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"raves" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
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Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Paradoxical Tendencies
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
Continue reading...
47
Human directives, veracities unverified   Bellies belching with anger, murderers Udders dripping hate, foundling banters Hunters striking the hungered, unfortunate Glare sight to seek the truth, hold me lets sink Tear motions and debates of inequality My Dafur, the realm of the fur, demise All armed in Sudan, the arid, a battlefield Emergency alarms sirens from 2003 The indefinite complications and hunger A land of the displaced, starving nomads Hear me out in these non-dissolving conflicts Guantanamo bay detention a prison vicious A base for “war in terrorism”, reciprocal laws Inhumane human interrogations persists A breach, a revolt, the hunger riots devolve Force-feeding, torturous measures applied All undressed, humiliated, genitalia exposed A Rwanda slain in divide and rule Civil clashes, mashes, all trashed Swaying war rapes, tapes, the raves Machetes slashing necks and hands A lust of power, a genocide slaughter The Tutsi slewed and unsewn from a patch Autocratic regime boring divisions Territorial ethnic cleansing, a holocaust The oppression of Jews, Romanis, Poles Homosexuals, the disabled and mentally ill Indifference pooled in pits and camps The institutional social indoctrination The honor and killing to expose shame The violation and dishonor of moral fabric For what is “good”, “bad”, fixated moral values Buried waists and head, awaiting stones to hit Confessional secrets of only what lays within A torment watching witnesses, all dangling Marxists calls ships to stow ashore Masses kidnapped, confused in deceit Invalid contracts awaits signatures The white immigrants to be enslaved All aboard, now abroad to revolve labor Wage packages taken to pay for freedom Humans bought and sold to be owned Slaves yorked and counted as assets Bounded to serve plantations and homes A human, non human, a chattel, a slave A debt ******* offended and ***** Untamed and made to obey a master A falling global strings unturned Tunes strumming hate, war and pain Human trafficking, violence, inequality Child abuse, civil conflicts, capitalists Commercialism, zero hour contracts For if we have no rights, I have none For if we have no peace I have none
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Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
Cruel Inhumane Autocracies
Human directives, veracities unverified   Bellies belching with anger, murderers Udders dripping hate, foundling banters Hunters striking the hungered, unfortunate Glare sight to seek the truth, hold me lets sink Tear motions and debates of inequality My Dafur, the realm of the fur, demise All armed in Sudan, the arid, a battlefield Emergency alarms sirens from 2003 The indefinite complications and hunger A land of the displaced, starving nomads Hear me out in these non-dissolving conflicts Guantanamo bay detention a prison vicious A base for “war in terrorism”, reciprocal laws Inhumane human interrogations persists A breach, a revolt, the hunger riots devolve Force-feeding, torturous measures applied All undressed, humiliated, genitalia exposed A Rwanda slain in divide and rule Civil clashes, mashes, all trashed Swaying war rapes, tapes, the raves Machetes slashing necks and hands A lust of power, a genocide slaughter The Tutsi slewed and unsewn from a patch Autocratic regime boring divisions Territorial ethnic cleansing, a holocaust The oppression of Jews, Romanis, Poles Homosexuals, the disabled and mentally ill Indifference pooled in pits and camps The institutional social indoctrination The honor and killing to expose shame The violation and dishonor of moral fabric For what is “good”, “bad”, fixated moral values Buried waists and head, awaiting stones to hit Confessional secrets of only what lays within A torment watching witnesses, all dangling Marxists calls ships to stow ashore Masses kidnapped, confused in deceit Invalid contracts awaits signatures The white immigrants to be enslaved All aboard, now abroad to revolve labor Wage packages taken to pay for freedom Humans bought and sold to be owned Slaves yorked and counted as assets Bounded to serve plantations and homes A human, non human, a chattel, a slave A debt ******* offended and ***** Untamed and made to obey a master A falling global strings unturned Tunes strumming hate, war and pain Human trafficking, violence, inequality Child abuse, civil conflicts, capitalists Commercialism, zero hour contracts For if we have no rights, I have none For if we have no peace I have none
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55
I battle my identity, As people try to label me, My mum tries to show me the right path, But is this really destiny? 9-5, Zero hours, Holiday and sick pay impossible to claim, Expected to work for 20 hours a day, Minimum wage, This society makes me insane, On the weekends I can I run away to raves, Take what ever I can to create waves, Not like the sea, like to much Dizzle, Party all night society says that's crazy, But whats crazy is the war on drugs, Some users just victims, Can't get enough. Instead of giving criminal records, Affirming our behaviour, Turning us riot, ruckus, snapping wires, How about a little support? After all how bad must life be, That children as young as 13 turn to drugs to escape? It's medical, Some say medicinal, But when your mums crying, Her heart dying, Because her baby boys been lying? No one wants police at the door, But it was gunna be the last night you swore. A new batch, strong stuff, you didn't believe And now your six foot under Rotting, deceased. But maybe this could change? If the right support was in place, For all those getting spaced, People will always seek a fix, So why not monitor, control and safe proof it.
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Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
War on drugs
Friday means parties Friday is coffee Friday means shopping Friday is a netflix date with her pillow And Blankey... Friday means long car rides, blasting music with your friends hoping to maybe get that one kiss Friday is the breakfast club, twisted with easy A with a pinch of 16 candles Friday means the late night skating rink Friday is a messy bun with her pink piggy slippers, bringing out those old ugly black glasses Friday means tight jeans Friday is a sweater that covers all the way down to her knees Friday means short shorts and raves Friday is popcorn on the couch alone (yes, alone) Friday means selfies Friday is just a quote nothing more Friday means friends Friday can't even remember her last sleep over
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Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC
You act like Friday
Whisky, I neglected you For mushrooms and amphetamines. For ket and **** and LSD, And Mandy too, to name a few. Needn’t I have looked so far To be the greatest of cliches. The drugs and raves led me astray. For writers, scotch is more on par. Half your bottle drank away, Half full in my state of mind. Every sip; sublime and kind, Every **** a harshened spray. Now I’m stuck, a drunken haze Has washed and swept the ways of rhyme. In its tide is also time, As by the sun, the night decays. Whisky, polished, final sip. Like the bottle, I am dry. So, I tried, to write not high. This poem ***** I’m off to trip.
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Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 9:07 AM UTC
Amber is the colour of my energy
Here, where the lonely hooting owl Sends forth his midnight moans, Fierce wolves shall o’er my carcase growl, Or buzzards pick my bones. No fellow-man shall learn my fate, Or where my ashes lie; Unless by beasts drawn round their bait, Or by the ravens’ cry. Yes! I’ve resolved the deed to do, And this the place to do it: This heart I’ll rush a dagger through, Though I in hell should rue it! Hell! What is hell to one like me Who pleasures never know; By friends consigned to misery, By hope deserted too? To ease me of this power to think, That through my ***** raves, I’ll headlong leap from hell’s high brink, And wallow in its waves. Though devils yell, and burning chains May waken long regret; Their frightful screams, and piercing pains, Will help me to forget. Yes! I’m prepared, through endless night, To take that fiery berth! Think not with tales of hell to fright Me, who am damn’d on earth! Sweet steel! come forth from our your sheath, And glist’ning, speak your powers; Rip up the organs of my breath, And draw my blood in showers! I strike! It quivers in that heart Which drives me to this end; I draw and kiss the ****** dart, My last—my only friend!
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9k
The Suicide’s Soliloquy
Malice ripples lying low, under penetrating nightlife strobe. Repercussions? None to show. Limp bodies 'getting loose' In truth, injected with poison; a slow-acting noose. Repulsive actions of the vile & depraved **** endorsed at raves.
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Oct 25, 2021
Oct 25, 2021 at 4:56 AM UTC
Spiked
A stranger has come To share my room in the house not right in the head, A girl mad as birds Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume. Strait in the mazed bed She deludes the heaven-proof house with entering clouds Yet she deludes with walking the nightmarish room, At large as the dead, Or rides the imagined oceans of the male wards. She has come possessed Who admits the delusive light through the bouncing wall, Possessed by the skies She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust Yet raves at her will On the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears. And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last I may without fail Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars.
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7.5k
Love In The Asylum
Blindness haunts the king who seeks In vain do riches question - but- A beggar with a poor man's coat Receives the greatest wisdom. We, of sound and sturdy mind Sniff rich bouquets of vanity -but- Fine wine is pressed by she who raves Her hems stained with insanity. Old men would have learn'd much Had they been thus styl'd -and- There are no wiser phrases brought Than those of a child.
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Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 1:56 PM UTC
A Child's Wisdom
Sister ****** her pants rants and raves caves into lust must not whine twine around her neck check how quite tight it gets that she's screaming, dreaming for him to let her go.
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Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 6:57 AM UTC
Killer
Folds of water Layers of dirt Bubbling foam A vast body wrapping itself around the Earth Schools of life Clumps of Color This is where it thrives The souls of creatures A potpourri of lives The might of the ocean The strength of the Sea No one can match No one could hardly believe its ability to devour kingdoms Engulf islands and make them its own Drag them down Yank them by their legs, shatter their bones Drag them down Til they ultimately can descend no more I can almost hear the primordial sea deity bellow With a voice so deep It shocks, explores and shakes your soul An immense Deep bass tone. It strikes more than just a powerful chord “Come back to me” “Return to your mother’s womb, down here, down low” “You belong to me, my right, my property!” “Return to the world below.” “Come back home.” Under the Sea What's deep beneath? The iridescent water The clouds of foam Conquered by monsters? Down there, Do sirens roam? We aren't aware We do not know Enigmatic waves Rows of fossils Caked in dirt A haven for aquatic raves A museum holding remnants telling the story of the Mother Earth This is the Sea Take a swim sometime and feel its rhythm Listen to its story Flow with the sea’s entrancing beat I have faith and I believe That the sea is a world of its own Accentuated sometimes by its powerful voice or melodious hum No less mighty than the world above. Let's keep this beautiful wet world untouched to keep it as it is, the world we love ©SHREYA DRISTI
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Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
The Sea
Folds of water Layers of dirt Bubbling foam A vast body wrapping itself around the Earth Schools of life Clumps of Color This is where it thrives The souls of creatures A potpourri of lives The might of the ocean The strength of the Sea No one can match No one could hardly believe its ability to devour kingdoms Engulf islands and make them its own Drag them down Yank them by their legs, shatter their bones Drag them down Til they ultimately can descend no more I can almost hear the primordial sea deity bellow With a voice so deep It shocks, explores and shakes your soul An immense Deep bass tone. It strikes more than just a powerful chord “Come back to me” “Return to your mother’s womb, down here, down low” “You belong to me, my right, my property!” “Return to the world below.” “Come back home.” Under the Sea What's deep beneath? The iridescent water The clouds of foam Conquered by monsters? Down there, Do sirens roam? We aren't aware We do not know Enigmatic waves Rows of fossils Caked in dirt A haven for aquatic raves A museum holding remnants telling the story of the Mother Earth This is the Sea Take a swim sometime and feel its rhythm Listen to its story Flow with the sea’s entrancing beat I have faith and I believe That the sea is a world of its own Accentuated sometimes by its powerful voice or melodious hum No less mighty than the world above. Let's keep this beautiful wet world untouched to keep it as it is, the world we love ©SHREYA DRISTI
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59
