
Or have me sleeping out of home,
Or traded a party for a school work,
Or fought with a friend to leave to the party,
Or took me for a brother, and still does it,
Or sheltered me when I was desperate,
Or took me in for a job,
Or partnered in an enterprise with me,
Or shared all toys with me,
Or hold me when I was all cracks,
Or adopted street cats with me,
Or have known me for more than 25 years
(and endured me at least 50 days a year),
Or introduced me to movies and music,
Or expanded my horizons with philosophy,
Or criticized my guitar playing,
Or have been a sister to me,
Or have jumped from a moving car,
Or shared a 16-people house with me,
Or have shown me underground culture,
Or have played in a bar with me while 5 years old,
Or have played football (Brazilian-like) at least 30 times,
Or have changed a name for a Pokémon,
Or have lived with me in a hunted house,
Every bit I am
Somehow, I owe it to you.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 11:38 PM UTC
Aut
12/09/21
She dresses
colors for the autumn
her hair naturally so
metallic in ginger
she wants to summon in the season early
ring it to her heel
to match her charge
***
27/09/21
welling purple and grey sky
a steady cold rain
the automatic sprinklers
douse the neighbour's lawn
***
for mid October it's not cold
people dress up out of habit
***
aged couple occupy a park bench
Old Cold White & Doughy
Partnered
Hand in Hand
sloped into each other like children
i never figured out how to make a public bench mine
Nov 9, 2021
Nov 9, 2021 at 1:40 PM UTC
I’ll never forget how you called me beautiful
when I climbed off the back of that quad covered in mud and took my helmet off
to reveal matted hair sticking to random places
on my head. When I woke up next to you
and had those crusty things in the corners of my eyes that partnered with
the gross smell of morning breath that you still kissed me when I had.
I’ll never forget how you called me beautiful
when I walked down the stairs into the living room and you saw me in that dress
you said you’d been imagining me in since you asked me to prom
more than a month ago. When I started to ramble on and on
about something I read or saw online that was completely irrelevant to anything that was said
all day.
I’ll never forget how you called me beautiful
like it was my name
every morning when you kissed me goodbye before leaving for work, every night when we were arguing
over what movie to watch and how many bags of popcorn to make, at random times
like during dinner at that little diner when I had just taken a big bite of pasta or when you surprised me at work
with my hair up and covered in three different kinds of fudge.
You called me beautiful every day until one day it turned into
darling, you’re beautiful, but…
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
I found myself a friend.
He lives in New Jersey and has never met me.
He is 62.
He and I share interests, and he is an administrator of the forum
Where we go to talk about technology and computing and all that jazz
He just said
When young looks and lust
Are the driving factors,
As you age, temperment and having mutual interests
Become more important.
In later years you want a friend
And partner more but good looks don't hurt the equation!
That's kind of where I'm at, I guess. In my later years...
Either you'll catch up or I'll be fine with non-partnered friends
The kind of friends
You realize walk in an out of your life
When you all grow out on your own
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
never did the people forget
about that little light
in the midst of darkness
never did the people forget
about that remaining drop of hope
in the midst of suffocating sufferings
but then, never did the people forget
about the pain, the risks
they may be partnered with, too
hence never did the people try,
never did the people want
and never did the people intend
to fight
it was never pointless to fight
we were never hopeless
never optionless
never in the check mate position
were we?
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 8:44 AM UTC