"prisoners" poems
Bound by flesh; we are,
oblivious to our minds,
chemical reactions.
Enamored with desire,
our bodies collide,
driven by our actions.
Engrossed by lust; thirsty.
The primal rush;
the absolute of attraction
Prisoners of our passions.
animal instincts
of human nature; our habits
we fashion.
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 11:14 PM UTC
I am the queen of what ifs
Sitting on a throne of could've beens
My fears are my loyal subjects
Escorting my dreams to the gallows
My ambitions are now prisoners
To my court of procrastination
I, the queen
Reign over all of this regret
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
Here in the desert
it's been raining
on and off
for days
making the succulents and cacti
glisten with wetness
their thick skin sparkles
and catches nature's ironic eye
flowers and plants shine
so much better in the half-grey
Here in the prehistoric depths
Of rocky whitewash and silt
flash floods rush through
flushing out all guilt
And inside
a raging storm commences
and I feel so blessed
to be a part of this celebration
my lungs expanding in my chest
I breathe in deep
that fresh purity of air
let it cleanse right through me
from my toes up to my hair
It rushes in my body
taking no prisoners in its force
flows through every vein
cleansing poisons in its course
its power flows into me
washing out this stubborn pain
Turning the confusion
into clarity again
From inside subconscious thoughts
realization thunders
rinsing from my mind
the emotional strain
and replacing it with euphoric wonders
Come, my raging desert tempest
Bathe me
penetrate me with wet
restore and purify
my being
take over and disinfect
let me feel my own strength
until it pours out from my cells
into the space inside my heart
where love and lust still dwell
My tears mingle with the sweet drops
as I fling arms open to the sky
releasing strikes of lightening
for every word I cry
as I summon, pray for lightness
mixed with the sturdiness of earth
Let joy rise up and bubble
within my being
as rebirth
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 11:02 AM UTC
Everything's alright.
Look around you.
Everyone's been trying
While you barely get by,
And live in your hole alone.
I can't be
There for you.
You were never
There for me.
You paint your
White Roses Red,
And take no prisoners.
It's off with their head.
You say you want me,
But I don't love the dead.
I know you secretly hate
Those White Roses Red.
Blood stains.
Didn't you know?
You should have thought that out
A long time ago.
You want to protect me
From things
That are harmless.
Well,
If you want to protect me
Look in the mirror,
And protect me
From what you see.
I'm not bulletproof, you know.
You may be oblivious
To the scars that you made..
But they show.
You can't go by,
Because to you
Nothing is alright.
But I can't stay
And tell you to fight,
Because I know you.
It will do no good.
You paint your
White Roses Red,
And take no prisoners.
It's off with their head.
You say you want me
But I don't love the dead.
I know you secretly hate
Those White Roses Red.
I won't like you
Until you say
That you were wrong
And wash the red away.
But I won't wait around
Because in truth I know
That I would have to wait
Until my dying day.
Just wash the red away
Until it doesn't show.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
she ruled kingdoms three
the land were prisoners roam free
she spent her time staring at walls
making worlds which would never fall
the chieftain came in and bowed at her feet
'My Queen,the enemy has left us no option -
surrender or retreat.'
Aghast,bewildered and tensed she paced the court
'Oh dear! did they sink our boat?'
'Your majesty, will you please tell how to act in such a situation?'
'You fool! how am I supposed to answer when I am the Queen of Procrastination!'
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
I never saw a man who looked
with such a wistful eye
upon that little tent of blue
which prisoners called the sky,
and at every drifting cloud that went
with sails of sliver by.
I walked, with other souls in pain,
within another ring,
and was wondering if the man had done
a great or a little thing,
when a voice behind me said,
"The man's got to swing"
For he did not wear scarlet
nor did he speak of it,
for blood and wine were red
and so was the color on his bed.
He looked upon the garish day
with such a wistful eye;
the man had killed the thing he loved,
and so he had to die.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 4:55 AM UTC
Yellow
The supposed color of happiness.
Plastered onto the walls of a vacant room.
Mocking the prisoners.
Waiting for the next victim,
To wait,
And wait.
Constantly waiting for their turn.
People come and go
Watching lives pass.
Entering the realm of the forgotten,
The after thoughts,
The community service projects.
With plastered smiles on vacant faces.
Just like the yellow walls.
Pretending to be something they're not,
Happy
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC
We're all prisoners
of our own
minds
and
only we are
the ones to blame
for
our own demise.
We choose
to see the good in the bad
or the
bad
in the bad.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
Creep in the night
Resists as they might
to their bodies invites
to reap what they like
Prisoners of flesh
until their souls delight
His big black **** between her thighs
Her tight white ***** squeezes and he sighs
He wants to turn her out without a doubt
Teach her what real loving is all about
She screams out loud
he covers her mouth
The climb max raises
as the pressure amounts
Daddy doing it right
laying the pipe so deep
It may never come out
The pleasures out of sight
She’s so wet from being tight
He’s hitting her spots like a spot light
From the look on her face the pleasure is out of sight
He uncovers her mouth and she screams for her life...
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 5:53 PM UTC
tufts of grass sit in the yard
hairy green patches of tenacity
in a field of neglect
half a screen guards
a **** stained door
where someone painted, 214
the pit sits behind it
waiting to be fed
or to be chained again
to the stake
where, like any beast
bound by gravity
and the grave, he
will make ceaseless circles,
smaller e a c h day,
unwitting sentry to those
two legged creatures
inside, who
with or without the pit,
lie prostrate,
in dreamless
bug rich beds
when they fall from sleep
they too make circles
bound by their own
stakes and chains
that can’t be seen
but their pull is felt
and
their eternal rattle heard
no matter how far from home
the prisoners of tulip roam
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 12:46 AM UTC
I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all
oppression and shame;
I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men, at anguish with
themselves, remorseful after deeds done;
I see, in low life, the mother misused by her children, dying,
neglected, gaunt, desperate;
I see the wife misused by her husband—I see the treacherous seducer
of young women;
I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited love, attempted to be
hid—I see these sights on the earth;
I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny—I see martyrs and
prisoners;
I observe a famine at sea—I observe the sailors casting lots who
shall be kill’d, to preserve the lives of the rest;
I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon
laborers, the poor, and upon negroes, and the like;
All these—All the meanness and agony without end, I sitting, look out
upon,
See, hear, and am silent.
6.5k
I do not love you
Even though I said that I did
I got caught in the moment
And now I feel stuck in the life sentence of a prisoners bid
It’s destroying my insides
Cuz there’s nothing meaner than loving someone who doesn’t love u back
Been down that dark road before
Sharp corners on two wheels
0 to 60 straight into you
Rear view mirror running from the past
It fake happened real fast
Fell quick in love and quicker out
Left you holding your heart with no light
I’m sorry.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
(Pompeii/Florence, 1997)
Vulcan was real, alive as you were,
you and your language, long dead now.
Your town was prosperous, with its paved streets,
bars, bath-houses, brothels,
mosaics, painted walls, graffiti.
Your domestic gods too were real to you;
they had saved you before,
and when the superhuman hammer blows shook
your houses, you repaired them,
decorated in greater splendour,
erected a temple to your protectors.
But Vulcan was not appeased - years are not long
to the lord of earth and fire.
This time he struck swiftly, sending you death
from his mountain, overwhelming you
as you ran. Your garden
gave you no protection,
hot fumes choked you,
hot ash surrounded you,
sealed in your tomb as you died.
The ones who excavated your town
marvelled at its completeness,
and in the ash that filled your garden
they found hollows.
Filling the hollows with plaster,
they found . . . not you,
but echoes of yourselves,
like statues in a museum.
We came to see you, and after that
to the Academy, standing in awe
at David's perfect marble humanity.
But we were troubled by the others,
the uncompleted ones, the Prisoners,
their twisted limbs, hidden faces,
frozen in the act of emerging
from the stone, recalling too painfully
in their unfinished creation
your own agonised poses
as you died.
*"I had seen birth and death,
but had thought they were different."*
.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC
tufts of grass stand in the yard
hairy green patches of tenacity
in a field of neglect
half a screen guards
a **** stained door where
someone painted, 214
the pit bull sits behind it
waiting to be fed, and to be
chained again to the stake
where, like any beast bound
by gravity and the grave, he will
make ceaseless circles
smaller e a c h day,
unwitting sentry to those
two legged creatures
inside
who, with or without
the pit, lie prostrate, in dreamless
bug rich beds
when they fall
from sleep, they too make circles
bound by stakes and chains…
invisible
though their pull is felt
and their infernal rattle heard
no matter how far from home
the prisoners of Tulip roam
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
The calender reads 2016
But its feels more like 1984
Have you heard the crying
The American dream
Lying dying in the streets
While big brother
Is strapping blinders
On our heads
And shackles to
Our hands and feet
Were being lined up
By the rows
Willing prisoners
Of the slave power
Empire of minimum wage
Shuttling our children
Off to the animal farm
Market of big business
And big lies
***** water mixed
In with the rotting
Apples of the
New American pie
The sugar isn't sweet
To the starving
In the street
While trash cans
Over flow in the back lots
Of the super market
Super chains
Of the slave power
Empire of criminal rage
And its the cold dark waters
Of nuclear waste
Soaking the pages of the calender
That reads
2016
In these days that feel like
1984
No kindness or compassion
For hands shaking tin cups
Needing just a little change
Just a little shelter
From their sad weather lifes
Living on the cold ground
Below our overpass ways
No shelter and no change
No compassion and no kindness
In the fist and pockets
Of the slave power
Empire of ignorant ways
Bullets, bombs and hate
Harvesting fresh blood
For the ink
To print the pages of the calender
That reads
2016
As politicians write us back
Into the pages of the days of
1984
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 4:27 PM UTC
“Never trust a ginger”
she sings giggling looking at the red head next to me.
Her song is a pretty good representation of our friendship.
Throw in a ***** bump and some dorky dance moves
oh yea
that’s the definition of our friendship.
Laughing and dying at things no one else gets
actions no one else see’s
and mouthed words no one else understands.
That’s just a little inside view of our “love”.
“Never kiss a ginger”
It’s a little late for that don’t ya think
blackberry tea and coffee making her laugh till she dies.
Hysterics that break her down till she’s on the floor rolling
rolling down a hill and being so dizzy she can’t get up.
Oh but she’s a monster that chases you around
trying to tackle you to the ground.
Falling off the playground rail and hitting her head
just like in our story
so she lays there laughing hysterically.
All I can do is shake my head
“Never kiss a ginger…twice”
yea that’s a little better.
he won’t be telling my slightly stunned, amazed face its cute again.
The face we later joked about
mouth dropped to the floor
eyes wide.
Like did that seriously just happen.
Our dumb and quirky reactions to everything
exaggerated, excited yeses
and happy little dances.
"Never date a ginger”
I’m not nor have I ever…
where do you get these thoughts that run through your head?
Ok I can’t say much
my mind wanders to the strangest places
and leads us to the greatest conversations.
Like cops on bikes with prisoners in baskets
leading to Mortal Instruments characters all riding one bike.
I’ve no idea where our minds get these strange ideas and imaginings.
“Never love a ginger”
I never said I love him
don’t let your mind wander
dangerous things happen when our minds wander
anywhere from dinosaurs ruling the world to death
and the things in between are sometimes worse to think about
“Never like a ginger”
OI!
with this again
I don’t I promise there’s nothing there
now please shut up.
Yes, yes I love you now please don’t attack my legs again
I really don’t feel like falling on the floor
it’s not very appealing.
Uh-oh
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
We are a nation in war
We will not take any refuges
We will only take prisoners
So do not try to step up on our borders
We do not tolerate anything
But democracy and Elton John
We have a Queen and good sanitary systems
The Queen's love and Märsk Mc-Kinny Möller!
We have musicians and even though
They make utterly boring music
And have nothing but nonsense to say
We love them like a ******** nephew
We have rappers; they say ***** and they say ****
We have stand up comedians they say poo-poo
We are about 5 million white species
Producing 28.000.000 white pig's pr. year
We have such clean waters you can't imagine
We have a love so deep you will not belive
Our police force is build on high moral principles
We build everything on pure and strong idealism.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
i never took Mother Earth for a felon,
but it is nothing less than a ******* crime
that you & i are forced to exist continents apart.
- m.f.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
In the presence of the enemy
He split his force in two.
His red coated invaders
displayed contempt for the Zulu.
How else to explain their failure
to fortify the camp?
Twenty Thousand warriors
Put them in a deadly clamp.
It was a fearsome slaughter
redcoats falling by the score.
Thirteen hundred swept away-
No prisoners of war.
assegai thrusting spears struck home
The Sun would shine no more.
The Thin Red Line was broken,
each man fighting his own war.
With ammunition running out
They fought with blade and ****
Until knobkierrie clubs struck home
And stabbing spears found gut.
The officers with horses,
without honor, fled the fray.
Escaping only with their lives
No storied heroes they.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
Does evil exist?
Well, does it, or not?
I demand an answer
And if it does, hold that thought
Because if wrong does exist
We must face the reality
That calling something wrong means
There's a right way things ought to be
But if wrong does not truly
Exist in bright colors
Well, what, then is justice
But a meaningless construct?
If the **** of a child
In all histories and cultures
Can be called pure evil
Even by society's worst prisoners
If the ****** of innocents
Is forever and always
An evil in society
That can't be tolerated
If imprisonment of a woman
Like chattel for sale
Being held as a *** slave
In her own private hell
Or murdering Jews
Like Hitler's evil plan
Or starving millions unjustly
In Stalin's Ukraine
Or killing the masses
For political expedience
Culling babies in China
Or locking up dissidents
If beheading of heretics
Is inherently wrong
Or even violating your privacy
Or invading your home
If these are universally bad
And there's meaning in words
Then there's universal good
That our souls are drawn toward
Something more than just philosophy
Because that lacks authority
And if good is defined by the majority
Then what about the minority?
Tyrants run roughshod
When rights come and go
At the whims of the powerful
Because what they say goes
No, evil is something
More than laws, or from cultures
Or philosophical sophistry
From ivory towers
To try to stop badness
Is really to defend
That there's a god of pure goodness
Who wants us like him
We can discuss who that god is
And what is his substance
But the least we can do
Is acknowledge his existence
You can say that religion
Starts evil wars and such
And you might just be right
But you've just proved too much
Because if there is no god
Whose nature defines goodness
Who are you to call war bad
Or **** evil, or hate, darkness?
Who are you to sit in judgment
Of the religious who you think hate you?
If there is no moral standard
That makes hate wrong, and judging too?
If morality is nothing more
Than just a social contract
Then it's just he said/she said
And there's no moral compass
You see, your compass is as good as mine
And that may be fine, generally
Until the ****** asserts his own
Warped idea of morality
What makes his wrong
And yours universally right?
That's a tough question
That keeps philosophers up at night
Because indeed, if there is no god
There's no guilt to assuage
For the wrongs that man does
Because there is no such gauge
It's like measuring empty
Without knowing what full is
Or like trying to describe love
Without knowing who God is
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
Consumer of hearts,
You eat them alive.
They beat as they trudge down your throat.
Your prisoners
climb and attempt to escape.
You are ruthless.
Cold-blooded.
I should know.
You have mine.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
**** ruined you.
It ruined us.
I thought it was me.
My fault.
I needed to change.
I did my hair, my make up.
I danced for you.
I dressed in lingerie and costumes but it was never enough.
I couldn't live up to lust.
Then I learned it wasn't me.
I was your love for ***********
Slowly this diminished my love, my respect for you.
Worst of all it destroyed me, and all my self confidence I had in my self.
I convinced myself,
*** isn't everything but everything else had seemed right.
Maybe we can learn together connecting emotion with action.
Conclusion ended up being your lack of desire for *** and intimacy with me. Could it be my fault?
**** was always just one click away from any fantasy.
I would confront you and express my concerns.
Trying to make the two of us work.
You only got better at hiding it.
*** became a struggle.
Neither of us could reach that ******
All you could do was blame me.
Then I knew....
You had the case of the prisoners' hand.
Could I wear more makeup?
What about white tipped nails?
Maybe I needed breast implants.
Now you want role play and ***** talks?
If that wasn't enough could I consider *********
I tried to wrap all this around my head.
Thinking maybe these things would work.
We could become a couple again.
You could never find satisfaction.
So there could be no compromise.
Soon I lost my interest in ***
It never seemed to bother with you.
I grew angry towards you.
Things began to come violent.
You pushed me twisting my arms and wrist.
Then threw me on the hardwood floor.
As my wrist began to bruise and swell.
How I missed being loved and cared for.
How I desired beautiful and emotional just plain naked ***
All I feel....is lying here depressed.
I'd rather stay in bed then walk into you.
Every time I see you I take a deep breath, Turn around, and walk straight to bed and begin to cry again.
I ask myself...
Why did I stay this long?
Why did I try so hard to fix something that was never there?
For 6 years.
I believed you loved me.
When in reality you were in love with ****
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 12:40 PM UTC
Prisoners of their own success
Their world now micro-sized
Fan adulation to excess
Their love is just disguised
Their objects of affection
Live their lives inside a bubble
Leaving their prison, though it's self imposed
Could bring them worlds of trouble
A truck driver from Tupelo
A pop band from the 'pool
A superstar from Hoboken,
And one...the King of Cool
The superstar from Hoboken
Became the Chairman of The Board
If you made it into his 'rat pack'
You knew you'd really scored
His movies and his music
Made him the world's number one
But he had to minimize his world
When someone stole his son
His boy was kidnapped, truthfully
Back in 1965
And through his contacts in the mob
He got his son back home alive
This is the price of fame folks
Behind the glitter and the glam
They've got to have their safety
But the fans don't give a ****
Prisoners of their own success
Their world now micro-sized
Fan adulation to excess
Their love is just disguised
Their objects of affection
Live their lives inside a bubble
Leaving their prison, though it's self imposed
Could bring them worlds of trouble
The Memphis Mafia gave protection
To The King of Rock and Roll
But, by choice his world got smaller
And he went into a hole
He built a house in Memphis
To protect him from his fans
And thanks to Dr. Feelgood
He died a lonely, broken man
He couldn't live the life he earned
He was a prisioner instead
It's a shame he has more value
Now that he is dead
Prisoners of their own success
Their world now micro-sized
Fan adulation to excess
Their love is just disguised
Their objects of affection
Live their lives inside a bubble
Leaving their prison, though it's self imposed
Could bring them worlds of trouble
He'd a partner and was cool
He was suave and sang songs
And he worked with a "fool"
They conquered the nightclubs
They were known near and far
But his created alter ego
Lived his life at the bar
He ran with Frank Sinatra
He was the King of Cool
But when The Chairman started lessons
Dean was right there in his school
The Beatles broke in Hamburg
But way back in sixty two
Their bubble was just forming
There was nothing they could do
They lived their life behind the scenes
For when they did go out
The girls would all go crazy
And the world would twist and shout
Privacy came hard for them
They went four separate ways
These four young men from Liverpool
LIved life inside a maze.
It's sad that adulation
takes their freedom, makes them hide
But they're safer locked away from us
They're safer locked inside
Prisoners of their own success
Their world's now micro-sized
Fan adulation to excess
Their love is just disguised
Their objects of affection
Live their lives inside a bubble
Leaving their prison, though it's self imposed
Could bring them worlds of trouble
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
In the light
Shadows are prisoners
And prisoners we are to our shadows
But if shadows could speak
I think they'll say
*I am no prisoner
I am but a listener
I guide the light
and shape
the stars
I am detailed
craftily inked
I am what links
us all*
**In the darkness
Our shadows are free
And we are free from our shadows
But if shadows could speak
I think they'll say
***I am beyond free
I am everywhere
omnipresent
and omniscient
I shade what most
aren't aware of
I am the protector
The keeper
of all secrets
I am defined
by none***
But if shadows could speak
will anyone still feel lonesome?
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC