"profusely" poems
I rolled out of bed
to start my day,
but the power was off
my all electric home,
as still as a grave.
No coffee, or toast.
The refrigerator not cold,
the freezer started dripping
the contents soon to spoil.
No computer, no cell phone service!
I began sweating profusely,
no air conditioning to cool me.
Not even a TV Emergency Broadcast Alert,
to release this uneasy feeling of topsy-turvy .
I drove into town seeking a pay phone,
with not a single one to be found,
gone the way of the dinosaurs,
extinct now too I assumed.
My old truck had no computer chips,
most cars did and were dead in their tracks.
I needed gas but the gas station pumps
electric computer driven, all DOA to boot.
The Nations electric grid had crashed,
blacked out, stone cold dead everywhere.
All heavenly satellites blacked out, expired.
Everything computer related (and
that is about everything), had ceased
to function as had the electronic reliant
world we had created.
The street throngs of dazed people walked
around like zombies, clutching blacked out
dead computer devices, knowing not what to do.
Not even talking, forgotten I guess how to do that too.
As dependently defectively programmed as the useless
devices in their hands.
In a panic I did awake finding that
this scary dream world was indeed all fake,
a nightmare of fearful unconscious thinking.
My electric clock was still churning,
It's music alarm blaring,
birds outside still singing,
my cell phone started ringing,
it was merely another Robot call,
Welcoming me back to the 21 century.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 10:51 PM UTC
Copycat, collect the nectar,
it will optimize your splendor.
Grasping it by the gallons,
drinking poison, immune, callous,
to the pain you aligned, and profusely measured.
Fixated on this peeling label,
bend it back, are you able,
To contain symptoms as they surface?
Written down as toxic in cursive,
a sign of recovery crowned as 'fatal'
Copycat, take your weapons,
along the speckled crimson as logical 'sessions'.
Brim the shell, or remain hollow?
Graphic truth is hard to swallow,
unseen pain is being reflected-
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC
****
(noun)
1. any undesirable or troublesome plant, especially one that grows profusely where it is not wanted
2. a cigarette
3. ungainly person or animal
the weeds in the garden,
though sometimes unwanted,
sprout from the dirt yet full of life,
little in worth, yet lovely.
the weeds that we smoke,
dangerous to our health,
tasting bittersweet like memories
yet brings us short-lived ecstasy.
the **** of my life,
he was nothing but trouble
that brought about mirth
in my too-perfect garden;
he frustrated the people
who tended to me,
growing back into my life
every time they plucked him out.
unwanted but lovely.
dangerous but lively.
he was my whole definition of ****
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
I'm smart, I tell myself as I fail another exam
I'm strong, I whisper as I collapse doing a push up
I'm beautiful, I say ******* my waist in as far as I can
I'm talented, I murmur as I try to play the piano
You're thick, they tell me as I stand and speak before an audience
You're weak, they whisper as I dance for three hours straight
You're ugly, they say as I shake petals from my flower filled hair
You're ******* they murmur as I draw a child with a boat
You're smart, I tell her as a brand new scar bleeds profusely
You're strong, I whisper as I stick it back together
You're beautiful, I say as it fades to white against her skin
You're talented, I murmur as she runs off again to play.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
Started walking along the path
Where life was leading me
Towards a destination chosen
Not chosen by me
But was willingly following
To a predefined destination
Then I came along a bench
Weary I was travelling
The bench gave me respite
From the grueling march
I inspected the torn soles
As the pebbles were hurting my feet
Bleeding profusely
I thanked the bench
Where I could now rest for the night
Lying on my back
I connected the dots on the night canopy
Slumber took over
Dreams of a new road, I could see
Sleeping off the weariness
I woke up to a new day
The bench which taught me to wait
Another destination chosen by me
Clouds have cleared away
I knew the path to walk along
I was a traveler with purpose
My destination, waiting for me
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
her rigorous objections
are herded slowly down the sheep trail
by studious pencil thin men with stylish mustache's
who have deep pocket pickers for friends
they gather round the weak willed and the willing alike
looking for cheap thrills and spare change
everybody needs a new road
when the old one seems to never end
but she with eyes cast down
mumbles her unappeased desires
as she shuffles a little closer to the truth as she sees it
she has it all written out in secret languages
she has books filled with life's coded thoughts as she see's them
barn burners and dare devils grace the cover of her latest creation
self titled to her own romantic name
she is stylized in her own way
so she adores the pencil thin men
with their dashing devil may care good looks
i wrote her a letter yesterday
full of stories from the great highway
full of chipper go getters and the glum go gotten
she is a forever stone on a necklace
she is a moonstone on a bracelet
she is graceful when it counts and
thats more than enough for me
the pencil thin moustache men
come to conquer the all night diners
in the small shoreline towns
but slink away in dawns first light
with stolen smiles and borrowed kisses
that they promise profusely to return tomorrow
but never do
such is the romantic night by her side
such is the wonder-wheel days of our
journey on the great highway
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
My heart shouldn’t have profusely bled
I saw her face only once
a moment’s crossing in a moment paid
not meant for a second chance!
The fire shouldn’t have leapt in me
she was a doomed emotion
trying to live in my penned poetry
meant to be only a notion!
My mind shouldn’t have imprisoned her
caged her from one mere glance
lived the phantom of an absurd affair
spilled ink in a mad trance!
I shouldn’t have sought her anymore
searched in the wild her trace
she couldn’t be my paramour
I saw from the crowd her face!
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 10:55 AM UTC
A third down my life
Assuming living till 75 or so
I stood with pride
Waving profusely towards the younger me
Vulnerable age
Anxiously lost
Yet,
I seek for your salvation and comfort
So Brave, Silly and Bold
Even in great fear you step out for the unknown
Applause for your courage
Appreciate your sincerity
Adore your ignorance
Mostly
Being Awkward with yourself
Avoiding intimidation with the world
Used to loath the sight of humans
Endless introductions
Just drained the helpless soul
A third down the road
Accepting new faces
Enjoying small talks
Occasionally misplaced myself as well
Still,
I Am become a statement to hold
At ease with my presence
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
The reason why I apologize
So profusely over the tiniest of things
Is because I always feel as though
I am a bother and annoyance so
I want the person to be aware that
I am truly sorry for the mishap
I may have brought about or the wrong words that may have come out of my mouth
Because in the past I had to apologize again and again
A million sorries I must have said
Just to get the point across
Just to assuage the anger I unintentionally caused
I apologize repeatedly
Because I fear not being taken seriously
When I say sorry I mean it with all of my heart
I apologize even when people say I am not at fault
Because in the past I was always the one guilty
I was always in the wrong
Because when that rage came up and rolled along
It rolled right over me
And so I said sorry
I said sorry to the steamroller for being in its way
And for the broken bones and bruises on my heart that I carried for days
I apologize for apologizing
Because I know I must sound so repetitive and annoying
But I feel as though I can't apologize enough
To make up for and cover up
Whatever sin I may have committed against the one I am apologizing to
Because when you say it’s okay I always fear it’s not true
Because in the past those hiccups and bumps
That weren't even my fault were held against me for months
No matter the amount of times I said sorry and meant it
And the number of times I tried to fix
The mangled mess that wasn't mine but that I was still apologizing for
It was like going to war
But I waged it and gave my best effort
To stitch and sew up the jagged cuts
Of long angry nights and an alcohol filled gut
But failed and then apologized when the seams ripped and tore
Because no matter what I did was going to restore
What used to be
Or repair the damage that happened before me
And so I am sorry for that
That I couldn't make it better because I lacked
Whatever it was you were looking for
But that constant state of feeling guilty is what sent me out the door
And I am free of that weight now
But I still feel the need to say sorry for every little mistake now
Thanks to you I sound like a record stuck on repeat
So I’m sorry that I say sorry too much
But I never know when enough sorries are enough
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
Lost to backdrops scrolling past,
She sits knitting
in the carriage of a train.
The vague needles
They scintillate and glimpse
With the cadence of the wheels –
Upbeating ceaselessly.
Strips of tiny loops
And eyelets like dewdrops
Of condensation
Grouped on the superior rim.
Once in a while,
She gives a heave
To loosen more yarn from the skein
Of Filipino-made wool,
brushed worsted weave.
Spun and carded
from the richest fleece,
Deeper in the wicker basket by her feet.
The needles flash,
With ancient rhythms and attack
Of duellists in their chainmail coats.
With little hesitation she can tack
From plain to purl to blackberry.
Count back by rote or slip a stitch
While the fish-eyed gimlets gleam.
All gather profusely in her lap,
As windfall trove, rich-patterned
And warm with peach-fuzz nap,
All crafted from a single line of yarn.
Marvels fall continuously from wise
Spell-binding hands and all is well for now.
(9/11/13 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
In blood, a precious cake dancing
aflame in whirlpool of
cyclopean darkness.
The triggers of sanguinary
guns are tumbling down tears,
sorrow and grief in gush on
the cliff of darkness.
The moon, a crimson cake of
venom toasting blind sun in
gory rays as stars twinkling
blood at dawn.
The orphan profusely wailing
for peace in her own bizarre
carnage in bazaar of iniquity
and rivers of blood.
Let the world stop this blood
Lest this blood stops the world!
©2018 KAYODE STEVE ADARAMOYE
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 4:55 AM UTC
Judged
My fate lies in another's hands,
In front of the judge, is where I stand,
Sweating profusely, under my suit,
Waiting to end, this two year pursuit,
Which has consumed me every day,
Nowhere to put, these troubles away,
Clinical depression, grew out of control,
****** my life away, into a black hole,
Clouded by darkness, no light shone,
Desire to do anything, had already gone,
Locked myself up, staring at these walls,
Every glimmer of hope, destined for a fall.
Fighting with my mind, trying overcome,
More obstacles appear, before I’d begun,
Drifting through each day, like I wasn't there
Distant from the world, drawn into a stare
*
I climbed myself out, of this black hole,
To walk tall again, my one and only goal,
My vocals returned, clouds leaving my brain,
Sunshine appearing, clearing the rain,
Like sunny intervals, I had moments of joy,
Localised pressure, fog falling from the sky,
Trying to penetrate, deep into the cracks,
To rebuild my life, and return to the track,
Awaiting the moment, I hear the result,
As I fight from all corners, excepting my faults,
Refusing to be drawn, on the what ifs and whys,
The truth will prevail, and settle their cries,
Fact and understanding, from this broken man’s part,
Will show you his compassion, and the pain in his heart,
Whether it is accepted, my offering upon this plate,
I am ready for judgment, regardless of fate.
I will return to my family,
Regardless of your plan,
No longer..My life in pieces,
No longer..A broken man.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC
I'm always hungry even though I just ate a while ago
If I go without food for 2 hours my brain works kinda slow
I eat all the time, even when I'm driving
I wonder how it'll be to eat when I'm sky diving
But there's a particular food that I always crave
And if I don't get it, I tend to misbehave
It's amazing and delicious, my favorite cake
I'd go to any lengths for it, no matter what the stake
I'd eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner
I'd marry a pâtissier even if he was a sinner
When it comes to cake I show an utmost devotion
My bucket list includes having cake by the ocean
But something happened this summer, which makes me tremble in fear
And now when someone says "Cake" I tend not to go near
I was in Spain, and I was looking for some cake
I was whining and crying; my friend ignorantly sipped her milkshake
So I walked on ahead and finally found a baker
I paused my music; I was listening to Chet Faker
I walked over to him and shouted "I WANT CAKE"
He looked at his buddies and said, "This is the one we take"
The baker and Co. suddenly picked me up; I was too scared to shout
I just wanted my cake and I had no idea what this was about
I tried to escape but it proved to be rather hard
My friend had no idea I was missing; she was looking for an SD card
I didn't wanna think about what might happen, I just wanted to go home
The men had brought me to an outhouse that had a ceiling shaped like a dome
Then they placed me down gently, and were almost too polite
I turned around once I could finally stand and couldn't believe the sight
A crowd was waiting at the back, just waiting to yell "Surprise!"
A man shouted: "You fools! You brought the wrong girl, she isn't even the same size"
They apologized profusely, but honestly I couldn't care less
I just wanted to have my cake and get away from this mess
I walked back past the bakers shop and heard something that gave me déjà vu
"I want cake" said a tall girl; she smiled at me, she didn't have a clue
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
These 4 years drove your memories away,
but i never knew you'll make me write someday.
"Love at first sight" exists,i knew then,
I reminisce,12th April at dehradun railway station.
I hopped down the train,
whining children,seperating lovers
loving families,pleading beggars i saw,
Searching for coolie,my eyes glued
on a boy,leaning on a pole,
An absolute treat to eyes
casted a spell on heart of metal.
shapely body,white skinned,
curly hair,lips like petal.
Yellow t-shirt on the skin of gold,
dimple-dipped chuckles,widened his charm fourfold.
unsure,if it's just my eyes or it was him
who resembled the Greek Gods.
Talking over the phone,he burst into laughter
His playful,lively voice
husky deep baritone,
bringing my dead senses alive.
Mindlessly,I pictured us,together
laughing profusely on a riverside.
He raised his hands for adjusting his hair.
I felt his fingers brushing
a strand of my hair behind my ear.
The morbid roar of trains ,
turned into the symphony of my heart.
abruptly,
breaking my spell called a girl from behind,
long haired,beautiful,leapt at him,
no sooner he grabbed her tight in his embrace.
Mad Lovers,my heart soliloquised.
and here came all my wishful thinking to an end.
I turned and walked away a little heartbroken
before i could win him,he was taken .
You gave me nothing but trust me
for those minutes i wanted to be your everything
I scrumpulously stole those seconds from your life
which still make me skip a beat.
I'll think about you again after a few days,
for now,enough of nostalgia.
and which ***** said,
Love at first sight saves time?
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC
And, you left me all alone,
left in such a silence that
I could't even believe you are about to leave.
You left an undefined scar in my soul and
my teardrops enchanted those memories we shared together
and laughed over them hours.
You went away in such silence
that all I could do is just NOTHING
but hearing you to mourn in such dogma.
Tears just drop by my cheeks and I just
wish you to come down and tell me,
"I am here, my darling,
Don't you worry child....
I can't ever leave you alone."
They said, life isn't fair, life is never trustworthy.
Now I see an feel that hard every night.
I never felt that I can't hear your voice anymore anytime sooner or later.
It all comes and goes....
what matters is the in-between time
you spend together by thick and thin holding on to each other.
You were lying on the bed when
I last saw you and there also you were fighting
to get over that period.
Remember? We laughed there too when you said
you had 26 milk pies and I strictly said,
"Get well soon Dadu. After you go home you will be having curd-rice and "Khichudi".
..... And God never wanted that to happen maybe.
After that you couldn't go back home,
you left this virtual world that very night after suffering so profusely.
You were 72 and I was 22;
but we never bothered about this algorithm.
There were healthy talks over he sunsets, over the pages of my sketchbooks.
You were my biggest inspiration and critique for every work; cause you
always questioned their existence and morality.
You always chanted honesty throughout your life and give me
strength, so that I can follow your path.
One day, you will be a proud grandfather who will be seeing my works getting recognised all around the world and then we will laugh together...
Me, from the terrace and
You, from that sky.
Come soon,
come in a disguise,
come as my soulmate,
come as my midnight friend.....
....... but come back, please.
because Payel misses your presence and laughter.
I will weep and bawl on my bed some nights,
knowing I can't see you anytime ever.
That heart-wrenching pain and undefined scar in my lotus-heart will bloom someday with your desired presence in my success and failure both.... I believe so.
I believe in you,
I believe in us.
Because, God snatched one of my biggest possession without even asking for it.
You have to come back.....
... and you will.
To those talks and platonic love,
you are being missed Dadu.
I wish, I had some digits to call you up just to ask,
if they are providing you with some spicy food or not.
LIVE FOREVER.
YOUNG HEART N SOUL.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
We learned about a boy in class
In 1st grade, some god granted him wings
But he flew too close to the sun
and died and drowned a terrible death
I meet this boy a few years later
I tell him about my death-wish
Thats at the bottom of my bucket list
And he tosses them all away
He says his wings have been clipped
and that he still thinks hes drowning
in a sea of vast emptiness
And the only burn signs on him
are his eyes
like dying embers that I cant save
he kissed me with abandon
threw water into my heart
it was dried out and torn
you see
his eyes they burned their way down my throat
igniting a light
as he leaves
And I think about that boy
Icarus I believe his name
He flew too close to the burning flame
Like a moth to a light
and singed his broken wings
but they forgot out the part
where the sun melts his wax heart
and he drowns in the deep dark
blue
And I forgot to tell you about the ending
about the salt water in my lungs
that I lurch back profusely
I realize its just the second skin of a little lost zombie boy
This isn't CPR
this is choking on his dead weight passion
drowning on his blue eyed sorrow
Like he choked on the sea.
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 7:40 PM UTC
Every night I die in an airplane
Beads of sweat fall like rain
Every night I die in a plane crash
I wake up feeling like plain trash
Because every night my plane dives into the ocean
I can't believe the virtual reality of the motion
All my friends and family are there
I watch them drown
Leaving me marooned at sea
The river Styx of my dreams
I wake up marooned at bed
Swimming in a sea of sweat
None of my friends and family are there
And my adrenaline nightmares keep me scared
Because if I fall asleep
It's a nosedive I reap
Every night I die in an airplane
Why is this image so ingrained?
Every night I die in a plane crash
Pressure crushes me to plain ash
Because every night my plane flies into a mountain
The passenger's blood fills my eyes like fountains
All my friends and family are there
I watch them burn
Leaving me stranded in the hills of hell
Until I understand the pills too well
I wake up stranded in bed
Buried in an avalanche of sweat
None of my friends and family are there
And my reality has begun to tear
When I keep dying in my dreams
My mentality rips at the seams
Every night I die in an airplane
Why must my mind be so untame?
Every night I die in a plane crash
And my life becomes a plain flash
Because every night my plane flips upside down
As my useless body is tossed round and round
All my friends and family are there
I watch them get mangled
Leaving me to die at high speeds
With corpses that profusely bleed
I wake up dying in bed
Flipped face down in a pool of sweat
None of my friends and family are there
I begin to wonder if they even care
Because I watch them die every night
It makes me love them more
Because I watch them die every night
My life becomes a chore
But there's nothing for death to reclaim
When I'd just cross over to another plane
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 12:58 PM UTC
Anxiety is not a feeling
As some of you may believe
You wouldn't be alone
Because plenty of people place it in the same category as
Sad, angry, elated
But one of these things is not like the others.
You see, anxiety is everything and nothing
All at the same time.
Anxiety is when no matter how spacious the room is
It seems to be getting smaller
Until you can see every intricate detail on every wall
Each corner touches your skin
And flattens your chest
As it rises and falls
Your breath is getting short until it stops
And then you become as functional as a corpse
After all, isn't that what you are?
Anxiety is
When your love stands over top of you
Watching your diaphragm as it rapidly pulsates
Wishing he could hold your hands as they sweat profusely
Wanting to breathe life into your convulsing body
But instead, he cannot even grasp the concept
Of why you are not alright.
Anxiety is
Accepting that your reality is not truly real at all
And deciding to realize that people wish they could fix you
But understanding that they don't know what to do
And you don't either.
Anxiety is
Learning from all the
You're blowing things out of proportion's
And
You put to much pressure on yourself's
When you begin to have these panic attacks
In which you feel like death in imminent
Over trivial things.
Anxiety is
Being with people who love you
And still getting bursts of loneliness
That ignite and explode inside your pores and underneath your skin
The blood flowing silently through your veins reminds you
That you are all alone.
Anxiety is
Relating each and every thing you do
To how you are not adequate
And how you must take charge of everything.
It influences the things that tell you
"Make yourself throw up"
And
"Skip that meal today."
Most times, you shoe it away with every particle of strength that you have
Other times, you are not so lucky.
Anxiety is hard to personify
But it is.
And as I muster up the courage in my soul
And the hope in my being
I realize that those things need not be stored
Because I use them every day as I fight this battle.
We are all waging wars
Mine just happens to be against
This thing that is so intricately woven into the chemistry of who I am.
It is a part of me
But it is not all of me
And my voice is louder than this sickness.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
i.
the poem has a beginning exactly as you’d expect it:
pa in sweatshirt, ma with purse; the funny thing is
i never used to call them those names:
“pa,”
“ma,”
always found them too cowboy-ish,
too un-me, un-like
us: who held chopsticks before dinner time and shared
stories of how grandpa came over from china.
ii. (at the dinner table)
there is no symbolism here. there has been none
for a while now. this household eats and
eats in quiet. my grandmother is a poet but their
books all burned down
back in ’45 when mao stormed into fujian and
all her uncles could eloquent on was that
“the communists were coming!”
“the communists were coming!”
and instead of poems took with them their
children, and their gold to pawn
and their clothes on their muddy
mortar-stained backs
and the japanese
iii.
my grandfather now comes twice a week to the
hospital for chemotherapy. it is a nice hospital.
good view of the cleanest part of our *****
city. there are lights and white folks now. two things
my dad said did not used to be there. they
used to be spanish. they tilled
our rice fields and spent the money on living rooms
with lots and lots of space to sleep. we on the other hand,
worked. he claims.
your grandfather and his grandfather and i
iv.
awake every sunday morning at precisely 8:30.
made to go down to the temple in kalesas
and told to fetch the office paper for
noontime reading. see we weren’t spoiled: grew
up just next to the pasig river which back in
the 70s did not smell as bad as sin only
sweatshirts
and the sweat we soaked them in we reeled along
steamed fish heads and chopsticks for picking at them with
and bowls of rice we never really ate with spoons.
v. (back at the dinner table)
i listen to my mom and dad
sweat profusely in the evening heat only we can have here
he in his sweatshirt and she
with her golden purse,
preparing to leave - a wedding party awaits -
an jacket draped over his shirt just like grandfather used to do it
in a sense,
but gripping the chopsticks delicately for all us
to see:
“pa,”
“ma,”
v.
it is not cowboys that give us our names.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
All are limitory, but each has her own
nuance of damage. The elite can dress and decent themselves,
are ambulant with a single stick, adroit
to read a book all through, or play the slow movements of
easy sonatas. (Yet, perhaps their very
carnal freedom is their spirit's bane: intelligent
of what has happened and why, they are obnoxious
to a glum beyond tears.) Then come those on wheels, the average
majority, who endure T.V. and, led by
lenient therapists, do community-singing, then
the loners, muttering in Limbo, and last
the terminally incompetent, as improvident,
unspeakable, impeccable as the plants
they parody. (Plants may sweat profusely but never
sully themselves.) One tie, though, unites them: all
appeared when the world, though much was awry there, was more
spacious, more comely to look at, it's Old Ones
with an audience and secular station. Then a child,
in dismay with Mamma, could refuge with Gran
to be revalued and told a story. As of now,
we all know what to expect, but their generation
is the first to fade like this, not at home but assigned
to a numbered frequent ward, stowed out of conscience
as unpopular luggage.
As I ride the subway
to spend half-an-hour with one, I revisage
who she was in the pomp and sumpture of her hey-day,
when week-end visits were a presumptive joy,
not a good work. Am I cold to wish for a speedy
painless dormition, pray, as I know she prays,
that God or Nature will abrupt her earthly function?
3.7k
Simplicity in three little words
That I regurgitate so profusely
Words as free as soaring birds
Used by the brave and the mighty.
Three little words that two bodies would declare
Every so often when the heart so desires
Whispered lightly like the wind in your hair
Or shouted out loud like brimstone and fires.
These three little words shouldn't be taken very lightly
For in it lies the power to move, most regal a mountain
Squander not its meaning, until you have proven worthy
Misuse it not, until you've known for certain.
First word refers to the being of self
Third one suggests the existence of another
Middle binds the two like nails to a shelf
Middle defines the two as they're made for each other.
I've used these words many a time in the past
Then I know not, of it's sacred binding potency
I've learnt now through time that they would last
I've learnt this through a hidden path of discovery.
Now it's value stares me right in the eyes
Piercing through my mind, body and heart
Baring itself, shedding it's cloak of disguise
First time in my life, I saw a brand new start.
I am neither brave, nor am I mighty
I have felt it so great, I know it to be true
These words resonate with conviction within me
Clear echoes from my heart, it said, "I love you".
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 5:17 AM UTC
Consequences: made for learning lessons
I convert unlearned lessons
Turned to abnormal blessings
Stretching the truth to hold you
Pricked by your gorgeous daze
I bleed profusely, yet don’t turn away
The love I swore to keep
My blood tells other tales
Intoxicated from your smell
Continuing to caress your sides
Wincing in pain
Feeling as if there’s something to gain
No end to my quest in sight
Finding the rose I thought I would need
Loving the one that caused me to bleed
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
Look at all the parrots--
Parroting the words
Of all the other parrots--
Of all the other birds--
Parroting profusely
All the same refrains--
Parroting the constant patter
In their parrot brains--
Parroting the preaching
From the pulpit to the pews--
Parroting their parents'
And their parents' parents' views--
Parroting their leaders
And their pompous platitudes--
Parroting their peers'
Pretentious attitudes--
Parroting the patriarchs'
Proselytizing that'll
Put your teeth on edge
With their pathetic prattle--
Parroting the poppycock
Of trite pontifications--
Parroting pernicious
And sly manipulations--
Parroting the pretty birds
Whose pageantry and glory
Appeal to their prurient tastes
In each pathetic story--
Parroting the songsters
With parasitic pleasure
And counting out the rhythm
Of every pitiful measure--
Parroting the powerful
Whose ploys are so profuse,
Leaving the powerless
Pummeled with abuse--
Parroting with passion
Presumptuous prophesies
With putative contrition,
"Humbly" on their knees--
Parroting themselves--
Together all in sync--
How they love to parrot
So they don't have to think!
- by Bob B
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 8:10 AM UTC
I travelled straight west
to the epicentre of the southern wastelands
and 'twas with mind-numbing disbelief that
I found an Oak table propped upon the sands
and it was not alone either
for three beings sat it, seemingly nonplussed -
one was a skinny old man
wearing a linen suit faded and powdered with dust
his collar frayed around the edges
a moth-eaten hat sat upon his head,
he had a daisy poking from his breast pocket
so very much preserved, so very much dead,
to his left sat a one-eyed Hare
the sole eye ecstatic and wiggling -
he swore and blasphemed each time the man spoke
from a mouth toothless and dribbling,
sat to the right of the man
was absolutely (absolutely!) nothing,
however I observed with mild humour
that both man and Hare were convinced it must be something
for the man was profusely adamant
scorning the Something for dissing the Hare's hair,
although the Hare was too busy rolling around its one eye
to even notice the man, or simply give a fu- care
"Hey hey talk to I! Hath thou seen my missing eye?!"
Hare asked from a voice shrieky and shattered
saliva running in rivets
upon the table it slopped and slavered -
then suddenly the man started singing encore
his voice cringe-worthy, out of tune,
sounding like a cat back-broke and on steroids
rocking and waving like a spastic-loon;
"If Father Time has no end,
does he even have a beginning -
oh, if there's pain is there gain,
which one of us is it that's winning?"
alas, that's when my attention was brought to the mounds
of surgical needles cluttered on the ground,
feeling sickly aura lick the back of my throat
I started backing away without a sound
["Hey hey talk to I -"]
["If there's pain is there gain -"]
["Hath thou seen my missing Missing MISSING EYE?!!"]
#FLASH!#
the dystopian landscape around me melted
into a field of bloated poppies -
serene, scarlet and blinding 'neath the sun,
feasting upon our charred bodies.
AJ
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
I felt hatred deep through my veins,
It burnt my skin
Planting the seed of vengeance
‘How dare you’
Your words flashed in my mind.
You tear open my wounds
With your pitiful words,
You **** me every time,
You breathe my name.
You confess your love,
That chokes me every night.
You’re the poison that I ingested,
Voluntarily, naïve little thing.
You strangle me with your words,
Stifling the smothered screams.
You gnash my skin
With your ****** teeth,
You tear open my insecurities,
Piece my piece I pay the price
Of surrendering to the devil.
You call me lovingly,
‘Little pet’,
You expect me to swallow your lies,
The shackles of your tribulations.
You whisper sweet nothings,
Of how I’ll ‘join the great majority’,
And you’ll hunt again,
A prey to torture,
A sacrifice.
How can I let you?
You broke my soul,
Tarnished my body,
For your sickening self;
You reduced me to ashes
For what?
I wait for you to return.
You’re asleep,
Are you tired from inflicting torture?
Oh how sad, aren’t you the victim here.
I sneak up to your lithe form,
You breathe my name,
Is it a silent prayer, darling?
I plunged the knife deep into your heart,
The ***** he doesn’t feel.
Your eyes open, you’re shocked,
You didn’t expect betrayal.
The predator, soaked in blood,
Calls out again, the last time,
Losing his breath, sweating profusely.
‘Die, pet’
Nice retraction, right?
The Hunter dies pleading the hunted,
Ragged breath, such music to my ears.
You die, a meaningless death,
You succumb to that knife you use to ****
**** the others, **** me.
You die, a sobbing mess,
Too cold for life.
Jul 13, 2021
Jul 13, 2021 at 9:45 AM UTC