"realises" poems
***Night came and conquered my ceiling
Head tilted back to inherit it's familiar splendour.
But she isn't there... Left my heart slightly gaping.
O twinkly one, have you seen her?***
*She's mysteriously veiled tonight,
Playfully on her halo, dances gentle light.
Don't give up on her, listless moongazer,
She wants to be conquered, put up a good fight.*
***Persistent skirmish that sets dreams and reality apart,
Eyes don't see what the heart knows so clear,
Clarity eludes when forgotten scars start to smart,
Do you know if she even realises I'm here?***
*She knows, and dreams of your happy eyes,
That only her will hold on their feverish gaze.
Unbroken threads of hope, your yearning to baptize
And her ice cold craters to be set ablaze.*
***Fire in my vessel still burns bright and strong,
Never extinguished behind the facade of my weary husk,
My flame would endure just as the wick is long,
Tell me dear star, will I see her next dusk?***
*When the sun's swords will seize,
slashing the sky in dazzling blue,
When the air will bring a comforting ease,
Her glistening "yes" will welcome you.*
***Your comforting words ring only of truth,
Winking in codes, you might be right .
Darkness had claimed and engulfed all proof,
Will you accompany me through tonight?***
*This piercing question you don't have to ask me,
For even though my light's billion of years away,
Twinkling in your dreams I'll always be,
The night companion, under your moon's ray.*
ryn
Dajena M
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
Perhaps I'm encased in a box
made out of two-way glass.
A biased one-way mirror...
Mutual vision doesn't meet nor pass.
When you look at me,
you only see,
yourself for all that you care...
Me? Just a faint suggestion that I'm even there.
Maybe that's why...
you ask about my life,
about my strife.
When I'm about to unload my
head,
I end up having to hear about yours
instead.
Perhaps at times I travel around
in a bubble of frosted glass.
Only a blurred version of me...
Clumsily ploughing through the mass.
Incoherent, misunderstood and unclear.
Unintelligible muffles of hopes and fear.
Maybe that's why...
My words are just perceived as
playful rhymes.
Never keeping up with the times.
Words regurgitated but no one
realises what's coming undone...
Perhaps what I need
is an armour of bulletproof glass.
One of unique quality...
One ahead of its class.
You can do and say what you want.
A shell that would bear most of the brunt.
*I'll be impervious.
I'll be protected.
I can be indifferent.
I can be jaded.*
Maybe that's all I need...
*A shocking stunt.
A fresh perspective.
A new plan.
Revised objectives.*
Maybe a different name to start all
over...
To tie the binds and thoughts that
scatter...
Hoping of holding everything
together...
Come morning, all will be
forgotten...
Maybe I'd still be beaten.
So for a chance that's,
fat as hell
or
thin just a sliver...
Truth is of the three, I have neither...
So...
what I've said doesn't really matter.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
I'm not as strong as everyone thinks I am,
But it's not like anyone gives a ****
I have a constant reminder of my depression.
It rests on my wrist in a line shaped fashion.
It was somehow an accident, my mother believes.
Little does she know that it was truly my intention.
Everytime I'm out in public I pinch myself only wishing,
I would've cut deeper, maybe just an inch further.
Would I somehow keep breathing, would I be missed?
Maybe for a little while, but I doubt it would've sticked.
No one ever realises the pain until it's taken something away.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
I have found soft soil in secret parts of your body
Pushed it back with my fingers, stuck underneath
My finger nails and unearthed lore of lands and
Spirits that run around and make me realises how much
I miss your stupid face when you’re not digging up my weeds
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 7:52 PM UTC
the copper beech tree,
rooted over the road,
seems ageless though it has been,
there since Grandfather Time,
came from some unknown place,
and implemented his power,
into the land.
the copper beech tree,
hangs over the road,
the branches move,
like a body of
fine hair in the wind,
to and fro to and fro to and fro.
the copper beech tree,
still over the road,
sees all walks of life,
the scolding ***** the
busy mothers, the
mindless teens.
the copper beech tree,
watches us from over the road,
gazing into this silent home.
It knows, it realises,
It sees, it feels,
all the way down,
to its wise roots.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
After laying awake way past her bedtime
There where nights she cried herself to sleep,
Thinking how could she have possibly been so naive?
