"paved" poems
I walked among a garden green,
well paved and split by beams
of fence posts new and densely lacquered,
This garden that man has gently shattered.
Far in I found small office blocks,
amid the green were charging docks,
and soon did I sit down and sigh
at tender faces -- eager for wi-fi.
The fauna made for a lovely sight
as joggers came and passed it by,
their music playing on phones strapped tight,
the moment was waste and so I cry,
For what life did lose to technology.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 7:50 PM UTC
Together they were the perfect team.
She was tired of perfection long before she met him. Constantly having to put up a successful front was exhausting, but her barrier of bravado was faltering.
It's hard to find imperfections in an idyllic world.
He didn't want to live in the life of his reputation anymore. The tornado that his life had become was beginning to ruin him and he wanted nothing more to find some quiet.
It's hard to find solace in the storm.
No longer did she want to create masterpieces; she wanted to wreak havoc. She had a taste of the life she wanted, but once you take the first few steps on the path of self-destruction, you cannot turn back. The whisper in the wind becomes seductive. Like a drug, she needed it. She made a U-turn, a complete diversion from the road that had been paved for her. She felt a rush from the change of direction, and fell in love with it. He was her change of direction.
It's hard to find fault in someone that provides the mess you've been searching for.
He wanted nothing more than some peace in his whirlwind of a life; maybe that's why he gravitated towards her. She gave him the comfort that he had desired for years. She made him feel as if the rollercoaster, designed as a downwards spiral, that he has been riding since birth was starting to calm down. She became the sense of calm in his brutal life.
It's impossible to reject something you have been seeking for years.
Together they were unstoppable. She lost herself in his chaos and she took it on herself. She was an angel who lost her way, blinded by desire for imperfection and love for a boy that finally made her feel again. He was a hurricane that found the solace in her that he has wanted for what felt like an eternity. He revelled in the peace she brought to his life and he loved her more than he could articulate.
She found her demon; she became a fallen angel, the devil reincarnate that took the chaos out of his life and put it into hers.
He found his angel; he became a quiet rainfall that gave his tornado to the girl that craved the destruction it created.
Together they were the perfect team.
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 3:42 PM UTC
Such small things: a farm in the north, a plantation in the south.
A small urban home rather than
A mansion on the edge of an enormous field.
Paved roads and rail road tracks inside cities instead of
Gravel paths through paths of trees and cotton fields.
Business men walking by or a rich plantation owner
With two African slaves at his side.
They can cause conflict, major differences.
Political views and moral issues.
How the country should be run?
How the people are to live?
The laws and abilities surrounding slaves?
Is it right to own another human?
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
my tears aren’t forced
they flow in that
dark tunnel that she
dreamed so long ago
she wasn’t ready
to take her first steps
I wasn’t ready to
take mine without her.
Little things bring her back
like empty bowls or the tower
of books she’s never going to read.
People have been calling this a
trauma, but they’ve forgotten the
loneliness of life’s journey. She dreamed
a tunnel and added bright lights
and dusted the floor with powdery snow
she traveled far yet I can
only see the trails of
milk puddling around the lost key that she
dropped under blankets
of memory and phrases of
I-promise and tomorrow. I’m growing up as
she falls down. She wasn’t
perfect but that’s why it
was so easy to love her.
My journey’s ongoing, and the
deep undercurrents of pain and
grief are pulling me through
that tunnel.
I’m rowing softly by,
quietly, quietly,
as she is laid to rest.
her memories swallow the emptiness
she is kneeling at the throne.
I follow slowly and leave my
tears for her to know that life’s
path isn’t paved in water but
with sorrow, with endings, and with lost
boats on turbid seas.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 7:56 AM UTC
~
*I am
Unpoetic, for
Isolation built from self-paved
Solitude has wilted my writing's
Possibility for sweetness
And sugar-faked beauty,
But poetry is crazed
For a taste of
Vast feelings,
So here
I am-*
~
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
awakened by the
offsprings cry,
baby powdered
morning dew
showers the room,
coffee stained smiles
shine about
cheerio blanketed
kitchens,
so worrisome
for office tardiness,
the carseat won't lock
into place,
tire marks on
fresh paved driveways,
to daycare tears dry not
she's on time,
fatigued she plants
her seed to the office seat
to grow even less
awaiting to see the smile
of her child and say
her prayers before
falling asleep
-
awaked by the
offsprings cry,
gun powered
morning dew
showeres the village,
rotted teeth smile
amongst the
body-blanketed township,
so worrisome of finding
a slain mother
sister
brother
just like father,
the gun won't lock
into place,
they never will,
tattered couches
paved with the
***** of
slaughtered buildings,
mother's dead
tears dry not,
fatigued,
hands of
grungy drainpipes
plant beside,
holding stagnant
a somber sibling,
tremors ripple
crimson tides,
planted to
grow even less
awaiting to see
the smile of
his mother
his father
his sister
and say his prayers
with brother
before laying down
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
My way to hell was paved from his heaven,
Life is now a crossroads of shores.
