"pictureless" poems - Hello Poetry

I am A street without a name A pictureless frame A dull knife A still life I am A question mark A smothered spark An unread book A stolen look I am A blank page An empty stage A heavy sigh A passer-by I am A ship with paper sails A train on rusted rails A flightless bird A Dream Deferred I am An overcrowded mind A word that hasn't been defined A lighthouse that no longer stands Two feet sinking in the sand.

0

Apr 15, 2015

Apr 15, 2015 at 12:22 AM UTC

lillian-harris

Aimless

I am A street without a name A pictureless frame A dull knife A still life I am A question mark A smothered spark An unread book A stolen look I am A blank page An empty stage A heavy sigh A passer-by I am A ship with paper sails A train on rusted rails A flightless bird A Dream Deferred I am An overcrowded mind A word that hasn't been defined A lighthouse that no longer stands Two feet sinking in the sand.

25

We paint our lives on color film Absorbing familiar reflection And we watch as we live So little in color film We love, we **** We bleed, we die Do we think God is watching? Do we think we are the reflection Why are we watching? Mountain sides and Lilly beds Prairies and the mighty ocean Now held in our hands Nobody is there Is anyone here What is everyone watching? Loneliness painted in window sills Plasma radiation gleams on White, pictureless walls Millions Watching sunsets And passions flame Lust pervert Warm golden skin Radiates tangerine And the lonely feel Vicarity Painting red On Blank slates And fill with vacant desire Million of on lookers Alone, watching Watching the world burn Watching mothers cry Watching beaches sludge Watching deserts snow Watching brave children die Watching brothers betray Watching love fail Watching countries fall Watching debts paid Millions of miles of tapes and bits Project a millions of protestant cries Endlessly, eternally Do we think God is watching? Do we think? While we're watching Bathing in radiation Children don't know how to read Live their lives on A television screen A whole generation Living vicariously Do we think? Millions of gray souls And avid voters Watch angry men spout nostalgic redirect Watch their children live their lives Watch game shows and advertisements Watch the six o' clock news Watch police shoot children in the street A million beautiful, lonely people Watch red carpet vanity Watch million dollar celebrity parties Watch the American dream lash the Backs of the fuedal and disenfranchised Watch depraved souls sacrifice self For the company of fame Meanwhile children don't read Do we think? A thought original Is there any thing left to believe Everyone so sure there's nothing they haven't seen Nobody leaves their house Nobody can bear to read Just watch the world slip into insanity Ignorance is the greatest weapon Yet all I see is guns blazing 80 billion dollars to dry the desert Not a one for education American families gather Around their TV screens They can't stop watching They're afraid of what they see Do they think God is watching? I hope God isn't watching

0

Dec 17, 2015

Dec 17, 2015 at 5:09 AM UTC

not-nick

Do We Think

We paint our lives on color film Absorbing familiar reflection And we watch as we live So little in color film We love, we **** We bleed, we die Do we think God is watching? Do we think we are the reflection Why are we watching? Mountain sides and Lilly beds Prairies and the mighty ocean Now held in our hands Nobody is there Is anyone here What is everyone watching? Loneliness painted in window sills Plasma radiation gleams on White, pictureless walls Millions Watching sunsets And passions flame Lust pervert Warm golden skin Radiates tangerine And the lonely feel Vicarity Painting red On Blank slates And fill with vacant desire Million of on lookers Alone, watching Watching the world burn Watching mothers cry Watching beaches sludge Watching deserts snow Watching brave children die Watching brothers betray Watching love fail Watching countries fall Watching debts paid Millions of miles of tapes and bits Project a millions of protestant cries Endlessly, eternally Do we think God is watching? Do we think? While we're watching Bathing in radiation Children don't know how to read Live their lives on A television screen A whole generation Living vicariously Do we think? Millions of gray souls And avid voters Watch angry men spout nostalgic redirect Watch their children live their lives Watch game shows and advertisements Watch the six o' clock news Watch police shoot children in the street A million beautiful, lonely people Watch red carpet vanity Watch million dollar celebrity parties Watch the American dream lash the Backs of the fuedal and disenfranchised Watch depraved souls sacrifice self For the company of fame Meanwhile children don't read Do we think? A thought original Is there any thing left to believe Everyone so sure there's nothing they haven't seen Nobody leaves their house Nobody can bear to read Just watch the world slip into insanity Ignorance is the greatest weapon Yet all I see is guns blazing 80 billion dollars to dry the desert Not a one for education American families gather Around their TV screens They can't stop watching They're afraid of what they see Do they think God is watching? I hope God isn't watching

