"raises" poems
Sully suffers from a stutter,
simple syllables will clutter,
stalling speeches up on beaches,
like a sunken sailboat rudder.
Sully strains to say his phrases,
sickened by the sounds he raises,
strings of thoughts come out in knots,
he solves his sentences like mazes.
At night, he writes his thoughts instead
and sighs as they steadily rush from his head.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly go the days.
Sunrise, sunset
You wake up then you undress.
It always is the same.
The sunrise and the sunsets
You are lying while you confess, keep trying to explain
the sunrise and the sunsets.
You realized then you forgot what you've been trying to retain.
But everybody knows that it is all about the things
that get stuck inside of your head,
like the song your roommate sings
or a vision of her body as she stretches out on your bed.
She raises her hands in the air, asked you,
when was the last time you looked in the mirror?
'Cause you've changed.
Yeah, you've changed.
Sunrises, sunsets
You're hopeful then you regret.
The circle never breaks.
With a sunrise or a sunset there's a change of heart or address.
Is there nothing that remains
for a sunrise or a sunset?
You're manic and depressed.
Will you ever feel okay?
For a sunrise or a sunset your lover is an actress.
Did you really think she'd stay
for a sunrise or a sunset?
You're either coming or you just left, but you're always on the way
towards a sunrise or a sunset, a scribble or a sonnet.
They are really just the same.
To the sunrise and the sunset,
the master and the servant have exactly the same fate.
It's a sunrise and a sunset
from a cradle to a casket
there is no way to escape
the sunrise and the sunset.
Hold your sadness like a puppet, keep putting on the play.
But everything you do is leading to the point
where you just won't know what to do.
And at that moment you may laugh,
but there is someone there who will be laughing louder than you.
So it's true; the trick is complete.
Become everything you said you never would be.
You're a fool! You're a fool!
Sunrise, sunset, sunrises, sunsets
Sunrise and the sunsets.
Sunrise, sunset
Where are you Arienette?
Where are you Arienette?
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 12:29 AM UTC
A white porcelain coffee cup
she gently raises up to her lips
with a satiated look on her face;
this gift, a much awaited moment
attained by satisfying her yen
not for choicest, gourmet food alone.
Those dark droopy eyes, suggest
a luxurious languor, she does cherish,
as long as the after tremors would last.
Slyly she looks at his swollen red lips
with a crafted guilt, it gives her yet
another high, sending ripples over
her ******* his eyes do a recce on this
then go up to her lips,finds his ardor
last hour had made them crimson all over,
throwing his head backwards he smiles at her.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 4:58 AM UTC
Zero is enduring
zero is deathless.
Nothing is up to it
none can mirror it
though forever
it's an open case.
The eyes are yet to
see an open face!
Because like it's
nothing is in perfect shape
purely a perfect circle!
Nothing matches it
as like Fathima is none else!
Ever more sprawling pi decimals
never go unnoticed propelling
to the end surge before her.
Before the original one
Fathima is yet to be mirrored.
All the planets turn circular
before the unseen perfect circle.
Fathima nails it snapped it up
circled it with her hair!
Before the furthest sighted eyes,
the dot at the earth's centre
at its pool of primitive water.
Fathima embeds in a loop of her hair
thus supercharges the water!
It finds the cut, the golden ratio,
constant continuity in her hair's inner flow.
And the Big Bang happened
there, their breakthrough!
The potential worlds to be
from the first drop of water
she gets them all buzzed out.
From down the rock bottom,
from the zero null
Fathima finds and raises the sun!
Nothing is comparable to it on the ground
nor up on the high, we only see the fire
of a heavenly phenomenon is beyond the sight!
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 12:06 AM UTC
It flies amongst the stars.
Flashes for a moment.
Despite the left scars.
Holds a place close, yet far.
It carries the fallen.
From mistaken paths.
To reaches impossible.
And develops new plans.
It creates new countries.
Raises dead soldiers.
Stamps unsung heroes.
With a feeling of free.
Hear its silent sound.
Open up your eyes.
Place it in your heart.
Elevate from the ground.
It helps us climb.
Better than rope.
Do you see its shape?
It is hope.
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 11:35 AM UTC
I loved most of all
a cold blue eyed doll.