Destiny has changed its destination,
Blown away by the gust of fabrications.
My million sorrows, all rebelling for civility,
Are lost in my mistake.
I can mull now or forever,
Instead I wait for you, unwearyingly.
I walk on sand of memories, patiently;
My patience amazingly placating me,
Source anonymous, I breathe in my patience.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
the electricity runs through our veins
and past the street signs we rumble by
in the car you stole, we go fifty above the speed limit,
the roof of the car is the noir sky above
and the midnight rain pelts our upturned faces
the dancing drops of water drip onto our smiling lips
the sound of the sky collapsing
echoes the flashes that streak the sky,
the flickering light casts paved roads with a brief brightness
(as if god were wearing light up sketchers)
the lacy brallette that wears me
gives me the bravery to stand up in the speeding car
the velvet pants that ripple with the wind
drink up the nighttime rain
and the rare headlights race past us,
heading into homes and hearts
the mellow playlist that connects the aux cord to our ears blasts
so loud, we can no longer hear our insecurity
the mascara that once clung to my eyelashes
now streams down my face.
on a two way street,
we drive down the middle
unafraid in the face of direct dangers
so unaware of the towering empty skyscrapers
and instead highly exhilarated
from the street signs we drive by
too fast to read the blocky lettering
the road signs glint, smiling as we wave and reach towards them
the cigarettes you smoked are thrown through the open window,
still smothering slightly.
i can still taste the smoke on your lips
and your hand tucks my hair behind my ear
and as the wind objects and inhales
unreal in the hazy a.m. car trip
the tunnel rushes towards us,
and we both hold our breaths,
as if breathing would contaminate us.
the lights that glint, cast a yellow-white glow
and for once, i see you for who you are
a boy too buzzed to feel
a kid who only felt "sort of"
a person who couldn't heal
and a lover who could never give love
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 3:34 AM UTC
The path lies right in front of me
clear of obstacles and paved quite nicely
Yet
I hesitate to walk on it, until I absolutely have to
Why?
I avoid the path that if traveled
Leads me, gets me closer to my goals
But still
I stray away from it
Preffering to stay where I am
Where mostly
I just find
exactly what was here yesterday
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
I'm living in my mind,
walking a road I have paved.
Listening to the pounding,
of my heart that can't be saved;
an empty hole I had caved,
long before my journey started,
long before my hope strained.
Waiting for a fleeting step,
wishing for a second thought,
but still emptiness lurks,
where the love had fought,
from how the voices talked.
I'm waiting for a different place,
of what my mind is not.
A saddened memoir,
that spoke forgotten loss.
I'm falling deeper down,
where all the pain was washed,
and the guilt caught.
In a hidden valley of emotion,
of punishing thoughts.
Still I'm walking onward;
following the road.
People told me to hold caution,
for it should not be condoned.
I can't call it my own,
because this road that I am taking,
can never be my home--
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC
We were poets,
Once,
Hearts etched upon our sleeve
The lords of our intent,
Words bloomed for all to see.
Each branch of thought considered,
Chiseled,
Whittled to express.
Carving the forest in our likeness
We paved the landscape with our breath.
Woods would sway in idle days
Sunkissed glades lay bathed in gold.
Nights waylaid by dancing maids
Cheap ale and tales of old.
Fires burn, flames unfold.
Though
Embers remember
Tender clutch of the cold.
We tend to forget the bargained,
The sold.
Up rivers and creeks,
Paddles, disowned by the meek,
Cast away to distant shores.
Glades decay,
Fade to grey.
We become poets once more.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 4:01 AM UTC
In this battle for the freedom of our souls some may think
Maybe I should've let go long ago
From being kings and queens, Chiefs and Pharaohs
To ******* in the cotton fields
To slaves being whipped and forgotten
We were stolen.
