"ranted" poems
My love,
I saw you in the smile of the cheeky Sun,
When we met in the park.
I saw you in the glow of the charismatic moon,
When you asked me out.
I saw you in the twinkle of the dazzling stars,
When you kissed me with passion.
I saw you in the lyrics of our favourite song when we had our first dance.
I saw you in the cocoon of a caterpillar,
When you slept soundly beside me.
I saw you in the huge waves of the ocean,
When we made ecstatic love,
I saw you in the flutter of the butterfly wings,
When you were agitated and worried.
I saw you in the ferocious roar of the lion when you ranted in anger.
I saw you in the tub of my favourite icecream,
Which you did not share.
I saw you in the halo of an angel,
When you showed love and kindness to grandmother.
I saw you in the sweet song of the lark when you mingled happily with my family.
I saw you as a complete packet,
Someone I could spend my life with.
I saw you in a four hearts diamond ring,
When you proposed.
Last I saw you in the marriage vows,
Which you and I took.
For better or worse.
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 5:34 AM UTC
Life is a roller coaster,
So full of suprises,
The twists, the turns,
The descending track,
The breathtaking rises,
Just a three letter name was all we said,
Now it’s the only thing repeating in my head,
Life is so special, our ancestors ranted,
It takes us a death, to not take it for granted,
I met you the summer of 2006,
You could shatter people’s bones like stones and sticks,
Yet you still were so kind and content,
If we had a problem, then to you we would vent,
A MAN among boys some people would say,
A towering figure that’s now passed away,
A smile among words is all that we needed,
Instead we just hated and in life we just cheated,
You’d walk through the halls and light up the room,
You’d light up our hearts and teach us to bloom,
For life is so sacred, and now on our ride,
We’ll never forget that you were by our side,
I saw you on Monday when I awoken,
You looked at me and smiled and no words were spoken,
Now as you ride the trip into heaven,
Our prayers are with you and your family 24/7,
I just saw you Thursday for a final time,
You were smiling and i shook your hand,
Now go and shake God's now my friend,
Always remember that we'll meet again,
Sooner or later when we reach the end.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:09 AM UTC
Grant me patience.
Remove my haste.
Let me revel youth
and not let it waste.
Grant me power
and the means to use it
Help me see worth
in powers unused yet.
Grant me success
free from acclaim
let me keep my spirit and
you may keep my name.
Grant me vision
to see what my eyes don’t
And help me mend all
that these times won’t.
Grant me miracles
and grant them often
on the grave of hope
let the daffodils blossom.
Grant me acknowledgement
on an endless list of names
remembered not for what I was
but rather what I became.
Grant me forgiveness
for the prayer I have ranted.
Grant me gratitude
for having taken much for granted.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 11:22 AM UTC
I RANTED to the knave and fool,
But outgrew that school,
Would transform the part,
Fit audience found, but cannot rule
My fanatic heart.
I sought my betters: though in each
Fine manners, liberal speech,
Turn hatred into sport,
Nothing said or done can reach
My fanatic heart,
Out of Ireland have we come.
Great hatred, little room,
Maimed us at the start.
I carry from my mother's womb
A fanatic heart.
3.4k
a group who has a cult following
sings about hiding for
solitude
they dedicate nothing to the poet
who did, as they know it
in hiding
but it was inspired by the same CB
I must say a big wowski to
Charles Bukowski
don't think it would happen here
no chance without distraction
little peace, much action
guessing if I became an angry man
ranted, raved and demanded
this type of peace
that would be a living conundrum
or a poet raging as an oxymoron
please leave the ***** alone
and
give
peace
and
quiet
a
chance
meeting
with words that escape
at the first sign of distress
as they undress my day
and see vicariously the
disrepair, oh you don't care...
Okay
I'll go.
To my hidey hole,
to write my pre-verse
in hyperbole ,
"how to get lost"
and what it cost me,
let the silence be
deafening,
no man may be a
poet unto himself
(forgive me I forget myself)
©DWE102013
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
When the King came down to the counting house and found all his money had gone
he ranted on as only Kings can in the Kingly way
for a year and a day,
which was surprising but only in that it reminded me of the pea green boat and the ***** cat
the loss of his dosh had nothing whatsoever to do with that.
The King was now potless
not a penny to spare
he couldn't sell knighthoods or forested woods,
he was as they say,'boracic lint'
skint
a pauper.
His Daughter,
the lady Jamille
cried a lot
for now she'd to deal with the peasantry and pleasantly so,
she had to learn how to grow,
cabbages,turnips and broad beans it seems she did well enough to feed the family with vegetables
she could stuff tomatoes with mince because quince was 'orf' the menu
she made ragout and that was a mess,spilled it all down her best lavender dress and she cried a lot more.
Being poor was not good and being knightless and single was worse,she was sure she'd been cursed by some well versed old witch who was concocting a spell to leave her quite naked,not even a stitch to her name,
I did mention her name was Jamille?
yes
Jamille learnt to steal and to lie and to cheat
a normal occupation
if you have to stand on your own two feet (in shoes which she stole)
She got caught in the end and in the courts of the justice was ordered to mend her ways.
The old King was ashamed but could hardly be blamed for this circumstance which caused him such grief
it was down to the thief who stole all of his money and the same thief pretends now to be posh,
well he would do with all of that dosh
but we know different don't we.
Clothes may make the man as much as any amount of money can but
it does not make you a king and vice versa,
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC
In lunch recess
you made your way
to the sports field
Reynard going on
about some girl
in class
who he said
had navy-blue underwear
saw them
when she was going up
the stairs this morning
on the way to maths
he said
the sun was out
in full blaze
and he said
you’re not off
to see that
13 year old *****
are you?
she’s a year younger
than I am
so what’s
the big deal?
you said
but what about
the kick around
with the other boys?
you saw Christina
on the grass waiting
she was sitting on
her school jumper
being too hot
to wear
girls are a downfall
Reynard said
leave them
to softer fellows
but you parted from him
and walked to where
she was sitting
you hearing
Reynard’s voice
over your shoulder
what’s a matter
with your friend?
she said
he wants me
to kick a ball about
but I’d rather
be with you
you said
let’s go for a walk then
she said
and got up
from the grass
and brushed
her grey skirt down
then took your hand
and you walked over
the grass
and she talked
of her morning
of dreary lessons
and how
that morning
her mother had ranted
about her untidy room
and the leaving
of clothes everywhere
you listened to her speak
taking in her nose
and eyes
and how
her lips moved
and her hand
was becoming damp
in yours
and you sensed
her pulse
in her wrist
and how it beat
and she talked
about her big brother
how he was always
where she was
and then
she became quiet
and as you reached
the fence that enclosed
the school grounds
you watched
the traffic pass by
like prisoners gazing
through wire
at a far bluer sky.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
Am I feeling better now?
Estranged and Deranged, not a single person sitting there to call my name
Am I feeling better now?
Alone in my chest, in my home, in my art, I express from the bottom of my heart, there's a draught letting in the emotional winds
Feeling any better now?
Not much else left to say as I spill it all out with the pen on the page, chronically feeling on the edge, if this is a window I've jumped off the ledge.
Feel much better now, now it's all vented out, all I've ranted about, no time for self-doubt. I've got a life to live and too much to give to give out, on a single whim.
I guess that's the thing, behind the façade, I'm still him, still that guy, still the one, still the same, still the same... As the guy I was when we first dated, when we first kissed, hoping that we'll come back from this.
Guess I still have to grow up..
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 5:44 PM UTC
Wordless
exact, completed
but too young
too lively
to wither
and gray
Timeless
inside of heads
to turn off
machines
that give breath
life
Hectic
Frantic longing
of past art
a God, and
I ranted
for
more
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
“but you are too old for apprehension.” her
voice had sounded so, and of this one’s voice,
‘you are never too old for wariness of
an unknown.’ responded astute, drunk
on logic. returned was breathless thought
to the void, filling emptiness with irony.