He can’t explain the pain Like boot prints on his brain And it only seems to subside When she is beside him. Then, it begins to slowly dim. When she is not around He can be found on the ground Screaming just like his head, Full of frenzied villagers instead Of what everyone else feels And thinks, as he again sinks Into that swamp of horror And anguish. Moreover, He knows he is alone in this. This is not from her kiss It is from its absence. He’s not addicted to absinthe Like some Victorian poet. He’s insane now and knows it. But she can calm mind In the deluge he always finds When she goes away a while. First he loses the desire to smile Then he can’t talk any more. He forgets what words are for. He only howls and raves. He knows nobody can save him. He has but to swim to shore From the wreck that is his peace. It is his only real release. It’s all that heals his soul. She has become the goal His only purpose in the world Is in the hands of this one girl; This woman, elevated to deity. His only true reality. How can this happen, he cries. He doesn’t understand the whys And wherefores that turns love, Completion and fulfillment Into horrifying derailment Of all his hopes and dreams And fills his heart with screams Like a little boy on a wrong bus. And nobody there to discuss things To help him see what is happening And why the one thing he cares for Doesn’t fulfill him anymore Unless she is here to hold his hand. He fails completely to understand. Brent Kincaid 2/13/2015
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Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
OBSSESSION
He can’t explain the pain Like boot prints on his brain And it only seems to subside When she is beside him. Then, it begins to slowly dim. When she is not around He can be found on the ground Screaming just like his head, Full of frenzied villagers instead Of what everyone else feels And thinks, as he again sinks Into that swamp of horror And anguish. Moreover, He knows he is alone in this. This is not from her kiss It is from its absence. He’s not addicted to absinthe Like some Victorian poet. He’s insane now and knows it. But she can calm mind In the deluge he always finds When she goes away a while. First he loses the desire to smile Then he can’t talk any more. He forgets what words are for. He only howls and raves. He knows nobody can save him. He has but to swim to shore From the wreck that is his peace. It is his only real release. It’s all that heals his soul. She has become the goal His only purpose in the world Is in the hands of this one girl; This woman, elevated to deity. His only true reality. How can this happen, he cries. He doesn’t understand the whys And wherefores that turns love, Completion and fulfillment Into horrifying derailment Of all his hopes and dreams And fills his heart with screams Like a little boy on a wrong bus. And nobody there to discuss things To help him see what is happening And why the one thing he cares for Doesn’t fulfill him anymore Unless she is here to hold his hand. He fails completely to understand. Brent Kincaid 2/13/2015
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52
THIS is what love is. banana bubblegum and magnetic poetry the crickets on my front porch at three in the morning making origami cranes out of butcher paper even when I forget whether it's mountain fold or valley fold and my crane turns out looking like a seamonkey in a blender wildflowers! striped button-down shirts and plastic dinosaurs singing Juanes at the top of our lungs (Gah, you know I can't speak Spanish.) laughing at the serious parts in movies having the patience for when the words don't come out and I have to stop and think (for a very long time) and half the time it doesn't make sense anyway. impromptu dance sessions on the side of the road doors flung open, radio up chocolate chip pancakes out-of-town adventures mailboxes. LOTS. balcony raves with lots of glowsticks and let me borrow that top! just letting me sleeeeeeep the smell of new pointe shoes of New Orleans of bluebonnets telling me when I look awful (please) making me eat things that I don't like SNUGGLEBUNNY TIME drive-thru people who hate our guts That's What She Said's. praising Buddha naked dysfunctional kites paying in change at Chicken Express late night phone conversations when I sound drunk (but I'm not, I'm tired. I just would rather talk to you than sleep.) silence. cupcakes, uniform closets not shaving our legs in the winter shadow puppets, rap songs, Slumdog Millionaire making once-in-a-lifetime faces looks that speak oceans pecan pralines and symphony orchestras you'll never play with again but for that night you're family and you'll never forget it. matches (aren't always for candles) thousands upon thousands of candids and the not-so-candids saving kisses in your pocket for later Neverland, Disneyland, cats yellow dresses and stage make-up watermelon Jolly Ranchers saying my name like it's wrapped in blankets and knowing that even though I don't say it as much as I should: I do.
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Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 1:51 PM UTC
Love is.
THIS is what love is. banana bubblegum and magnetic poetry the crickets on my front porch at three in the morning making origami cranes out of butcher paper even when I forget whether it's mountain fold or valley fold and my crane turns out looking like a seamonkey in a blender wildflowers! striped button-down shirts and plastic dinosaurs singing Juanes at the top of our lungs (Gah, you know I can't speak Spanish.) laughing at the serious parts in movies having the patience for when the words don't come out and I have to stop and think (for a very long time) and half the time it doesn't make sense anyway. impromptu dance sessions on the side of the road doors flung open, radio up chocolate chip pancakes out-of-town adventures mailboxes. LOTS. balcony raves with lots of glowsticks and let me borrow that top! just letting me sleeeeeeep the smell of new pointe shoes of New Orleans of bluebonnets telling me when I look awful (please) making me eat things that I don't like SNUGGLEBUNNY TIME drive-thru people who hate our guts That's What She Said's. praising Buddha naked dysfunctional kites paying in change at Chicken Express late night phone conversations when I sound drunk (but I'm not, I'm tired. I just would rather talk to you than sleep.) silence. cupcakes, uniform closets not shaving our legs in the winter shadow puppets, rap songs, Slumdog Millionaire making once-in-a-lifetime faces looks that speak oceans pecan pralines and symphony orchestras you'll never play with again but for that night you're family and you'll never forget it. matches (aren't always for candles) thousands upon thousands of candids and the not-so-candids saving kisses in your pocket for later Neverland, Disneyland, cats yellow dresses and stage make-up watermelon Jolly Ranchers saying my name like it's wrapped in blankets and knowing that even though I don't say it as much as I should: I do.
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67
We're out at a bar splitting a good night of cheers Drinks and laughter flowing among peers Double shots dance around the table Tonight's the moment, tomorrow's a fable We garnish the laughter with Halloween What's your costume, how do you swing A chorus of "I'll dress up as a cowboy" Is met by a few rolling eyes, "I'll address their convoy" Not to be excluded is the gay guy in back that chimes in And competes with the rolling eyes, cowboys are mine Laughter of reveries spills faster than the drinks A 80's song, When Doves Cry, continues to play over the links A women crashes the party and exhorts the group Come on guys put your wings on, fly the coup Halloween's around the corner, make a splash, make waves Find your muse with a costume that stands up, and raves Look out to the horizon, the rarefied air, and trick for treats Find my tunnel of love with a costume that beats After a pause, a coy smile surface on rolling eye's lip Oh Melville come with me, come with me, and take a dip Double shots dance around the table Logan Robertson 10/19/17
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Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 3:26 PM UTC
When Doves Laugh and Coo Over Halloween (With Writer's Notes)
A short and an earlier popular poem of mine. Hope you like it! Thanks, - Raj, New Delhi.        THE SURF-RIDER ! See him riding gallantly the crest of waves, With dexterity and poise and flowing grace! He rises to descend, to rise once more, As the waves keep rolling towards the shore! Like those surfs the Rider continues his mellifluous dance , Be it in England, in Spain or in France; Riding high on waves as if in a trance! The wind churns up the waves as it rises and swells, As the Rider manoeuvers his wake-board riding those crests before it breaks ! Like a gymnast he executes strong cutbacks - to reverse his turn, His spirit dominate as the waves rise and churn! He did take his time to perfect his art , Having loved the sea  and the surf from the very start! He learnt to live in moments just like those dancing waves, Floating on their crests as his blood within raves! Those surfs like musical notes rise up and fall, Where some surfs are short and others tall ! Like a philharmonic conductor par-excellence, He commands those waves with his skilful presence! Friends, riding on Time’s moments is no mean art, But like the Surf-rider one must make a gallant start !                                           -Raj Nandy, New Delhi
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May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 11:22 AM UTC
THE SURF RIDER!
Tangible sin, its what i'm looking for let the rants and raves begin cause tongues of fire can never settle for a one line poem or a break in tone they need the blood red of wine in their glass these aristocrats drinking from the lower class we are far too outspoken to speak of silence that's something only the seculars teach Maddness, now there's an idea i can get behind Imagine ideas like countries nuclear weapons at their highest state of alert what we believe is what we once held true and whose finger is this on the trigger? then eventually, yes the tyrants will get voted into office doing away with terms and treaties of old eventually you'll get two shoes per person as you read your generation's scripture like truth from the nearest stall bathroom wall for a good time call, God cause he doesn't charge you per hour well, only on sunday mornings nine to noon but for everlasting life who wouldn't drink that elixir? just one more broken promise cause Buddha told me i'd be back again back again to serve in the same platoon of freedom fighters
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Nov 1, 2011
Nov 1, 2011 at 11:57 PM UTC
Freedom Fighters
By Arcassin Burnham She said when I wanna fool around why do i always talk? I couldn't blame you this may come as a shock, Sending and vasting off into a deep plain with no bloodshed, Maybe I could be the zombie in your Evil Dead, Do things that might end up as later possible regrets, I could be the father of grandeurs tucking you in bed, Showered in beer , blood and threads, Strobe blinding my eyes, Love it when you tell me lies instead, Girls, They like to have a girls night out, And when they do, Then they need to arrive at my raves , Then if they don't, Then they'll have something to regret. Welcome To The Rave!
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Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 4:15 PM UTC
"Welcome To The RAVE PT.II"
1243 Safe Despair it is that raves— Agony is frugal. Puts itself severe away For its own perusal. Garrisoned no Soul can be In the Front of Trouble— Love is one, not aggregate— Nor is Dying double—
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3.2k
Safe Despair it is that raves—
You couldn't relate to my life if you tried Degenerate pride, in my pride, the family all died I took a trip, slip from the front door Walking to the house of a man with some more Of the poison of my mother, the mater, my pater, the father My brothers and sisters slumped against a wall, injecting It gets harder I'm a martyr But I fall farther Brown brings ardour In the haze of detestable days, bus journey raves To the estates, I'm in a state, I hate fate Try and place blame, struggle to get straight But straight to the point, you're a mate Pass the plate, and the joint I'll do a line, get straight Straight to the point... Where was I? Back in the house, forgot how I got here The emptiness too much to bear I miss my family being here My mother the seer My father drinking beer I close my eyes, open, hope they appear The loneliness of the kitchen feels so queer I pop a few pills and realise its been a year Since I saw them here Fading to black and I awake in a wrack Fiending for some smack, panic attack Light up a pipe, smoke some pale crack Keep me going on this lonesome track So I pack my bag, down a glass of Jack And get back on the beaten path To the corner where I find her, solemn in a slump Hard night's day, I give her cash and we arrange the jump Pump pump, I dump my junk and feeling drunk Walk silently in a grump, she re-adjusts her skirt and returns to her bunk To her lifelong funk before being packed into another John's trunk The streetlights are cruel in the winter night's haze What beautiful days, in a daze, feeling amazed Clasp my hands and I pray, am I crazed or is this mournful delay A year ago today, my love took my family away
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Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
Malcolm's Story: On Memories and Injustice
You couldn't relate to my life if you tried Degenerate pride, in my pride, the family all died I took a trip, slip from the front door Walking to the house of a man with some more Of the poison of my mother, the mater, my pater, the father My brothers and sisters slumped against a wall, injecting It gets harder I'm a martyr But I fall farther Brown brings ardour In the haze of detestable days, bus journey raves To the estates, I'm in a state, I hate fate Try and place blame, struggle to get straight But straight to the point, you're a mate Pass the plate, and the joint I'll do a line, get straight Straight to the point... Where was I? Back in the house, forgot how I got here The emptiness too much to bear I miss my family being here My mother the seer My father drinking beer I close my eyes, open, hope they appear The loneliness of the kitchen feels so queer I pop a few pills and realise its been a year Since I saw them here Fading to black and I awake in a wrack Fiending for some smack, panic attack Light up a pipe, smoke some pale crack Keep me going on this lonesome track So I pack my bag, down a glass of Jack And get back on the beaten path To the corner where I find her, solemn in a slump Hard night's day, I give her cash and we arrange the jump Pump pump, I dump my junk and feeling drunk Walk silently in a grump, she re-adjusts her skirt and returns to her bunk To her lifelong funk before being packed into another John's trunk The streetlights are cruel in the winter night's haze What beautiful days, in a daze, feeling amazed Clasp my hands and I pray, am I crazed or is this mournful delay A year ago today, my love took my family away
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46
And can you believe, The horrible glee With which his lips licked. Dreaming-- carcass picked, Reveling wholly. Dismissing Holy Enlightened beings, Sinking in Needing. Black black smack, alack! I'm a crack-gack hack! Or, mayhaps, I'm not? Or, perhaps, just caught, In nauseous verde waves Of fanciful raves-- Rants all entertained-- I say makes me drained. Baudelaire's half-baked, Chatterton-- cracked Morally, sorely Standing half-poorly But standing up still, Avoiding the thrill Of desert mirage, It's poison barrage!
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Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 10:16 AM UTC
Super Ego Persecution Frustrations
Oh so many words with no way of forming logic so many words trapped in confusion So many words dying to be heard to be admired to be out gagging me but I just can't find my voice. I just can't make it come out. I'm alive, I'm breathing. I walk around but I'm not really living. Its the Pain. I can feel it cursing through my veins with tears streaming down and staining my face. Eroding all the life left on my face. I've lived so long in this low I don't really know what a high feels like no more. Even in love I'm down low and mournful. Insecure and pitiful. Crazy if you ask me. I know I have to get out this cycle but this low has stolen all my dreams like a quiet thief in the night,. Stolen my voice and I'm left with this burning desire for greatness with an empty vision. Because my dreams were too fragile , like a fetus in the womb killed by negligence and under nourishment. Or better yet ripped out by metal rods poking prodding in a ***** hidden backyard ally. I prayed. I cry. I believed. I cry. I had faith. I cry. I even used to look up to the stars and the moon. Mostly past tense now. Because nothing ever really came out of it. My hopes became the barren womb of a woman failing to produce. All past tense. But I still cry as if pouring my soul into this water that leaves my body will appaul the gods enough to have pity on me. Restore my faith and recharge my halo cause its been running on reserves for so long.  As though I'll finally see the God everyone raves about. As though I'll find my destiny. But I just end up dusting my rags and bearing this load that's nearly taken my life by my own hand so many times I could feature on a comedy. A cliche but I have a void in my heart. I tried ignoring it. Filing it with nonsensical things that always dry out. At a point I thought I'd found a solution but my heart now in pieces I learnt never to trust in a human what you can't do yourself. I let somebody take me through the fiery lanes of hell to leave me there Oh so many words with no way of forming logic so many words trapped in confusion so many words gagging me but I just can't find my voice. I just can't make it come out. So many words dying to be heard to be admired to be out. But I'm at a loss.
0
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 7:20 AM UTC
Not A Poem
Oh so many words with no way of forming logic so many words trapped in confusion So many words dying to be heard to be admired to be out gagging me but I just can't find my voice. I just can't make it come out. I'm alive, I'm breathing. I walk around but I'm not really living. Its the Pain. I can feel it cursing through my veins with tears streaming down and staining my face. Eroding all the life left on my face. I've lived so long in this low I don't really know what a high feels like no more. Even in love I'm down low and mournful. Insecure and pitiful. Crazy if you ask me. I know I have to get out this cycle but this low has stolen all my dreams like a quiet thief in the night,. Stolen my voice and I'm left with this burning desire for greatness with an empty vision. Because my dreams were too fragile , like a fetus in the womb killed by negligence and under nourishment. Or better yet ripped out by metal rods poking prodding in a ***** hidden backyard ally. I prayed. I cry. I believed. I cry. I had faith. I cry. I even used to look up to the stars and the moon. Mostly past tense now. Because nothing ever really came out of it. My hopes became the barren womb of a woman failing to produce. All past tense. But I still cry as if pouring my soul into this water that leaves my body will appaul the gods enough to have pity on me. Restore my faith and recharge my halo cause its been running on reserves for so long.  As though I'll finally see the God everyone raves about. As though I'll find my destiny. But I just end up dusting my rags and bearing this load that's nearly taken my life by my own hand so many times I could feature on a comedy. A cliche but I have a void in my heart. I tried ignoring it. Filing it with nonsensical things that always dry out. At a point I thought I'd found a solution but my heart now in pieces I learnt never to trust in a human what you can't do yourself. I let somebody take me through the fiery lanes of hell to leave me there Oh so many words with no way of forming logic so many words trapped in confusion so many words gagging me but I just can't find my voice. I just can't make it come out. So many words dying to be heard to be admired to be out. But I'm at a loss.
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24
I was asleep when you came in. Wakening to the intoxicating tequila that drizzles from your mouth, You've already managed to start the discussion Combing you’re hands, lips and tongue to orchestrate A stroke of genius in full consequence, You now have my attention.. But you’re not alone,        Putting on my glasses I see you picked once again Navigating takes four hands ya know. Now choose: A spin-cycle or tune up, temporary vision, lost again. Each of you raves, You both used to dance. Looking at each other, synchronizing the helm. Yearning for violence you scratch the flesh That harbors you’re enthusiasm. Backbiting lust and forceful appetite, This is what happens when you Wake the Wolf.
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Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
Waking the Wolf
immersion in the Jordan risen from their graves there's a place of graciousness the pastel water saves yes, there's a place of peaceful joy for the heart that raves wisdom beckons... righteousness! for fools and for knaves we are awake yet dreaming wandering into the waves. SoulSurvivor (C) 11/28/2015
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Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 1:12 PM UTC
baptism
Ever wondered about my style? What I admire and what I deem vile? Well, gather around, I'll let you see Who I am, through what else, but poetry? My favorite flower is a cherry blossom. As for food, bread is awesome. I spend much of my time on Twitter. I like birds, the ones that flutter. My favorite author is Ms. Anne Rice. Her book, "Memnoch" is very nice. My favorite poet is Aleister Crowley. As for artist, that would be Dali. I like Reggae straight from Trenchtown. Most of all, I like System of a Down. Philip Wesley is my favorite composer. If I may be so bold, Chopin, move over. My favorite film is Sweeney Todd. By my top director, who is slightly odd. Johnny Depp is my favorite actor and hunk. I'm not a fan of touchdowns and dunks. A big interest is Nutrition and Health. I'm against Corporations and Banks, with all their wealth. I like Documentaries and things that make me think. Carrot juice is one of my favorite things to drink. My favorite painting hangs on my wall. The artist or name, I have not a clue at all. I like eating cherries and playing pretend. I like talking to those I consider a friend. I like dancing at raves, even on the stage. I like my job, though it's minimum wage. I'm good without gods, I bow to none. No political party, with that, I'm done. That about sums me up, I hope you see My likes and interests described to a tee, In the fashion of the rhyme scheme A and B. Did I mention the fact that I write poetry?
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Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
Nutshell
How unfair it is That I cannot do HAIR MAGIC- That my wispy locks Won't listen to me, Not even with the persuasion Of a gallon of hairspray And a million pins. How unfair that I Cannot look this good Every day... But there is some Small comfort in my CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES- (The ones that everyone raves over) I shall be messy haired, But happy.
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Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 6:40 AM UTC
Hair Magic and Cookies