Stripped from our homes and looted of our gold.
Fast forward
Now we are doctors, lawyers, professors
But Don't tell me the cotton fields have recovered from our tears
Our sweat seeps deep into the souls of America
So Don't tell me the cotton fields have recovered from our blood.
Fast forward
"All are equal before the law and are entitled without any discrimination to equal protection of the law."
They tell us equality is coming.
That it is here.
Then let you wait holding your breath
Suffocating.
Black boy shot and killed for walking down the street
Black boy whipped and beaten for looking master in the eye
Tell me are you still holding your breath?
Still suffocating
Still waiting for the keys to our chains
Fast forward
Black lives matter
All roads torn down, we've paved new paths
Stripped from our houses so we built homes
Lotted for our gold but we are golden
Black is hard to get rid of, that annoying stain that stays to long
Black is rough and tough
Black is solid in luring ways
But
Black lives won't matter until we love our own people
Black lives won't. matter. to. them. because you've called that girl a *** or Thot"
Black lives won't matter until we stop the black on black blood splatter
For black lives to matter...
We must empower each other
Standing together the ground will break recognizing he whose tears, sweat and blood upon which it was built
So take one look at our past
Because this will be the last
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
Sometimes people come into your life and you know right away that they were meant to be there.
to serve some sort of purpose,
teach you a lesson,
or to help you figure out who you are or who you want to become.
You may never know who these people may be but..
when you lock eyes with them, you know that at that very moment they will affect your life in some profound way.
And sometimes things happen to you that may seem horrible, painful, and unfair at first..
but in reflection you find that without overcoming those obstacles,
you would have never realized your potential, strength, willpower, or heart.
Everything happens for a reason.
Nothing happens by chance or by means of good luck.
Illness, injury, love, lost moments of true greatness, and sheer stupidity all occur to test the limits of your soul.
Without the small tests, whatever they may be, life would be like a smoothly paved, straight flat road to nowhere. It would be safe and comfortable, but dull and utterly pointless.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 10:54 AM UTC
I hug the first,
Enamoured by her beauty.
Such kind eyes...
Peering carelessly back at me.
She reaches out,
To meet my embrace.
*"You'll always be the first,
Who had my heart set in place."*
I say to the second,
*"You are my life.
One day you'd build,
The right castle for a wife."*
*"Remember me always,
For you this path I have paved.
I'd shower upon you,
All the love that I have saved."*
Then finally to the third,
The last of all gifts.
Most adorable of sprites,
Source of my infinite lifts.
*"For you I haven't done much,
Only all that I could afford.
But insert me in your forever...
As the only you ever would've adored..."*
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
imagine an underground network of rapists preying
on tourist & local girls; having an agreement w/
the pimps & cops [same]; the tourist guides
leading the ladies of all types, mostly young,
stupid & white - blonde is better; local girls
hitting puberty, getting dragged into the den
at twelve get a choice, if they live; the dens filled
w/ liquor & drugs; partying a little or just jumping
her, dragging her to the open floor;
she wakes up naked, thankfully not dead, her
purse nearby; she goes to meet her new Desi
bf at the bazaar where he introduces her
to his friends; that night the same thing
happens; it happens for a week then a month,
then she helps the gang get other girls into it;
it goes on all summer, & on into another summer,
the winter filled w/ hot springs & expensive dates
on the paved side of the street; Bollywood stars
in American cars paying her **** who pays her
coyote who pays the cop to get her to Europe on a
tourist visa to work an exclusive Parisian Brothel
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 6:32 AM UTC
400 years America ,
For 400 years America, we've been playing this game of cat and mouse, and for 400 years America, you refuse to give us the keys to the house.
For 400 years America , we've been asking to be free, and for 400 years America , you sat there and you promised me, all the freedom I could ask for , for just a small fee
For 400 years America , we've been paying that small fee in sweat, tears and blood
For over 400 years America, we have witnessed the flood, from the storm clouds that burst in a black mother's eyes. The Storm that rages in her heart as she cries. The Lightening that strikes her heart as she watches her son bleed as he dies.
For over 400 years America , we've had to watch our people bleed , for over 400 years America , you've literally scorched and scathered and destroyed our seed.
For over 400 years America our sons, daughters, fathers , mothers have bled and for over 400 years tear after tear was shed
The flags that represent you, makes you free . But the same flags that represent you, doesn't represent me. The flag that represents words that say"all men are created equal" considered me an animal and there seemed to never be a sequel.
400 years later and still "no refuge can save, the hireling and slave from the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave" I am not blind, don't need a stick or a stave, I am not foolish, I see the road that you have paved America!
For over 400 years, America, My brothers and sisters have fought for your pride
We carried your rifles, we lifted your flag and still you were snide
For over 400 years America, for you battles we've won
400 year later you still point your gun
It's been 400 years America, Gotdammit I am not a slave
I want my rights and you will not tell me how to behave!
You've always had freedom white man, and you don't know how bad I crave! that my kids grow up in freedom and for that I'll be brave to the grave. Even if it kills me, I will not let the color of my skin decide whether or not I win. I will not you let, America, and your adulterous, heinous sin control me and the condition I am in
400 years later America, and you act like you still don't know their names
400 years later America and you still plea ignorance, you don't feel their pains
Emmit Till, Trayvon Martin, Freddie Gray
These are some of the lives from us you took away
400 years later and you still make us pay
and that's not okay....
To you slavery was yesterday and we should shout free at last?
To you the last police shooting was last week, we shouldn't riot, it's in the past, You want us white washed but we can't shake the scars from centuries in a caste
Freedom isn't free, but I still believe, I still believe that someday my eyes will see, all nations, all skin colors under one tree, connected to one vine, to the divine
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
We found each other at the wrong time
From that moment
We knew exactly what we felt-- a fire ignites that we have to utterly resist
You are with her and I, with him
Who knew then?
That we will both have the same feelings that has been kept for so long
Fate paved a way
We were both in pain
We found ourselves lost
Alone..
The things that we planned for the rest of our lives vanished into thin air and became invisible
Then, we found each other..
Again..
We started something special
You took my pain away
You smiled and laughed with me
So innocent and sincere
For the longest time
We both know what we want
At last!
We can be more than what we had
More than friends
This time
We are both ready
But the odds are still against us
How unfortunate this is
We both have too much to fix
These too shall pass, we know
When? We don't know
And when it does?
Will we be together now?
We both know
We don't want to let each other go
We are both holding on
I won't let go
I won't let you go
I believe in possibilities
Know that I will think of you
I will pray and have faith
Everyday
Let's be strong
You made me feel special
What we have is one in a million
I cannot just throw it away
Everything you told me will be safe with me..
You are the one that I want to keep
Forever..
I think you are the best yet
You will always have me..
Come back and find me
You already found me. Twice.
You can always find your way back to me..
- Ella Salvador
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 10:51 PM UTC
Paved thoughts
They lay
In naivity
Youth
Born into homogeny
Told
"Different is beautiful"
But taught
To fall in line
With the swaying ways
Society's norms form
Pin-up billboard smiles
Flash magazine swagger
On surgeon made bodies
Guide retinas of wide eyed
Youth
To mirrors
With disgust
"Different is beautiful"
We'll say
Yielding our whitened smiles
"Different is beautiful"
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
How could I forget that accident,
Which made us feel like we are meant,
We both underestimated each other,
This paved the way for us to walk together,
After that everyday was full of confessions,
Every hug, Every cuddle, Every moment was mixed with passions,
Your smile was what I wanted to see everyday,
For that I always had to find a way,
Those small wounds would make you worry,
And then I would be in your arms for you to carry,
But how could I forget that accident,
Where you forget me and went,
I alone got tortured living those memories,
Remembering every of your chivalry,
It is pain to see you too close but too far,
Like fighting alone a war,
In your eyes I am now a stranger,
In your path and life I've become a hinder,
Now I realize how your love was no less than a poison,
For that how you chose me to be the one,
It is pain that I wear behind this smile,
But you wouldn't stop to look at it for a while,
Now everything has changed including you,
Wish I had never met you.
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 2:04 AM UTC
- It's a skill that one must practice
A tool to wield with grace
It's a path paved for the cunning
Hidden by a pretty face
- You must learn to keep it simple
Don't add threads to growing web Don't pile on more fabrications
But add truth with it instead
- You must learn the ways of patience
Step back and let it build
Whisper words of sweet seduction
Until agenda is fulfilled
- See, ways of manipulation
Are obscure and gently made
Yet once you start you must dance on
In a lifelong masquerade
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
Not many people know
where the old road goes
I’m older now and it seems
there are more and more
paved roads
that lead to nowhere —
most of the time
As a kid, living miles up
a rough potholed,
country road — a hike away
from the edge a small town
out in the sticks,..
you come to know onliness,
blind to a journey alone
I never stepped on
cracks in a town sidewalk —
never learned what
"superstitious" was,
like the other kids
from town
It wasn't the cracks
in the sidewalk
I feared to tread;
steppin' on 'em breaks nothing
already broken —
It was just all so different
than the long walk home
where that old road goes —
grandma always said:
*"follow the creek upstream;
it'll always lead you back
where you belong"*
The washboards
in the steep narrow road
up the hill, were like
muddy stair steps
in the rainy season
Sometimes I followed
on up the creek below
to the upper log bridge
swimmin' hole,..
where I learned to listen
to the sweet melody
of unclouded days;
and for a moment
I thought I belonged
I still haven't
found my way out
of this memory
I’m holding onto —
because life is just
an unstoppable
season, passing by
on its own;
like the way
rainwater
in the swollen
creek bed flows:
And I'm just
another passing September
no one will remember —
most of the time
Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 1:28 PM UTC
I wear the letters NYU sprawled across my chest as my individuality is asphyxiated.
Lungs choke under the weight of the added pressure.
The thought of college plus my complexion,
Equals complexed looks that ponder my intellectually-heightened direction.
Will you think a little bit more of me, with my conformity?
Attempts to better myself meet enough ignorance to even cloud the vision of God.
Segregation and alienation cause mental spasms the strength of lightening rods.
I guess you're just a product of the environment to which you were exposed.
But I'm always trying to fight the stereotype that black people are ultimately foes.
I am the ant and the kids of rich parents are magnifying glasses.
Cremating me with the solar power of son's who were taught that their existence was worth more than mine.
I lay motionless, in bottomless quick sand pits, itching to alleviate my stomach stitch, engulfed by set standards that could not be met.
I am tired of trying to be what you'd like to see.
Astute, respectable, young black man-just so you can approve of me and hopefully think that we are not all "up to no good."
Say it loud,
I'm black
And I'm,
Not going to lie,
The proud part is kinda hard to say.
Because I walk down the street and see my face in the homeless everyday.
I fill the prisons and I'm famous when the news reports crime.
And when I show up early to interviews,
they look confused to see that I,
Don’t run on Colored People's Time.
I don't hate black but I hate the fact that black means that sometimes I have to find alternate routes to success.
While other people's roads are already paved, I suffer from all the stress.
I try my best but I'm always categorized as less, then a man.
And I'm trying to change perceptions but I still feel like a visitor on American land
And the poor are physically trapped so I relate mentally.
We both suffer from the oppression and accept the hatred like it was meant to be.
Society has led you to believe that blacks are not worthy of equality
But take a long, hard look into my eyes and tell me that you don’t see my humanity.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
Being a leader
is not about
guiding people
through a paved path.
It’s about making
new paths together—
on dirt otherwise
plain and untouched.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 9:14 PM UTC
(Pompeii/Florence, 1997)
Vulcan was real, alive as you were,
you and your language, long dead now.
Your town was prosperous, with its paved streets,
bars, bath-houses, brothels,
mosaics, painted walls, graffiti.
Your domestic gods too were real to you;
they had saved you before,
and when the superhuman hammer blows shook
your houses, you repaired them,
decorated in greater splendour,
erected a temple to your protectors.
But Vulcan was not appeased - years are not long
to the lord of earth and fire.
This time he struck swiftly, sending you death
from his mountain, overwhelming you
as you ran. Your garden
gave you no protection,
hot fumes choked you,
hot ash surrounded you,
sealed in your tomb as you died.
The ones who excavated your town
marvelled at its completeness,
and in the ash that filled your garden
they found hollows.
Filling the hollows with plaster,
they found . . . not you,
but echoes of yourselves,
like statues in a museum.
We came to see you, and after that
to the Academy, standing in awe
at David's perfect marble humanity.
But we were troubled by the others,
the uncompleted ones, the Prisoners,
their twisted limbs, hidden faces,
frozen in the act of emerging
from the stone, recalling too painfully
in their unfinished creation
your own agonised poses
as you died.
*"I had seen birth and death,
but had thought they were different."*
.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC