"predictions" poems
Although,
I wish for you to see me.
Dancing to music, totally lost.
Laughing, beautiful.
Being silly, the girl you fell for.
Creating new paintings, memories...
But rather than just seeing me,
Be there with me.
Prove predictions.
Together,forever.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
I wish for you to see me...
Alone in my room.
Singing,writing about you.
Crying,begging darkness.
Throwing notes,paintings,
Watching our memories rain down.
Covering my floor in
Tear-drenched declarations of love.
Watch me prove predictions,
I said,
without you, I'd be dead.'
Save me...
You're the only one watching.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
Some of my predictions come true and i got to say i have a keen eye of probability-even though i'm bad at math.
Walk up to her and say that you predict you and her going on a date next Friday night and hopefully that will work.
Guys need new ways to be romantic, so we can keep our game up. No bad pickup-lines or ****** diction. Just pure prestineness within confident ties.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
Mozart,
deaf,
died, eventually.
Picasso, pervert, died; Whitney, Winehouse, drugs, dead; Elvis, Methamphetamine, died
(on the toilet).
Van Gogh,
missing an earlobe,
died.
Plath,
head in an oven,
in front of her kids,
Woolf
Patron saint of insanity, I guess
waded into a river and-
River. River Phoenix. Drugs.
Natalie Merchant wrote that song about him in 1995.
Flash forward.
Me, twenty-one, drunk.
Proprietor of a collection of lackluster poems.
Sold their small, nonbinary soul to the Devil
in exchange for a fortune,
gone.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
He was the ‘revealer of light’
Oracles he read, forecasted future,
Time moved, rustic life stood still
"Look back and see, there is change."
There’s no trial left
The deity acquired the ****** body.
Predictions are vague, he cried in pain
And he danced to his unshakable faith.
The God revealed!
The divine and man in a union of its own,
Patrons wept and asked for blessings.
Serpent’s crown over God’s head-
Shone in the dark light, his golden breast
And pointed teeth, sharp as arrows-
Pierced the patrons, they collapsed in devotion.
The dead hero arose with Godliness
He is God, his blood is divine.
There is change, there is change!
The drums arose and it stroke bold,
Patrons cried in religious zeal
The God plunged himself into the bonfire
He reincarnated.
Born again to die again! Born again to die again!
There is no change! There is no change!
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
The Sirens are in love with me.
I’m digging a hole so deep,
I’d rather continue to dig and dig and dig.
The calm winds bring thunderous predictions.
Bicycle rides send mixed signals.
The Sirens send backup.
A victorious guilt has won,
But I fear the next day.
The snowflakes come swimming in on May 1st, 2013.
I’m a lost body browsing for comfort.
The Sirens reach their destination.
A collection of material items,
Will only irritate the burn.
I haven’t lived for one billion seconds.
My mind is trafficking against my will.
The Sirens have won.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
Could there be any truth in the prophecies
that the Mayans had written?
Over five thousand years ago about 2012
foretelling a spiritual awakening!
And the possibility of the end of mankind
is it fiction that's outlined?
Prophecies written have come and long gone
scholars say they've happened.
Were these disasters predicted as it was told
or how they were interpreted?
Whether vague and their meanings calculated
their accuracy debated!
Many are sceptical of those who say they foresee
from past times to present.
Though a lot of predictions of the natural type
what of mankind's folly?
If there's a way that the future can be seen
to know seems obscene!
Usually nothing can be done to prevent it
causing fear and uncertainty.
Prophecies of the past make no difference
those of the future no comfort!
Whether the Mayans is true it's a short wait
if not next year let's have a debate!
The Foureyd Poet.
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
Women Rising: Five Predictions for Women in the 2012 Workplace
In Society 3.0, Dr. Wilen-Daugenti presents a compelling case for how women’s prospects in business are on the rise. Based on her research at Apollo Research Institute, she predicts that in 2012, women in the workplace will reach the following milestones:
1. More women will become leaders in the workplace.
In 2012, 18 women will be running Fortune 500 companies—the highest number yet. This confirms a rising trend of women’s corporate leadership. The U.S. Government Accountability Office reported that in 2009, 40% of managers in the workforce were women. In 2010, women held 15.7% of board seats at Fortune 500 companies.
2. Women-owned firms will drive job creation and employment.
Women business owners employ 35% more people than all the Fortune 500 companies combined. Women own 10.1 million U.S. firms, employing more than 13 million people and generating $1.9 trillion in sales as of 2008.
3. Women will obtain higher education in greater numbers.
Women now earn more degrees than men, with graduates from all ethnic, racial, and socioeconomic groups racing past men in rates of completing programs of study. Women aged 25 to 34 are more likely to have a college degree and are more likely than men to go to graduate school. By 2012, women are expected to earn 60% of bachelor’s degrees, 63% of master’s degrees, and 54% of doctoral and professional degrees.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
I am not talking of the dreams
For what you want to do in your life
The ones that occur in your sleep
But over the past couple of nights
I have encountered unwanted dreams
A few nights ago
I dreamt of being in a plane
Going to see the person I love
And the plane crashed in a horrific manner
Then there is last night’s dream
I drove 1500 miles to see the one I love
And when I arrived, I held her in my arms
And she soon passed away
Sobbing while cradled in my arms
I don’t want these dreams
They’re showing me unwanted ideas
Unwanted predictions of the future
I wish the happy dreams would come back...
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
I write words with passion, I write words learned from wisdom
I study the works from the greatest; I even study the stars in the sky
Look to the North West on a dark Southern Autumn‘s night
Hanging side by side with the king of the jungle and holding a *** of honey
A relative to the one in the deserts with stinger in its tail you will see
A Giant that walks on ocean floors with meat that is ever so sweet
Constellations that fill the sky all been given a specific name at an earlier time
Many a being read the wise man tales in the daily papers
They live there day to look to see if there predictions come true
Your visions can only come true if you search without looking
My journey today took me to the second floor I’m in a ward
Doors open exposing many smiles and many, many frowns
Team Poppy’s Ride for one dollar I bought into yes I did
Relay for life fight the silent killer and have fun doing it as well it says
A dozen silk roses pull me near to the table to touch them
Fur lined slippers; ports open on his body, one in his neck
Another in his arm with plunger attached I can see
Flush him clean and pure I pray aloud rid him of his pain
Give it to me I cry as I looked into his eye
Tapping red heels with anxiety she’s called in next
Chairs with wheels fill the room to capacity
All with hoses and green cylinders attached given a fresh breath of life to inhale
Delicatessen of food on a low cart is now delivered from the one with child in the womb
Smile she puts on my face for there’s another life to keep the circle of life going
Journeys not over for they have just begun
Stacks of Danielle Steele books are scattered all about
Comforting the mind, comforting the soul they do
Precious words are better than man’s medicine I believe
Come to me, my written words are stronger then the script you’re looking for
No ringing of the bells here to mark the toll
To the left I see a three leaf clover hanging in the window
On the Next there’s a hanging cross
Waiting is the master, to do your part
He welcomes you and your soul.
CELEBRATE, REMEMBER, AND FIGHT BACK! (CARSr. 5-21-12)
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 12:25 PM UTC
Sapiosexuals^
she quoted Shakespeare most appropriately when needed,
her fevered fervor scientific was the non-fossil fueled engine that STEMed her quantum analytics of NFL football,
as an intellectual amuse bouche, that was uncannily correct,
on FIFa she passed it was just too corrupt, but Wimbledon was”fun”
we all bet her predictions for her error rate was insignificant
she claimed her knowledge of a cure for Alzheimer’s was done,
but bio-pharma suppressed, and a single pill existed taken once, could cease and desist the brain for craving ******* but the politics were too complicated and really boring to explain
instead she preferred to wile the hours hanging with
lesser poets, to see if taking them at their word
was an accurate indicative of their professed prowess in bed
but when she sampled my wares regularly,
I called her study statistically biased,
to which she replied,
“ain’t you the lucky one,
that my standards are lowly rigorous,
and you possess a mighty cute bi-assymetry“
in Croatian or Mandarin (unsure)
smart lassie indeed
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
and now here i am
writing poetry about you
in tim hortons
i've sunk this low
may as well keep going
extend the metaphor
except
we are not symbolic
we are real
or at least my mind thinks we were
and i'm usually right
so
who are you to say i'm wrong?
except you didn't
you just didn't say anything
and that's what makes me think
i should be somewhere else
somewhere other than this table
growing green with moss and envy
bending over time and time again
to pick up that lucky penny
polishing it off and adding it to my pocket
saving up for another drink
so i can buy more time
waiting around
for another chance encounter with you
that i know won't amount to anything
but hey
i can try can't i?
i have that right and i use it
abuse it
and all for what?
here i am sitting at a table for two
and you?
you're somewhere else
like you've always been
never there in front of me
except when passing me by
giving me the eye
or
did i just imagine it?
i think i know what i'm talking about
but my predictions all put me in the same place
sitting here with a cup in front of me
slowly emptying
but never all the way
because i still say i've got time to wait
my watch is wrong
some excuse
to go along with my own stupid games
playing the lottery and losing
but each small compensation lifts me up
i'm so hopeful one day it's gonna **** me
and i'll die here
in tim hortons
with my cold coffee sitting in front of me
saying
i told you so
you should've finished me when you had the time!
and i'll know
i should've finished us when i had the time
maybe then we never would have been like this
skirting around each other
all awkward smiles
cold coffee
warmed up
is never the same as when it's fresh
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 12:46 AM UTC
Pretzel Logic
always counter intuitive
with a twisted sense of fate
explicitly constructed
how much longer will you wait
the axiom of choice
the scenario of doubt
with random intervention
how can you bring about
a clear and precise result
with no deviance in action
probability of predictions
spinning wheels with no traction
the answers so concise
in udder chaos results you find
without collaboration
such an eery creepy mind
a scavenger of darkness
deep down thoughts somewhat toxic
no wavering in directions
manipulative pretzel logic
Gomer Lepoet...
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
A private party
Etudes
People around me
Vanity and beauty
From where I sat
A glow of hope
In an ashen sky
Abandoned arguments
Reviews and dismal news
Changing moods
Pauses for profanity
Shadows and reality
Simulacrums
Patented predictions
Solemnity and sorrow
Corpses for the coroner
Silence.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC
Reality one, Mayans nil
They said I will cease to be, but I am… still
By the twenty first we’d all be dead… they said
I wonder how many people that believed feel like they got played.
Reality one, Mayans nil
If they could see this, I wonder… how these Mayans would feel
So many predictions close to home
But they had to go for the big one
The major gamble… at the big boys’ table
A three legged table mind you, a bet that’s very unstable
One does not just simply predict the end of days… not that simply
One minute we’re talking eclipses… the next, doomsday
That escalated quickly!
Reality still won though… because ‘I am’ still
Oh, how I feel…
Invincible now… it’s like I am steel
I knew it though, because this is my time
Mine… not theirs; it’s not even their time to borrow
Now to celebrate life all over again
Party all night… cross a road, get hit by a car, hit the ground and ironically enough be dead by this time tomorrow.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 1:50 AM UTC
Crazy how the new got old so quick
Drug dealing is the new entrepreneurship
Stripping is the new night shift
**** financial aid ****
Since they finish college but continue dancing
On that ***** pole ****
Gay is the new straight
Killer cops are the new superman
And cop killers the new batman
Since when have black lives matter
That's old news ****
Social media fame is the new news feed
And gangster rap beef is the new comedy
Kevin Heart is the new Bill without the pill
Obama is the new Kennedy not John but Robert
Hillary will be the new President
But that's just my prediction
Even-though 49 percent of me believes a Republican is winning this election
Since they are the new donkeys and Democrats the new elephant
Orange is the new black?
.... wait...
Orange is the new black?
That's a thing of the past orange been the color for Blacks
Poets are the new rappers
Rappers are the new fathers
**** is the new medicine
No need for doctors and nurses
Money is the new God
Gold chains are the new nooses
Since every ***** want one
D'usse is the new Hennessey no need for a chase
So much new in the world but I'm still the same ol' me
Cole is the new Nas
Kendrick is the new Em
"Drake is the new great Philosopher"
But that is in the words of the Bronx borough president
Since he is the new ***** of politics
But there's only still one
Jay-z
Ball is the new life
and hoes are the new wife's
Snitches are the new thugs
K2 is the new ****
Heroine the new *******
Pills the new crack
So much new in the world and I'm still the same ol' me
Black will be the new white
Peace will be the new war
But those are just my predictions
Since we lost our self-identity through the modern age of seasoning
So much new in the world as I predict
I'll stay the same
While the environment adapts to me
never the other way around
I'll forever be me
And these voices in my head are just the curse of the talented
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 7:30 AM UTC
would I,
like to know
what, the world is thinking?
every individuals
original thought,
every hippies
high aspiration
and every radicals rebellious rave?
why yes,
yes i would.
beyond ALL practical desires.
would i, also like to know
how it is you mend a heart
that bleeds NOT body
but soul?
to sieze ones rustling memories
and understand the pain, accepting
ALL
and still stay sane?
why yes,
yes i most certainly would.
