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"postpone" poems
This is America for Petes sake Black lives don’t matter here They say they’re being treated unfair But they’re the one’s drinking up all the welfare And we even pay for their health care Poor black folk shouting black lives matter But they don’t matter The only thing that matters is the fat cats getting fatter Build a school or a jail? In a place like Baltimore, those black kids are already bound to fail Let’s not forget from whence we hail We came from abroad to build this house This was never meant to be a game of cat and mouse They don’t know their power, so they will never see their hour Cause you see white people are only safe when those animals scared White people are only safe when white people are feared When black people are teared, and on their face is smeared the blood of their ancestors, on the altar that is prepared The altar that was broken down when we ended Jim Crow Since then look how low our country did go But at last at last now again we can make America great Now again we can end any debate , about what it means to be free Cause when Trump is in charge I’ll tell you, you won’t tell me When Trump is President you'll put your hand over your heart for the anthem, not take a knee When Trump is President, You’ll be satisfied , you’ll lower your fist and you’ll be You’ll be gratified, you’ll shut your mouth and watch your people die You’ll watch them bleed like Alton Sterling, You’ll stand there you’ll cry And then you’ll wonder why, why does the color of your skin decide whether or not you win As you kneel before me thinking about your next of kin, ready to feel these bullets in your body as your reality sets in This country was never your own We brought you here as slaves, you call out for a savior but Abraham Lincoln is dead so you can put down the phone Martin Luther King is dead so you can put down the phone Malcom X is dead, you see,now you’re all alone We’ve infiltrated your culture and now that seed has grown As we watch you destroy each other and continue to postpone anything that looks like freedom Cause you see freedom isnt free We gained ours in 1776 Your ancestors were still in chains but here today you celebrate with me Thinking that you’re free But you will never be free Harriet Tubman freed a thousand slaves And she could've freed a thousand more but they were cheering for Trump in his rallies Because they can’t grasp what it means to be free And that mere truth is the key So we won’t say their names We won’t feel their pains Cause this is the United States of America , and white is right, we still hold the reigns
0
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
Views from the other side
This is America for Petes sake Black lives don’t matter here They say they’re being treated unfair But they’re the one’s drinking up all the welfare And we even pay for their health care Poor black folk shouting black lives matter But they don’t matter The only thing that matters is the fat cats getting fatter Build a school or a jail? In a place like Baltimore, those black kids are already bound to fail Let’s not forget from whence we hail We came from abroad to build this house This was never meant to be a game of cat and mouse They don’t know their power, so they will never see their hour Cause you see white people are only safe when those animals scared White people are only safe when white people are feared When black people are teared, and on their face is smeared the blood of their ancestors, on the altar that is prepared The altar that was broken down when we ended Jim Crow Since then look how low our country did go But at last at last now again we can make America great Now again we can end any debate , about what it means to be free Cause when Trump is in charge I’ll tell you, you won’t tell me When Trump is President you'll put your hand over your heart for the anthem, not take a knee When Trump is President, You’ll be satisfied , you’ll lower your fist and you’ll be You’ll be gratified, you’ll shut your mouth and watch your people die You’ll watch them bleed like Alton Sterling, You’ll stand there you’ll cry And then you’ll wonder why, why does the color of your skin decide whether or not you win As you kneel before me thinking about your next of kin, ready to feel these bullets in your body as your reality sets in This country was never your own We brought you here as slaves, you call out for a savior but Abraham Lincoln is dead so you can put down the phone Martin Luther King is dead so you can put down the phone Malcom X is dead, you see,now you’re all alone We’ve infiltrated your culture and now that seed has grown As we watch you destroy each other and continue to postpone anything that looks like freedom Cause you see freedom isnt free We gained ours in 1776 Your ancestors were still in chains but here today you celebrate with me Thinking that you’re free But you will never be free Harriet Tubman freed a thousand slaves And she could've freed a thousand more but they were cheering for Trump in his rallies Because they can’t grasp what it means to be free And that mere truth is the key So we won’t say their names We won’t feel their pains Cause this is the United States of America , and white is right, we still hold the reigns
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50
I wonder what it would be like if the tables were turned You could have all the knowledge that I’ve learned But hurt in a way that wasn’t earned Swap you’re heart for one that yearns I wonder if you hurt like the ones who are alone The ones they would disown A reality you can’t postpone All the more real when you are grown I wonder if you spent a day ignored Feeling like who you are just makes them bored Everyday leaving you floored Alone in the world Would you stand up for yourself Or hide behind a smile What is easier? Facing your fears or letting the pain compile Or you could just give up Not give yourself another day But that’s no solution There has to be a better way Some might pray Some might run away But you can choose to love yourself anyway
0
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 7:59 AM UTC
Self love
This is now. Now is. Don't postpone till then. Spend the spark of iron on stone. Sit at the head of the table; dip your spoon in the bowl. Seat yourself next your joy and have your awakened soul pour wine. Branches in the spring wind, easy dance of jasmine and cypress. Cloth for green robes has been cut from pure absence. You're the tailor, settled among his shop goods, quietly sewing.
0
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 4:22 PM UTC
Begin by Rumi
I was made for abandonment. Like a sea turtle left in the sand to hatch on her own and bravely voyage into the ocean, Escaping her idle life in a pure, white shell for a treacherous journey into a polluted, dark ocean. She will encounter beasts who will attempt to postpone her self-actualization. She's alone, but brave. She knows what she must do With the sound of the ocean and the light of the moon as her only guides. She pauses at the shoreline, The tide comes in, Sweeps her off her feet and welcomes her in a beautiful embrace. However... I am still struggling with the beasts who promised me an easier life Away from the mysterious ocean; Idle in their arms. They led me astray before I realized that while the ocean tides change, they follow the beautiful, definite pattern of the moon.
0
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 11:13 PM UTC
A Poetic Little Sea Turtle Wrote This
If I could have any ability in the world I would not want it to be the ability to stop time. In the beginning I would use it to get work done or to get a little extra sleep before work or to get all of my tables their drinks and meals in seconds. But it would not take long for me to start abusing it. Suddenly I would find myself in a difficult position. I would convince myself that it was okay just this one time to postpone it just a little, to gain my thoughts, to mentally prepare but once would turn into twice. Twice into four times. Four times would lead to eight. Suddenly I would avoid every problem. Every stumble. Every single rough spot in my life would be a blink away from being paused. Who is to say that it wouldn't become indefinite? At some point I would become so obsessed with stopping time and avoiding every hardship that I might actually stop it forever. I would never let anything else hurt me but would I smile or laugh? I would never hold someone’s hand or wake up completely well rested with a breeze coming in my window and the smell of breakfast swimming under my nose. The worst of it all is I would discover that in the end I was avoiding all that pain only to create on much worse; the pain of not living. Super powers are left to movies, comic books and my dreams yet people try to stop time every day. They do it by ignoring a phone call or avoiding a certain store or restaurant so they don't have to "deal" with some issue they are dreading. But the truth is that those problems, those things we work so hard to ignore are the best things that could ever happen to us. If I took every negative thought and experience and eliminate it from my history, would I really be any happier? Would I even know what happy is if I didn't know what it was like to be sad first?
0
Oct 17, 2010
Oct 17, 2010 at 11:01 AM UTC
Time Management
If I could have any ability in the world I would not want it to be the ability to stop time. In the beginning I would use it to get work done or to get a little extra sleep before work or to get all of my tables their drinks and meals in seconds. But it would not take long for me to start abusing it. Suddenly I would find myself in a difficult position. I would convince myself that it was okay just this one time to postpone it just a little, to gain my thoughts, to mentally prepare but once would turn into twice. Twice into four times. Four times would lead to eight. Suddenly I would avoid every problem. Every stumble. Every single rough spot in my life would be a blink away from being paused. Who is to say that it wouldn't become indefinite? At some point I would become so obsessed with stopping time and avoiding every hardship that I might actually stop it forever. I would never let anything else hurt me but would I smile or laugh? I would never hold someone’s hand or wake up completely well rested with a breeze coming in my window and the smell of breakfast swimming under my nose. The worst of it all is I would discover that in the end I was avoiding all that pain only to create on much worse; the pain of not living. Super powers are left to movies, comic books and my dreams yet people try to stop time every day. They do it by ignoring a phone call or avoiding a certain store or restaurant so they don't have to "deal" with some issue they are dreading. But the truth is that those problems, those things we work so hard to ignore are the best things that could ever happen to us. If I took every negative thought and experience and eliminate it from my history, would I really be any happier? Would I even know what happy is if I didn't know what it was like to be sad first?
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23
The Weary, they wander Tempest-tossed Onto my Lonely shores, Sailors with Shipwrecked vessels, Travelers grim with Soles scraped sore They seek to quell Their solitude Ill fated and alone, And finding me Beside the sea Lamenting, They postpone I welcome them With flames alight Inside the hearth Of my heart Although I know They never stay, That soon they will Depart Every time that One arrives The feeling sprouts Anew He'll leave me And I know it, But there's nothing I can do I am Calypso, cursed To long for love That is unchanging No solace rolls in With the tide The tempest, still, Is raging.
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Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
Calypso
Here, I sail to regions unknown. On the tides of bliss, you are shown. Your sweet strokes can calm my heart. As fear and pain depart. How the sun is dim to your smile. West winds blow as I dream of the Isle. For one day, we will lock our hands. Upon the golden sands... Writhe and roar! Sea and tempest grow! Rise, my Dutchman! Rock to and fro! Set the sails and man all the helms! Postpone our journey's end. Death ascends upon the throne. As wild as I am alone. Come to the sea, and cut through the waves. Hurry to your watery grave! And my love, who can't be restrained. I will vow that I'll make you pay! Drag them, bind them, take their souls! And hear the death bell toll! For my love, I gave you my heart. So that we will never part. Forever you were my always. I'll set the sea ablaze. How I've dreamed we'd meet on the lands. Words of love have crumbled to sand. For years, I drown with misery. I want my liberty... Unlike you, my heart isn't chained. Hear my ***** feel my pain! Lost and cold, my heart knows no rest! Within this dead man's chest...
0
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 1:13 PM UTC
Davy Jones' Lullaby (Revised)
*Our earth has turned Our lives are torn We are able to see light no more If only for a second we shine bright We are reminded of our destiny That of which is death We strive to survive We strive to stay alive Being surrounded with demons of flesh and bone Demons who are torn Tattered Look defeated but are actually reborn Reborn through blistering scorn they rise Their numbers are growing We do nothing for god is showing Showing his hatred for our kind Showing his secret and sacred mind We scream We cry For he gives no sympathy We scream We die For he gives no sympathy They feast off our loved one's limb by limb We hear their screams as he dies As she dies No goodbyes Just demise Torn eyes Black skies Reaching at us from above tearing our hope from our chest Our dreams as we rest Our lives as we suppress Suppress who we once were For that is no more Only for so long can we hide our screams We will be found We will be desecrated Piece by piece Our mothers torn and brothers death through scorn Our wives see blood and flesh before being reborn Now one of them they fight it but only postpone Postpone the inevitable The inevitability of turning Turning from who you once were to a demon Your birthdays Weddings Memories become waist As you see through the devils eyes you hunt to feast Inoperational your emotions become Through the eyes of evil you become **** No way out Our end has begun Our god has given up On our petty existence we call success Given up on the killing The thievery The **** The pedophiles This is why we die This is why black takes our sky Why evil is now his ally Why we are ripped apart before we depart into hell We become the hatred we once rebelled The hatred we once repelled Your children ask you why Ask you why we have to die You look into their eyes knowing they will once too be deleted Deleted from existence The tattered flesh and blood is insistence Insistence of his wrath While we beg to his knees He returns to his kin with this disease This plague This is why we hide The conquering he takes with pride Vague emotions to hell we ride* ***This rapture has become our end This rapture has become our end*** -Joseph B Schneider
0
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 4:05 AM UTC
Zombie Apocalypse
*Our earth has turned Our lives are torn We are able to see light no more If only for a second we shine bright We are reminded of our destiny That of which is death We strive to survive We strive to stay alive Being surrounded with demons of flesh and bone Demons who are torn Tattered Look defeated but are actually reborn Reborn through blistering scorn they rise Their numbers are growing We do nothing for god is showing Showing his hatred for our kind Showing his secret and sacred mind We scream We cry For he gives no sympathy We scream We die For he gives no sympathy They feast off our loved one's limb by limb We hear their screams as he dies As she dies No goodbyes Just demise Torn eyes Black skies Reaching at us from above tearing our hope from our chest Our dreams as we rest Our lives as we suppress Suppress who we once were For that is no more Only for so long can we hide our screams We will be found We will be desecrated Piece by piece Our mothers torn and brothers death through scorn Our wives see blood and flesh before being reborn Now one of them they fight it but only postpone Postpone the inevitable The inevitability of turning Turning from who you once were to a demon Your birthdays Weddings Memories become waist As you see through the devils eyes you hunt to feast Inoperational your emotions become Through the eyes of evil you become **** No way out Our end has begun Our god has given up On our petty existence we call success Given up on the killing The thievery The **** The pedophiles This is why we die This is why black takes our sky Why evil is now his ally Why we are ripped apart before we depart into hell We become the hatred we once rebelled The hatred we once repelled Your children ask you why Ask you why we have to die You look into their eyes knowing they will once too be deleted Deleted from existence The tattered flesh and blood is insistence Insistence of his wrath While we beg to his knees He returns to his kin with this disease This plague This is why we hide The conquering he takes with pride Vague emotions to hell we ride* ***This rapture has become our end This rapture has become our end*** -Joseph B Schneider
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80
God made us brown so we'd be hard to spot upon his fertile soil, to hide from the birds...which he made as well... to cower, dodge, to postpone hell. But slug does not hide, or flinch back. His coat? Uncompromising BLACK. He turns defence into attack. Oh slug – oh glorious slug. God gave us shells to weigh us down. Without them, we would HURTLE round, so common sense suggests. Who'd beat us, across a distance of ten metres? But slug, dear slug, you have the grace to not rub freedom in our face, to slow your stride to match our pace. Oh slug – oh glorious slug. God made us quiet, thoughtful, wait. He taught us manners, and restraint. He taught us not to stay out late, we're model garden citizens. But slug, he DEAFENS when he speaks! He goes out seven nights a week! Beer-swilling, hard-living, party beast. Oh slug – oh glorious slug. I'd sell my soul to be like him. Vacate my shell, and dye my skin. I'd go twice weekly to the gym, if doing so would let me in to doors in town that say 'slugs only.' But slug accepts no fake, no phony. I'll love, but I will never be a slug – oh glorious slug.
0
Jan 24, 2011
Jan 24, 2011 at 5:12 AM UTC
A Love Poem: From Snail to Slug
The Rhyming Shuffle Feeling all alone, life is on postpone. No one seems to care, time is now to beware. Stick me with a fork, in my *** is a scented cork. Farts smelling like a rose, watching bodies decompose. Climbing up Jacob's ladder, peeing a lot cause of my bladder. Calling me an Uncle Tom, shaving my hairy palm. Addicted to Candy Crush, brain turning into mush. Tired of always snapping, I deserve some ***** slapping. Grass is always greener, with the little old lady from Pasadena. On board the love boat, left me with a sore throat. Saving money is impossible, spending is just unstoppable. Writing rhymes is all I know, all my ducts are in a row. Going fishing without a pole, one to many hits from my bowl. Dying of old age, took my final bow, on the center stage.
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Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 2:12 PM UTC
The Rhyming Shuffle
Postpone not a good deed due to laziness That temperament will spoil your mission Always punctually execute your decision This will help you a lot in life and business Any good intention must be soon acted upon Before your mind makes a negative move Your worth, only your deed will finely prove Wisely use the opportunity before it is gone While taking steps, difficulties will crop up But, we should not lose heart feeling diffident We must face all the blocks feeling confident Without playing, how to aim for the golden cup? Life means only problems and lots of troubles Happiness may show its face occasionally Our happiness alone must triumph finally Due to will-power, troubles become bubbles Concentrate to achieve the desired result Let determination be exercised in full swing Glory and success, only hard-work will bring Efforts alone tie achievements to one's belt. mvvenkataraman
0
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 10:33 AM UTC
Do Now With Great Love
This is what you do to me: Keep the thoughts coming like waves, I get paid, but even if i was broke, I could live off of just knowing you. Your image; God Given. Im Cristal sippin’; Having dreams; Seeing visions, Comparing you to an image; Of angels. Caught in the game and it’s one I can’t postpone. Because it’s you that I really want, im just in hopes that you will know. Come to your senses. They say it’s senseless; I keep writing about you, But they don’t know. When you’re really in love, Just got to let her go. And if her love matches your love, Then you’ll forever know. And grow together, saying promise after promise. I try to hide it, But I just can’t conceal it. Kerosene heart pumps your name through my veins, To my brain, on my mind, is where you stay – all day. Showing no emotion. But as sensitive as ever, When your name is spoken, I go insane. & this has got to be my longest crush ever, And if we ever get together, We’d be together for-ever. But knowing it isn’t ever, Remotely possible. But is it plausible to dream? I can’t hit the pause button on my dreams. … And so here I am, Lying here – without you. Everything I ever written is – about you. Thinking; how right the world would feel if this dream was real. You could transform my dark to light. … But it’s just another night.
0
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
“The One That Got Away”
Just a random poem To postpone my english essay, I guess it's not very good but I'll upload it anyway, I guess I should tell you a bit about me, Very nerdy, curly hair, I need glasses to see, People think they know me- think I'm easy to judge but they don't, and well, I don't hold a grudge. I'm the unpopular girl who everyone talks to, I look quite happy, but you don't know the heartbreak I've been through. My poems are mixed, but mostly sad. I guess I should stop writing now- this is getting quite bad My punctuation isn't good, although I'm getting A's and A*'s, My head is always in the clouds, I'm maturer than my friends by far. I'm going to stop writing- so you can move on, I'm EllaUmbrella and this is my song.
0
Dec 4, 2009
Dec 4, 2009 at 6:52 AM UTC
Random Poem Poem
It may be impossible to perfectly portray, How joyfully you walked the meadow away. To sit against your reading tree on a beautiful day, Oh, the words of love I could not bring myself to say. How close might we have grown? If in that moment I had known, To kneel, to beg God to postpone -- An illness unseen, a fate unknown. As your head -- fell to rest, I thought no other could be so blest. As to nap in the place they loved best, Though your heart lay idle inside your chest. There, in the meadow - beside your tree, Is where I placed a rose for thee. For it was your favorite place to be, And where I keep you in my memory. When you came near I always fled, My heart felt love, while my brain saw red. And now my hands hold my head, 'I love you, my lovely dead'...