(oxymoron) and weened the way thru,
concision turned derision with repetitious
definitions that found no actual meaning.
all thought without justification and no
thought with classification. words,
actions, wailing:
empty, empty, empty
then existed less and less from want
of purpose. less and less from interest of
the known; this once forged fear of life. and
with impressive derangement, grabbing at the
only sober keychain. they, with twitching vesper eyes,
their hands jit’ for a false-meeting fix. to nix
the nihilism. and:
‘People can go **** themselves.’
words of this one’s voice. of her’s, “thank
god you’re alive.” from those days, when rains
ranted down, and the trains tripped us out.
those days of our wood’s reclaimed trailer. and
each syllable was never thought to be anything
until aged eyes ached for review those epochs
of breath. but:
‘People can go **** themselves.’
voiced in response to a romanticized thought. and
all epochs lingered upon are no more than a
journal of the winds that blew while we were present.
some diary of listless lust left undated. of the woods, of
a reiterate span in once anonymized transience. and falling
back, thumbing pages for proof of experiences passed into
skewered memory. left are three lines, ill-verbed, to represent
an entirety of past lives. of time once present in yellow-lit
motel room, of apocalyphic musings, and veering prophets
of doom. they, turned sincere apocalyphites. their prayers
writ boldfaced, platitudinous, in concern of endless words
restating – in constant rephrasing:
‘People can go **** themselves.’
but they just kept goin’ on without concern for the dawn.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 5:26 AM UTC
falling is a weird sensation
I've never failed to fall, tripping on the curb of your hip
more over, I've never failed to fall for you,
that first autumn back lit morning, the day you caught my eye
and the past is a funny game. i made my move ,
never can i step back to change my ways
and yes...yeh..it hasn't been easy
and no...never, would i ever change it,
because the rapids of my home river have shaped the boat in which i use to sail, my soul has been carved from limestone cliff faces dangled over by tight lipped trees to tired to give me their secrets you are..
you are a thought. a being I've never come by before
your a bend in the river where the current slows..
your a cliff face with my name carved into it,
even though I've never once taken a knife to your surface
you are comfort,
like looking into a mirror i see myself, and for the first time in my life
for the very first time..
I've looked into a mirror and smiled
and sweet heart I'm going too look into your eyes
and say softly that I'm glad,
I'm glad your a mountain that's already been climbed I'm glad its not my flag that rests in the arrow like crest of your ginger scrawled hair I'm glad
because the men who charge to summits leave nothing but a flag
and some foot prints
i want to be the man for you, the man who climbs your peaks daily..
the one who makes sure your looked after,
a forest ranger to preserve your sanity, to make sure your soul although fractured and aching.
can roam free,
but I've ranted now,
ill sign of my love letter with but a drip of blood,
and a Liter of love,
continue your course sweet heart and you wont need to steal the chest that houses my heart
ill give you the key
LG
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 8:03 PM UTC
Now Smithy was as angry as poo
He said Mickey, "Oi, Listen, must you!
Come here for a meeting
It'll be only fleeting
But be there by a quarter to two."
As loud as he dared
With nostrils all flared
Smith ranted and raved
Like he was depraved
No wonder Mickey was scared
He began with a deep fierce roar
And huffed like a bear that was sore
"It's not easy to say
I can't stand things this way
I can't take it like this any more."
Smith blew his red nose on his sleeve
Then said "You must take now your leave
You've driven me crazy
No, I'm not being lazy
I need some more me-time to grieve."
"I know that our feelings were strong
I am sorry that you must now be gone
I'll always love you
You held my hand in the loo
It's not that you did anything wrong."
Now who should replace him within?
Our choices are looking too thin.
I do know a man...
This could be a plan...
A Zimbabwean that has a big chin.
Now the panel has been sacked
The whole system looks cracked
Who is next their line?
Graeme Smith would be fine..
The captain has not yet been whacked.
But what more can we say?
Madness now leads the way.
Since Onions' not out
South Africa have doubt
'bout all that's 'tween night and the day.
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 10:47 PM UTC
This crazy old man rambled verses of the bible in the middle of central park
No one cared to listen
He was just a crazy old man
Thin, malnourished, his wrinkles deeply embedded in his paper skin
Gave him the illusion of being wise
Though he had no idea of what he ranted on
The poetic flow of his words caught my ear
And pulled me in
"Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things."
I pondered a while pacing through the park trails for the meaning of all of this
Night had fallen when i came across the old man again
Cozied up under a newspaper on the bench
His bible was placed under his head
And in my ear
When i realized I had lost all things
I had lost you
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 7:38 PM UTC
My head, it's normally flooded. Filled with crazy thoughts, like what books to read, how much longer I have in the three books I haven't finished. Or even the projects I have due in a week, what I have to do to finish them, what I need to do to prepare or present. Sometimes there's a song in my head, and I dance along with the tune until the radio station in my brain picks another melody for me to jam to. I see characters I've created interact, I see worlds of fiction that have to be figments of my imagination simply because they are to spectacular to be real. There are poems dying to be written down, ideas that need to be planted, songs that sing desire and need to be written, and opinions furiously needed to be ranted.