But as she closed her eyes and wanders down the streets of once-used-to-be's
She realises, she'd lost herself to a past of full of mistreatment
But now she refuses to be a victim of it and stands tall rising above it
There used to be a time she'd been used, and so to be used was all she knew
And to crave love, a sense of belongingness, was unthinkably selfish
So instead of finding love from within,
She'd give her all to all those who'd treat her like she didn't mean a thing
And apologised and forgave repeatedly though she was never to blame
She became a dreamer of dreams to cope with the painful reality of things
But now instead of living with wishful thinking
She wakes up and struggles hard to make her dreams into a reality
No longer a slave to her fictional fantasies
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
I am told
Nun
is a picture of a humbled
gasping fish
who realises
he can only truly swim
in a sea of
His righteousness.
© Qwey.ku
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
Well, I've written two . . . sonnets . .
first ones from the point of view of a typical twit youngish bloke . when he realises his latest conquests a bit keen like . . . He writes a poem . . . Leaves it lying around carelessly
So I'm to meet .your mum and dad ? . . .
But I thought this . a one time **** . . .
Not children planned or Sunday roasts
I dreamt no champagne wedding toasts . . . !
They're coming round for tea . . tonight ?. . .
This ***** no longer feeling right . . !
In epic terms this now's a fail . !
I think . it's time for me to bail !!
Though . . something sparkled in your kiss,
A luscious tingling of lips . .
Add alcoholic lust fuelled hips
Whose groovy moves I know I'd miss . .
So . . . If I meet your mum and dad .
Then that gets me . . another ****
She finds the poem . . And replies . . .
Dear silly boy . who left behind
His hopeful sentimental rhyme . . .
Who fancies meeting mum and dad
Just to secure another **** . . .
Well pretty boy . . KEEP DREAMING ON . . .
Since any chance you had . . has gone,
I found your rhyme upon the floor . .
Now ******* closed . . as is my door
It's such a shame . . you'll never know
How far down I can really go . .
Nor that my naughty little hand
Is worth your golden wedding band
My poet lad . . you've well derailed
All future chance . . of getting nailed
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
How many masks do I have in my collection
until someone realises something is off?
How long does the party go on until
everyone goes home, strips off
and sees that not everything is
as lovely, as majestic as how
the lights, decorations and music
made it out to be?
How many more superhero costumes
are made until they save me, from me?
-m.b
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 4:49 AM UTC
Her mind has become a tangle of webs.
Her memories fight against each other as she tries to recall her wedding dress.
Words mix and mingle as her grandchildren tell her about their day.
Past and present blur as her loved ones dance beside the lake.
She weeps and she frowns as she realises that she's not well.
She smiles as she bids her daughter farewell.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 11:00 AM UTC
Two great minds
On each other they land
Each never knew the other
But they fought each other
The secret was kept
Not to let unconscious conscious
So there were two men
One a poacher
The other trader.
Trader:my friend, make me a sword,
My honey I give in return.
Poacher:ok,let us meet tomorrow.
(They part)
The trader was a liar
The poacher was a cheat
The day came
Each sent a boy to pick the items
Trader:(sent soil,smeared by honey,)
Received a wood carefully
Chopped and a sword
It looked.
Caught amazed
Just laughed at himself
Pocher:(sent the "sword")
Received the "honey"
Caught amused
Laugh at the haux
...
Again,
The poacher invite the trader
They go poach
The day was set
And it came,off they set
The bush rough,
Grass wet,
Poach on the lead!
Poach:(seeing an angry beast,)
My friend,the coarse has
Turned rough,come lead this
Shrubby path!
Trader:is it ***** or thorny?
Poach: *****
Trader:I lead we go back home,turn
And follow me!
They went back home
The danger was evaded.
The liar and the cheat were clever.
The trader invited the poach
Come for this honey
we got to harvest
And he came
Trader:(climbs the tree,he realises
that there was a big snake
inside)
My friend,the bees are fierce
Come help me.
Pocher:is it smooth or sticky?
Trader:smooth my friend!
Poacher: come we go,we have to set
another day then
The clever men went home save
The liar lost,the cheat lost
They were clever.
The cheat invited the liar,
Come home for a meal!
That day he drank a cow!
And the friend arrived
A heavy lunch then,
Poacher:I have a problem,for years
This my cow has been sick!
What kind of sickness
This can be?
Trader:(taking his time,'staggering?')
If cows could take alcohol
I can say this one is drank!
......
The men laughed jointly
And the wisdom minds
Got them by surprise.
The liar and the cheater
Were the best wisdom
Of the time
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC
she sits alone gazing out into the distance
her feet dangling in the water, she questions her existence
and the clouds look like they could fall out of the sky and engulf her;
she says she's not afraid to die
she's afraid of being average but the beauty of her mind betrays this
and she doesn't want to be a burden
a waste
the tears falling from her eyes are smudging the freckles on her face
whilst she sits alone, she plays with her hands
she doesn't mean to cry as her lungs expand and the simple epiphany
that her body is doing all it can to maintain her life
provides a profound ability to view the world differently
she realises she'll never get to live it twice
and she picks up two daisies
one in each hand
and all that's in front of her now is outstretched land
all the while, her tears were drying and with them the sadness subsided
she smiles and is grateful for the time she gets
to witness the world's chaos and madness colliding -
she'd rather be a part of it and watch the sun rise each morning
than let it all go and never see a new day dawning
the stars may implode sometimes and even the sky sheds it's tears
but those stars were full of particles essential for new life
and that sky is home to the rainbow,
awe rife at the sight
every individual has their fears, regrets and may become disheartened or depressed
but we're all on this rock together and no one's alone in their distress
sometimes you have to hold your own hand to make it through
you're strong, you can do this, i believe in you
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
And he traces her inner thigh with his lips, eliciting a moan from her as he teases her entrance.
He slides a finger in, pressing deep inside her. She bucks her hips up to meet his knuckle, he growls with feigned arousal. He resurfaces, attacking her mouth, owning her. She surrenders to his tongue, if only to allow nostalgia passage. She rubs herself against him, a mewling kitten in heat, crying harder. She fakes an ****** to satisfy him.
He presses his **** against her and she realises how little she affects him. Determined, he forces himself past her barrier, grunting and growling. He assaults her mouth again and she reacts accordingly, trailing her nails down his back in a futile attempt to rekindle. She is unsure of how this came to be. She fights back tears as she threads her fingers through his hair. She knows she is still and always will be second best. He grows soft. A tacit agreement. Neither of them finish.
She rolls over to face the television. An old british comedy is on loop, making the same stale jokes that may have been funny a decade ago. And here she is, on repeat, making the same mistakes she made a decade ago.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
That girl with the broken heart
Shes worth more than she realises
There's a galaxy hidden behind those tired eyes
When she smiles she draws you in like a black-hole
The tears that spill from her eyes fall like shooting stars
And, oh, that heart
It loves more harshly than the sun burns!
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 5:31 PM UTC
You got in the way
Of the backlash
From uncontrollable,
Unreasonable rage
Smashed in the mouth
Blood and pain
Only left with
Broken teeth
You never saw
The coming meltdown
All you did
Was sit next to him
But he doesn't know
Never realises
Exactly what he did
Not his fault
He's only a child
On a high spectrum
You'll forgive him
Because I do
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
I sense it,
I can feel its mist.
Thunder begins to roll.
Lighting begins to flash.
“Drip Drop”
Now I can hear it.
Where already there,
Where getting into it.
“Drip Drop”
Comes closer to me,
Taking away my every breathe
Begins to pick up the speed
“Drip Drop”
We begin to intertwine,
I begin to lose control of my mind
All of a Sudden
“Drip Drop”
Realises my struggle
Begins slow down
Understand me,
So it slows down.
“Drip Drop”
Please I beg take me away,
I fell in love with you,
Please don’t go away.
“Drip Drop”
It stayed and waited,
Until I fell asleep,
Falling into a subliminal state.
“Drip Drop”
I woke up,
Only to remember its sound,
Never looked once upon its face.
“Drip Drop”
Nov 19, 2009
Nov 19, 2009 at 9:55 AM UTC
The wave of storm,
Full of coldness,
Which never came in person,
But — emotionally.
Strange, right?
Then that night,
When you ask yourself for the first time,
Ever realising...
With all that pain, sitting with a stain,
Till the date I doubted —
Does it ever make sense?
What is love?
How does it feel?
Will I be able to imagine like Aladdin–Jasmine?
Then those questions — revolving, staying,
Until you start finding it in every person, right?
After a while, you realises
How much courage it takes...
To love,
To stand,
To hope,
To wait.
Then suddenly, this world becomes imaginary,
As if it just never existed,
Because you never knew — or maybe not —
How much this feeling actually takes...
Huh! Love — a chemical reaction!
With a lot of exceptions —
I wonder...
Why do we ever love the one whom we can never be with?
With confusions, doubts, and overthinking...
As if it is just not meant for me...
Until the day... out of the blue...
Those beautiful eyes meet your gaze —
As if it’s just our heart that talked,
and we both remained stay.
And then, growing every day with your life
Realising how those 5 seconds meant you a life....
Not in one day but,there would be a day...when you'll truly realise —
You finally found a HOME.
– Parisha
Jul 12, 2025
Jul 12, 2025 at 2:50 PM UTC
He steps forward from the shadows
His eyes shine with glee
As he reaches for the soul of the man
Who just departed dearly
Black clad people surround him
The Grim Reaper blends in just right
The dead man's soul walks towards him
He claps his hands with delight
"A new friend to play with!" he thinks
He's really starved for company
All the souls around him just mourn
For the lives they didn't live fully
No one ever thinks of him,
Doing this deary job
All day and night, without complaint
Bearing the hatred of the mob.
Everytime he collects a soul,
He thinks 'this will be one'
To look past his black robes and scythe,
Then he can finally have some fun.
Bus alas, its seems as though,
It's just not meant to be
The Grim Reaper roams the realms,
Dejected and lonely.
No one realises that
He's just misunderstood
He's neither vicious nor cruel
He's always judged based on his looks
So next time you feel sad and alone,
Multiply that by infinity
Then you'll have a little idea of
How the poor Grim Reaper feels!
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
i know it today,
life is a short stay,
amidst all wants and desires,
of which one never retires,
desires for self and self ones,
greed together of million tonnes,
such things though many times,
force me to think of crimes,
betraying someone's trust,
for things less worthier than dust,
seeing death every other day,
still thinking we are here to stay,
for and ever till,
our pocket affords the bill,
but no thought is given,
wether we go to hell or heaven,
our debts money won't pay,
karmas will be counted for each day,
during our life's course,
when we did things with force,
which was given temporarily to us,
to display whoz god and what he does,
acts of humans should be such,
giving an estimate of how much,
greatness would be in the one,
who owes such a nice son,
who loves him and all,
whoz values are infinitely tall,
whoz presence inaugrates all ethical energies,
whoz work is beyond all intelligent strategies,
who realises god's omnipresence,
and make him his life's essence,
remember all my dear friends,
when all of our life ends,
our powers won't accompany us,
as in life's course it does,
what goes with thw soul then,
is all of those times when,
we have made someone smile,
and loved some other for a little while,
laughed in someone's good times,
cried in other time of destiny's sad rhyme.
I know it today..........................
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
If you are wondering whether to go on adventures
with the beautiful strange boy
with the light eyes
that allow you to see into his soul
don't
because he will leave your heart
in a galaxy far away out of reach
and he will make tiny stars burst out of you
with each flutter of an eyelash
and he will make your pupils dilate
and your knees weak
and you will not be able to remove the taste of his kisses from your lips
and you will not be able to find a fragrance strong enough
to disguise his own that he left on you
so with every movement
you will be reminded of him
and you will hurt
and if you are wondering whether or not
to swap
5 confessions at
4am about
3 words between the
2 of you
and how you want to be the only
1 that matters to him
don't
because he will plant roses
in even the darkest corners of you
and rip them to pieces
when he realises he prefers tulips
- A.A. ©
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
The puppeteer is the fool,
delivering drugs like a mule,
unaware of his crime,
he will pay a price of time.
The puppeteer approaches his boss,
in a room with some moss.
A man with two tears tattooed on his face,
holds out the his gross overpay and hands him mace.
The Puppeteer walks with what he believes is just cheats,
not hearing the sound of foot beats.
to late to block,
he is clocked.
The puppeteer protects what is his,
the boy beats him without a single miss,
out comes his hero in a baseball cap,
threatening the boy he tries to leave the map.
The puppeteers pride is damaged,
and takes the bat hitting his atter leaving him in bandages.
paying off the right people the man with tear tattoo's
make all the charges become taboo.
The puppeteer reads the news,
the boy he attacked might be set a new,
sitting by the rail on valentines day,
his friend approaches with a blush like a bae.
The puppeteer hears the boy say love,
he pushes his into the wall not wanting to be his dove,
though secretly he feels different,
and his hero can tell and kisses him not ashamed he is indifferent.
The puppeteer panics he is set a miss
for he never expected to receive a kiss,
he shoves him off and yells queer,
his heart is set with fear.
The puppeteer sees him sit down next to him,
his girlfriend near he won't mention it Kim,
looking for justice an older brother show up,
though he is ignored as his opponent sips from a cup.
The puppeteer hears a shot be fired,
he realises he is deaths desire,
when all went black,
his eyes open to see the gunman be pushed a back.
The puppeteer smiles for he has won,
till his hand touched someone,
looking to the side their lies the hero,
and the puppeteers sanity hits zero.
Complete our dream that is his last call,
before the hero's eyes will fall.
an unmarked grave is mentioned through my rhyme,
nothing can heal the heart not even time.
One goal is set in mind,
and he will accomplish it in do time,
to become an artist of the written word,
only then can the puppeteer become a bird.
The puppeteer lives no more,
for now he closes the past's door.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
Kinda ironic
I write poems and find myself
writing about how much I hate English.
**I don't want to read
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde again
or analyse a play!**
No matter how interesting.
The themes are the the themes
and the characters the story tellers
but to me it's just words
No link in my head.
Every sentence is read.
Then the next,
makes no sense.
It all seems out of context
but no one realises
I don't know what the ****
the teacher goes on and on about,
it goes over my head.
I can't explain my ideas
because I can't make them myself
and I can't understand where anyone else's are from.
So I lead my self on a tangent,
that could go on and on repeating itself
that could go on and on repeating itself
that could go on and on repeating itself
but will never come back to the beginning.
Writing aimlessly
but no one seems to see;
it's all nonsense to me.
Kinda ironic.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 12:43 PM UTC
I have walked this earth a thousand times.
Dirt. A loose aggregate of particles, held together by gravity, and moisture.
Rain. Water suspended. Resurging. Cascading in plumes, like sheets of smoke.
Sky. Blue. Stretched like canvas. Abstract. Nowhere. Everywhere.
I exist. Here. Standing. Thinking.
I am dead. I am being born.
I am existing across all time and space, but I do not know it.
At this moment, I am trapped. I am unconscious. I am unaware.
I have walked this earth a thousand times, and cannot even remember.
Because it has not happened. Has yet to happen. May never happen.
Future. A nonexistence on the horizon.
Hope. An ache. A nothing replaced with nothing.
Misery. The wretched face in the mirror.
A child wears my eyes. She drifts through life.
Scared. Alone. Free.
She plays in the forest. Her small, sap-covered hands grasp branch after branch.
She enters intermediate school. Is called freak. Is judged by her skin, her eyes.
She realises she is different for the first time.
Alien. Deviant. Other.
Her eyes fill with self-hatred.
I have watched this moment a thousand times, yet can do nothing.
Disintegration. The act of separation.
Loneliness. A billion strangers condemned to live together.
Existence. A billion billion billion particles, shifting beneath my flesh.
There is no death that can end my being.
I have felt the atoms of my past collide, and spark into biology.
I have felt the atoms of my future shred like fractals, spiralling into a dim, dark nothingness.
I have felt all this, and none of it.
From infinity I came, to infinity I’ll go. Forever cycling in the pantomime of existence.
This pretend construct of space and time.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
I see colors.
But all I think of is black.
The bright blue of the sky
Is always clouded by ugly grey clouds
In my mind.
Each of my eyes
Sees different things.
One of them sees everything
That any normal eye should;
Family, friends, birds, trees.
A vast blanket of normalness.
The other one, however,
Sees how threadbare the blanket really is.
Sees only the shadows that fall behind
Family, friends, birds and trees.
The other eye sees everything
As it really is.
The other eye realises
That the lush lawn of our humanity
Is really just a concrete floor
Painted green.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
As she steps forward to take the final bow
and as she steps back into the dim amber glow of the fading spotlight
that once shone so brightly
she realises this is her last
she looks out towards the applauding crowd
their eyes twinkling like stars
their claps roaring like thunder
the velvet curtains close
leaving her in darkness
leaving her Alone.
Jan 27, 2020
Jan 27, 2020 at 2:12 PM UTC