0
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 9:26 PM UTC
In the Meadow
Came home late To postpone the hate To forget the wars That is behind closed doors. To forget the hurt To forget the pain But it doesn’t matter I got it all the same The door has closed in the night And the feelings gave me a fright For he kicked me in the head Told me he would make me dead Yelling kicking screaming Saying why is I so late “your grounded get to your room. Picked myself up from the floor And wiped my bleeding lip Held my hands on my side Another broken rib Stumbled on the stairs It hurts and I am numb Closed the door in my room And reached for the gun BANG ! I took my life I am not prisoner her now As my soul floats to heaven I am finally free now
0
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 3:10 AM UTC
depressed all the time
A Moth rests on your nose for your solace, Disoriented by anxious breaths instead. Still your lungs. Postpone your life for another’s, an insect that lives for an average of three days is worth more than you of eighty years. It has less time to live and So is forced to live each nanosecond as its minute. Hold your breath for a second and give it thousands of moments To study the purpose of your pores, the nature of your nostrils, the message of your mouth. It is a blessing that one who has such a blink of a life should choose you. Its tentative, exploring antennae acknowledge your existence For that moment You are its universe. You Are the mountains, and underwater caves, the forests, the savannah, the tundra, the planets. You Are the suffocating suburbia, the twitchy towns, the neglected neighborhoods, the seductive cities. You Are sighing waterfalls, lighthearted hills, free-spirited skies, heartwarming dreams. If god was the universe, Then you’re set for heaven. Except The Moth flies away Leaving you to take its place.
0
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 8:59 PM UTC
The Moth
*I could lie, and lie hard, about looking, And looking hard for the perfect blue, A certain force of blue that castles The white sand beaches of the South, Of the Visayas region, somewhere In your eyes, beloved, while they only echo The whisper of that brown coffee blend You infinitely adore, or that proud tan missing, Always missing out on a red bikini. But my heart can't nor simply can't. There's this something about my lineage That resonates within me, that my soul, wet, Would always want to travel back Like a driftwood drifting back. I do not demand the burn nor the fire. I am completely fine in smoke, shadowing you, Shadowing me and the scars, Making love, perpendicular, Out of a night perpetual, and postpone sleep Over our mutual moon beaming. There is none left for silence, but us, Only our lives. (Listen.) I can't help but love that eloquence, Your tenderness, a roof Out of your hands. Your comfort Is where I rest and wake up to. Say something, anything, for it speaks, And is pleasure, a poetic treasure, A novel or a story. I love the way You nag. Be candid for me, And especially for you. I would enormously love to burst In a quiet laughter, simply because someone Made me so with a crafty subtlety, In me, from the inside out. I would trade my poems for a woman like that, Like you, and I would love a kiss, A kiss for all of that.* © 2015 J.S.P.
0
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
For Where My Treasure Is
"Waiting to live tomorrow is the greatest folly — live wisely with what you have today; needless worry about the future is pointless." 💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞 To postpone life for some imagined tomorrow is the truest kind of foolishness. Hold today with mindful hands — worrying for a future yet unseen steals your present.
0
Sep 24, 2025
Sep 24, 2025 at 12:02 AM UTC
Strong One-liner
Tribute to my childhood hero Joni Mitchell The album covers beaten The player old and worn The needle barely tracking From all the scratches borne Upon the vinyl surfaces Of albums that were stored Unlocking wonderous worlds Of music I adored I would lie in cloistered darkness To hear a voice so sweet There I'd usher in the nighttime To worship at her feet Struck by earthy lyrics But somewhat strange Unearthly tunes To trace with disconnected fingers The most sensitive of wounds How sad that good songs Unsung heroes Like "Morning Morgantown" Wouldn't live forever To "buy your dreams a dollar down" Recall "Big Yellow Taxi"? You can rest assured I do! And "Ladies of the Canyon" And her epic album "Blue" Most folks recall a song Entitled "Both Sides Now" 'Bout clouds and love and life But they do not know Her poetic expression Unearthed deep jazzy riffs Elitism. Hypocrisy. And "Summer Lawns" that "Hissed" At the pinnacle of greatness Her album "Court and Spark" Will always be a touchstone For purity in art A deeply troubled woman At certain times in life Loving truely... deeply In the "Industry" meant strife A versatile genius Her lyrics resonate Fot the very thing that scarred her Also made her great --- At times I'd sit and ponder A self-inflicted crime But I would postpone the act To hear her one last time Her songs touched me so deeply Places only she could know With her voice to guide me I found a place to go She became my inspiration My metaphor. My muse. Joni Mitchell told my heart To write of its abuse I aspire to higher standards A perfection as it were And should my work be recognized I owe it all to her. Though endlessly I search For perfect sense of art It's brought on by INPERFECTION But a kind and loving heart. What I saw in her self portrait Was a humble, gentle face She was the greatest mentor a human life could grace SoulSurvivor (C) 10/14/2014 Rewritten (C) 7/17/2015
0
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
Lady of the Canyon
Tribute to my childhood hero Joni Mitchell The album covers beaten The player old and worn The needle barely tracking From all the scratches borne Upon the vinyl surfaces Of albums that were stored Unlocking wonderous worlds Of music I adored I would lie in cloistered darkness To hear a voice so sweet There I'd usher in the nighttime To worship at her feet Struck by earthy lyrics But somewhat strange Unearthly tunes To trace with disconnected fingers The most sensitive of wounds How sad that good songs Unsung heroes Like "Morning Morgantown" Wouldn't live forever To "buy your dreams a dollar down" Recall "Big Yellow Taxi"? You can rest assured I do! And "Ladies of the Canyon" And her epic album "Blue" Most folks recall a song Entitled "Both Sides Now" 'Bout clouds and love and life But they do not know Her poetic expression Unearthed deep jazzy riffs Elitism. Hypocrisy. And "Summer Lawns" that "Hissed" At the pinnacle of greatness Her album "Court and Spark" Will always be a touchstone For purity in art A deeply troubled woman At certain times in life Loving truely... deeply In the "Industry" meant strife A versatile genius Her lyrics resonate Fot the very thing that scarred her Also made her great --- At times I'd sit and ponder A self-inflicted crime But I would postpone the act To hear her one last time Her songs touched me so deeply Places only she could know With her voice to guide me I found a place to go She became my inspiration My metaphor. My muse. Joni Mitchell told my heart To write of its abuse I aspire to higher standards A perfection as it were And should my work be recognized I owe it all to her. Though endlessly I search For perfect sense of art It's brought on by INPERFECTION But a kind and loving heart. What I saw in her self portrait Was a humble, gentle face She was the greatest mentor a human life could grace SoulSurvivor (C) 10/14/2014 Rewritten (C) 7/17/2015
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78
London. January. 7:45pm A bench possessed by a single gem Thinking obsessing over a single thought. Of the last argument they ever fought. The saxophone player blowing his tune. His only audience the shining moon. Trying to earn some last needed dough Wondering why he even puts on this dumb show The other street acts already home Now he stands, alone. Southbank market nears to an end Time runs out between two friends. The spark has gone- the light is out Now every mind is filled with doubt. Her mind starts to wander as she contemplates On all the things she has to complicate A kiss, a hug, a humorous lie Did they even try? Her eyes start to fill with the water of a tear She fails to keep her mind clear. She stands up and leaves Walks away. She doesn’t know where she’s going Or why. Or how. Or how long she can postpone But she still walked. Alone.
0
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
London.
For you to understand your self-destruction must I demonstrate sweet sugary ellipses to help initiate dreaming but what if I postpone and begin to talk of inanimate objects ramble meaningless words would you call me as I continued while you goodbyed must I demonstrate force fear upon your intestines for your eyes to open from your ellipse induced daze?
0
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
untitled. (self-destruction)
Once there was a man who had only one friend. Every day, just before the demise of a cyclamen orange burning ball on the horizon ~ he swam to the shore, waving with a magnificent tail, blowing bubbles and bundles of water and air into the wide open skies. Under the darkening heavens, he sang the muffled song. Tempting his beloved. . .reaching magic, farther then any sonar's ability. Abnormal coldness froze Icelandic Beauty. But beneath the surface, life was warmer without wars. Dwarf seals were jumping into the laced ocean; trying to cry each time they were cut off the Earth's gravity. This Mighty friend of an old man, was his only link to the global world. The man was old-fashioned; had no telecommunication facilities, his radio were gulls, stray cats, shepherd dogs and sheep on a green hill, behind his wooden hut. Sometimes he looked over his shoulder, only to determine whether his elderly donkey is able to follow. . . or do they both need a little rest, just to postpone the books from the saddle for later and spread the beautifully ornamented Indian carpet under the great great grand olive tree ~ to take a reviving little nap in the shade. When he woke up, the old man lit his wooden pipe, puffed few beautiful rings of indigo smoke, smirked to a buzzing bee and found that the air is still pure enough. The pressure was normal, the wind was playing with wave foams in the neighbouring bay. Under the olives, hanging from the tree canopy, the quietness was fulfilling the old man's heart. Motionless peace was heard. Tranquility. And the motion of a Humpback Whale. Leaving.
0
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
Horizon's Always There
Once there was a man who had only one friend. Every day, just before the demise of a cyclamen orange burning ball on the horizon ~ he swam to the shore, waving with a magnificent tail, blowing bubbles and bundles of water and air into the wide open skies. Under the darkening heavens, he sang the muffled song. Tempting his beloved. . .reaching magic, farther then any sonar's ability. Abnormal coldness froze Icelandic Beauty. But beneath the surface, life was warmer without wars. Dwarf seals were jumping into the laced ocean; trying to cry each time they were cut off the Earth's gravity. This Mighty friend of an old man, was his only link to the global world. The man was old-fashioned; had no telecommunication facilities, his radio were gulls, stray cats, shepherd dogs and sheep on a green hill, behind his wooden hut. Sometimes he looked over his shoulder, only to determine whether his elderly donkey is able to follow. . . or do they both need a little rest, just to postpone the books from the saddle for later and spread the beautifully ornamented Indian carpet under the great great grand olive tree ~ to take a reviving little nap in the shade. When he woke up, the old man lit his wooden pipe, puffed few beautiful rings of indigo smoke, smirked to a buzzing bee and found that the air is still pure enough. The pressure was normal, the wind was playing with wave foams in the neighbouring bay. Under the olives, hanging from the tree canopy, the quietness was fulfilling the old man's heart. Motionless peace was heard. Tranquility. And the motion of a Humpback Whale. Leaving.
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8
Scrambling to get to the 81st floor. Outrageous? Yes. But who could ask for more. My coffee spills as I fly through the office door. But it's worth the price, I can't live poor. My office is the best. $10,000 conference table, oak cabinets, view of the financial capital of the world. Five assistants, three for my organization, one for coffee, and the other is best kept secret, so the wife does not find out. I make more than I can spend, yet all expenses are paid for. Some might call me lucky, I disagree, I call myself hardworking. Some might call me lucky, I disagree, word came in that my flight tomorrow morning will be postponed. This means that I will have to postpone my meeting with my biggest client. But it's ok, because he needs my business. I guess I can come in to work tomorrow morning. It will be one more step to the top, to become number one. As my calendar reads September tenth, two thousand and one.
0
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 7:19 AM UTC
My Workplace
rickety minutes twitch in wood stained cabinets; mittens in a bin . birch tones postpone in mauve twilight... an unfinished diorama. clandestine. a small glitch in a good rain... cabbages smitten in mist. a thirst groaning; long bones caw fully reclined... as timeless Brahmans. old beams of light stack like gold bricks in a humidor; mittens in a bin. black birds comb rogue stones then.... [ pause ] triffids... blemish barnacles. crystalline. a ball of lint in a storm drain... vanishes - bitten out of sight. at first, toning old gongs... wind chimes... earth's most wanted.
0
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 5:05 PM UTC
Earwig