But today my head is empty, nothing seems to be alive. My characters have all gone silent, my opinions are pointless, my project is too hard to focus on, my melodies feel dead. I don't know what to do any more, I don't know what to say. I wish I could simply sleep and refresh and go about my day. But I sit here and write, trying to restart the flow, but the **** dam in my head just wont let my imagination go!
My heart is crying, my eyes are dry, my lips are sighing, while my brain screams WHY! You weren't supposed to leave us, you weren't supposed to die... you should have been with us that night, laughing so hard over game that we cried! You should have created a character, joined in our story line and ruined our themes....but now you're gone, and the only time we will see you is in our dreams.
I guess that's why my mind is empty, why my imagination is dead. I must be scared of forgetting what you looked like, or losing your precious memories in my head. If I could make it right, if I could have been there...none of this would have happened- none of it, I swear.
My head, it's normally flooded. Filled with crazy thoughts. But now it's empty, imagination's gone, for now my head is empty because everything has gone wrong.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 8:11 PM UTC
Lock her up! Lock her up! Lock her up!
Your campaign crowds so chanted.
You took it in and smugly smiled
while they all railed and ranted.
But lock her up for what? I thought.
She's been investigated.
For alleged conflict of interest,
she has been exculpated.
So if such accusations,
when even proved untrue,
provide sufficient grounds for jail.
They'll have to lock up... You!
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
For Joshua Haines
Thanks for the invite kid,
but I am bulky enough
and don't need your weight
to carry
**** good writer
you are,
not a concede,
not an aiming to please,
"just the facts, ma'am"
not even twenty one
commander of the ship from
a mooring slipped,
a poetic trip well-begun
but
Follow for Follow?
no babe,
passing dude,
passed that point
of no purposed-return,
trading points and
placing my self worth
on a scale of followers,
or ranted counts of page views
I may read you
cause write quite nicely,
but I don't inflate
nobody's ego,
for their own fake sake
counting false gods
got my people forty years
of desert wandering,
after 400 years of penal servitude,
so I have done my hard time,
for that exact crime
Whew!
That felt good!
you must of got me confused
with another whew
I was young once
till very recently,
even tho I am
four decades plus
you senior
so here is my story,
don't swap spit or follows,
or likes for show,
those who have my heart,
have my words freely
my audience is the sun,
my numerology glorious,
the blades of green beneath
my rabbits happy bunny dancing,
for every verse pleasured
those I count on,
ask not,
for they like me for the who in my poetry,
knowing fullness and well,
mine is theirs,
no need to trade favors
I will read your words,
but not for you,
but for them,
the best part
of the best of you
Let us together,
think about that...
and if ever there were a blade upon to fall,
this notion is both sharp,
and the map to freedom
good luck to us both...
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
My best friend and I are the ultimate example of opposites attract.
I am five foot, ten inches,
Fair skinned,
Blue eyed,
And light haired.
She is five foot, one inch,
More tan in the winter than I have ever been in the summer,
Dark eyes,
Dark hair.
And that is only in our physical appearance.
I am an emotional waterfall.
I cry often and with ease.
She can turn it off like that.
It's incredible how many tears of mine she had seen before I saw the first of hers.
I give in at the drop of a hat.
To the point it is not a good thing.
I am the first to say sorry, the last to speak up and
I rarely consider my opinions equal to the opinions of others.
She is a spitfire.
She knows what she wants and she will get it.
The first to speak her mind, stubborn as hell,
And Joan of Arc herself would be proud of how she stands up for herself, and her friends.
She brings out the things in me I didn't know existed.
I can be angry, opinionated and selfish around her.
Which is a really good thing.
I'd like to say I help bring out something good in her,
But honestly,
I can't believe that I help her nearly as much as she helps me.
I'm sure she'll make some comment to me on that last paragraph like,
"You know that's BS. You help me just as much as I help you."
And I guess I help her, because she's my best friend, and I'm her best friend.
But, well.
I rarely consider myself equal to others.
I think you know your best friend is your best friend
When a sufficient number of these things happen.
1. When someone tells you not to tell anybody something,
that "anybody" does not include your "best friend."
2. You Skype or call them to do nothing.
Just so they're there to stalk Facebook with you.
Or listen to you clean your room.
3. You talk about all the details of everything.
Even if they are so silly and miniscule
No one else in the world would care about them.
4. When you can rant about the same thing over and over,
And they will treat it like it's as big of a deal as the first time you ranted about it.
5. They call all your friends by name,
Even if they have never met them.
6. Sometimes you wonder if they know more about you
Than you know about yourself.
7. They can tell when there is something wrong
Based off of a single exhale.
8. They refuse to hang up the phone at ridiculous hours of the night
Because you are too sad to be left alone.
9. They sing you to sleep.
I think that good friendship, best friendship is a bit underrated nowadays.
I also think it's misunderstood.
I would be dead
Without
My
Friendship.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
She spotted him once, in the early morning:
golden nectar spun upon the pillow, knotted into
a mane thick enough to hide his face from all sorts of bad dreams.
Time inhaled the dust motes playing in the sunlight and held its breath.
*“I know he’s over there doing god knows what with that woman. I still feel guilty.”*
She was ready to pounce. Muscles taut, crouch-hidden, she analyzed her prey.
A handsome lion he was. But no match for a skilled huntress.
A little hungry, that lion was. Hungry enough to gobble up his favorite gazelle from the herd.
*“She’s my baby girl. I’m not going to risk losing her because of ...us.”*
Who else was brave enough to disentangle the doe from the beast?
He roared and snarled and ranted and growled, but she never took her eyes off him.
Mommy always said you could lose yourself if you didn’t keep your eyes where they belonged.
“Let* it go. I love you both, but he came to me first.”*
Time coughed; the little huntress lunged into the lion’s den, well aware of the danger,
enough to be terrified when silence enveloped the savanna sheets.
Alone, she stood at the edge of the bed and watched her beloved gazelle morph into a lioness.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 5:38 AM UTC
He fell from the sky
I wasn’t looking for anything but solitude
But he fell from the sky
And refused to let me out of his sight
He refused to let me cry my silent tears
Wrapping my misery in balloons
And letting his fingers fall away
Watching as they soared up high into oblivion someday
For him life wasn’t a word
But a song to be sung everyday
In new and everlasting ways
Plucking my heartstrings as he strummed his way
Into my broken and mangled life
Where nothing ever seemed to play
The right notes of the day
He ****** out all the bad dreams
And breathed in hope of a new life
Filled with things that may or may not happen
He taught me how to smile again
With my favourite dimple peeking out
When I screamed and ranted
About things beyond his control
He kissed me
And suddenly
If only for a moment
I felt like what I felt mattered
I felt like my poems were good
Really good
So good that may be someone else
Might want to read them one day
Someone else who doesn’t have someone like him
He fell from the sky
And taught me how to let everything go
Not for others
But for myself
He showed me what music looks like
He made me realize
That I do want forever
No matter how much I said I didn’t
He fell from the sky
And I don’t think I’ll ever be the same any more
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 7:23 AM UTC
Mildew, mold, cobwebs, rust, stench, trash, dead grass, window screens with holes & ****
Not things you'd find at buckingham palace.
Only in a home of bums.
Not a dream to last.
I want to move, I want to run.
Colorful Colorado....7 years Bad Luck
Snowflakes, frozen lakes, shoveling snow.
A cold for all to know.
I will never go back.
My ex boyfriend would strike & attack.
It was I he tried to choke out & ****
From 2006 to 2012.
Thinking of him makes me ILL.
Summer of elves.
Unloved & Taken for Granted. Raved & Ranted.
A haiku with thoughts of you.
I don't feel lucky with us two.
We never hold hands or embrace.
We never kiss each other's face
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 2:48 AM UTC
Micah The Mouse was a rat;
At least that’s how he behaved.
If he didn’t get his way every time
He’d holler and he’d rant and rave.
He got to be such a big mouse
That his head swelled up too.
He became so hugely obnoxious
Other mice didn’t know what to do.
They held a spontaneous election.
They needed to elect a top mouse.
Micah bribed the weaker leaders
So, Micah got the run of the house.
