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"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.
0
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 10:51 PM UTC
Dinosaurs and Devices
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.
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44
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-
0
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC
Fatal Crowned King
**** (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 ****
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Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
weeds
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.
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May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
Smart, Strong, Beautiful, Talented
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
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Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
Destination
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
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Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
the pencil thin moustache men
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!
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Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 10:55 AM UTC
Notion of Love
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
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May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
One Third
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
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Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
An Apology for Apologizing
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
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50
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)
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May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
Mending Queen
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
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Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 4:55 AM UTC
SYRIA: A CAKE IN BLOOD
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.
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Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC
Judged (Fictional)
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.
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38
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
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Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
I Want Cake
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
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34
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?
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Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC
That somebody.
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?
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44
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.
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Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
And..... You left me all alone...
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.
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59
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.
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May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 7:40 PM UTC
The boy who flew too close to the sun
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
0
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 12:58 PM UTC
Airplanes
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
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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.
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Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
Anxiety
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.
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65
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.
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Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
Pa wears a sweatshirt, ma carries a golden purse:
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.
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60
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?
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3.7k
Old People's Home
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".
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Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 5:17 AM UTC
Three Little Words
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
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Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
Thorns
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
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Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 8:10 AM UTC
Look at All the Parrots!
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
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Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
Sast Lupper And The ***** Dystopian
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
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49
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.
0
Jul 13, 2021
Jul 13, 2021 at 9:45 AM UTC
Too Cold
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.
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