"ramblings" poems
tell me...
will tomorrow bring,
all the things
i'm longing...
stowed upon its elusive wings,
tirelessly beating
and fighting
to show what's dangling
and hanging...
ready for the picking...
awaiting...
such time so it could begin its need for unloading,
delivering
and dropping,
its gleaming
treasures
on those who are deserving,
in no way lacking
so they could be at the receiving
end of this pressurising,
inking
of dwindling
words...
careless thoughts conceived only to
fuel
my deranged ramblings...
incessant mutterings of a shattering
mind...
bending backwards, almost breaking,
risking...
the chance of ever fully
mending...
hoping and praying
for a sentence that's pending
dawn's approval...
allowing
the rising
of the sun...
paving
ways for thriving
wishes,
unbarring
gates for soaring
dreams, unlocking
latches,
relieving...
the heightening
anxieties of grieving
hearts.
constantly whispering
utterances, promising
good will, happiness
and titillating
sanity.
we're thinking...
the earth is spinning,
the moon is setting,
so the sun must be rising
but...
tell me,
tomorrow...
is it coming?
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
What's it take
These days
To write a poem
That makes the world go mad
That brings the crowds to their feet
That spreads like wildfire
Through a dry winter forest
Is it those excessively long words?
The ostentatiously loquacious
Platitudinous ramblings
Of an insecure mind aspiring
To authentic intellect?
Is it perhaps...
the "creativity"
of varied spacing
or... could it be..... the lack
of capitalization
the loathsome little letters
screaming out
hey, look at us!
... or maybe it's
the punctuation marks,
littered, haphazardly
through the text
(whether used correctly)
or, theyre not?!
despite worrds mispeled
and a grammar might is broken
can these gimmicks increase interest
though miswritten or misspoken?
Is the trick alliteration
Whose bite brightly bids us
To center on the snappy sounds?
Although all along
unvoiced underneath
Ideas idle in the isles
(or perhaps the aisles)
Of the mind
To meld and craft and bind
Our thorough thoughts
And worthy words
Into lines
Which
Heard by herds
Raise the
Praise for which we
Privately, desperately
Pray
Maybe it's a magical mix
Of splendid in-your-head rhythm
Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks
Flowing smoothly without schism
Well-spaced stanzas
Well-used time
Well-crafted phrases
Well-thought-out rhymes
Well, maybe not...
those gems are often ignored
cast-aside, unread, even abhorred
Why?
Because the modern world
doesn't need your rules
your restrictions
your regulations
your misguided boundaries
your oppression
your antiquated ideas
of "the right way"
to write
to speak
to act
to live
to (fill in the blank)
No, what the modern world needs
is
Negation!
Contradiction!
Resistance!
Revolt!
And poetry whose words
Say the same thing
Repeat the same meaning
Echo the same lyrics
Rephrase the same thoughts
But in an ever-so-slightly
Different
Varied
Altered
Adjusted
Changed up way
Line
After line
Of synonyms
over
and
over
and
over
again
-----
What's it take
These days
To not give in
To narcissism's spiral?
But more importantly:
What's it take
To make my poem go viral?
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
As the moon shines
And the stars decorate the sky,
A lonely owl hymns
While the bats fly.
Lightning bugs scatter around
Like will-o'-the-wisps at night,
Without any sound
Oh, what a delight!
The neighbour's hound is on guard
She will not allow anyone to pass,
No one is allowed in her yard
At this hour, only a fool will walk on her grass.
Her howl pierces the air
Bringing an end to the silence,
She announces she won't share
She will not tolerate any form of violence.
Across the street, few floors above
Two players are taking their turns,
In the famous game of push and shove
While a tiny candle burns.
Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 4:06 PM UTC
There’s I place I go to
When you cross my mind
It’s almost as if your still there
By my side
Whispering in my ear
Caressing my palm
We called it the bridge to nowhere
I remember meeting you there
Sitting near the end
Staring out towards the water
You approaching me
I remember looking up
At your perfect tanned face
Your messy dark hair
Your mesmerizing gold eyes
Casually wearing your football jersey.
I remember your simple hello
Your nervous chuckle
Your silly smile.
I remember smiling back
And inviting you to sit.
Our first meeting on the bridge to nowhere
I remember sneaking out after dark
To meet you there
Just to lay on the bare wooden boards
Staring at the moon
I remember the smell of flowers that spring
branches blooming nearby
The smell of smoke and spices
Forever embedded in your clothes.
I remember your singing
Sweet nothings
in Spanish
Softly in my ear
Entwined together on the bridge to nowhere
I remember your high school graduation
Your mother so proud
Your sister excited
Your father crying
I remember your first game in college
Your running onto the field
Pride and joy in your eyes
Though you didn’t play
Because of that sprained wrist
I remember your sweaty embrace
And your ramblings
of the game
Reviewing every play
Your eyes shimmering with excitement
Racing to the bridge to nowhere
I remember that call
Which changed my life
My heart stopped
I couldn’t think
I remember rushing
to the hospital
Crying with your little sister
Collapsed on the floor
I remember your bloodied face
Wrapped in linen
Tubes bursting from your chest
I wanted to race to the bridge to nowhere
I remember spending my nights
Curled by your side
Willing you to stay
Strong
I remember that endless tone
That said you were gone
I cried at the bridge to nowhere
I remember curling up in your hoodie
Smelling you
Pretending it was you
Your arms surrounding me
I remember lying by the stone
That recalled your name
Talking to you
Burning letters by the small candle
I remember cleaning out your room
With your mother and sister
Finding that little box by your bed
Your final gift to me
I opened it at the bridge to nowhere
I still go there sometimes
With a letter filled
With promises to you
And a flame by which to send it.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 2:55 PM UTC
When every other thing in your life has shattered
and you are a shell of a person and all you do
is call me at an ungodly hour to be alone,
you don’t have to say hello. You don’t have to say
anything. Let your sadness speak its lengths
through the silence that permeates through our phones.
I’ll stay on until you fall asleep, or I’ll come to your place
and hold you until you find your breath again.
I’ll wipe away the tears for you, but I won’t tell you
not to cry. Sometimes crying is the only thing we can do.
When you’re tired, just look at me and
give me one of those exhausted smiles we share;
I’ll carry you home and undress you.
I’ll fold your clothes to the side, tuck you into the covers,
and read to you while caressing your hair.
Don’t worry about snoring or moving about
while you sleep; just get your rest.
When you’re furious and all the world has done is
disappoint you, I’ll hang from a doorway and be
your punching bag. Don’t be gentle with me.
Yell until your voice splinters and you punch your knuckles raw
and stomp until your knees give out from under you.
I’ll lay you down and ice your hands and give you tea
for your throat. I’ll hold you as the rage turns into
anguish and frustration and all you can do is tremble.
And even when my actions are futile and
all my words do is come crashing about your ears,
I promise that I will at least try for you.
All your wounds heal both inside and out.
I will always be here to soothe the burns.
I will always listen to your rants and ramblings.
I will always have a hand for you to hold.
I will always love you; everything that I have
and everything that I am, all that that I ever will be,
is yours.
Always.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
Always pay attention
When someone else is speaking
If it didn't mean something to them
They wouldn’t talk about it at all
Always listen closely
For the answers you are seeking,
May be closer than you think
Found in the ramblings of that call
Imagine if you will
A world where everyone cared
Where they leaned ear in intently
Instead of filling our heads with doubt
Maybe we'd all be happier;
Collectively less scared
We could solve all of life's problems
If we just heard everybody out
You see confidence builds greatness
Yet we continue to put each other down
Jealousy and rage keep us from turning the page
Even when the story could teach us something profound
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 1:27 PM UTC
I try to write a poem,
but poems are too hard
Rhyming is for losers
and airy-fairy bards
To put a pen to paper
and write about your life
I've had enough of all of those,
they only cause me strife
Free-verse script is awful,
for fools without a beat
Repetition's far too simple
just repeat, repeat, REPEAT
Those lovey-dovey ode-things,
that wishy-washy crap
And poems about hatred,
you all deserve a slap
Spare me all your ramblings,
I don't care how you feel
Your self-expression surely stinks
of mouldy day-old eel
To tell a tale of wonder
never ceases too be trite
To sing of magic wonders
is nothing but pure *****
Your metaphors are useless,
your imagery is vile
Your sense of diction makes me gag,
I cannot stand your "style"
So save me your quotations,
please spare me all your rhyme
Shove that poem up your rear
and cease to waste my time
I look at what I've written,
this jumble of clichés
Looks like I wrote a ****** poem
so I'm the one to blame!
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
I wanted
someone
that wouldn't
be afraid
of me.
I spent
twenty-one
years
doubting
that person
could ever
exist.
For humans
are far too shallow
and our
complications
are
way too deep
but I honestly believe
we should not have to
be alone.
I believe in independence.
I believe in self-reliance
and I believe in self-respect.
But I also believe that
humans can connect
on a far deeper level
than just what we see.
I believe there is a time
and place
for everything
and that includes
the moments
we fall in love.
You see,
there will be days
that you fill
empty
and lonely
but you have
to be there for yourself.
No one is going to give you
a handout
unless you show them
you are going to
make it count.
No one is going to
rely on someone
that cannot
rely on them self.
Co dependence can be
beautiful
but nevertheless-
it is filled with
even more grief.
You cannot fix somebody else
when you are still
practicing
the craft
of self-love.
Allow your lows
to be reminders
that you
can lose
and smile
knowing
that you can
bounce back,
too.
There is nothing
graceful
in struggling
but there is
something
glorious
in the
overcoming
and believe me-
you will find a way
to live through it all.
And then
some day
somebody,
somewhere
is going to
admire
the way
you refuse
to fall.
And you will wonder
how you ever
let the world
make you feel
so small.
-Andrew Durst.
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
Sleepless eyes wide awake
During a sleepless night
Tossing and turning
The bed is so uninviting
Not allowing my soul to rest
Listening to the dark lull
Turmoil in the mind
In retrospective mode
So many incidents come alive
Darkness giving me clarity
Of my experiences
Trying to decipher the past
Imaginary solutions
For episodes from my past
Time travel, visiting in reminiscence
Not sure whether I am happy or sad
More of a neutral state of mind
Sleepless night engaging me
In a futile attempt to resolve
Only memories can visit the past
Time, has long ago taken me miles ahead
My sleepless night indulging
In hallucinating my mind
Ramblings of a sleepless soul
From the experiences of sleepless night
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 9:48 AM UTC
I am turning 18 years old
In one part of me lives a child
Full of wonder and hope
And in another lives a woman
Wise beyond her years
Neither of them fit my 18 year old body
If I am the woman
I am too mature
And too cold
And if I am the child
I am too naïve
And too trusting
I am turning 18 years old
And I'm lost in my own mind.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 4:30 AM UTC
It is not so difficult (sadly I've come to discover),
to embrace darkness --
it has been prescribed to those individuals who dare to harm me.
In the end,
they lack remorse.
It is only I who can take blame for such ignorant thoughts.
Ramblings are for the beautiful,
precision is for the wise --
segregation can exist in any form possible.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:19 PM UTC
March in Minnesota
Still a solid four feet of snow
Two flipping inches of ice
On every flipping road
High school lunches
All the nutrients in the world!
For a six year old maybe
Or a terribly anorexic girl
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
Sorrows casted through and through
Beneath the shadows of the true
Does human kind wonder in despair?
Or do we simply just breath in this toxic air?
I pick the choices which i have known
Ones I dare to say I own.
And when the heart begin to fall
I have no choice but to crawl
Shes smiling there, admist the crowd
Arms open, feeling proud
Before I get to share a kiss
Shes without a trace, forever missed
Random thoughts and words expressed
A fools dream or wishes at best
One would probably have never cared or guessed
That its after 4am and im so depressed.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 9:24 AM UTC
The City of Derby holds her breath amidst the crisis of historical ramblings and talkative expressions of inhibition.
Do not be deceived. Roaches are not mere insects, but are also three-course celebrations of haunting and religious engagements. There are Peaks which lie beyond the stratospheres of Leek.
Although the parameters of yesteryear project their own splendour, let us acknowledge the silver hair which drips with eternal statements of antagonistic adoration in Curzon Street.
Oh, rose of Sharon, in my sheer lack of understanding, I do not invalidate those instructions to depart from Birmingham New Street.
I have deeply immersed myself in Welsh pools of genuine loss, and have found a precious commodity which I had never beheld in former lifetimes.
Furthermore, I lament the loss of such generational integrity.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
Nothingness.
Imagine nothingness.
That nothingness which is nothing of the nothingness we are all familiar with:
Not that nothingness which is nothing but empty space and time
Like when you open an empty room.
No.
That nothingness where nothing truly exists:
Not space,
Not even time.
A singular point.
Imagine a singular point.