I knew that fall,
I'd fall for a doll.
Red my doll if it could blush,
how most I'd get a such and such
and my mind, a grove, a lush
such and such.
Then a doll raises peaceful uproars,
if it weren't alive then before,
I'd pray peace at its door
the **** 'll open before
me. I beg and steal for all,
I begged for this blue eyed doll,
we're stuck between ourselves and lawls,
that uttered from a cold, white, doll.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
Queen of my tub, I merrily sing,
While the white foam raises high,
And sturdily wash, and rinse, and wring,
And fasten the clothes to dry;
Then out in the free fresh air they swing,
Under the sunny sky.
I wish we could wash from our hearts and our souls
The stains of the week away,
And let water and air by their magic make
Ourselves as pure as they;
Then on the earth there would be indeed
A glorious washing day!
Along the path of a useful life
Will heart's-ease ever bloom;
The busy mind has no time to think
Of sorrow, or care, or gloom;
And anxious thoughts may be swept away
As we busily wield a broom.
I am glad a task to me is given
To labor at day by day;
For it brings me health, and strength, and hope,
And I cheerfully learn to say-
'Head, you may think; heart, you may feel;
But hand, you shall work always!'
12.3k
The warrior furious,
and fearless.
Her eyes full of justice,
and trust.
Raising her sword
at her enemies,
showing she shows no
fuse.
She fights with grace and
skill.
No expression,
no care.
Her glowing eyes,
made her foes fear her.
Her sword raises as it slashes down,
onto the foes.
She is known as a mysterious,
hero.
The warrior that was silent.
She showed no mercy on
those who are,
displeased.
The Silent Warrior,
is the one to be.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC
Liquid courage to numb the pain.
Intoxicated to forget.
Offbeat blood, sent from heart to vein.
Returns with a guest, she just met.
She closes up, leaves the bar clean.
To her apartment, around three.
In bed she lays, counting some sheep,
That mock her, thinking she will sleep.
She hears the crickets’ lonely beat.
Reminding her of creeps she meets.
Sometimes they have a potential start.
But never truly go that far.
Each night dealt with some other cards.
But slowly starts to build up guard.
She puts less time in her makeup.
But drunks continue to pick up.
She joins in shots, hopes to pass out.
But in her head she hears the shouts.
Her heart’s hunger for real love.
Her clouded thoughts rise above.
A newly turned insomniac.
No longer sleeping on her back.
Till curtains peek with starry eyes.
So bright, leaves a forceful rise.
Her sobs like strings of violin.
A void no liquor can fill in.
Despite how much she tries to drown.
The aches resonate with shrill sounds.
Another night, still found no one.
A man enters, two drinks and done.
She questions him, “What is the rush?”
Always pulled into a quick crush.
But never really tends to last.
As he mumbles about his past.
A bartender, like therapist.
As alcohol reveals the gist.
Now drunk and loud, he starts to shout.
Before his crash, he raises doubt.
He talks about, the best he lost.
Always at home, waits for the toss.
She cheers him up, when in a rut.
He gets up again, “That **** mutt!
To see her hurt, curled up in bed.
I held her paw, up till her death.”
The next night, slept pretty early.
He was perfect, brown hair curly.
Her eyes were lost, but not with lust.
Enjoyed his smells, delicious must.
A piece of her, became a part.
Happy to save his sinking heart.
Rescued him, he slept on her rug.
Named Milo, her three-legged dog.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC
the club is not the place to be
so the bar is where you'll find me
with my girlfriend doing shots
scanning the room and catching nods
your eyes hang in the smoky air
come on over, if you dare
trust me, I'll give you a chance
surely you see that, in my glance
my friend and I are laughing like girls do
my magnetic eyes push and pull at you
starring, you haven't looked away
I can see the interest, you convey
another shot the bartender places
confused, he gestures and your glass raises
I smile as my girlfriend whispers, he's cute
toasting you, we lift our shots and shoot
I won't beg you to on come over
but it's only wasting time until you come closer
the possibilities, I foresee
I'm already in love with your body
in confidence, over you saunder
in my mind the question, I ponder
obviously I see, you're in to me
but what about my friend... are you into three?
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 9:33 PM UTC
Jealousy changes you—it completely shifts your mind and paradigm and way of thinking and way of seeing things.
Jealousy makes your brain cloudy with anger, unable to think clear.
Jealousy makes you succumb to the gruesome power of fear.
Jealousy raises up your ego in a heartbeat, making you defending yours like your whole life clings to it.
Jealousy takes your will to love—if it's still there at all. Because who knows loving someone could be this exhausting?
Jealousy makes you a repugnant, revolting human being.
...and jealousy has successfully done every single thing above, to me.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 10:33 PM UTC
I see her often ....struggling all alone.
A diaper bag, pocketbook and the baby.
The look of distress on her face as she pushes the stroller home.
She raises her child all by herself.
Her pockets are not overflowing ....which means she's lacking wealth.
She shuffles off to work each day.
She's wondering when they will increase the dollars in her pay.
Single mom to some, Superwoman to her kids.....no regrets, it is what it is.
How I admire her strength and drive.
She's strong during the day, but at night she cries.
This is not the way it was supposed to be.
My child should be seeing double not just me.
Her mind is steady racing, but this is not a race.
The thought started here and now it's in a different place.
The sacrifices and staying up late when her child is sick.
She's snapping pictures at Christmas time as her daughter opens presents left by jolly ole Saint Nick.
She's thankful for this precious jewel that she must shape and shine.
Smiling as she puts her child to bed, because she has to be at work by nine.
There's always something to be done, so there's not much time to sit.
This is a full time job and one which she can't quit.
The cooking, the cleaning and washing clothes,
she's looking for some tissues so she can wipe a runny nose.
She thinks she's a single mom, but that's not entirely true.
The Lord is guiding and assisting ....pulling her through.
Keep your head up and don't let anyone or anything bring you down.
A queen's crown belongs on her head.....not upon the ground.
A dedication to the single mother's........Thank you for all that you do and have done.
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 1:07 PM UTC
Speak African child, speak. for you poses a mouth that heals nations. It is in thine voice in the vibrations of thy mouth that remedies are provided to our ailments.
speak African child, speak. speak against the calamities that befall your land. speak against that hand that he dare raises against your bare skin. speak against the blood of your brothers spilled to please others.
Speak for Africa that is one and united, Africa that does not know of any racial divides. Africa that knows no skin colour. speak African child speak. for you are the voice of liberation. speak for your voice are the echoes of our ancestors.
child labour, human trafficking, child *********** school violence, femicides, suicides. and you say you see this not. African child where is your voice in all of this. doesn't that skin, that accent and ***** hair mark you as of African descent.
Speak African child speak for you bare the answers to our questions, you bare the sole of our history.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC
How deadly is the sight of the flying witch,
she's mighty and flawless, her name is Lynn
elegant and graceful in her broom she'll go,
All of her victims had that exact same thought.
She seizes you with kind words
and for your soul offers you gold.
With her, you enjoy flying,
for you trust you won't fall.
Once in her cave, she speaks with friendly words
she fills your belly and fabricates a loving home,
It's hard to see her as from the underworld
It's hard to see what's about to come.
Before you realize she attempts to take control,
eating the brains of whom you call your own.
She's yelling and screaming, how putrid is her soul.
The witch is evil, but no one cares of what you know.
Now down the stairs she complacently goes,
raises an eyebrow, it's diabolical, it's smug
she then smiles to her husband, a mere puppet of hers
Satan is that woman, the witch who yells.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC
There was a Panda in his room
Ready to fall asleep
He wrapped himself up
Hugged his bed
As he counted all his sheep
The sheep jumped by one by one
As he watched the setting sun
The moon would rise
Stars shine bright
As the night time had begun
He rests his head on his pillow
He lays there all alone
In the warmth of night he falls asleep
As he pays his daytime loan
His mind goes dim, as his dreams awake
And he's in a pitch black room
When in front of him a bubble forms
One the size of his head
Past him it begins to zoom
The Panda half walks half crawls to where the bubble lay
Afloat in the air
Suspended above
He raises his voice to speak for it to come
But when his mouth opens, he doesn't know what to say
The bubble sits there laying in wait
Waiting for him to reach
So the Panda puts up his outstretched arm
Reaching for what he thinks would give him great joy
But what he finds is alarm
As he reaches and touches the bubble
The bubble begins to shake
It waivers and pops and rains down debris
And yet he doesn't wake
The Panda looks down
With tear stained eye
He sees the puddle below
And to the bubble he waves good bye
In this puddle left by the bubble
He sees his reflection glow
He sees his face, his tear stained eye
He wants to be set free
But sadly for this little Panda, waking up is slow
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 10:19 PM UTC
First blooming in the Western Paradise,
The lotus has delighted us for ages.
Its white petals are covered with dew,
its jade green leaves spread out over the pond,
And its pure fragrance perfumes the wind.
Cool and majestic, it raises from the murky water.
The sun sets behind the mountains
But I remain in the darkness, too captivated to leave.
7.9k
Her shoes untouched unmoved
lay carelessly
in the middle of her room
the strings still tied
forever waiting to be
undone and redone
tightly around dainty feet.
a wet shiny black nose
rest atop the left shoe.
peering through the
wide door crack
he raises his golden head
paint splattered with gray
making eye contact
with a sorrowful wine,
questioning.
a moment.
the somber shake of the head
a whimper as he settles his snout
back on the left shoe
waiting…
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:15 AM UTC
World is given through her womb
Life by her love
She's a shooting star
Fulfilling the dreams of others
Forgetting her ones.
We don't dare to appreciate her
We don't care to her feelings,
Nor her dreams.
She swallows her pride
To serve us might.
Love her, she loves you tonnes
Ignore her, she loves you loads
Ignores our ignorance
And tolerates our flaws
Complaining never
Her cries are often unheard
With tears invisible,
Trauma a smile
Patience at infinity
With words unspoken.
She's a ocean
Vast to explore
Hard to understand
But plain as river
With thoughts deeper.
Her self respect
Often misspelled as ego,
Society mocks her down earth
And she raises like a tree
From a buried seed
Her every move
Is judgemental,
With several eyes poking her
And so she became unpredictable.
Never try to understand, rather love her.
She gives life. She is a mother.
She makes home. She is a wife.
She is a sister, a savior till the ends.
She is precious because she is a daughter
She refuses to retire because she's born a woman.
And do you feel she deserves just a single day!?
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 9:50 PM UTC
My brother-in-law is the tightly wound sort.
Self contained in his miserable way.
Always quick with a quip or a nasty retort,
and, most likely, a miserable lay.
His job unfulfilling, his woman unwilling.
His co-workers thought he was gay.
He labored long hours for his indifferent masters
for infrequent raises in pay.
When he defenestrated his co worker Sally
and police asked me, what could I say?
" It's always the quiet ones
you have to watch out for-
I knew this would happen someday."
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC
Hot pink between her hips,
She’s sinking all his ships.
Her finger slips
Into her slit-
Fun dip.
And raises moon phases to her lips.
Blows the atmosphere a kiss,
Drinks the ocean in little sips.
Gallons of salty tears at her fingertips.
Woman yearning for the rip,
Boy learning to make me drip.
I’m hit.
And I’m only begging for more.
I adore the way you think you’re
Using me.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 1:09 AM UTC
.
Quiet! Shhh!
Can you hear it?
The animals are talking.
No, they are panicking.
Can you smell it?
The Forest is on fire.
My Forest is aflame!
I run, following nostrils singed with heat,
against the tide of the fleeing fauna.
Reaching the blaze I see....
eight of them.
My anger rises and erupts.
'STOP!' I bellow. They turn and draw swords.
My eyes narrow and a look of pure disdain unfolds.
I continue.
'I am Rook, Lord of the Forest Kingdom.
How dare you, enter my domain with no permission
and reek havoc on my Forest'.
A step is taken, toward me.
The eyes of a fighter glower, at me.
The point of a sword raises, threatening me.
I punish.
'For your transgressions and your destruction
you shall stand as stones, for eternity,
and as a warning to others'.
A scream pierces the air as a foot,
then another, compresses to rock.
The rest join the chorus, agony,
as each become statues,
twisted and contorted as
the Ancient Oaks they had destroyed.
My Oaks.
This is my Anger.
Would you care to see my Love?
© Pagan Paul (2018)
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
He slowly assembles his rifle on the barren rooftop as the
wind blows through his light blond hair.
His long overcoat ***** and wraps around his thin long
legs.
He places his elbows upon the short wall in front of him,
firmly kneeling on both knees.
Glancing into the rifle's sight, he focuses sharply through
its cross hairs; he sees hundreds passing through the sight,
men, women, children, and as he sees it, a maze
of mass hysteria.
He thinks of his current desperate situation and with each
passing thought, his heart pumps more hateful
adrenaline through his expanding veins.
What am I?....He wonders.
"I am the orphan child too ugly to adopt!
I am the spit in the street you step in and curse!
I am the cockroach so many crush beneath their feet!
I wish to love and beloved, for I am ever so lonely,
so empty.
I wish to give my whole self to someone to make them
eternally happy!
To sacrifice all I possess, including my life, for the one
I love,
but I am thoughtlessly branded a stalker!
I am the void in all broken hearts.
As a child, I only wished to be loved and appreciated,
but I was raised the invisible child.
There's a painful sore in my throbbing brain, the lethal
virus of society'd disdain.
I'm insane!....I'm insane!...Give me peace, God if you exist
Give me peace!
He glances once again through the sight's cross hairs,
catching sight of a young boy standing alone, mouth wide open
with tears rolling down his cheeks.
He pauses.....envisioning himself, his blue eyes cloud
with tears.
He pulls back back his loaded rifle placing it against the
short wall,
realizing at the moment this wasn't the way to end his
unbearable pain.
Reaching into his deep overcoat's pocket, his long fingers
catch grasp of the cool surface of a 9 mm.
Pulling it slowly from his pocket, he raises it to his temple,
slipping his finger upon its tight trigger he whispers once
again,
"God....if you exist,
Give me peace."
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
Creep in the night
Resists as they might
to their bodies invites
to reap what they like
Prisoners of flesh
until their souls delight
His big black **** between her thighs
Her tight white ***** squeezes and he sighs
He wants to turn her out without a doubt
Teach her what real loving is all about
She screams out loud
he covers her mouth
The climb max raises
as the pressure amounts
Daddy doing it right
laying the pipe so deep
It may never come out
The pleasures out of sight
She’s so wet from being tight
He’s hitting her spots like a spot light
From the look on her face the pleasure is out of sight
He uncovers her mouth and she screams for her life...
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 5:53 PM UTC
come at her like
Whats your name?
What you in to?
naw thats not ganna work
got to get those words that ganna get you
Thinkin Thinkin
hold you like the pedals i'll never bruise
Naw to deep thats way to soon
how can i do this
step up to the table like hello my name is Luis
man im like ***** this
stressing to much thinking to far
gotta act quick before another dude raises the bar
I got it i got it i'll dance for her
naw got to think out the box
done thinkin ... i'll just wright a poem
Send her my thoughts.
End it with XOXO i like you a lot.
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 7:58 PM UTC
He lets her touch him intimately, without emotion
when in some pretext she is alone,
in his cubicle with him, discussing things inane,
a software environs need not be concerned
some times when she passes through,
her longing crosses limits, these days
it has become frequent, to the extent others to notice.
she found silly excuses, fifth time this morning
but he can't hurt her feeling, a team member valued,
she contributes to his success, as the team leader
He can see her need for comfort,
under her tired eyes dark shadows of sleepiness
lay curled like a depressed mongrel,
yet another duel she had with that nincompoop
she calls her husband, all through last night;
a sudden pang he feels calls his wife
asks if she is fine, to ease his guilt that raises
its head like a snake from under the cover of grass.
"A housewife has a thousand things to do, why don't you
find a buxom colleague to flirt, if that is the need"
she banters and teases him on his illogical concerns.
Through the glass parting he discreetly watches her face
heard a murmur arising inside,"the ***** plans the next move"
panicked he tried to concentrate on the screen
that looked frightening, the deadline getting nearer and nearer
by each hour, he heard the heavy foot fall
at that moment he heard a thud, as if something fell down
everyone was running towards her workstation.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 10:04 AM UTC