"premonition" poems
I feel
A premonition that girls gonna make me fall
She makes you take your clothes off and go dancing in the rain
She'll make you go insane
Upside inside out
Living la Vida loca
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
I’ll never be a king, so you’ll never be my queen,
We’ll never be two cogs in the same big machine,
We’ll never be a cliché, but I tell you something, doll,
I can be a gangster, and you can be my moll.
Walking through the means streets, my hand in yours,
And a Tommy gun in the other, between my sweaty claws,
As my seniors die, I’ll climb to the top of the pole,
I can be a gangster, and you can be my moll.
There’s a certain premonition floating in the air,
That I’m a hardened criminal, far beyond repair,
But I’m just doing what my upbringing makes me know,
Because I can be a gangster, and you can be my moll.
And you can have me forever or ‘till I’m locked up in jail,
And we run out of money, and the mansion goes up for sale,
But even if we’re broke and poor, my love will never lull,
I’ll always be a gangster, and you’ll always be my moll.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 12:20 AM UTC
on this boat I am safe as long as I can see shore
but that is not what I have built this for
I sailed out for adventure and a chance to explore
this place is too mundane I want something more
to navigate by the stars like in the times of yore
and find rubies and gold treasures galore
but first I must get there so I reach for my oar
and row into the unknown until I am sore
I look out to the east and the clouds I just abhor
the waves grow higher and the wind starts to roar
the clouds begin to light up and the rain starts to pour
a storm such as this one I have never seen before
and all this premonition I can no longer ignore
but I am not turning back I'll risk the ocean floor
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
There's electricity in the air
I can sense what it would feel like
I in vision it
My own premonition
When we hold hands
The static runs through my veins
My hairs stands at attention
Goose bumps arise beneath them
I can feel the charge of it racing through my veins
Powering my heart
I can feel the current
Powered by you
But then
You removed your wire from the circuit
Leaving me alone to power it myself
Now I'm useless
Powerless
Without you
An incomplete circuit
The electricity flowing through me is no more
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 2:03 AM UTC
i would sit in that chair again
tell you all the things playing inside my mind
the doubts, worries and most of all
the premonition that it was going to be the last time
we'd ever talk face to face...
if i go back to december...
i would take each day in a slow-mo
hold your hand a little longer,
tell you more about my feelings, and most of all
realize it was already my last chance
to let you know, face to face
if i go back to december...
i would ask you to be brave
to not worry about letting me down easy
tell you the best way is to be real, and most of all
convince you it was better to take the last straw
than drag it and hide from each other's face
if i go back to december...
i won't give room to hope
or bet the distance won't change anything
won't even try to save what was already slipping away
coz deep down i knew, we won't be there
to close this chapter face to face
if i go back to december...
i would be braver and stronger
to tell you my goodbye and not worry
won't hesitate to let go of your arms and most of all,
won't linger on that embrace though it was the last one...
coz now i know, the whole thing wasn't worth any of my time
Beyond that one december...
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
He sits there, so comfortably, in his chosen pathway of truth and reality
This man, before me, is well nourished on the fruits of the physical world, the place time passes honestly
But, before my very eyes, I see he is struggling
He has sensed the potential that this woman and he can possess
But she is yet to join him, and yet to have the same premonition.
Should your hope dwindle, remember this
Hold on to that air between your finger and thumb,
No, it is not lifeless, it is not dead air,
It is not a vacuum for breath and life like the world we both still honour.
Remember that despite such brief encountering, we have been kindred spirits for an eternity.
Make proper use of this once beautiful connection,
Allow me, whenever you feel doubt, to do what will forever be our strength
Let me hope for you.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 2:09 PM UTC
/ innocent until prōven guilty,
contra guilty until
prōven innocent...
ah!
so the minority report?
guilty, while innocent,
based upon a premonition?
hindsight with a zodiac
type of interpretation...
innocent until prōven guilty
has no superiority
in practice over the continental
guilty until prōven innocent...
no... because the principle invokes
presuppositions,
of suppositions...
treating the two as propositions -
or rather... "verbs" inacted...
innocent until prōven guilty -
then no understanding of freedom,
at least guilty until prōven innocent
allows understanding
restraint, however unfair,
with 18 years lost...
and then the tears of relief!
Tomasz Komenda...
an "espionage" case of staging
empathy...
en masse...
an innocent man walks away
from falsely imposed justice measures...
a redemption...
a count de monte cristo
allowance...
but in reverse?
the evil man walks free...
succumbing to old age,
and dementia, a pontius pilate pardon...
there is no redemption aspect
of the saxon course of applying jurisprudence...
the... innocent, until prōven guilty,
contra: guilty until prōven innocent
schizophrenia?
the latter overshadows
the former...
because we're not babies...
at least with the latter:
there's a redemption exegesis -
but with the former?
bitter-sweet tears within
the confines, of an example akin
to jimmy savile...
guilty until prōven innocent
has much more authentic emotional
content, with a redemption narrative...
innocent until prōven guilty
has? not much,
just a grave,
and the stunted emotional expression,
what ought to be flowers
within the heart,
instead: fungus, growing in the dark...
and thus... translating
to other hearts:
let's allow this chemo-phobia
chemo-philia experiment
be left intact in its the momentum...
honestly... the study of law -
is probably the ********* game
in the allowance of games of
adulthood... one tier above gambling.
p.s.
because you know there's proof:
and that the past-participle
thrown into a future, does require
an omega rather than an omicron...
not an oh, but an ooh...
hence? reign from above,
on the omicron, with a macron (ō).
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
My nightmare woke me up in the morning
to a dark night ceiling
I turned over to see
the blinds holding out the light
A faint grey line escaping
From the corners
I closed my eyes
"It must be seven am,"
I thought
The clock told me differently
It was eleven am
The sun is high up in the sky
by this time
Usually
I had dreamt
of walking in strange
dark places
where I shouldn't have been
I thought that gender equality
meant not being scared of
walking alone
You came along and helped me out
showing me otherwise
My heart which had been waiting
for something bad to happen
calmed,
like the premonition had passed
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
Kiss after sensual kiss leads to what I would find as an inevitably ****** placement between us, that avenue of lust which we mutually entered once we were on the same level of thinking.
I lean into you, inhaling the intimacy second after second from your tasty lips, biting your lip and running my fingers through your hair as my hands ease slowly down to your neck, caressing you and easing down farther and farther until I'm caressing a breast.
Call me crazy, but I think I'm in love, or at least its unmistakably destructive premonition. Lifting your shirt and kissing on flesh, making your toes curl under overwhelming chills being sent from your abdomen.
Easing back up to you, I can see your eyes, I catch them and keep them in place, letting you know full well that I intend to enjoy you fully.
And you let me.
Easing down and absorbing your figure, kissing and tracing down your belly and easing into a certain heaven before coming back up and stripping you down gently, making you smile at the gentlemanly figure that you call yours.
Can I love you down? lying you down fully extended, can I get onto you as if we could share the same space against scientific belief?
I ease into you slowly, only speeding in a way as to show my own urgency isn't priority.
And we make one. easing into your form, our bodies become entwined, become one at last.
suppressing your pleasurous scream with my own warm kisses, I allow us to combine again and again, and become one once more as our nerves and hormones take over in this ritualistic connection.
Made love? we make emotion. Stripped bare and enjoying the ****** pleasures given us, ****** after ****** kiss after juicy kiss and scream after luscious, pleasured filled scream until we finally reach what I like to call climactic end and level up in our relationship. At last, though we are still levels away from the final intimacy, we are closer than we have been before, and the closer we get, the deeper and more sensual our encounters are.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
It is not who you are,
but rather what you represent, to me,
which defines you.
You encapsulate a love for me,
which I will never know again,
all-defining, pain and fear filled love-
the one he took away.
In a manner, when I look upon you
I look upon him too.
The face of one who
tore my heart and threw it back
cemented in me all that I did lack
which he would then attack.
In a one sided battle,
the blows raining on me like tears,
adding years to my tender age.
You see he had tore the page of childhood,
leaving this book beyond recognition.
Looking back, perhaps I should have had a premonition,
Phil,
of what you were going to be to me.
But I did not want to see
that which would break
the tinted image which I owned of you
which I knew would remain
true
only to a point,
from which it would then be tarnished forever.
I so wanted you to love me back
and so agreed that I lacked
in all that you'd say,
come what may, I know that
I allowed you to control me.
It was not always so one sided.
You bided your time well, you know,
you timed it 'just so', so you
could be sure this final blow would hit.
A finishing spit in the exposed page of my future,
You turned,
you changed,
and the burning pain I felt within,
is possibly your only sin in
this endeavour.
As whatever you are I cannot
blame you for that
which is past.
No matter how long this pain will last-
possibly forever.
And I will prove myself again.
I will prove that I can still love and
be loved in return.
No matter how my heart may yearn,
I have no choice but to spurn those
who are like you.
A half life it may be,
but half full to me.
What you once seemed,
that which I never dreamed you would turn from.
That which, though I may long to,
I shall never see again
when I attempt to see anew.
Not even blindness could hide
all that is true.
Now all I can do is to
bow to the memory
in defeat.
I will never greet who you were again.
You will never eat your words,
you meant them then.
You still do.
The final blow is that;
I will never live up
to the girl you thought
you thought that you once knew.
You reap only the fake crops which
I attempted to sow
in desperation to be,
all that you thought once thought of me.
That girl is dead.
She lives only in my mind
and your heart.
Our paths were meant to be apart.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
The words will someday bury me, eternally, eventually
a specter that none can venture, or see
and yet, will always be
My ghost now in periphery, essentially, unequivocally
just some paranoid activity
spirits wild, and free
A presence, apparition, without material definition
no clarity from any position
a deteriorated condition
The doctor, from his elevated premonition
pumping me full, and mentally dull
with no chance in hell
of any recognition
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 11:27 PM UTC
You carry your life on your shoulders; a swing in a park in a city, with a lonely, shadowy, ghost of you sitting so delicately. As people pass you, they stop and look, and words come to their minds such as "passion" and "sorrow," "broken benches," "spilled dreams" and they couldn't even tell you why.
You wear your heart safety-pinned to your sleeve; a grave declaration that you are not your own person. Someone has marked you, taken something without asking; this you show everyone, not meaning to, in hopes of finding a semblance of relatability. Was it normal, what happened to you? Is this a dark fog everyone lives in? You hope not.
You have an everpresent effervescence of the wrong kind. It's a nervous habit, a shuffling of the feet and a glance to the sky. It's the reincarnation of life before that day, with the tender rips of who you are now. One can only paint over paint so much; mix the colors, they will all become grey.
You've a vague sense of relief when you look around and see no one. It's a talisman, a testimony to your independence, and your dependence on lots of human-free air. It's the writing on your arm, words you shan't forget, words like delicate innocence shame tragedy naivete melody sorrow blame identity apology and the biggest, boldest of all heartbeat.
It's a short cry from here to insanity and you remind yourself that your heart beats in pride, in admonition to the evil. "I am alive. You couldn't **** me. You won't **** me. I have a heartbeat."
I have a heartbeat. I have a heartbeat. I have a heartbeat. And the little girl on the swing smiles to the sky, a premonition of her future, a confirmation of her strength.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
I am a vessel
waiting to be filled with doubts and reason
waiting to hear the songs that wave in the atmosphere
let your influence flow so that we all can pollute our seasons
without a blend of innocence and curiosity
you cannot have clay that molds to your liking
at least not to your tasteless velocity
rushing away any thought of magic
at one point nothing needed definition
life was all and pure to the touch
connection gave us premonition
to a universe of one
Downwards is the direction of a new soul
to land and welcome the progress
purpose and destiny do not have their hold
for we question instead of taking the chance to cherish
Now a war exists to fight for the past
while building a narcissistic future
we grudge and we pride in a false ability to last
when the cycle and spiral is infinite
we are dust for now
energy to be
a dimensional vow
spoken continuously
I am a vessel
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 8:34 PM UTC
they are old friends of mine
self doubt, self hatred, self destruction
their black gaping eyes
look at me knowingly
their bodies vibrate and pulse like anxiety
blood pours from their mouths when they speak
they whisper quietly that I'll never be good enough
I can't make myself happy, they remind me
how could I ever make anyone else happy?
they smile and show sets of teeth between red
entering uninvited, late at night
screaming obscenities and mocking me
demanding my time and energy
reminding me of all my shortcomings and failures
moments in my life that I was not enough (or too much)
and every moment coming, with premonition
I seat them into my home
though my consent has never been a requirement
they drip and ooze into the carpet
leaving thickened black sludge
and back handed compliments
identifying my worth based on shouldn'ts and didn'ts
welcome, I tell them
though I don't want them here
stay as long as you need to
I barely mouth the sounds of a silent cry
they expand and fill the room
until I can no longer breathe and they crush me
underneath their weight, and remind me I did this
to myself -- I welcomed them in, after all
I created them, I brought them here, and they are
mine
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 5:27 PM UTC
Waking breath ghostly frozen, clang of pot-belly stove opening, cedar crackles good morning, sap sizzles, pops, melting. Warmth finds children sleeping, humid air, mouth-breathing. Smell of boy sweat and feet, young women ripely sweet.
Cats purring, stirring, padding quiet down stairs, weave meowing through mom's legs. Dented percolator burbles better days, snap of toast burned haze, molten mush bubbles burst, fade. Birds early on the highway Paradise-seeking, time, flash-burned, fleeting. Cobalt jay mockingly complains, chickadee sings his own name, coyote wails, thin and plain.
Children rise, sleep in their eyes, squabble over bathroom prize, eldest wins, click, locks herself in. Hurry, hurry the bus is coming, ancient driver, annoyed and honking. Brown-bag lunches crinkled running, feet slapping, seats squeaking, lungs hot and bursting. Ride the dawn breaking, hearts aching for more than this, rural bliss.
Stop sign flashes caution, young lovers in the back seat, bodies in motion. Stop, start, sway on down the highway. Engine mimics hot blood lust, accelerated diesel rush, nothing can stop us. You grab my knee - young, carefree. Brakes sigh and hiss, sneak one last kiss. You mouth - meet me later, we'll sneak out, rush to a future we haven't got, ready or not.
The old road at dusk, frog song accompanies us, bike wheels on the asphalt hum, forbidden moonlight run. Feel your heartbeat on my spine, frantic drumming matching mine. Horned owl hoots, forlorn and bleak, a premonition we refuse to heed, reckless with need. In the clearing young love begins, forget-me-knots on burning skin.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 9:44 AM UTC
Old women sit around in smokey rooms
Pulling on Stinking cigars. Lights turned low
The red ends glow like big bloodshot eyes.
They wink in and out.
Murmuring chants and singing in low oblique tones.
Your soul is in question your will directed.
Have a cure with your man's cheating ways
Obeah.
You been having a bad streak of luck. One thing then the next.
Obeah on you. Go see lady cross town. Bring money.Obeah
You strongly believe someone Put Hudu on You. You been sick
for some time now and the pills just wont do.Obeah
Somebody put bad eye on you too. Obeah
If you believe then all things are possible Not true? Obeah Chicken blood
and the root to suit your condition. Now sit still and listen to her( premonition)
Obeah.
Let the spirit have his way.Draw the cancer from your bones
But you have to give yourself to the spirits of the dead. Obeah
The Zombie walks around at night snatching souls from the sleeper.Leaving the empty husk as witness.
Sleep light my friend and keep. Keep your poultice near.Do not abandon fear.Obeah.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 3:32 AM UTC
it’ll be cold later, you say;
dark clouds serve as premonition for the February I deserve,
summer in the first quarter
sometimes I want to drink so much
i forget my own name
or forget yours;
instead
i laid flat on the pavement tonight,
letting the stones sink into the flat of my skull
wishing the sting of them
could make me forget
all
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 6:28 PM UTC
Enamoured by sightly existence
clinging to every glimpse
though nearly impossible to track
she was lost amongst a crowd of infinity
So captivated my mind races to the future flow of the current of bodies to where one would be in step and time to pace rhythm and flow and know ones whereabouts in premonition
Where my meditations meet reality I've dreamt love into existence even if only one sided her smile made me think otherwise
Who's to say that the love I found within just a momentary lapse in endlessness isn't an energy that persist through the age of ages
and feel as if they were made for you and you in turn for their moment of hope and possibly
one could find the cure to all sickness experienced
Jan 28, 2023
Jan 28, 2023 at 12:05 AM UTC
he feels the silence between them
becoming heavier, pregnant almost
and he knows that it cannot take much
longer in the way an embryo knows
that nine months will be over soon
she feels him drawing near unnoticably
or maybe it is his aura which proceeds
him like a premonition and somewhere
between the stars a constellation
twists itself in their direction
he tries to think of the right words
but knows that letters fall short
to convey what he wants to
share with her like a child
kiss her mind and
her body will follow
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 1:19 PM UTC
when self-inflicted
or as counter,
the adrenaline is missing;
mind you the hara-kiri:
the sudden thrill,
the sudden attack!
it paces the heart differently
from a belief in a self...
the heart paces differently,
it's an entire revisionist sub-plot
of the book of genesis;
it almost makes Dante pigeon-shit.
that's the problem with suicide
it's hardly adrenaline ensured
surprising, the predestination of it
being all top surprising as motivational
to provide us a new Cain of the future...
rightfully i'd rather be stunned
into a shock of adrenaline by a murderer,
than by injection of overpowering myself:
the adrenaline missing in suicide
is the real philosophical issue...
the adrenaline missing due to premonition,
the lack of shock... suicide in philosophical
debate is pure chemistry:
to commit suicide is to devolve chemically
without the required boiling points or infusions
of: suddenly.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 10:45 PM UTC
*you have wandered into my heart
without wiping your feet,
and have planted your garden
with some peregrine seed,
uprooting suspicion to feed the roots you know i need.
not the slightest premonition
hinting at this fires ignition,
with harmonies conspicuous,
it brought me to a full fruition.
you make me become me,
scraping tar from ancient condition
a reassessment of the needs,
a very natural division.
and though many of my deeds,
however morbid they may be
fade from your conscious recognition;
oh my true soul, you've made free.
so you may walk upon my heart.
tread heavily, with boots of lead,
for you have become the reason
for it to even bother to beat.*
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 11:53 AM UTC
1966, my first school book review, aged 13.
**It's hard, to say the least when you are bashful
to give voice to all the words you wish to say
for when your restless feet beneath you start to shuffle
you know you'd rather take your chance and run away.
You have a premonition to be elsewhere
to a place they call 'the land of two left feet'
where self-confidence is ****** beyond redemption
where the introvert is king, and not dead-meat.
As the arms of doom draw near to embrace you
and the ground before you cracks and opens wide
tongues of flame curl around to engulf you...
in the scheme of things you're skinned, trussed and fried.
You take a sip of water and start choking
as a splash of liquid dribbles down your chin
then the teacher offers you a paper tissue
and patiently she smiles as you begin.
Breaking out into a sweat you feel self-conscious
as the collar of your shirt begins to shrink
then you twist and tie in knots that paper hanky
and wished you'd poured yourself a stiffer drink.
Though you fumble for the words, they're not forthcoming
as you pour yet one more glass from the carafe
and while a tongue that's tied in knots may be amusing
in a mouth that's parched you really should not laugh.
Amid a mixture of derision and ovation
with that sickly smile still plastered to your face
you waited for the hard word from the teacher
but she said 'sit down' and well done Howard Brace.
You prayed that you had never stirred that morning
and rolled your sleepy body out of bed...
of the precious weeks you failed to spend revising
for the Book-Review and the text you barely read.
... ... ...**
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 10:13 AM UTC
Asle,
Amazes me
Asle,
Phases me
Asle,
Gets me high
Asle,
Gets me ******
Asle,
A shack of amour'
Asle,
Gives me a home
Alsle,
Tucks me in bed in mine mind
Asle,
A lacy string of hourglass time
Asle,
One I can't release
Asle,
Every mans belief
Asle,
A contact to god
Asle,
A wandering pod
Asle,
A loot for the steal
Asle,
A dream to me, maby one day real
Asle,
Letters shall I write
Asle,
A suddening polite
Asle,
A capsule of ******* numbing
Asle,
For the birds alls humming
Asle,
A party to oneself
Asle,
Alone on stilts
Asle,
Canst thou not be afraid?
Asle,
I'm not others oh sugar cane
Asle,
Wrestled with thy demons
Asle,
Cut, broke, and bleeding?
Asle,
Down thy aisle I want to walk
Asle,
Let me post thou a forgetnot!
Asle,
Let me be martyr'd for thine transgressions
Asle,
I see thy train rolling in, shalt I come to thy station?
Asle,
Ive got a strong premonition
Asle,
Shalt I enter thy kitchen?
Asle,
Is thy bed warm or cold?
Asle,
Move over mine love and feel ourn kindling coals!!
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
Keep your catastrophes closed,
This rotating orb is far from its last lap.
With stones and sticks, clothed in skins
We survived the extinction of countless species.
There is no indication, no dark premonition
That can reverse reality.
Earth was dust, it is now water,
And it is iron and nitrogen,
Phosphorus and hydrogen,
And it is us, even we bend to her order.
We were molded from the elements,
Latent electricity and infinite energy.
We were not crafted to be an index fossil,
Eliminated by polar shift, or apocalyptic storms.
We Will Endure!
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 7:37 AM UTC