85

His Grindr profile is a pictureless profile He is 20 years old 5’ 10” He is looking to experiment This scientist Questioning, questioning, questioning I convince myself to volunteer for this experimental group To be affected by the variable he is to control I send him a **** I drive to his house And the scientist leads me to his laboratory His room decorated with sports players and female swimsuit models I sit on his bed, the examination table He says he’s never done this before Yet I know he’s still the one in control He says he’s always been into ***** stuff as he caresses my knee And I can’t help but take this all as a compliment So I let my lips thank his Holding his secret with gentle care between our faces He is now my master He’s rough As if he’s battling a beast He no longer speaks for the remainder of the experiment He is silent Silently observing my every move, my every expression, my every reaction I am used to this Years of ***** looks stabbing ****** into my skin Feels bandaged in the arms of my master I feel the history of gay men solidify in my throat Centuries of experimenting on us, homosexuals Has prepared me for this I feel accepted His lips Like suction cup electrodes on my skin His nails like surgical scalpels digging into my flesh His hands pinning down my wrists Like binds to restrain my animalistic reflexes The scientist Dissecting every inch of my being Transforming “making love” to “constructing lust” Turning dehumanization into a beautiful art form Elevating this gay man to “almost a person” And I can’t help but feel thankful The experiment is over He sits there and calculates his results He says we should do this again some time And I can’t ******* help but take this straight boy scientist’s kink As a compliment As a medal, as an award Made from masculine hands that once beat me up in the locker room And I watch the monster creep back into the closet And the scientist just stares

0

Jun 21, 2016

Jun 21, 2016 at 5:35 PM UTC

tyler-park

The Scientist

His Grindr profile is a pictureless profile He is 20 years old 5’ 10” He is looking to experiment This scientist Questioning, questioning, questioning I convince myself to volunteer for this experimental group To be affected by the variable he is to control I send him a **** I drive to his house And the scientist leads me to his laboratory His room decorated with sports players and female swimsuit models I sit on his bed, the examination table He says he’s never done this before Yet I know he’s still the one in control He says he’s always been into ***** stuff as he caresses my knee And I can’t help but take this all as a compliment So I let my lips thank his Holding his secret with gentle care between our faces He is now my master He’s rough As if he’s battling a beast He no longer speaks for the remainder of the experiment He is silent Silently observing my every move, my every expression, my every reaction I am used to this Years of ***** looks stabbing ****** into my skin Feels bandaged in the arms of my master I feel the history of gay men solidify in my throat Centuries of experimenting on us, homosexuals Has prepared me for this I feel accepted His lips Like suction cup electrodes on my skin His nails like surgical scalpels digging into my flesh His hands pinning down my wrists Like binds to restrain my animalistic reflexes The scientist Dissecting every inch of my being Transforming “making love” to “constructing lust” Turning dehumanization into a beautiful art form Elevating this gay man to “almost a person” And I can’t help but feel thankful The experiment is over He sits there and calculates his results He says we should do this again some time And I can’t ******* help but take this straight boy scientist’s kink As a compliment As a medal, as an award Made from masculine hands that once beat me up in the locker room And I watch the monster creep back into the closet And the scientist just stares

53

Pictureless frames on aging walls, a floor that's crying for a sweep. Wooden boxes, stained and small. Empty pockets, wide and deep. Heavenly sounds of singing sparrows, coming through the courtyard door. Corridors so long and narrow, walking feet, thread no more. That staircase that you couldn't trust, stands defeated by the years. This musty place has seen it all, the joyful smiles, the tragic tears. How sad to see it now like this, the first place that we ever kissed. Its sad, the things that we dismiss, those days, those days I'll always miss.

0

Oct 12, 2014

Oct 12, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC

peter-cullen

Pictureless Frames.

Pictureless frames on aging walls, a floor that's crying for a sweep. Wooden boxes, stained and small. Empty pockets, wide and deep. Heavenly sounds of singing sparrows, coming through the courtyard door. Corridors so long and narrow, walking feet, thread no more. That staircase that you couldn't trust, stands defeated by the years. This musty place has seen it all, the joyful smiles, the tragic tears. How sad to see it now like this, the first place that we ever kissed. Its sad, the things that we dismiss, those days, those days I'll always miss.

17