"propels" poems
The heat,
The way it ripples from the steel handlebars
And burns my hands,
The way the clunking of the chain feels
As each pedal propels me forward
Beneath the sun.
The sky is blue,
The air is crisp and leaves pinpricks
On my skin,
Soothed by the tenderness
Of sun rays that fall like curtains
Upon the concrete.
It smells of rubber,
A lingering scent of nostalgia
That fills my lungs like tar
And fills my heart with youthful
Thoughts.
As the wrinkles emerge,
And the delicate cracks begin to show,
I realize that my bike
Is the last memento that
Resonates through my aging ways.
Let's take a final spin down the boulevard,
Before the sun goes down
And my bones ache once more.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 4:26 PM UTC
The concrete jungle.
Home of the dreaded concrete beasts
Who lie in plain sight for the world to see
Crouched in marble ledges, twisted in metal beams
Wrapped around handrails, perched in their cemented trees
They laugh at those who cannot perceive
Because they don’t believe.
And who am I,
Yes possibly me
To find my identity
In removing my wooden sword from its sheath
Placing it beneath my two shuffled feet
To answer the alluring call of the beasts beckoning
To my hero’s heart, for my eyes to blink
To suddenly see them as they were meant to be.
In a world between
Real and imaginary.
For it is I,
Yes I believe it to be
Chosen to find my destiny
In a single push
That propels me
Into the path of the snarling beasts
Approaching their stairs and rails, ledges and beams
Gaps and bumps and ramps with speed
And as they stare at me hungrily
Opening their mouths expecting me
I will stand strong on my wooden sword
As the wheels of fire erupt beneath
And the scenery blurs in the flash of the rapidity
I bend my knees and grit my teeth
My eyes narrow and the drum in my chest crescendos its beat
A shout explodes from my chest, a primal scream
As I press on
In the concrete jungle.
Home of the dreaded concrete beasts
Who quiver in plain sight for the world to see
And whimper at the sight of who they now perceive
Because I do believe.
And it is I,
Yes undoubtedly me
Who will find my destiny
Conquering the concrete jungles of the world unseen
Surfing the concrete waves of the world between
With my loyal vessel being the wooden sword from the sheath,
That remains steady in the face of danger beneath my feet.
I am alive
In the concrete jungle.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
The flood of weekend fun
has ended -- its deluge
Of waves and love and friends
. . . as waves.
Persists, propels a new inspiration.
Inertia.
Forward.
Back to reality, to work,
responsibility.
To simple morning coffee,
once again,
That reminds me, simply,
once again,
That all these forms are my reality
There is no dearth
Of reality
No dearth
Of weekends
Of mornings
Of coffee
Of work
Of responsibility
Of friends
Of love
Inertia
Forms
Waves
Reality
No dearth
No dearth
Just fun
Just flood
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
It’s a garden I saw
one propels within oneself
there was no shadow.
I saw starry rows lining up
in broad daylight, I was stunned
Yes, stars in the broad daylight!
Here I see the sun up on the high
and the full moon in the night.
But here they weren’t
needed in the fair fare!
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 10:09 AM UTC
Words and letters are written on walls
Some as vandalization others as messages
Words and letters are written on walls
Words and sentences are written on billboards
Some serve as advertising others to arouse awareness
Words and sentences are written on billboards
Words and paragraphs are written on my brain
Some serve as inspiration others to support guidance
Words and paragraphs are written on my brain
Words are the weapons I use in a society that controls my image
Words are the only thing that can divide me from being ghetto or educated
My words are the only thing that I can vouch for like my *****
My words are the root of the intelligence that propels this sentence
Letters in my words stand close to each other eager to make a statement
If I do not show my words, my letters of cheerfulness begin to fade away
Sentences are the compound of the mind that begs to be understood
Sentences are made up of a tyranny chained down by a trendsetters mood
My sentences contain verbs, nouns, adjectives and subjects that explain a lost purpose
My sentences define the meaning of an ironical imagery that leads me to dream
Sentences paint a picture that any blind character can see
If I do not paint my sentences how will I ever show my brains art gallery
Picasso used the paint brush to express his moods and feelings on a canvas
Shakespeare and Allan Poe used ink to utter their thoughts on a sheet of paper
Somewhere in my mind the collision of words and paint occurred
Where I fused the essence of writing with the masterfulness of painting
My words and sentences have met a significant other called paint
Paint and words are my new best friend
Paint and brushes are splattered and used upon walls
Some are called vandalization while they represent artistic skills
Paint and brushes are splattered and used upon walls
Paint and words are written on subways
So the eyes of the young and old can see the traveling message
Paint and words are written on subways
Paint and words smack up at my face
So that the world sees who conveys this message
Paint and words smack up at my face
Paint gives visual to what words cannot picture
My Paint serves as a method of expressing the mind’s tears and smiles
My Paint becomes a tour guide through the loops of divine wonders
Paint is just a stepping stone to the magnificent path of beauty
A brush is just a brush depending on who holds it
A brush is like the keyboard I constantly battle with to unleash my mind
A brush can combine negativity and positivity and make peace
A brush unites celibate beliefs with those whom are perverse
Words and sentences along with paint and brushes help explain my motive
Jonathan Pizarro
Lost Cause © 2011
April 17th, 2011
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 12:42 AM UTC
My blood flows with gold
my fingers alight with fire
it propels and consumes me
to an all encompassing desire.