The ultimate singular point that contains all possible points
In the development of the universe
Come out and expand
From the birthing of time, the instance of The Big Bang,
(Which by the way is not a large explosion, as the words imply, but a silent rapid expansion)
Pushing the envelope
Where nothingness begins.
Chance.
Imagine chance.
The random occurrence of events:
Of fundamental particles colliding and uniting
Or annihilating each other,
Giving rise to protons, neutrons and electrons;
Giving rise to the periodic table,
To compounds, both organic and inorganic,
To macromolecules.
Billions of years.
Imagine billions of years
Gone by,
And billions of galaxies filling the sky:
Stars and quasars and pulsars
Planets and comets and meteors
***** nilly hurtling through
Dark matter and ever expanding space,
Yet inanimate still
,
A single cell.
Imagine a single cell
Form inexplicably so,
In a staggeringly highly improbable way
As carbon molecules combine,
Start to throb and pulsate:
Chance bringing forth life
In a barren and otherwise
Lifeless universe.
Consciousness
Imagine consciousness
Purposive, willful, deliberate
Feelings
Imagine feelings
Love, compassion, hatred
Imagine all in a universe that came out of itself from nothingness.
It is hard, of course,
For after all, we are creatures of somethingness!
But at this point
You must have seen the Point
Of all the ramblings and turns in the trajectory of my thought
Tracing the evolutionary course of the universe
From nothingness and that singular point
That without God
All things are
After all
Pointless!
.
And so,
Let us not deplore, as a great poet once did,
That this world “so various, so beautiful, so new
Hath no joy, nor love, nor light
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain…”
For what else should we expect
Of a cold, unfeeling universe?
What?
Give us some Novocain?
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
Sometimes I wish I was a taxi driver
Because I don't believe there is
A more honest person on earth.
They hear the apologies of
Intoxicated teenagers
On their way home from the clubs
That they used fake ID's to get into.
They hear the quarrels between
Frisky lovers
Who drank too much on their dinner date
And can't wait to shed their clothing.
They hear the ramblings of
Elderly folk
Complaining about gas prices
And the brand-name stores that
Put the local businesses under.
But sometimes, they hear the confessions of
Lonely travelers
Who were wandering the streets
At 3 in the morning, contemplating
How they would like to take their life,
Until they saw a taxi cab driving past
And realized it was their sign to go
Home.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
Changing faces for nameless places
Nameless people struggling for existence in a nameless time
Worship the incoherent ramblings
Of countless babbling nameless fools
Bread and water lead the lambs to slaughter
Prejudice injustice demanding obedience
Nameless zombies
Becoming the robotic puppet
Of the puppeteers desires
With pre-programmed responses
Feelings not your own
Desensitized children
Of a race of morbid loving junkies
We render them fearless, then cry
At the mass of chaos they invoke upon us
Lost leading the lost
Devouring the beauty in their paths
The scourge of the free man
Who lives under the delusion of his freedom
Prisoners all
While the power sits upon a high throne laughing
Unbelieving how simply they all fell
And obediently they continue to provide
The avenues of deception for his rich existence
© Crystal Erickson 11/24/2007
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
If silence is truly golden,
then why does its presence pain me?
Being without your words creates
a veiled distortion within me.
Throngs of false thought and poor reason
can no longer be neglected.
If only your voice could release
these demons my mind has collected.
If silence is truly golden,
then yours must be cursed like Midas.
Maybe my ramblings are unjust,
Over-thinking is logic’s Judas.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 10:00 PM UTC
Sticks & stones may
Break my bones, but your words... Your
Words are nonexistent. Images
Flutter,
Nonessential to the plot of
The present, inconsistent ramblings of
Tomorrow. Your
Teeth are bared, stained
& brittle. Saliva
Spurts & hangs in the balance between
Reality &
Whatever this is, this stagnant disbelief, this
Coincidental segment
Of emotion.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
Retype number 3,018--
I don't really think I've written
this many entries for just one poem
it's a beam of light that
scores my thoughts
and begins to type across this board
but in the end
it was a refraction of shadows
hinting at another dream
because these ramblings of another world
are the minds way of scrambling
to form new words
and convey our Neverland
that we've Neverfound
Scented candles add an extra burst
of enthusiasm to wander this page a little longer
because they are my witness
that even Evergeen Woods
have some Cinnamon Bark hidden in them.
the candles are made of wax
and when I pour myself to sleep
perhaps our wicks stay lit
or do we fiddle away
with our dreams.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
I may write about you
I may think about you
But it doesn't mean
That I still dream about you
Or that I still want you
I don't even think it means that I love you
These poems
These extra ramblings
Are my way of ridding my spirit of your toxic presence
I'm liberating myself of the constant feeling of rejection
I'm relieving myself of the tremendous feelings of guilt
But most of all
I'm shedding away all of the feelings of unworthiness and ugliness that you caused me to feel
You ripped me in two
These poems get rid of the brokenness
While I attempt to puzzle myself back together
You left me a mess
That's how I know you're not the best
I'm moving on now
And you'll be sorry
Because there will come a time
When you'll really need me
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
i placed my heart within a locked box
Hiding it away in a dark corner of my world
In chance my mind might allow days of yesterday
to wash away
Forgetting the ramblings of my moments of
darkness
A box filled with lifes trinkets
some of glass,sliver gold
peices of string that hung from my soul
like tails of kites that kept me afloat
jSweptson
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 3:38 AM UTC
For once in my life I am speaking out
Not just in the form of a violent excuse of a poem
But to the faces of those who make me pout
For once in my life I'm saying what I mean
It takes courage to be honest to even myself
Courage I never ******* had it seems
Chaotically formed and tumbling from my spout
If speaking my mind makes me a *****
Then let me be the biggest ***** and hear me shout
Because you've had me on and stuck like an itch
I've had about enough so hear me out
Such friends you all are excluding me
From your games and fun and goss and parties
While I sit and watch and try to believe
That every nasty thing you say is not about me
I get it, you're right, I talk about things
That you can't relate to
As love to you is all about rings
I've gone through more than any of you
Would care to hear about from my ramblings
I've outgrown you all before you gave me a chance to prove
My worth is not worn out by nasty old things
Like you and her and the rest of your gang
So let your jaws drop at my sudden burst of honesty
Because you're heads are in your own *****
And you don't deserve to be eaten by me
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 4:01 AM UTC
I’ve been craving female companionship as of late. The need to have her in my presence at all times. I want her, face against the wall with joyfully erratic breathing, hands tied behind her back. I want her on all fours, head swivelled my direction with a smiling look of pleasure. I want her legs wide open for me, only because it’s me, only because it’s her. I want my tongue to make musical instruments of her ******* and ******** I want her to put me in her mouth so I can see her eyes tearing with shameless sin. I want her in her parents’ bedroom, I want her in tut rooms and auditoriums, I want her in the back of my car, in McDonalds, in elevators, under restaurant tables and on top of kitchen counters, I want her to say my name under soft moans during rough rounds. I want her in as savage a manner as possible.
I want her sitting in silence with me. I want her to listen to my ramblings, to sit there and be present. To exist. I want her to have her own ramblings, to educate me. I want her lips to be available for me at all times, for my head to make pillows of her chest. I want to introduce her to Ben Howard and Tom Misch, to Planet Hulk and The Pixar Theory. I want flowers to remind me of her. I want her to cradle me when Chelsea loses, to stroke her hair and rub her tummy when she has monstrous cramps. I want to hear ‘I love you’ over loud laughs between soft kisses. I want her on butterfly wings. I don’t know who she is, but dear God I want her to laugh, because I know I’m going to love her laugh.
I want so much from her, I want her to want so much from me. I want so much that I never wanted before. Only thing I’ve been wanting was to feel again, now I need to feel again in order to get what I want. I want her. I want more than me.
I’ve been feeling a certain emptiness
I feel like I’m not enough
I’m not enough to make myself as happy as I want to be.
I feel like there is nothing more I can do for myself.
For so long, I’ve been happy because all I’ve wanted, I’ve given myself
Or I’ve taken, but
I don’t satisfy myself anymore,
And I can’t take what I now want.
I think, for the first time in a long time, I feel lonely.
- Kata
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 4:27 AM UTC
by Arcassin Burnham
Your Right You don't Need my permission,
but I won't sit here and listen to your petty extensions,
and stupid ramblings about you turning the other cheek,
thats like telling me to kiss it just to be kind and sweet,
but I'm me and you should be you,
your audience has expanded,
many people gets a load of you,
which is crazy to me,
because you're not relatable,
even the final stages of anatomy or intimacy,
you failed,
sorry,
let the truth be reliable,
everybody might think you some nice guy that loves to make his words look good,
but again you target me,
in hopes I be misunderstood.
correction your not a good poet.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 2:22 PM UTC