He kept up his pattern of bribery
And threatening those in his way.
Without anything like scruples
He’s still on the throne to this day
Micah The Mouse takes with both hands
And it’s too bad if anyone disagrees.
Those who think he cares about complaints
Will spend a lot of time on their knees.
In Micah got horrendously fat
By overeating just a tiny smidge.
He got to be so much like a big rat
He grew too heavy to cross the bridge.
So he roared and ranted and raved.
And blamed everybody around him.
That he was the cause of his problems
Seemed to completely astound him.
The wonder in all of this sad story
Is why the other mice could not see
That Micah was only in it for himself
And not for members of the citizenry.
Micah got to eat while others starved.
He got what he wanted, moved on
Yet somehow those that elected him
Never quite seemed to catch on.
Micah The Mouse takes with both hands
And it’s too bad if anyone disagrees.
Those who think he cares about complaints
Will spend a lot of time on their knees.
(Image from www.sharktacos.com)
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC
We've reached the end of year one
and Trump says he's done more
than any other president
from any time before.
So, what are the accomplishments
of Trump and his intrepid crew?
Well, here now is a partial list
of what they did, or tried to do.
They lied about inaugural crowds
and introduced "Alternative Facts",
inspired a worldwide women's march
to protest Trump's disgusting acts.
Hollowed-out the E.P.A.,
deemed climate change a Chinese hoax.
Paris Accord and regulations
gone, in puff of toxic smoke!
Wrecked the State Department and
Muslims, he said, must be banned.
Insulted NATO and U.N.,
brought shame upon his own homeland.
Attacked the mainstream media.
Railed and ranted of "fake news",
unless it came from Fox and Friends
and others spouting all his views.
Gave praise to Russia - Putin too.
Investigations started.
Comey started digging and
was forcibly departed.
Poked and taunted Kim Jong Un.
International drama!
Obsessed with slagging Hillary
and Barack Obama.
Battled healthcare, N.F.L.
and Planned Parenthood.
Tried to ban transgendered troops.
Claimed that coal is good.
Would not condemn the Neo-Nazis
down in Charlottesville.
Filled his swamp with sycophants
up on Capitol Hill.
Puerto Rico half destroyed.
Paper towels he gave.
Huge cuts to the National Parks,
decreasing land to save.
Claimed that Trump saved Christmas and
gave massive tax cut presents
to the corporate oligarchs
with crumbs tossed to the peasants.
Debt ballooning! Conflict looming!
Divisions far and wide!
G.O.P.'s not stopping Trump.
Have they even tried?
Claims to be a stable genius;
A smart and big success!
What legacy will Donald leave?
What awful, dreadful mess?
These were just some accomplishments
of which I have kept score,
but they just scratch the surface.
I could rant for hours more!
But haven't we all had enough
after Trump's first year?
It feels more like twenty!
Let us hope his end is near.
This was my Year One "trumpoem"
that I wrote for you.
Hope I won't have to write another
after year two!
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
old man walking on the street,
step by step a tired treat.
he knows where he's going but
not why and from the edges of an eye,
sees the boats and cigarettes
floating in the water.
his grey hands feel so used
dusty veins bulging, purple and bruised.
he feels young
he feels so very young.
plants being planted,
recalling the rants that he once ranted.
wished for wisdom to be granted
all for his daughter.
now long departed.
then he leaves this mournful place.
the ghost of a smile on his face.
remembering the laughter they used to share.
he takes another breath of air.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
Words, phrases, exclamations...
great efforts to birth well-articulated strings
sentences, paragraphs going nowhere
just evaporating into the air
- after their pleading, violent spewing forth!
mad workings of mouths and lips, of tongues
raging torrents of language
worthless, pointless, meaningless...
one could say anything -
say everything!
enunciate; flowing, eloquent
or ranted, rambled
lightning-speed creation: disastrous!
no matter to be coherent -
to be nonsensical
speech is of absolutely no value;
devoid of all worth
perfectly useless, audible abyss...
So I'm finished and ******* surrender
it's been a journey traveled far too long
hope has long been departed and gone
painfully overdue, it's undeniably time
-So I'll shut my ******* blabbering, jibbering jaws
and I'll do it RIGHT NOW!
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 22, 2011 at 11:40 PM UTC