Completely in the wind,
utterly in the rain
A sweet abandonment
into the delightful pain.
My skin - too tight
My movements - too constrained
Even a bellow from a mountain top
leaves this feeling untamed
A power so wild
so ferocious, yet so compressed
wails at the boundaries
of the unexpressed.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 9:24 PM UTC
My stress quivers
as it’s whisked away by the sweet-tempered wind.
The sun’s soothing hands reach out
to brush their fingertips upon my face
And I fulfill their wish again
as my smile thoughtfully reveals itself
from its dingy place.
The kayak propels through the turquoise water
Forced forward by the strength of physical power
With every stroke
Every slap and splash
My mind is freed of its routine thoughts
Leaving them all behind
In waves of pure wind and light
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
One can easily become disillusioned in a world senselessly
Filled with confusion and upheaval – evil at every corner,
and it appears as though good has become unsustainable
Bleak as tomorrow’s tidings may, I stay on bended knees
Looking upward with unanswered questions - let wisdom
Rain down like libations, to quench thirst wrought off miles
upon life’s rugged road, and before the end has come I want
To have left behind a legacy of achievement, taking whatever
Motivation I can get to buildup up conviction, until cynicism
is converted into action - my spirit soaring like an eagle propels
My ambition to loftier heights thought unimagined – so I wait
Patiently for a windfall gain, made from choices to facilitate change
For I’m indomitable, from a lineage of kings rising above the worlds
condition, like a sprightly star among the constellations…
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 2:02 AM UTC
*Upon entrance into the realm of reality
My first image basks in the bliss of your smile
You knew that bearing two offspring was sheer destiny
All the love that you bestowed was definitely worthwhile
When I’m in pain, depression, or sorrow
You welcome me in a warmhearted embrace
Such care heals my soul for a better tomorrow
Your unrelenting support propels me in the life race
Your grace branches to lands beyond reckoning
Your unique ability to serve others is a true virtue
Your duties are far from easygoing
You deserve much more than the credit accrued
You fought valiantly when things turned gray
You should have a nice rest on this Mother’s day*
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 9:52 AM UTC
Let's lose our minds amongst the olive trees
Labyrinth of oiled imagination
Twirl like falling leaves / falling to our knees
in unbalanced joy and veneration
of ourselves. For there is nobody else
but us; there is no other time but now,
Red flowers bloom. A blue shadow propels
a still landscape into being somehow
fluid. Timelessly we swim, wet within
each brush stroke branch and painted wave of wild
emancipation—to forget the din
of the wretched asylum. Vincent smiled:
Dive too deep and you shall go insane,
The olive grove remains the other side of the pane.
Oct 16, 2020
Oct 16, 2020 at 9:04 AM UTC
A poem for cyclists with tech.
When one is by-cycling,
And the wind is anything but charming.
The direction that doth wind blow
Is the SAME as on your Garmin.
When one is by-cycling,
And the wind propels you like a teen.
The direction that doth wind blow
Is OPPOSITE as what’s on your screen!
Nov 2, 2023
Nov 2, 2023 at 12:57 PM UTC
It's not all been bad.
I have had some fun
I started to surf
when I was young
If ever I was lost
And out of reach
I'd often be found
Down at the beach
My own little sanctuary
Where I could be free
Either sat on the sand
Or out in the sea
I love the ocean
It blows my mind
It's Calming yet dangerous
Misterious yet kind
The energy's magestic
The feeling of joy
Has captured my attention
Since I was a boy.
It's led me to travel
To far distant shores
I've met so many people
Opened so many doors
I've surfed with monkeys in trees
And elephants on the beach
Surrounded by dolphins
And turtles within reach
I've surfed during sunsets
And sun rises as well
Trippy seas and Trippy skies
As if under a spell
I've almost **** myself sometimes
When caught in a gnarly rip
Being dragged out to the big stuff
That aint no ego trip
When you can't see beneath
The deep grey sharky water
And the fish race away
Is it me for the slaughter?
But hang on, there it is
Thank you neptune and peseidon
Look out to the distance
there on the horizon
A little bump
It's coming near
A pulse of swell
It's almost here
I turn around
My stick I straddle
I face the land
And start my paddle
Then suddenly
It lifts me up
Propels me forward
Fills my cup
It makes me feel
so very awake
I jump to my feet
For goodness sake
I'm 100%
Right there in the now
Conjoined with nature
No interest in how
Just doing it because
I'm it's biggest fan
Loving it loving it
because It's there and I can
Already a treat
This gift keeps on giving
I put in a few turns
Life is so worth living
Then the wall gets top heavy,
It's the best feeling ever
Everything goes quiet
It's a sublime endeavour
I'm inside the wave
for a second or two
The green room, The barrel.
Deep in the blue
There's no feeling like it
I can't even explain
Wonderous, breathtaking
It's ******* insane
I pull out of the journey
Can't get any higher
Full of adrenaline
My brain is on fire
Riding those waves
Gives me so much pleasure
I guess like the pirate
Finding the treasure
The greatest way
To improve my emotion
Is to float about
In that big old ocean.
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 1:30 PM UTC
Roller coaster...
it propels you to the zenith of ecstasy
to hurl you surlily to the pits of agony.
It mocks your senses,
turns your sensibilities upside down,
pounds your heart to panic bewilderment.
It dishevels your tranquillity,
shoves you to a hysteric frenzy,
pushes you into the dark world of insanity.
Still, we cherish the thrill of its madness,
outwit each other
to jump on the bandwagon
that takes us to the holes of delusion!
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
Reality is drowned beneath the waves.
The bubbling crescendo
Sounding forth its mockery
At my resistance.
Anguished cries are muted
By the vast liquid’s gossamer grasp.
Each arching crest curves around my soul
Cocoon like it entraps me.
Explosive waves roar their obsession.
Each powerful white tipped crest
Rolls with the joy of loves persistent tattoo.
White water propels me headless
Towards destiny’s ocean
Its power rushes through my veins.
Tossing me over the edge of reason
The Tsunami consumes me in its passion.
Heart pounding within my rapturous journey
The water falls away into distant oblivion.
Suddenly I am ****** free of its tenuous hold
It’s vehemence crashing me against the scared shore.
There the marks of our passing remain a constant reminder
Cherished scars to be carried on loves momentous tide
Like a Tsunami come to claim the soul,
Love seeks my full surrender.
Oct 21, 2009
Oct 21, 2009 at 12:56 AM UTC
I always thought
The tiny little creatures
That we call hamsters
Were adorable
When they run on the tiny wheel
That is
Until I realized that
I'm the hamster
Running, running, running
But going nowhere
My anxiety propels me
To run, run, run
My instinct is to run away
But, just like the small creature
It just loops around me
I push it away
And it gets worse
And it just snowballs
Growing bigger
And bigger
And BIGGER
Then I'm stuck
Spinning so fast
On this hamster wheel
Round and round and round
I'm going faster than the speed of light
And I can't process things
But I brought this upon myself
By thinking, I could run away in the first place
Stupid
Stupid
Stupid
Stupid
I am so stupid
I have a mental illness
And it's not going away
No matter where I run
It's like a small child
Clinging to my leg for dear life
No matter what I do
That **** thing is with me
I can tell
That people are getting sick of me
I feel it
A feeling I'm all too familiar with
This is the feeling
That tells me to prepare for the storm
Because they are getting ready to leave
Just like a hamster
It's cute at first
But the squeaky wheel
Slowly drives one insane
And it's not so cute anymore
At first
People pitied me
As they tried to help me
But I continue
To use my anxiety
As a reason for my dysfunction
And it's driving everyone insane
At this point
I want to shut down
Stick a knife in my temple
And **** my brain
So I can think
But I won't
Because I have WAY too much to live for
So my next best option
Is to shut people out
And get the **** done
Alone
Because that's what I'm best at
It was stupid to ask for help
In a war against myself
That no one else sees
Because that's what pushes people away
They see me
For the monster I actually am
With my constant anxiety
And horrible depression
And they get overwhelmed
And leave
So the best thing I can do
Is lock this up
Put on a happy face
And pretend nothing is wrong
Lik I've done for almost 17 years now
I can't lose more people
I just can't handle the heartbreak
And I'm afraid
That my catastrophic brain
Will slowly destroy
The relationships I've worked so hard to build
So here I go
Just gotta hold my breath
Smile
Hold my head up high
And pretend I'm okay
Because that's the only way
To fight this impossible war
Fake it until you make it
Right?
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 9:01 AM UTC
My wounds bleed war paint and
there’s an air of mischief on your tongue.
When chaos propels itself on our sweet plans
we are reminded of our wavering energy to hiss past the unexpected.
An appetite for freedom can’t sustain starving artists.
I often imagine life as a black and white silent film.
Those rust-tinted spectacles stay concrete on the bridge of my nose,
Dancing giraffe-men on stilts boisterously
taunt the congressman on his crackberry,
ask him what he’s livin’ for.
Give me your half-drawn dreams to hide in, give me your blood.
Because mosquitoes never tire of kicking you when you’re at your lowest.
Give me your childhood ambitions and carefree summer nights, and
you’ve got guts, kid,
you’ve got guts,
to careen over rooftops in search of a paradise.
Sway in narrow alleyways in the major cities and
feel the warmth of life occurring.
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 5:34 PM UTC
in a dark autumn forest, five creatures
strangely glow, cold peaked ears are blue,
rhythms of thudding, scudding boots
full of youth, synchronized they run,
outlined in neon, nearly covered in fur,
running amok in the hungry dark.
what do they search for in the dark?
all keening, these tempestuous creatures.
what propels them? what makes their fur
stand on end? faces an oxygen-less blue
as arms are locked and strong legs run
with the heavy monotony of feet in boots.
driven by laughter and labored breath, boots
thunder up dewy hills, disturbing the dark
loam underfoot, disheveled as the wind runs
through and into and throughout these creatures,
and the trees, and the strange aura of blue
surrounding a juggling man with hair like wolf fur.
he is levitating, has eyes like a burning fur-
nace, is manipulating boxes of light, wears boots
that make him seven feet tall, his is the blue
of martyrs, of imagination sacrificed to dark
forces, alight like clicking live wires the creatures
tumble on, finding a new reason to run
toward a long, narrow, white hallway they run
across an empty street, a nearby raccoon's fur
bristles as they break all boundaries, these creatures,
all sharp claws and fearless teeth and stomping boots,
assault the stillness of closed doors and early dark
morning eyes just beginning to distinguish the blue
of the sun's prologue, a deep and melancholy blue.
charging the hall doors, they dance and thump and run
down the shadowed interior, adjacent rooms dark
but for the lights of the lonely and static cat fur.
on wooden floors the cacophonic burst of boots
rumble like wild animal's hooves, here come the creatures!
and as the sun illumines dark corners in orange and blue,
through untidy mists these creatures continue to run,
all flailing limbs and matted fur and brawling boots.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 3:15 AM UTC
When one writes of love
They tend to use these general analogies
To explain the sensations
You could sit there and describe
Exactly how love makes you feel
But without those analogies
The words wouldn't hold the same appeal
There would be something off
The reason I speak of love
Is that I am in love
Thoroughly a part of an intense connection
That make it so no words can find the right meaning
No matter how hard I try
I will never capture all of our love on paper
The love radiating off of him like heat waves
The genuine sense of safety
That comes from his steady embrace
Nor could I capture the danger
The side of my love for him
That holds too close
Feeling the wrath of his anger
Though it isn't for me
Purposely putting myself between
His anger and himself
My love for him propels me to risk myself
To make sure he's okay
The slightest drop in his voice
And I'm left circling for ways to help
The words to make the feelings true
Still lay out of reach
But I pray that he can stay with me
Until I find those words
Ending with an "I do."
None of these words I speak
Will ever stay silent
Though better are hiding somewhere
Deep in the distance
'Til then I'll write of love
Without the right tools
Except those old and used analogies
Running theirselves raged
To barely graze my love
So I'll write a poem.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 8:16 AM UTC
- God knows. I want a love that is like sleep.
-Why should love be like sleep?
-I don’t know - so that it is like death.
~(D.H. Lawrence - Women in Love)
High sun, like lightening, licks upon the illimitable lake,
Lustre like winks of shattered glass at noon;
Propels gentler warmth into the swimmer’s wake
And she sails in absence among the salt of loves several months overdue.
But it seems, the softness of a wave presses its face against her,
As would a crying animal. Soon her wounds swoon
Gulping in yielding glory the mineral blur
And closing their infant mouths in cowardice as at confession.
For she has a front-row ticket to the drowning light,
Watches in tepid woe the greenish circles ebb in funeral song
As the horizon paints itself black in grief. It no longer charms her plight
To think of the sky as sea; you told her to watch the boats where they are
In order to define the end of the earth, and now she is no longer afraid,
Because she knows that you once were, and she’s on paper somewhere.
And now she packs up her let down town, wishing she stayed
Somewhere closer to the sea and the precipice of loving you.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
Such vicious energies of hate
That propels an enactment
Of intense and exhausting experience
Where vigorous rhetoric of contending factions
Show inability to shape a moment into coherent form
Providing only chaos
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 10:53 AM UTC
Because of you,
I can say what's
on my mind,
laugh at myself
and put a smile
on a sad face.
I do the
impossible things
with the
right mind set.
Because of you,
I became better.
Your inspiration
motivates and propels
me beyond the limits.
Because of you
I became a superman
doing all kinds of
amazing and supernatural
tremendously incredible
great things with
giant strides.
Because of you
i can climb
all the hills
and mountains like
the Spiderman.
Because you are
by my side I
became more than
a conquerer.
Positivity became
my ally and
generates me to
a spiritual high.
Because of you,
I know everything
is working the
way they should.
And for that
my heart is so grateful.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC
Pure anticipation
at the moment I
can rush into your
open, waiting arms
and brush my lips
against the smooth
softness of yours
is what propels me
through the dizzying
dullness of each day.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
Our lives are like ocean waves, born of a celestial entity among a diversified sea of possibilities. Direction and intensity set at birth with a future blurred by the endless horizon
Some waves wander alone, losing momentum as they are gradually ushered down by Earth’s gravitational pull before tragically coming to a rest among the blue abyss, destination never realized
Others are born of the unseen violence and upheaval between tectonic plates battling for dominion over the volatile landscape deep beneath the surface. Knowing no other way, they perpetuate the violence that created them, destroying and consuming everything in their path
Yet some join together, superimposed into a harmonious union that multiplies their strength and propels them forward until it’s waters gently meet the shore in an actualizing marriage of journey and destiny
Storms often boil up out of nowhere, dismantling adjacent waves. While a select few resist the onslaught, instead gaining strength and vitality. Like a conductor bringing a symphony to crescendo, the roil pushes these waves further than others in pursuit of their destination
This dynamic tapestry of new beginnings and violent ends blend together as one, eroding and shaping the land around them as they work out their daily squabbles. Heads barely above water, they continue onward towards the horizon blatantly disregarding a future for which they create
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 11:27 PM UTC
A sworn, torn man stands at the top of the world’s longest staircase, and my friends and I have signed up to ride. Millions of others stand between us and the top, waiting for their chance, their prime, to resign. We sulk in the depths of the sea and hope that someday we may be free.
The man holds penned paper that the depths cannot perceive, but we know it. Our ticket to the roller coaster lies, with number, on a digit. I and my friends were anglerfish before, but now we are eels. We no longer need dangly lights to guide us to prey, and now we tie ourselves and each other in knots.
Life is fun later when we are dolphins, then porpoises, then whales with legs, walking onto the seashore as brisk as can be, drinking our saliva as though it were a river overflowing with our survival. We walk in to the forest and steam lobsters over a log-fire. The wings with the tickets laugh at the monotony below him, but we’re below him even in that.
Grey skies cloud overhead, and we realize where we are. I and my friends run from the thunder that comes in every drop, the acid in every drop; where the water helped before, it now forms uncomfortabilities in our skin, nonconforming to the mutations of standard evolution. We need shelter, now, fast, and together. A huge tree is mostly protective.
Eventually a ladder of clouds drops down and draws us like a magnet. We can’t stop it, the clock has rung fourteen for two days now. We then have arms and can climb it, so we do, though the rain left pimples on our faces.
We ascend to the front of the line.
“Hello, ticketman, where are we headed?” we ask. He says, “Darlings, you haven’t been anywhere in the first place; how can you be headed to a where? First, go tackle a why.”
The rollercoaster takes off, shoots off – a rocket propels us through precarious stages of life. We have ups and downs and sideways parts we can’t really decide the morals of, and we enjoy it.
Then we are dead.
Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 1:24 PM UTC