MY mind
it still does ponder.
IF,
you COULD know
the blue prints,
in which you were to follow,
would you fight
to stay on track?
rising up to every challenge
that falls along the way?
OR
would you choose
another path?
find peace, without predictions,
STRAY,
far of the beaten path
carve the wood, another way?
I
would like the knowledge
of one too many things.
STRIPPING life of all its wonders,
and THAT
my friend
is what MAKES me human.
Aug 14, 2011
Aug 14, 2011 at 12:42 AM UTC
Utuqaq, the apocalypse,
won’t burn us alive by fire, no.
Mayans never spoke of muruaneq
even in predictions.
Pirtuk, the apocalypse:
left behind in snowy bark,
footprints of squirrels
alarming at circling eagles.
Matsaaruti, the apocalypse —
the walking dead are peonies
furrowed on tombs. They’re not the end
though singing bowls sing
our breaths, icy and visible.
Siguliaksraq, the apocalypse.
Earth is grey and white;
pukak - the coming snow.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
dismay is felt when opening the newspaper
to read Athena's astral charts
on many occasions her predictions are well out
which tend to make the readers doubt
to-day she stated that all Geminis
were in for an adventure
but she failed to also mention
the possibility of a misadventure
Taurus individuals supposedly
are going to win a truck load of cash
they'll be disappointed
should they not collect a stash
she said all Virgos
would be bidding their time
but how would she know
as few of them can march to a rhyme
this pronouncement she had written large
which told of a Capricorn who'd fly to Mars
yet this person hasn't got a rocket
which can propel him to Mars
here was one that reeled me in
she spoke of a Pisces eating a dog
her info was well out of kilter
we all know that all fishes prefer a frog
Athena was glowing in her outlook
for those Cancer folk saying they'd find a bloke
though none of them are in the market
for finding a bloke
she put in a good line for Scorpios
to be careful whilst using the hose
as they might get the nozzle
stuck to their nose
Libras were given an Athena heads up
not to take their dreams too far
why would she say that
when we all know that a Libra dreamer always makes par
she stated that Sagittarius ladies
needed to buy a spring party dress
though they've all got wardrobes
full of lovely floral brightness
what do you think of her
Leo chart for November and December
during these months
will they have a holiday to remember
she made mention of Aquarius souls
by way of Rock and Roll
few of those sixties baby bombers
have the legs to now Rock and Roll
finally her is what she telegraphed
for our Aries cousins in Perth
they'd all be reborn on planet Earth
yet none are seeking a rebirth
Athena's predictive Astrology page
is one we'll all need to thoroughly gauge
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
Our faithful black Labrador, who was an old lady when I was just a boy, had six pups and despite the grey on her muzzle, produced enough milk for them all. She would take her bowl to the sink when thirsty, tinned-meat to the can-opener when hungry. When tired, she would sprawl out on a rug before the coal fire, on occasion, licking her master’s feet before falling asleep.
Sometimes, I would rest my head upon her chest, listening to her breathing. In her dreams she would sometimes yelp softly and I would soothe her nightmares away by stroking her sleek black coat.
In our garden, during the pleasant sunshine of a warm afternoon, we used to play together. Throwing a tennis ball that she would chase then fetch back and drop in my waiting hands for me to throw again. This was by far, her favourite game.
Some considered that she ran out in front of the School Teacher’s speeding car deliberately. “Because of her age,” they said, and “her inability to cope with the pups, only just turned two weeks old,” — that my mother reared, against all predictions.
I never accepted this nonsense. At the time, such a thing never crossed my mind as I looked at her, sprawled across the roadside verge. Her eyes were open, but through my tears I could see they were sightless. I also saw the muddy tyre-print across her unmoving ribs and how her legs twisted at an unnatural angle. I could not help my crying, but I felt no shame: none at all.
The sad regret I saw in the School Teacher’s red-rimmed eyes did nothing to ease my pain. If anything, her sorrow made me feel even worse. I felt guilty because I wanted to hate her. Perhaps I did hate her! I can barely remember now. With the passage of time the pain and the hate, if indeed there was any hate, has faded.
Whenever I pass our old house, where Moss is buried in the garden in which she played, I recall our times together and give her good thoughts. For good thoughts are all that I have for our faithful black Labrador, who was an old lady when I was just a boy.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 6:53 AM UTC
Listen Here -> https://soundcloud.com/m_c_vegh/itch
I got an itch and I never scratch it.
I wish I could attack it with hatchets
have at it like addicts, -get higher than attics
smother it like asthmatics.
***** out its flame.
Cause the itch lays the tracks for train in my brain
just a scratch and I know that I'd go insane,
so the itch just remains.
Simple and plain.
But the itch won't control me
cause scratchin it won't console me
the comfort it brings is phony
even when I feel lonely.
I used scratch without noticing
in an itchless-ness bliss,
until I scratched my self raw
a fact that I somehow missed.
that's when you know that you're trapped,
all that you can do is scratch
cause if you don't then you'll crash
a striked match turned to ash.
you've gone and burned out all your midnight oil
nothing left from feasting spoiled
the itch makes your blood boil.
who knew that the pleasure that came from this friction
would turn against you so fast and create an addiction
there's no predictions for scratching
but for the scratching itself
except scratching always leaves you lonely
cause you just scratch yourself
and I wish I could shut these problems off with a switch,
but I got ninety-nine problems and the itch is the *****
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 10:19 PM UTC
Accepting quantum fuzziness and discreteness,
u-h-d allows the idea of seeing one thing is not the other,
über aber ich weis nicht
focus, this is spiritual, not religious, this is inner-bubble space,
pick a hat, here's a Dumbo feather
… "and called it macaroni."
A line forms an ancient meme, in the Spirit of America,
dancing children singing and waving tri-colors,
performing grammar school maypole pageants
in conjunction with the ashtorothean rites called passion,
feeling earth warm to the dance of our
sowing of the seed, celebrate, the coming of the sun
to the appointed time as time is measured
on the stone that bhers witness to our we formed spirit.
We are walkers along the spiral, twisting this way then
to that once,
you felt me make a point you felt was your tic to on point,
alert,
predictions pile in unverifiable belivable, but easy to believe,
life is good, in terms of essential being, elemental preceptions
glimpse of something super-semantic tic super symmetrick
not having seen hell, from the perspective of the conqueror,
leaves any weapon fit to fight the reality hell forms
unique,
unlike any weapon as yet imagined better, truth as a concept
any mind may form to hold,
from holding nothing, as a thought, then in a word caught
as thought
think this is the trick to quantum being, be
a bit.
See how it does feel to be real, ah, as in Wings of Desire,
I knew I did not suffer through that film in vain.
Anthro-poor-morphed angels imagined as unread messages,
felt where good is the only thing ever
felt real,
as real as any angel's kiss, but just a kind word heard, as thought.
Jun 8, 2021
Jun 8, 2021 at 4:04 PM UTC
*Lightning Enchantress & Her Diamond Absolutes,
Moaning Fluxes Of Her Satellite Pursuits.,
Phantasmal Intents In Her Indigo Silhouettes.
***** Eyes & Animatronic Bliss,
Her Cherry Lips Calling For Her Symphonic Kiss,
Inimitable Raindrops & Iridescent Perpetuity,
Condensed Laments Of Her Kaleidoscopic Sphericity,
Purple Palisades & Platinum Charades,
Pheromone Verses Of Her Propelled Shades,
Shapeshifting Reveries Of Her Hourglass Fictions,
Charming Archangels Concealed In Her Convictions,
Glasshouse Perspectives Emitting Luminescent Predictions,
Magnetic Canvas & Her Stainless Vibrations,
Her Aesthetic Amour Diffusing Amplifications,
Satirical Saga In Her Spiritual ******
Lyrical Charlatans Of Her Velvet Creativity,
Crystal Flowers & Supernatural Dreams,
Befuddled Effigies Of Her Cryptic Realms,
Her Feral Gleams Illustrating A Prophetic Queen.
- 02:32 AM -*
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC