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Lc Jul 2011
Aren’t all women moody
Or
At least we would like for you, men. to think we are, right?

I will be the first to admit it
I belong to that exclusive“Moody Club”

I’ll even elaborate
To help you men

My mood seems to change with the multi stages of the moon

The Full Moon:
I am a little off balance
Yet, I am full of life
During this phase,
I wouldn’t dare me if you are easily embarrassed

The Crescent Moon:
I cannot make up my mind.
I am half myself
I am half someone else, as well
You never know which one of me you are going to get
I may change on any given day
No one can be prepared for this type of stream
Not even me

The New Moon:
All goes dark in my life
I may even want to pick a fight
I might stomp my feet and pout
Yet, this is usually the time
I truly to find my light
And find I truly love myself

Then just like an endless wave
The cycle begins once again

7-23-2011 (Saturday 1:30pm) Lc
Midnight Rain May 2017
the moon is
always whole

she just shows
herself in phases

because there is
beauty in
being broken

and becoming whole
again
I was debating on how to end it. I still don't know if I should leave that last part as is or change it to "and becoming whole again"
lovely Oct 2014
You loved me like the phases of moons, all at once, then slowly, you would fall back into your phases, your love for me slowly getting smaller. Some days, I would break. I would cry, and scream at you, and you would build back up, to loving me fully, like a full moon illuminates the dark, night sky. I gave my all loving you, thinking one day, the moon will stay it's large, full size, brightening the sky, but slowly realized that the world is cruel, and that you never actually ever loved me.
I wrote this a while ago after learning that not everyone who say they love you, mean it.
Ooolywoo Oct 2016
I LOVE MYSELF
With all my flaws
In my Beautifulness,
In my mistakes,
In my weakness,
In my darkness.
I love myself, because I am worth it.
I am a high power person who can move mountains with my love, thoughts and dreams
I am good, kind, funny, full of life and love, contagious with my explosive energy
Some things may be equally essential but nothing is more important than loving oneself
And at this moment the love I have for myself goes above and beyond.
It could reach the end of the universe if I just unwrap it
I love me in my inane, craziest, sanest, beautiful twisted, darkest and funniest way
I love me in a way that no one does
I love me in my fullest woes
I am everything that I can and will be
I am frightfully proud of my flaws and proudly wearing them as no one is perfect
This is the start of a new journey to me
The journey of love and self acceptance
The journey to fully embrace and value my own self
I allow myself to fall in my stupidest and biggest way, just to get back up and catch my breath again
Failure will not stop me but make me stronger
I am fully seeing me and smiling at my imperfected and distorted reflection
Hugging myself so tightly, refusing to let go
The more I am spending time with me,
The more and more my love grows
Is it bad for my health ? I do not think so.
It’s true, I am better, happier, more free, powerful, at peace
The sun is shining on me
I don’t need no help to be beautiful, ‘cause I’ve got me
I’ve got that uncontainable light from within me
I am smoldering a treasure, sharing laughter, joy and sadness with myself
I have learnt the phases of myself
So distant from that little insecure girl I used to know
As I allow her opinions to matter
I have accepted her difference
Her different kind of beauty, I have learned to love
This feeling of wholeness, self acceptance, comfort and love, is liberating
I wrap myself around my contorted and beautiful else to form a ME
As I am, Raw and Real
Alexander Klein Oct 2013
I

In eras weird with old mythology,
As if asleep the fabled country lay:
Her wave-like hills and faerie forests dense,
Her thorny brambles budding curling claws,
And ivy circling all the woodsey way --
The far swan's cry came soft and woke them not.
Forlorn, that selfsame call upon the gates
Did break; those gates of Britain's long-lost keep.
She too slept fast, the weary weathered stones
Of fairest Caerleon. O pulsing stream,
Thou vein of life in woods a-slumber, Usk!
Alone are you in knowing castle's face,
From years of timeless burbling at her feet.
What tales are told by water over stone?
What lark or wren can sing of sadness come?
Aye, answers are the beach-wet sand, yet hark!
Rejoicings spilled, proud hails, from Caerleon:
They cheered the ****-frost's melting with the Spring;
The holy Gwyl Fair y Canhwyllau
Had come at last, in foliage of dawn.

Within, their goblets sailed, wassailed, and crashed
Like growling Jove, their boasts and toasts like wine --
They drank it spiced and over-strong. Indeed,
Some stretched exaggerations: 'twas Sir Bors,
That spotless sheet, who tried to contradict.
He quoted purifying texts and spurned
The wine that nature raised and crafted sweet.
Yet "Loosen up!" uproared the host to him.
"The time has come to celebrate," said Kay,
Beloved knight, step-brother to the King,
"Aloft thy wine, below thy gills! Drink! Laugh!
Your stomach is a falsehood-spewing fool,
It must be drowned for you to feel a lord.
I speak a sooth, you need wine's fleeting bliss!
Know thee that man's tomorrows bleed him dry:
A wade through death and depths as sure as pain
That shall tomorrow light your brow. Laugh! Drink!"
Bold cheering spread with Kay's advice, though yet
To no surprise Bors turned aside the drink,
Unblemished bore, so celebrates alone.
Weep not for him, for soon he'll find a cup
More suited to his strange of chaste and grace.
And none to waste: his share was drunk by all.

Engaged in feast Owain ap Urien,
Engaged in tale now Bedwyr and Kay,
And Lancelot made eyes at Gwenevere.
It was a feast of great success and joy
As fitting of the season's robust gleam,
Yet two there were with shallow-rooted smiles.
Prince Mordred one, though ever-somber he:
Accursed spawn with bone in place of heart
And dreaded incantations for his blood;
His brooding perched like crow on him. Alas:
The other joy-bled man had beard aflame,
A bear-skin drape, and crystal eyes, the Lord
He was of Caerleon and Mordred both.
'Twas not the gleam in lover's gaze that vexed
Though it was seen; he had no heart in him
To chain his Queen as if in dungeon steel,
For Arthur lived believing to be fair
Was paramount, to even paramour.
It wreaked its toll, yet caused small grief this day.
Not even serpent son gave cause to mourn
That greater was than missing nephew's spot
Among the feast. His chair was naked bare
Returned though he should be from faerie quest.
At Calan Gaeaf they expected him
When winter storms had racked their shoddy hall,
Yet since, the months had rolled to Gwyl Fair
The milder season come, but not his kin.
The image of his maiméd corpse did taunt
And haunt the agéd mind of Arthur, King,
His phantom nephew slain anon by knight
That of no flesh was made. In year that died
This green-mailed knight arrived a guest and called
Infernal challenge. Trick it seemed to them
And trick it was, for subsequent the blow,
This seaweed knight did lift his severed head
And from dead lips he cried "Well struck! Now come,
Fulfill me of my game. The year to come
Shall see thee in my home, and as agreed
My turn 'twil be to answer with my axe."

So rapt in recollecting, Arthur missed
The growing clamor that beset his hall.
His ******* cleared the grief from him with taunt,
To bring him into grief. "What say thee, Dad,"
Dripped venom from his mouth, "No love for us?
Your hail we called, but disapprove your eyes.
Methinks that far away thou seest a dream
That visits oft the elderly: a place
Thou knewst when in thy prime, with love
Now filled to burst. Yet fear us not, away!
To land of youth far more beloved than we
Whose happiness with thine own heart is twined."
"My fellow, soft!" the King began, distressed,
Yet Lancelot rose to his feet and spake
"Blackguard is he who mocks our Lord to face!
Thou palest hide, thou Mordred, sit thee down!
This sniveling craven knight should be replaced."
A sounding of the table met his speech,
Again was hailed his toast, and Arthur glad,
Though burdened to his breaking point, and sad.

"Blackguard is he who mocks our Lord to face,"
Had spake his bravest champion and friend
With no regard to Blackguard wrapped in stealth.
See how his roughspun fingers coil in hers
And how some sweetened whisper 'scapes her lips?
The beams of color-stainéd light slip down
To play upon their blissful sin almost
As if King Arthur's King approved on high.
Sovereignty is ruthless, Arthur thought,
Well-wishings of my God grow ever-faint.
I must believe in good though I am ill,
Just as I find my countrymen displeased
Though I did calculate my every breath
To see that it did stand with God's own will
To help my common people from their murk.
I fear I am not what I wished to be,
And now my only solace peaceful death.
If up to me, I'd wish it in my bed.

What horn's blare? Hark! King Arthur roused from thought.
Court gatekeeper Glewlwyd Gafaelfawr,
Dressed plain in brown, took down the horn from lips
And loud as elk called to the hall "Have cheer!
Sirs, drink another beer and wreath your brow
With springtime blooms, for lost knight fair is found!"
Old Arthur trusted not his feeble ears,
But came a hush and Lancelot confirmed:
"What **," he boomed, "our brother has returned!
'Tis grey Gawaine, aye, Gwalchmai! Drink his hail!"
The uproar was enourmous: "Gwalchmai! Cheers!"
Was like to wake the sleeping wilderness
That hung suspended in the myth and mist.

II

Astonishment had come like breaking wave
Upon the thirsty sands of monarch's face
So long consigned to reap the low-tide's grief.
When Arthur's ursine hand clenched round his cup
And hailed his nephew's presence with a roar
Long lost to hibernation's hoary spell,
The hearts that beat in armor under him
Did swell to find their lord with cheer at last;
The toast they drank so hearty as to give
Sweet Dionysus pause against excess.
Though only two there were who did not drink,
And one of these were Bors, a sadness fell
Once more as tangible as any wrong
That chose to haunt a hall. 'Twas Gwalchmai grey,
The conqueror now home from quest to rest
Who would not lift his eyes to meet the King's.

"Has cheer so fled from you? Your life remains!
What black has inked you in?" the King did ask,
And silence overtook the hall to hear.
How strongly then did Gwalchmai wish to leave,
To blend once more his form to root or branch
Or soaring river. Wind, the songbird's muse,
Had been his fast companion on the road,
For known to him were many things. He was,
They say, some god that stalked the minds of man
In young enchanted places of the world
Though all his magic helped him not at court:
His shyness was a leaf obscured by rain.
Yet even gods of silence know to speak
When words of pain encircle heavy hearts.
He let them fly, birds in the sky, he said
"I failed. My quest was long and arduous,
The seasons changed while I in heather lost,
The moon its phases shed as fen-frogs called,
I floated through the endless cloying mist
That flows, a ghostly sea wrapped round our isle.
The path had nearly drowned me when I found
The chapel green enough to spell my doom.
When entered I, methought "It cannot be!"
So kind and courteous a host met me
That would have been disgrace to call him green.
He feasted me, and warmed my wounded bones,
Yet I betrayed him in the end; I failed.
I stayed his guest, and friend, and swore to him
That for his hospitality I'd share
Each thing I won while underneath his roof.
And all was well -- I'd rest, he'd hunt -- until
His wife played hearts with me. I did refuse,
But by her final trick was tempted and --
So lost all knightly honor and renoun.
Her lusts I spurned three times, but on the third
She offered me that which my heart desired,
Instead of love she begged me take her boon:
A silken girdle sewn with charms, and green,
Deceit I should have seen. She said the spells
Would keep me safe from harm and spare my life...
When on my rugged journey all I'd feared
Was twisting face of death that loomed so near.
I could not help myself, it seemed so tame,
Yet when the time had come I could not share
That gift, or else expose the husband's wife.
Beneath my armor tied when left that place,
My secret wore me down upon the bog.
It seemed the mist grew thicker, wind grew swift,
I now know under spell was I, but then
It seemed some vengence coming to a head.
My tale grows long, and past the point am I.
The Green Knight and my host were one in fraud:
An airy insect's dream. His "wife," a witch,
Had formed him out of acrid moorland soil:
Homunculus to carry out her scheme.
The blow he owed me carried little force,
Though still this scratch is plain upon my nape.
And so you see my folly plain as oak:
For though I kept the life I feared to lose
My lie grows in me like a cancer bloom
That in the span of time shall **** me sure.
I failed; I'm gone; to revelry return."
The silence, vast again, gripped all the knights
And king too dry to cry, who drowned his heart.

III

"Is there some madness come to roost herein?
Thy folly is ridiculous," said Kay.
"I valued mine own life past honor's flame,
A sin of selfishness, and blame, and wrong.
What of the world, if all would act as such?"
A weeping noise he made, but choked it back
And turned to leave in shame, and might have done
Had not the stout Sir Kay gripped Gwalchmai's arm.
He raised it in the air and shouted thus:
"Percieve our stunning champion stands nigh!
Though of a frail ennobled heart, we know
Thou art absolved. This trinket given free
To aid in quest I wager was for thee.
And as for sacred broken vows, this man --
You said yourself -- was conjured from a bug.
You owe him no alleigance Gwalchmai, sit!
This serious you need to be for wine:
Come sit with brothers now! We drink to thee!"
"Dispel the failure all you can, it stays
As weighty on my brain. It was a sign
To signify the kind of soul I am,
To me it showed my grimy ills and plain
Did tell my shaping, shape, and shape-to-be."
King Arthur to this nephew spake: "My child,
Is there no antidote to questing's woes?
What has become of jousts and silver swords?"
The anguish in the old man's eyes so keen
To those who knew him. Gwalchmai did reply
"Your majesty, there's not a grief can ****
My bird-like love of questing through the trees,
For only questing can redeem my shape."
"Then let us have this quest!" cried Kay beside
Him at the table, deep in drink he swore.
"Come with me, brother-knight, to clear thy mood!
You do you wrong blaspheming at yourself."
The wine was quaffed by Gwalchmai, yet he said
"I first shall stay, I need to rest my ills."
"Your ills are that which keep you ill, good knight.
I bid you come and we shall quest as birds
Who savor springtime berries in the mist."
"I shall not go, I seek my quietude."
"In sunlight you and I must bask. Comply,
Or else I challenge you by burnished blade."
All eyes on Gwalchmai, under pressure cracked
Into a grin and downed his kykeon.
"In stubborness persisting, Kay, you've won,
A river such as I could not keep stead
Against a boulder. When shall we away?
When come the summer blossoms, fair and red?
Or else not til the saps have lost their leaves?
Departure yours to choose, my brother-knight."
Kay beat upon the table and their ears
When called triumphantly "This very day,
This very hour! To help those who need aid
On holy days shall surely fix your heart.
No time to wallow in the swamp that's gone,
We now away, to break our swords with day!"
"You mock me or you heard me not, Sir Kay,
I wish not to away, I wish to rest!"
The fairest Guenevere, like silver bells,
Chimed in "You must forgive your heart's despair,
Or emanations of its guilt will plague
Your mind. I have a lunar garden if
You wish to sit in soothing calm and think."
"My queen is holy," Gwalchmai spoke in grace,
But Kay had cut him off with "Hear her not!
She will ensorce your mind to not explore,
To sit and think and mold with lunacy;
Beneath the sun we'll tred. It's known on quests
I favor Bedwyr, 'tis true, yet you
My fairest Gwalchmai, keep your wits -- and arms --
Two things in need of we shall be.
I mean you no offense, dear Bedwyr,
But I and Gwalchmai share a severed soul
And shall succeed; two sides of selfsame coin.
So come my cousin grey, to right our wrongs
We must away, to break our swords and say
'My heart is glad I did not stay at home!'
Consume your drink! We go," he trumpet-called.
Thus Gwalchmai was convinced, and so was forced
To nod politely to his Queen and stand,
Declaring to the court "I shall away,
This gloomy mood is dried beneath the sun
Though dearly do I wish some lunar grace
To lose myself in mysteries anew.
To bear this flesh is weighty, yet I've found
The strain to be rewarding in its way.
Think nothing of my former woes, they've passed
Like summer storm or wisp of misty cloud."
The hall at large did drink his hail, and then
Did thrice more drink for quest to which they went.
And Mordred scowled and drank the foulest wine
For his monsoon and fog would last his life.

So summoned then Glewlwyd Gafaelfawr
To hearken unto birds, as was his gift.
He said to all, "I shall now call my friends
And see what worthy tales of quests they bring!"
"There may be naught on Gwyl Fair," said Bors,
"A holy day, all wove with peace. Nor Gods
Nor men would stir their strife this day of days."
"We all shall see," the gatekeeper replied.
Beside his King upon the dais came
And played a serenade upon his horn
That rang throughout the keep and lands beyond.
A time did pass with no response recieved --
Slain silent was the raptness of the court --
But then through open pain in stainéd glass
A thrush did bob and weave in melody,
On finger of the Queen he briefly perched
Before he flit away upon the air.
His song so sweet, but then - what fright! No more!
A hawk had entered, just the same, and swooped,
And now the thrush was silent in his claws.
The cabinet of augers all took note
And sketched their calculations into books,
Though none, in this, more wise than Gafaelfawr
To whom the hawk said "Hail, you man of rank
Who speaks the tongue of wing-in-air. Now hark!
'Twas not in hunger slew this thrush, but fear
That what I have to tell might go unheard.
My family, we roost near Cornwall's sea
And late, the noises off the coast grew strange
As if some evil kraken raged at love.
My chicks; my wife and I; we're simple hawks.
We eat and some of us are eaten, yet
Beware the thing that slouched from out the waves.
His shape is something like a boar, but huge,
He dwarfs his kin, and hill, and oak,
This hall is large, yet he'd be stuck inside.
He does not eat what he has killed, instead
He smears the bloodied flesh on stones and trees,
What man could face a fear that bears this face?
If you could hear the rutting squeals he makes!
I swear this sooth by wind and waving plumes:
You men who craft with metal, hark!
Destroy the beast!" And then he flew away
Still calling after him "Destroy the beast!"

The court at large had heard the warbling hawk
But did not know the tongue, so only watched
Glewlwyd's unease upon his face
Until with stiff and rasping voice relayed
The content of the predatory news.
Unease began to show among the knights,
For many there recalled a beast so shaped
And all the blood and guile he took to drown
The first time. Arthur, grim, forbade Sir Kay
And Gwalchmai face these perils by themselves,
But recommended regiment of steel
To bolster ranks against the fearsome boar.
"I know this foe from days of old," he said,
His years of rule etched rough across his face,
"And so do most of you, though many gone
And this monstrosity not even slain."
But Gwalchmai said "'Twas hard indeed to win
Those relics that he bore. Remember I
That Trwyth was the name he chose, and we
Shall best him fair. Though not for trinkets now,
But with the zeal of mother guarding young:
This foe, Twrch Trwyth shall not raze the land
Nor wage a war against some peaceful ilk
While rounded table can beco
Ariel Wadyese Feb 2020
He’s been going through these phases.
Because everyday he lives his mind changes, rearranges.
Swear it’s just like a seed,
oh yes it’s growing indeed.
But unlike Adam and Eve,
he keeps the fruits on the trees, sheesh.

His mind’s been neglected for a minute,
started reading all these books and yet that still ain’t fix it.
Trying to figure out the world, the universe and the pearls.
All the beauty in the matrix can be found in a girl, or a diamond.
The stars and constellations of Orion,
yes it does get deeper think we need a little silence.

Phases.

Swear he’s been going through these phases,
because everyday he lives his mind needs homeostasis and patience.
I think he needs it for his phases,
each year I age it’s like I grow a couple faces, replacements.

For all the egos he was raised with,
with mad foundations Neanderthals couldn’t “cave in”.

“cave in”.
“cave in”.
A poem about the progression we all go through in life through the lens of an analytical mind. R.A.P. ( Rhythm and Poetry )
Remy Luna Jun 2016
They come in waves
Each one receding
And a fresh breaker each meeting
To lap against the seaboard
Phases,  individually different
Like seasons changing
They bring me reasons
To wish for steadier climates
Markedly too many cloudy days
And frosty iced beaches
Frigid and barren sand dunes
Glossy with the sheen of nothingness
Phases, always redundantly taunting
It cycles with the moon
As the tide rises
Deluge swelling to a riptide
A clumsy waltz, gravity and satellite
Fuller and more violent
With each movement
Threatens to deepen any second
The further it pulls
The farther the tendency creeps in
Shoreline expanding,  threshold capsizing
Each pulse a tender beat
I walk barefeet in the shallows
Timid to dare to wade too deep
Past the places I'm comfortable enough
With the feeling water against my exposed skin
And from here I can find stones to skip
Why would I trade leisure for treading
The sunset on the horizon
looks far more beautiful when
You can stand to see it
Phases, they help me remember I'm breathing
Because how can you bear to be alive
If you're not feeling
You're not truly living
Amanda Miller Mar 2015
The moon shines a cool blue tonight
as we entwine our fingers, laying on the baseball field
beneath diamond heavens. We lie
in silence, in the moments when the Universe reveals
itself, and contemplate the distances between one celestial body to
another, the space between
us growing as I turn south
to find Orion while you seek Cassiopeia in the north.

Shooting stars cross the sky, and we wish separately on dead
stars and dead dreams, lights already grown red and extinguished
as we whisper in the dark, passing
between phases.

And in the end we're all left searching.
An old man cocked his car upon a bridge;
He and his friend, their faces to the South,
Had trod the uneven road.  Their hoots were soiled,
Their Connemara cloth worn out of shape;
They had kept a steady pace as though their beds,
Despite a dwindling and late-risen moon,
Were distant still.  An old man cocked his ear.
Aherne. What made that Sound?
Robartes. A rat or water-hen
Splashed, or an otter slid into the stream.
We are on the bridge; that shadow is the tower,
And the light proves that he is reading still.
He has found, after the manner of his kind,
Mere images; chosen this place to live in
Because, it may be, of the candle-light
From the far tower where Milton's Platonist
Sat late, or Shelley's visionary prince:
The lonely light that Samuel Palmer engraved,
An image of mysterious wisdom won by toil;
And now he seeks in book or manuscript
What he shall never find.
Ahernc. Why should not you
Who know it all ring at his door, and speak
Just truth enough to show that his whole life
Will scarcely find for him a broken crust
Of all those truths that are your daily bread;
And when you have spoken take the roads again?
Robartes. He wrote of me in that extravagant style
He had learnt from pater, and to round his tale
Said I was dead; and dead I choose to be.
Aherne. Sing me the changes of the moon once more;
True song, though speech:  "mine author sung it me.'
Robartes. Twenty-and-eight the phases of the moon,
The full and the moon's dark and all the crescents,
Twenty-and-eight, and yet but six-and-twenty
The cradles that a man must needs be rocked in:
For there's no human life at the full or the dark.
From the first crescent to the half, the dream
But summons to adventure and the man
Is always happy like a bird or a beast;
But while the moon is rounding towards the full
He follows whatever whim's most difficult
Among whims not impossible, and though scarred.
As with the cat-o'-nine-tails of the mind,
His body moulded from within his body
Grows comelier.  Eleven pass, and then
Athene takes Achilles by the hair,
Hector is in the dust, Nietzsche is born,
Because the hero's crescent is the twelfth.
And yet, twice born, twice buried, grow he must,
Before the full moon, helpless as a worm.
The thirteenth moon but sets the soul at war
In its own being, and when that war's begun
There is no muscle in the arm; and after,
Under the frenzy of the fourteenth moon,
The soul begins to tremble into stillness,
To die into the labyrinth of itself!
Aherne. Sing out the song; sing to the end, and sing
The strange reward of all that discipline.
Robartes. All thought becomes an image and the soul
Becomes a body:  that body and that soul
Too perfect at the full to lie in a cradle,
Too lonely for the traffic of the world:
Body and soul cast out and cast away
Beyond the visible world.
Aherne. All dreams of the soul
End in a beautiful man's or woman's body.
Robartes, Have you not always known it?
Aherne. The song will have it
That those that we have loved got their long fingers
From death, and wounds, or on Sinai's top,
Or from some ****** whip in their own hands.
They ran from cradle to cradle till at last
Their beauty dropped out of the loneliness
Of body and soul.
Robartes. The lover's heart knows that.
Aherne. It must be that the terror in their eyes
Is memory or foreknowledge of the hour
When all is fed with light and heaven is bare.
Robartes. When the moon's full those creatures of the
full
Are met on the waste hills by countrymen
Who shudder and hurry by:  body and soul
Estranged amid the strangeness of themselves,
Caught up in contemplation, the mind's eye
Fixed upon images that once were thought;
For separate, perfect, and immovable
Images can break the solitude
Of lovely, satisfied, indifferent eyes.
And thereupon with aged, high-pitched voice
Aherne laughed, thinking of the man within,
His sleepless candle and lahorious pen.
Robartes. And after that the crumbling of the moon.
The soul remembering its loneliness
Shudders in many cradles; all is changed,
It would be the world's servant, and as it serves,
Choosing whatever task's most difficult
Among tasks not impossible, it takes
Upon the body and upon the soul
The coarseness of the drudge.
Aherne. Before the full
It sought itself and afterwards the world.
Robartes. Because you are forgotten, half out of life,
And never wrote a book, your thought is clear.
Reformer, merchant, statesman, learned man,
Dutiful husband, honest wife by turn,
Cradle upon cradle, and all in flight and all
Deformed because there is no deformity
But saves us from a dream.
Aherne. And what of those
That the last servile crescent has set free?
Robartes. Because all dark, like those that are all light,
They are cast beyond the verge, and in a cloud,
Crying to one another like the bats;
And having no desire they cannot tell
What's good or bad, or what it is to triumph
At the perfection of one's own obedience;
And yet they speak what's blown into the mind;
Deformed beyond deformity, unformed,
Insipid as the dough before it is baked,
They change their bodies at a word.
Aherne. And then?
Rohartes. When all the dough has been so kneaded up
That it can take what form cook Nature fancies,
The first thin crescent is wheeled round once more.
Aherne. But the escape; the song's not finished yet.
Robartes. Hunchback and Saint and Fool are the last
crescents.
The burning bow that once could shoot an arrow
Out of the up and down, the wagon-wheel
Of beauty's cruelty and wisdom's chatter --
Out of that raving tide -- is drawn betwixt
Deformity of body and of mind.
Aherne. Were not our beds far off I'd ring the bell,
Stand under the rough roof-timbers of the hall
Beside the castle door, where all is stark
Austerity, a place set out for wisdom
That he will never find; I'd play a part;
He would never know me after all these years
But take me for some drunken countryman:
I'd stand and mutter there until he caught
"Hunchback and Sant and Fool,' and that they came
Under the three last crescents of the moon.
And then I'd stagger out.  He'd crack his wits
Day after day, yet never find the meaning.
And then he laughed to think that what seemed hard
Should be so simple -- a bat rose from the hazels
And circled round him with its squeaky cry,
The light in the tower window was put out.
A M Dec 2017
the moon and I both
go through phases

my light wanes and waxes
just like hers does

when my light is full,
boy,
I'm giddy with how much I love you

but when my light is small,
I'm so cold,
enveloped by the shadows

I'm sorry for my cold spells
I hope you know
those phases have nothing to do with you

but just like the moon has the sun
I have you

your light illuminates the world
which illuminates me

you light me up
little moon Apr 2014
the universe was toothache, the stars were giant cavities. “but it’s been far too long since i’ve had sugar,” cried the sun, the concerned star. “don’t lie to me,” said ever so smart mercury, “when we are right by the milky way.” the other planets jeered and the sun shed a tear and on the earth was rain, peeking through the clouds. you see, the sun was always body conscious. the planetary publication "zodiac almanac" always had an unruly comment or three to share, and after copious poring, the sun felt a little dimmer every time. but every night when the stars twinkled in all of their saccharine glory, they had the sun to thank. the sun, who boldly held itself up in the sky for the little specks on the planet earth, from the people taking walks in the park to the plants preparing to soak up their daily delight. they engaged in photosynthesis while the sun never felt too photogenic at all. the sun mused while listening to the twinkling music of the rotating planets and stars that kissed each other as they formed constellations, faint but audible nonetheless. the sun mused that it wasn’t shining brightly enough. it cried and wept and the people on earth mirrored its melancholy, for a day without the sun morphed into a day of rain-induced laziness.

mercury, who had since apologized, urged the sun to read a book to reinvigorate her intricate mind. jupiter and uranus suggested a workout for empowerment. mars recommended her to write an angry diatribe or five, she was so very fond of venting. venus reminded her again and again that she was beautiful. neptune sang her a lullaby every night. and saturn offered her a ring to lean on. pluto was on sabbatical, but sent her a postcard. all of these gestures were warm and lovely, but the sun still felt trapped and unworthy.

she felt too enormous, too blinding, and too far from earth, where she’d heard many wonderful stories about. the other planets had grown complacent with their distance from earth, but the sun always wanted more, and that was why it was so sunny sometimes, because she wanted to stretch out her wispy arms and embrace the world she knew she could never touch. so she never felt good enough.

but one day the earth seemed to have had enough, and the people were growing dreary of the absence of their beloved sunlight. the moon was especially privy to this information, as she’d watched over earth night after night (except in her first phases when she would rest), and witnessed many a complaint as the clouds would clock off from their shifts and heave sighs of resignation. they knew their golden friend was still weeping.

the moon decided to take a stand. she floated towards the sun even though they were so far away and told her softly: "darling, i know it’s sad that every day you can give so much to people who will never be able to give you anything back. i know it’s hard to peer over, having to watch their countless stories unfold and not ever being able to be one of them. but every time you shine down on that tiny planet over there, you change things. you are bigger because you are so full of light, gently cascading onto those lucky tiny specks down there. and i know you’ll never know what it feels to be fed rays of sunlight, but you can take all the moonlight you want from me and it won’t bother me at all."

and the sun cried more but this time, the tears were out of happiness, and the moon assuaged her again that it would all be fine. she knew she didn’t need to have her own sun, feeding her light, because she knew the light was within her, and her ***** friend, the moon. millenniums later the two would laugh about this.

"what was wrong with me?" inquired the sun.

"everything happens in phases," replied the moon.
wrote this a while ago to represent my and emelina's tattoos
Bee Sep 2018
she was the moon
radiating the night sky
and dancing among the stars

you were the darkness
the shadow that waxed and waned
through the phases of her life

she grew to believe
that your presence
is what made her whole

but like the full moon
she shone brightest
without you


x.
George Anthony May 2017
I know that there is a table
in a Catholic high school in my local town
with an etch of the letter "G"
next to boredom-inspired vandal,
jagged lines, circles,
perhaps a few ******* shapes
as silly high school boys
are prone to draw.

An Advanced Maths textbook sits on a shelf
with a little doodle
of a peace sign next to an emo smiley
from a time where I was caught
between two phases,
tight black jeans and a flowing turquoise shirt.

Tobacco stains smeared
over the wood of a sealed off door
just outside my bedroom,
evidence of the first time
I tried a cigarette, seven years old,
and then panicked and tried to
flush it down the toilet,
only to have to fish it out and stuff it
in a little crevice, to be hidden and
remain there for seven years.

We leave all these little marks
and stains
in places we've been.
Spilled food, spilled ink, spilled drink,
tobacco stains and pools of blood.
"The marks humans leave are
too often scars."

I have scars.
Left forearm. Right calf. Right wrist bone. Both kneecaps.

A scar across my ribs and chest I was
so desperate to be rid of,
I bathed myself in oils and it was
the first scab I
never picked at; but a couple of weeks ago
I dreamt it was there again, fresh.
It tore open in front of everyone, bled out,
and I woke up gasping, drowning in my fear,
agonised, clutching at a wound that'd long since faded
convinced I could feel it splitting me apart again.

I have evidence all over my body
and more buried deep within the recesses of my mind,
scars so jagged they put knives to shame,
shining, pale, like diamonds in moonlight
not half as precious
but still invaluable.
Evidence of the marks humans leave behind.

I'm not innocent.
I don't pretend like I am.
I know there is a man out there
who gained another scar to add to his collection
when he was fourteen years old.
I know my hands carved it into his skin.
I know I used to use my fists
when others used their words to hurt me.

When I die, I know that I will leave
pieces of myself
everywhere
I've ever been. Whether people know it
or not, whether they
remember me
or not. There are ink stains
and coffee spills. My blood
is still on the floor of his house.
The high school cafeteria
has a circle of red
from a nosebleed I didn't realise I was having.
There are parks wearing my graffiti
and children donning my old clothes, and people overseas
still alive because of me

(or that's what they'll tell me, but
all I did was talk.
Give yourself the credit you guys deserve,
you're the ones who chose to listen.
You're the ones who had the strength to
pick your head up and carry on)

There are exes who still think of me
and friends who will one day
come across some article of clothing
or a piece of technology
I left behind after a sleepover.
Teachers who will remember
that smart, sarcastic student
who had panic attacks in their classrooms
and drank coffee in the mentoring hub with Mrs. Hume
whilst buttering bagels and functioning on no sleep.

Maybe our place in the universe is
insignificant. Or maybe it's the
most significant thing
of all.
Maybe the Buddhists are right.
Maybe we are the universe, together
as one. I sure think it makes sense.

Streams of consciousness
and spirits that need healing.
We work the sun
without even realising we're doing it.
We destroy it, too,
which is perhaps why we
are so self destructive in turn.

Maybe we're
smaller than specs of dust
but that's okay.
You don't have anything
without the particles required
to make things up.
Everything is a collection of atoms:
the tiniest things of all
yet they're the centre of everything,
the beginning of everything.

So when the end comes and
we burst back into the sky,
stardust and souls and
blinking little lights,
we'll have left our marks on the earth
regardless of who remembers
and we'll still be there, twinkling,
a collection of atoms that came from a supernova
essential to the makeup of galaxies
and life itself.
What could be more beautiful than that?
I don't know. It was... some sort of stream of consciousness, perhaps? I blanked out halfway through writing it.
Tessa Tomlin Nov 2012
You and I
went through
phases

nutella and
new music and
Children's television and
taco bell and
movie going and
the lottery

We never won
a **** thing

Then there was
sleeping in and
not sleeping at all and
neuro something-or-other and
youtube

My head on your lap
Your hands on my head
Your eyes on the screen

Lastly
there was
5 guys
but

how many did it take
to sever me
from you?

just
one
Poetria Nov 2017
quiet, stolen brightness
oh, it doesn't belong to me
but this sky is your black ceiling,
I'm just trying to be seen
and I see you-
I see you-
I see you shying away, yes
every few days, there's less,
every month the same cycle,
over and over again
and you don't know
how much is too much
and you don't know
when you'll be enough
and you're stuck
cutting those pieces
and you struggle
to bring them back
back to largeness,
back to circular-
insecurity,
phases of the moon,

and the Sun does smirk
in the morning blue.
write this whole thing solely for the last two lines? does that make sense?
We are each our own moon.
Charismatic souls reflecting sunlight,
As if to illuminate a room,
We glow against black, void; an endless night.
Like a caterpillar to a butterfly, emerging from a tight knit cocoon,
Spreading each wing, confidently slicing the evening air…taking flight.
Or even a flower freshly bloomed on a midsummer’s afternoon.
The moon: a flower, silently smiling despite the plight.

Aside from what each day shuffles in; each night simmers out
No matter how often we feel we have lost ourselves…
Or leave way to fill our heads with doubt.
With recurring assumptions of a worldwide redemption:omnipotent stealth.
Needn't some take longer than others to sprout?
Staring blankly into a mirror, or a moonless night sky: hungry for answers, yet facing an empty shelf.
However, that doesn't infer we embark on a divergent route.
Simply due to lack of clarity, lack of reasoning behind each card dealt.

With that in mind,
Just as the moon,true colors may dwindle…they may fade, yet in essence are always there.
Even on a cloudy day, or when the sunshine is at its peak…and just as well for the blind.
Full moon, half moon, new moon…waxing, waning: dynamic phases the night sky shares.
Moon phases;moody faces…natures way of emphasizing personality defined.
Notwithstanding the dark side, each moon may wear.
Like a guilty pleasure manifesting in a secret shrine,
We all suppress a certain side; to pompous to face reality genuinely bare.

Fragments of our faces may always be hidden,
But there’s one thing that will never absorb into the eclipse: emotion.
Some figure each phase, each wave of vibes … simply fate already written.
Devils advocate begs to differ… let your mind emit all distraction and harmonize with the ocean.
Effervescent rays,warm barrels in which emotions, old and new, have ridden.
Chaotically contradicting thoughts, pulling and pushing, creating the paradox of serene commotion.
A world of words from each moon face: a beautiful encryption.
We are each our own moon, written in the waves, compelled by life’s devotion.
July 24, 2013
Skaidrum Aug 2015
She's a skeptic for crystal bones
doesn't believe in God's treasured
          zodiac prophecies.
                         Be jealous
of the wolves we still call sheep.
You were my lover;
now the moon shines
                in utmost sympathy for
all those frigid nights stars bit at
your ears for the choices you've
                     made in cold song.
Stop drumming your heart to
the sound of my sky
             Lupus told me to tell you
                   it doesn't belong a
                         vagabond such
                               as yourself.
If you can't cut off my tongue,
then who are you to silence
                    me?
The moon is flashing like the bullets
                I've been catching between
                 my teeth.
Like all of the night's phases and heartbreak;
The phases of love will wax
                      and wane.

.
I'm in the Lions Den,
Not the Wolf Cave.

I'm braver than you thought I was, Lycan.



© Copywrite Skaidrum
Penguin Poems Oct 2018
The moon has phases
In and out of the same cycle
Always orchestrating a reprisal
Over a number of days

I have phases, too
Yet they seem more like mazes, who
Don’t know where they lead to.
Unlike the moon,
Who is settled in his ways,
I bounce back and forth in this pinball machine,
Forwards, backwards, sideways,
Through different replays with the same ending: heartbreak.

I never know when or where they’ll start,
But I’m always the one with the broken heart.
The phases come and go as they please,
And always end up blaming me.
Skaidrum Jun 2015
.
Ancient games
tell tales of dust.  |||   A story drawn
from the lips of two poets.



~~~~~


It's the wits that ****, not Queens of ivory or ink. *
Charged with
coal strokes, scraping up the lies.
Pawns & Knights slip between the grasp of the sun, leaking into
   lion jaws of Leo.
Shifting these granite plates, ignoring the Rooks common price of aslant.
Here we have slain kin, crescent traitors that backstab the night and battlefield.
Closed doors and trap floors, trade me a tie, swindling your tactic ruts.
Reality never got the noose around our necks, check turned into manslaughter, and kingdoms ripped asunder by the roar of Jupiter
Get up, get up, get away from these liars, they can't have your rank or your fire.
Peak a notion, this match is spared by a luft.
Toss away the pride buried 'neath your dusty skin, it don't matter no more if   death has you by the lips.
Silence is a language too in our eyes of earth.
Take my hand, knott your soul into this downfall, and brace yourself for the wreckage in our bones.
The Sword of Sorrows will fall 'pon your shoulders, not to slay thee, but to dub thee a new day.
The drums of war will knit the lyrics in the sky,
singing:
"The mighty sharpen their fangs, the weak sharpen their wisdom"
~~~~~
I'm tired of your wishbones, and golden scales, give me the hard-earned truth.
Hot coals of honesty may you tread upon, shadow-bitten remorseful may you be, don't stray off the course of Ursa major.
The North star isn't the one I follow
It's the moon with all of it's phases,
Eclipsing and crescent, tipping the sky with it's beauty.
Now let this sink further than any soul has ever sunk,
no man could ever
rule the moon.
~~~~~~
Shoot on command,
C
h    
      e
c  
      k
m
a
t      
e

~~~~
You could drag me to hell and back and those words wouldn't mean anything.
Let this downfall become a *downfell,

Because last I checked
"Wolves worship the moon"
and I have broke it's reflection in the water
Just
by
throwing
s                    
t          
o
         n
                 e
                              s
                               ­        .

.
A collab between
The Dragon Prince & Skaidrum.

I'll give most credit to
Kalum here.

© Copywrite The Dragon Prince & Skaidrum
KM Hanslik Sep 2018
We've been out here swinging for a while now
tearing at your throat like there's no tomorrow
And I've never been one to stand aside or
stand in the way of change, but she's got us on one hell of a ride
hanging over the sides now
trying to get my bearings with my guard down
standing over the edge now
we've been playing both sides, don't let us hit the ground
it'd be one too many if we went down tonight
can't catch a break wondering is the timing ever right
can't catch my breath but it's over now

passing in phases like the last round
the last scene before the grand finale
dialogue caught in tatters like you've a mouth full of razor teeth
touch my cheek
kiss me only when you feel like it
(we were there just last week)
take this dose and space it out, I need
my portions small like my dreams
always on to the next faded scheme,
it's okay though because my vision's 20/20
and I don't mind chasing
the hard-to-get things.
Denis Barter May 2018
The Many Stages of Life.
Shakespeare wrote: that in Life,
we pass through seven,stages,
and for each stage, we fill many pages.
Recording details, joyful and sad:
of deeds done, be they good or bad.
Lifestyles led - be they short or long:
a mournful dirge or joyful song?
they’ll mark times of joy and strife
each book recording a stage in life.
But of all events therein, there’s no doubt,
The Rhythm of Life, runs throughout!

Herewith my attempt to describe poetically,
the Seven Phases, of life in metred rhyme:

A baby’s first cry, a Mother’s sigh,
a Father’s joy, be it girl or boy!
The Rhythm of Life - renewing.

Tho not adept, a toddler’s first step:
an excited giggle, a hesitant wiggle!
The Rhythm of Life - exploring.

A chilling dream: a piercing scream:
a splashing bath, a show of wrath!
The Rhythm of Life - revealing.

It’s off to school, playing it cool,
friendships made, twixt lad and maid,
The Rhythm of Life - inviting.

In the Class, shy looks pass:
Girl dates boy, flirting coy:
The Rhythm of Life - delighting.

Embarrassed flush: a girlish blush.
With proposal made, plans are laid,
The Rhythm of Life - maturing.

Lovers matched, a wedding hatched,
with banns said, the twosome wed.
The Rhythm of Life - inviting.
Twixt a couple paired, love is shared.
Next it’s three, maybe more to be?
The Rhythm of Life, expanding.

Heaven be praisedACA, the family’s raised,
then comes the desire, to retire.
The rhythm of Life, now slowing.

After happy years, and some tears,
walk grows slow, soon time to go.
The Rhythm of Life, is waning.

When The Reaper calls, the curtain falls:
being time to leave, some will grieve.
For The Rhythm of Life, has ended!

Rhymer.  May 23rd, 2018.
Just Me Mar 2015
Gemma~: Autres Temps,  Autres Vertus~~

A young girl, so innocent, so new,
Cheerful and happy in any place,
Sat alone in her room, beneath the argent glow of the moon
And whispered to the jewels that glittered the sky
        “I am beautiful, I am me.”

Now that she's older, the world around her has become colder.
As she sits in her bed, beneath the lunar glare,
Silver turns to red,
While she whispers to her familiar jewels
        “Am I beautiful, am I me?”

The moons go by, and her jewels remain ever changeless.
This time she stands on a chair, illuminated by the metallic gleam of the moon she held so dear
With one last breath and one last glance, arms wide open, she whispers
        “I want to be beautiful, I want to be you,”
And welcomes death.

The moon continued through its phases, and the stars stayed their course.
He sits alone in her room, in the argent glow of the moon
And whispers to her jewels that glitter the sky
        *“To me, you were always beautiful, to me you were always you.
        There is no one to blame, but the world who ought to hang her head in shame.”
~Gem or jewel. On a dark night, this star lives up to its name, sparkling at the forefront of the semi-circle of stars that make up the constellation Corona Borealis. Commonly known as the Northern Crown, it once belonged to Ariadne, princess of Crete and wife of Dionysus.  
~~ “Other times, other values.”

I wrote this for a contest for school. The original idea came from a poem I wrote a while back and never published. The parameters for the contest where (for those who are interested): A conversation in the dark, a constellation, start and end in the same place/way, and a phrase in a different language. Hope you all enjoy it, and this is dedicated to all those lives lost. May you rest in peace.
Cathyy Jan 2015
If you're the moon with your phases
Then I'm a star gazer, mesmerised by the view..
And if your 'ring of Saturn' falls out I'd go up there myself and find one more suited for you

And how does it feel to have a face that so many call home?..
Cause for three sleepless nights, this 'homeless girl' gave up everything just to write you a poem..

Oh I've been struggling,

I've been staring at the page for ages,
Trying to find the most honest way to say this..
See every time you touch my heart I feel it breaking
So I will never let you know..
But you are so beautiful, I can't take it

And no I won't stop believing
That everyone comes into your life for some kind of reason..
But I'm not using you to write, I'm using you as a source for breathing
though every time I see you I fall to pieces..
..But every piece is in awe with you
So would you collect them and adore me too?

Oh I just can't describe this..
If there was a metaphor you know I'd write it..
You make me lost for words but I won't stop trying,
In hope of finding new parts of you,
Oh you are so beautiful, I don't like it

Cause it ties knots in my stomach.
And then my heart beat drains out the city but I can't stop it..
Is this a horrible poem cause I'm just being honest..
And though adrenaline is supposed to keep me going,
Oh you are so beautiful I can't focus

So don't get too close for comfort
Cause I love you so much my heart hurts,
And it's a pain my heart could take
If you just stay and take the pain away

And your little smile could go to the end of the world,
And I'd whisper your name if it was the end of the world,
..And I have writers block so I don't know what rhymes with 'end of the world',
But don't let me go even when you're someone else's girl
Cause you'll still always be this loser's world :')

.. And if I'm a stargazer mesmerised by the view,
Then I hope every constellation will add up to you.
I had three days of writers block so I really don't think this is a good piece but it's still a poem isn't it.
Carley Sep 2015
Is she not what you wanted anymore?
Did her smiles turn to tears?
Did her glances turn to prolonged stares?
Did she love you too much?
Did she care too much?
Did she list everything she hated but had a list twice as long of the things she loves?
Did she make you drink?
Did she push you so far over the fuxking edge that you were almost beside her?
Did she jump?
Did she?
Did she?
Did she change just like the phases of the moon?
Did she change too much for you?
Original piece- also posted on burningsaphire.wordpress.com
Mike Jewett Feb 2015
Whenever the sweet-scented
calyx of palm collects the blue
midday sun in your hair, I sit
passing time in the moon’s
phases and listen to the roaring
silence of thousands of fireflies.
Abbigail Feb 2014
All of a sudden you're on the floor with wet eyes and wet hands
and the only sound in your head is that of screaming
But maybe it's you
And you feel as if you're being eaten from the inside out by your own
malnourished heart
You can't actually breathe because your sobs won't allow it
and your entire body is trembling
and dark red,
fading to purple
You imagine someone holding a knife beside you
Someone who's willing to use it
and it doesn't scare you any more than death scares a ghost
You're sure you wouldn't feel it

So you sleep to fool your brain for a while
But you only dream of him
and things are alright and well and good
and you wake up and you wish you hadn't
Some people never know that your chest
can feel this empty
That your stomach and your throat and your head
can beg and beg and beg
and you can not know what for
And some people don't ever find out
that your heart's physical ache
is much too real
That one would prefer next to any amount of torture
if that heart were separate from his
Fah Jul 2013
Sweet lips encrusted in sugar from the hot doughnuts at the steam fair.
Baked in the dusty sunshine of an August afternoon in North London.
I would roam these streets from childhood into adulthood,
Drinking £2,50 wine at bus stops only to get thrown out of the pub for illusionary bathroom shots
Our real crime? Being too young.

Since then, i have drunk Spanish manzanilla in an old tobacco store room
Transformed into a house where wafts of old book smell mingling with the scent of baked terra cotta and lemon trees sweeps down dark corridors revealing hidden gems of traveled souls.
Where there are streets that belong to Phoenician women , Arab traders , Christian crusaders and now the Spanish folk
All these names we go by , yet still human we stand

Up on roof tops, smoking sneaky roll ups to the elegance of storks
Building nests on church domes and castle walls
Monuments to remind the future
Graffiti on the natural landscape , the ruins read " we waz ere"

From shores of the Atlantic to shores of the Atlantic
Brooklyn rises
The night bus to eat pizza alarmed me
How were the buses so different ?
London's told you where you were
New York's Made you suss it out for yourself
In the company of a Father i hardly knew and the Mother of my new sibling
Child ,
Who will you become ?
Shaped by the contrast of your parents skin , your curled hair yet to emerge from fresh formed follicles
Rest easy ,
This world Ain't so harsh

I found God at the bottom of a bowl of noodles
Simply sitting there , lazing about as i licked my lips of the residual chillies and sugar
I deal in the order of paradoxes
Born by the sea only to grow up in the 'so called' luxury of the cities jungle
Although, resting now in the moon soaked mountain air ,
no city can compare, to the fragrance of flowers that bloom and scent only for those who brave the night

I used to be afraid of the dark ,
Now i make love with it.
Chelsie Jan 30
Phases of the moon,
Of fragments that are seen,
Won’t you stop and admire my beautiful cratered skin?

Phases of the moon,
My beautiful shine and gleam,
Ever wondered why my other side is left unseen?
Maddy Kay Oct 2018
Normal -
What a powerful word.
It’s something we expect to happen for everything.
It’s something we all have wanted to be.
Something we wish we were.

But it’s not that simple,
Now is it?
Because normal means you have to go by society’s standards of what “normal” is.
But what is the use?
Why even try?

Because no matter what,
No one is going to meet society’s standards of what this term means.
Now, you will only meet those standards when a powerful authority tells you.
For example, President Donald Trump.
He expects us to be normal by building a wall and not allowing immigrants inside this country.

Or how about this?
He says he accepts the LGBTQ+ community,
But you know he says that just so that he could get votes.
And what about this?
He sexually harasses women no matter what they say.

Why do we want to be this way?
Why does everyone want to fit in?
To be accepted?
To feel appreciated?
To want to feel something?

It starts in our childhood.
Elementary school starts and we make friends.
We talk to girls and boys our age,
Start to figure out how we should dress,
How we should act.

Then, we hit our pre-teen year.
Middle school hits us like a glove impacted by a baseball.
We start to figure out who we hang out with,
What phases we go through,
And what we should say.

Finally, we become teenagers.
High school feels like we get beaten by a bat.
We find out who our true friends are,
Find out what is good for us,
What we identify with.

But it doesn’t end there.
We go into adulthood and face reality.
And it ***** because we don't know what to do.
Who we should talk to.
What we should talk about.

Think about it.
We go through so much stuff to fit in.
To feel needed.
To feel wanted.
To feel normal.

Think back to the high school days.
Remember how it was normal for cheerleaders and football players to date?
How it was normal for the nerds to always be in the library?
How it was normal for the blonde that ran things to bully the girl with glasses and braces?
How normal it was for the gay kids to be called “****”?

Why is it okay for the kids with disabilities to feel left out?
Why is it okay for small kids to be shoved into lockers?
Why is it okay for guys to wear volleyball shorts and do ******-like moves,
But girls get in trouble for it?
Does this make sense at all?

When girls were young,
They were taught that it was wrong to bully.
They were taught that they should wear makeup and wear dresses.
They were taught that it was not okay to act like boys.
They were taught that they were going to become what their parents wanted them to be.

When boys were young,
They were taught that they should always act like a gentleman.
They were taught to wear tuxedos and gel their hair.
They were taught to never hit a girl.
They were taught that it was okay to get into fights.

Girls nowadays starve themselves to look perfect.
They get lip and breast injections.
They put on makeup that nobody recognizes them in.
They wear tight clothes to look skinnier.
They show off their body to look presentable.

Guys nowadays act like they are tough.
They hit the gym a lot to look perfect.
They take pills to feel better.
They rely on money to give them everything.
They do stupid things to get popular.

The cheerleader that was always nice to you?
She is dealing with abuse at home.
The popular blonde girl that picked on you?
She is cutting herself and popping pills to feel better.
That’s not all though.

The nerd that hangs out in the library all the time?
He was born with ADHD and he doesn’t want to be a burden to anyone.
The gay guy that gets called “***” all the time?
He is having problems with his boyfriend that he loves.
That’s not even the beginning of it.

We call each other names,
We say things that we don’t mean,
We give people looks,
We go through phases,
We do things to get attention.

We wear things to express how we are feeling,
We think about what people will think of us,
We listen to songs that we relate to,
We join things that make us feel good,
We hang out with people that give us good vibes.

But behind every smile is a frown.
Behind every layer of makeup is insecurity.
Behind every glance is worryment.
Behind every pair of sunglasses is sadness.
And behind every spoken word is fear.

Behind every song we listen to,
Has a special meaning to it.
Behind every poem we read,
Makes us think of our feelings.
And we what we fear.

Trying to be “normal” in today’s world,
Is like committing suicide to your old self.
Trying to be “normal” in everyone’s eyes,
Is like you are trying to become your own ******.
But why?

Trying to be “normal” for society,
Is like being stabbed to the back by the person you love the most.
Trying to be “normal” for popularity,
Is like a Great White taking a chunk of you.
What for?

We destroy the very core of us.
We take out what makes us important.
We add things to ourselves that we wouldn’t normally do.
We say things that we wouldn’t normally say.
What is the reason for this?

Guys catcall girls.
And they take it personally.
They take it into consideration.
They want to look better.
All they want is to feel like guys want them.

Girls judge guys on how they look.
They get shocked by it.
Their confidence goes down.
They dress better to impress.
All they want is to feel like girls them.

We are so focused on what others think of us,
That we give up on the fact that our own opinion matters.
We soak up every comment,
Every criticized term.
That we drown in the judgment.

To the ones that no longer care,
To the ones that block all the hate,
To the ones that ignore the judges,
To the ones that help spread kindness,
Keep doing it.

To the ones that criticize,
To the ones that judge,
To the ones that give ***** looks,
To the ones that make snarky comments,
Stop what you’re doing.

Do you see the pattern here?
How the mean people get recognized for doing something “good” in society’s eyes.
How the kindest people get ignored with every plea.
How it’s okay for us to do stupid things to get noticed?
Nothing is better than feeling accepted.

But being accepted is a privilege.
It’s not about what you want to see yourself to do.
You have judgmental parents for that.
It’s not about what you want yourself to become.
You have your parents to tell you what you will become.

But being accepted is a privilege.
It’s not about what you want to see yourself to do.
You have judgmental parents for that.
It’s not about what you want yourself to become.
You have your parents to tell you what you will become.

We live by rules and expectations.
Because if we don't,
We will get disowned by the people we trust the most.
Because if we don’t,
We will be seen as not worthy enough to feel good about ourselves.

But if we take the time to look at everything,
To realize that we don’t need to follow expectations,
To know we are worthy,
To see that we are loved for who we are.
One day, we will finally realize that we don’t need society’s expectations.

Elementary school girls are so worried about who will like them.
One day, elementary school girls will realize that they will gain friendships.
Elementary school boys are so focused on being tough.
One day, elementary school boys will realize that it is okay to be a gentleman.
Hopefully, it will happen.

Middle school girls are so worried about the size of their friend group.
One day, middle school girls will realize that popularity will not matter.
Middle school boys are so focused on getting a girlfriend.
One day, middle school boys will realize that girls will like them for who they are.
Possibly it will happen.

High school girls are so worried about the names they will get called.
One day, high school girls will realize that rumors are too stupid to be focused on.
High school boys are so focused on being perfect.
One day, high school boys will realize that it’s okay to be yourself.
Maybe it will happen.

Being normal is so pointless.
But yet, everyone takes it so seriously.
No one wants to stand out.
No one wants to feel different than everyone else.
We just go along with it.

Hopefully one day,
On a day that is just normal,
We will realize what we are doing to ourselves.
We will realize that we don’t need a set of rules to live by.
We will finally want the need to stand out amongst everything that is perfect.

As Brad Pitt once said,
“Stop being perfect,
because being obsessed over
being perfect stops you
from growing”.

So why don’t we just stand up for ourselves?
On what we want to do.
On what we want to look like.
On how we want to act.
Because as soon as we do that.

We will be free.
If you can't tell, this poem is about how we should not have to live by society's expectations in order to feel wanted.
Ask not what the Universe can do for you.

Ask what you can do to aid the Universe ?
~.An Acrostic exercise ~October 27th 2018.

Ask not what the Universe can do for you.
Sometimes they are under relentless demand
Kings and beggars and entrepreneurs pray

Never mind ,what they can offer the Universe
On a daily basis pray for their own deliverance
To make ends meet, eat a crust , or a cure

We poets here on our favourite web-site know
Having been seeking the true way forward
Ask not what the Universe can do fo you.
Though this is the expected way to pray

The first thought in our head should ever be
Hey ! What can I do to aid the Universe.
Earth and the environment but a small part

Universe stretches deep deep into the cosmos
Now where do you think heaven rests in this ?
I believe it is here and surrounds us completely
Virtually every loved one that has passed on
Every thought process that you possess
Reacts in your minds eye as memory
So perpetuating the life span of a loved one.
Expand your own meditation to include them.

Clearly giving an aid to the Universal spirit.
Asks not what the Universe can do for you.
Never complain about being forsaken by God.

Do as you would be done by and **** it up.
Only pausing to calculate the best way to rise

From the sad position you find that you’re in
On giving something back to the Universe
Riches will flow back to you a thousand fold

Yes but not necessarily in a financial way
Or in an appropriation of jewels or art
Universal gifts seldom trade in those chattels

Ask what you can do to aid the Universe
Simply think about it in a pure and selfless way
Knowledge gained during your own life’s span

Wake up and smell the coffee if you can
Having negotiated the slings and arrows
Ask what you can do to aid the Universe
To me its a simple question n a simple answer

You can positively manifest your own pathway
On that road you have many crossroads
Universe has trained the minds of past lives

Coincidentally you carry the minds past loves
Ask what you can do to aid the Universe
Now bring back to mind all souls of meaning

Dedicate the sights and the fragrance of life
On a kind of conference call to the departed

Tell me if you think what I say is too far fetched
Only I know that it works ,well it does for me.

Ask what you can do to aid the Universe
I posed that question many many years ago
During the time that I prayed then to God

The crisis erupted between Russia an the US
Hydrogen and nuclear bombs were threatened
Europe ,a state of emergency unprecedented

Undaunted I joined the Civil defence, in ‘62
Now looking back , I realise my pathway’s set
In not expecting the Universe to be helping
Venus in retrograde and other cosmic moves
Effects of the moon phases all considered.
Reality is you hold the precious key to success
So next time you pray , you’d better pray good.
Entreating God to advise his plans for your day

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
An Acrostic poem written by Philip. 27/10/18.
Inspired by the JFK speech of ‘62. “Ask not what your country can do for you. But what you can do for your country. “
SøułSurvivør May 2015
~~~


a                        
bit                          
of a                          
smile                        
on the                  
face of          
the night
                          bright sky

or a      
candle              
getting              
brighter            
as sweet          
   winking      
        stars go by
                           xoxox

       xox
xo
a half a
ghostly gleam        
partly covered by            
black veil xoxox          
xoxoxoxoxoxox        
xoxoxoxox
           xoxox


   gibbous
moon arises
wan and deathly
pale xoxoxoxoxoxo  
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo  
xoxoxoxoxoxo
­xoxoxoxo
     xoxox


full as a
great gallion is the
most important phase!
for she looks down upon
us with a tender, loving
gaze! the lady in the
moon a shining
beacon be

she pulls us and she stills us
and beneath her we are

*FREE
soulsurvivor

been on and off site
preparing for
Mother's Day

Have a great one all you
moms out there!

~~~
All my life
is waves, expressed as rays,
phases, and cancellations...

...Waving by
and paving over
what I made in other ages

Undulating sway,
disrupting Self,
the Phrase, the Word, the Way --

Nameless, without
shape - within all shape -
all touch, all taste;

One expressed as Two:
compress, expand, repeat.
In balance, truth.

Lilting swells
that break in mind and water,
endless scintillation;

Every word as complex
as its counterpart,
unpatterned ocean;

All motion
the illusion of Desire,
the fire that burns to Rest...

...But only ever
simulates, for trough
but stimulates the crest;

When all my waves
have ceased and found their peace,
there ends my quest.
Dedicated to Walter Russell
Luna Jay Dec 2018
Hot pink between her hips,
She’s sinking all his ships.
Her finger slips
Into her slit-
Fun dip.
And raises moon phases to her lips.
Blows the atmosphere a kiss,
Drinks the ocean in little sips.
Gallons of salty tears at her fingertips.
Woman yearning for the rip,
Boy learning to make me drip.
I’m hit.
And I’m only begging for more.
I adore the way you think you’re
Using me.
Sure, you can take these words and phrases
You can take me wrong
But nothing phases me no more,
I'm stuck inside this song

That whosoever wants me dead,
Well, they can go and try
But I'm held captive by the One
Who holds their very lives.

I stand steadfast, even if I fall
I know He's always with me
So there, there's nothing you can do
That from His love can separate me.
Salmabanu Hatim May 2019
I am the moon,
I too have my phases.
27/5/2019
RAJ NANDY Oct 2014
Dear Friends, kindly read the Foot Notes at the end for
better appreciation. I tried to convey some interesting
information in my verses for my few interested readers!
Thanks, -Raj

THE STORY OF ALPHABETS:
PART ONE

INTRODUCTION
Alphabets are the noblest and the greatest of
inventions of our civilization,
For transmitting human thoughts and concepts
through visible notations!
In the olden days those magical symbols and
signs,
Could be written and understood only by the
priests and scribes !
But with the invention of printing, literacy began
to spread, * (see notes below.)
When people began to read and write with standard
Alphabets!
The 26 English letters with which we read and express
ourselves so easily and well,
Has a legendary and checkered past, and an unique
Story to tell !

FROM PICTOGRAM TO WRITTEN SCRIPTS :
The story of writing can be traced back to over
thousands of years you see ,
From pictogram to ideograms and various cuneiform
scripts!
From the ancient Sumerians and the Egyptians, to
the Semitic tribes;
Up to the Phoenicians, the Greeks, right up to the
Roman times !
Till the Latin script got refined into modern alphabets,
And with 26 letters our literary aspirations were met !

PICTOGRAM & IDEOGRAMS :

Ancient pictogram and symbols were painted and
carved on rock walls and caves, -
But speech sounds and letters remained unrelated !
Followed by the ideographic, logographic, and the
syllabic stages ,
Evolving into written alphabets through these different
phases!
Ideograms expressed an idea through visual or graphic
symbols,
Giving rise to Chinese script without alphabets, but
with only ideographic symbols! @(notes below)
The Sumerian cuneiform and Egyptian hieroglyphs
were the oldest of these,
Let me now tell you something about the Sumerian
script !

CUNEIFORM WRITING :
On that land between the two rivers the Tigris and
the Euphrates,
Which the Greek’s called ‘Mesopotamia’,
Rose the earliest of ancient civilizations called
Sumeria!
Those Sumerians used a stylus, - the head of a
squared-off reed ,
To inscribe wedge shaped angular symbols on
clay tablets - for their accounting needs!
These tablets could be dried in the sun to form
hardened scripts ,
And also recycled if necessary, giving birth to the
Cuneiform Script!
The earliest clay tablets date back to 3500 BC ;
While archeologists and linguists could detect
and see ,
That with modifications over the centuries this
script was also used, -
By the Akkadians , Elamites , the Hittites and the
Uratians ;
And scholars say that it was the forerunner of the
hieroglyphs of those ancient Egyptians!
The earliest clay tablets found in Mesopotamia,
Indicate accounting of barley crops by the Sangu
of Sumeria!
Sangu was the Chief Official of their Holy Temples ,
Who recorded all temple wealth on clay tablets, –
with cuneiform symbols !
Herodotus the Greek historian tells us a story ,
About a letter sent by the Scythians to the Persian King
during the days of Scythian glory!
This letter contained symbols of a bird, a mouse,
a frog, and five arrows;
When translated it read: “Can you fly like a bird, hide
in the ground like a mouse, leap through the swamps
like a frog? If not, do not go to war with us, -
We shall overwhelm you with our arrows!”

EGYPTIAN HIEROGLYPHS :
Hieroglyph comes from a Greek word meaning
‘sacred inscriptions’ ,
Consisting of a large variety of images representing
sounds, as well as ideas and actions !
The images were depicted in rows or columns , -
oriented from right to left ,
And the signs were positioned as if looking towards
the beginning of the text!
They were used from end of Prehistory to 396 AD,
And the last text was written on the walls of the
Temple of Isis, on the Island of Philae !
The oldest one dates back to 3100 BC, - inside the
Temple of Ramesses II at Abydos ,
Where Thoth the ibis-headed God, - patron Deity
of Writing and Scribes is seen ,
Holding a scribal palette in one hand and in the
other a stylus of reed ;
And King Ramesses II holding up a water *** , -
To assist the great Thoth, their Writing God !

HIERATIC, DEMOTIC & COPTIC SCRIPTS :
The hieroglyphics were used for many varied
situations; -
Written on temple walls, statues , tombs , papyrus ,
and as monumental inscriptions !
Through its 3000 year’s long history it developed
into three other written scripts; -
The Hieratic, the Demotic and the Coptic, as
reformed hieroglyphic scripts !
Hieratic script was simplified with a more cursive
form ,
Could be drawn more quickly as over the years it
also reformed !
Though used in administrative and business text ,
Also found its way into literature and religious texts!
Around 600 BC it was supplanted by the most cursive
of all scripts,
Herodotus called it ‘Popular’ so it became a ‘Demotic’
script, meaning 'popular' !
Unlike the Hieratic, which on papyrus with a stylus
and ink was written ,
This 'popular' one could be engraved, and also hand
written, -
On a hard surface, and on papyrus by the ancient
Egyptians !
This script was found in the middle section of the
famous Rosetta Stone, $ = (see notes below)
Which for centuries held the secrets of the Hieroglyphic
Code alone !
And finally, during the 4th century AD, when Egyptian
was written with Greek alphabets,
We arrive at the last stage of the Egyptian language;
Which came to be know as the Coptic Script, with the
adoption of the Greek alphabets.
During the 2nd and 3rd centuries AD , Coptic became
the pre-Christian Egyptian language.
However, after the conquest of Egypt by the Muslims
in 642 AD,
Arabic became the main language of Egypt gradually.

A PAUSE & A BREAK :
It is interesting to note that all these ancient scripts ,
Inscribed on rocks , or written on papyrus or
engraved on wooden strips ;
Were written from right to left, with only consonants ,
Without any punctuations or any break!
Till centuries later, due to the innovative Greeks, -
Vowels got introduced to shape up the Alphabets!
Here friends I pause to take a break .
In my Part Two I shall tell you about those Semitic
Scripts ,
About those seafaring Phoenicians who preceded
the Romans and the Greeks;
Those worthy forefathers of the Latin alphabets ,
Which gave birth to ‘English’ with its Anglo-Saxon-
Germanic roots ,
Happily blending with some French vocabulary, -
Making English as unique as it possibly could !
-by Raj Nandy

FOOT NOTES : -
Friends, I tried to keep it as simple as possible for my readers;
adding Notes as explanations & for all knowledge seekers!
= Johannes Gutenberg in 1440 set up the first Printing Press in
Europe. William Caxton in 1476 set up the first printing press in
Westminster, England, he was the first English retailer of books!
* = Lascaux cave paintings of animals in SW France are 16,000
years old! Similar types also found in Spain and Africa!
= Pictogram date from the earliest cave paintings; represents
concrete nouns. Some civilizations like the North American Indians never
ventured beyond pictogram stage! Ideograms – the next stage, represents an abstract idea and verb also.
The Egyptian word-sign showing image of an Eye +a Bee+ a leaf = meant ‘I Believe’, i.e. Pictogram & Ideogram combined ! Since they did not write verbs, we do not know how they pronounced it!
Logograph = each written sign represents an actual word & Not sound of the word!
A tree is shown by the image of a single tree. A single logogram could be used by a plurality of languages to represent words with similar meanings.
After 3000 yrs of use, a large no. of symbols & the chasm between oral & written script made the Hieroglyphs obsolete!
The Semitic people tried to improvise a better script with limited consonant signs only!
@ = The Chinese use a combination of pictogram & ideograms along with complex symbols, but with only through association of spoken words; instead of alphabets!
$= Rosetta Stone, discovered by the soldiers of Napoleon in 1799 in Rosetta. The hieroglyphics on the stone was inscribed in 196 BC in the Ptolemaic Era. The French scholar Jean Champollion deciphered the script, and thereby solved the mystery of Egyptian Hieroglyphics for the world! .
*
ALL COPY RIGHTS RESERVED BY RAJ NANDY
INFORMATIVE 'FOOT NOTES' HAVE BEEN ADDED JUST AFTER THE VERSE.
Victoria Jasmine Sep 2014
I learn more about the importance of guarding my heart every time I open it. I am far too naive and hopeful, I love too easily and I am too quick to believe things people say to me. I see the best in people and even though I allow myself to see people’s true colors, I become blind to how dark the shades get. I am the grand optimist, because I lay on the dirt in the dark where people leave me and all I can look at is the stars. I am tired of being used to fill a void, because I am whole. I am a full moon, and every man I encounter is my phase; slowly, piece by piece I disappear, until I enclose entirely into the shadows. Today is another new moon.
© Victoria Jasmine
Glass Jul 2018
there is a red sparrow  
tasting caramel pecans in the backyard while I lean
against the kitchen counter reminding myself
‘your so passionate about submissiveness and dominance'
(relevant volume of an alleged innumerable intact)
that it’s another morning with a warm cup of coffee
and by the time I arrive at the subway station, there is a man
sitting on a bench painting temptation with blue, reds and purples
whispering oblivion monsoons
and real affection;
yet there is a silence reverent to
a ballad of praise; conjuring all
of the autumn phases, but halfway through the night
I could discuss about clinical studies with the
bittersweet absence of an empty
entrance “debilitated by spring
roots"

- G
Gabriel Ibarra Feb 2019
I've been way to caught up to catch up
I chalk up all my bad days to bad luck
And my awkward phases that lasted decades
Scrolling through your timeline reminds how regret tastes
Go on and take it how you wanna take it
My past relations leave me obligated
To read into every minor subtlety
Leave me wondering if you're still in love with me
Though I know the answer's no I still hold out
Cause love seems to be the only thing I know about
NinaMarie May 2013
There's one day in a month
When the sky is very dark
And with it comes the shadows of humanity
But we'd be lucky to have wars last only one night
Shrouded in blackness, we are the horrors that cause nightmares

The crescent, with its sliver of paleness
It is the overpowering hand of discrimination
Destruction comes in many different forms
Curved like a scythe and sharp at the tips
Oddly shaped, we are those who judge so wrongly

The moon in its first quarter shows more than good and evil
It houses purity and serenity in white
But the other half is black with invinsibilty and unkindness
It is split in half like a heart torn between two decisions
Opposite colors, we are the creators of love and hate

Brighter and bigger the gibbous moon is ignorance
The incomplete light is a lack of awareness to global conflicts
Poverty is ignored and wars happen "some place else"
Drugs and abuse are only scenes from dramatic movies
Partially dark, we are those who don't live for the benefit of others

But when the moon is at its fullest, its brightest
We can see our world completely out of the darkness
With no black to shield our eyes we see the truth
Reality hits our senses and we long for forgiveness
Illumination, we are those who regret our mistakes
Prompt: Compare the cruelties of humanity to an element of nature.

— The End —