"reared" poems
White paint peels off to leave the walls bare,
naked and exposed to
elements.
Much like her soul.
Starved of love and affection,
accepted but not wanted.
Tolerated.
The sun casts her shadows on those
she frowns upon,
leaving winding roads to spiral out of control.
Time shifts her world from
it's axis as it progresses,
it doesn't heal,
it doesn't lessen,
It just is.
Echoes of your voice ricochets
to find her heart,
carrying the exact weight they
did the second they fled your tongue,
never shedding an ounce of momentum
"The waves of pain
that had only lapped at her
before now
reared up high and pulled her under .."
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
For our Echoing Little Red Riding Hoods
Lagging behind in the Opposition Departments
Lets help you out by offering some buzzwords
For your important assignments even though they've
been floated around forever,
But we understand you need some help catching up
So memorize these basic premises
And please enrich your lives and utilise your valuable time
by raking your little brains to create poems with them
Lets begin with ITALIAN , don't forget RAINBOW, LIES
is also in, add RESPECT, throw in RUDENESS, factor in
LITTLE GIRL, remember ANGEL, write about TRUST, that
much overuse term, throw in BLACK - that's quite a
popular one. Also PINK is quite up the scale, as well as HEART-
Broken ( as if ) and pleeeezee make a big fuss on LONELINESS
That's a big seller. APPLE and SERPENT did appear now and
again so trigger them as you like.
How about BETRAYAL, LOYALTY, FAKE FRIENDS and that
famous one, FOUR or is it THREE, what about BONES,
Lets not forget SKELETON or even ANOREXIC, let also
remember SCREAM, that was a scream..hahah see what
I did there! Remember GREY that has a bit of colour and
what about BUCK or even DOOR-MAT that was a wipe-off
or SUBMISSIVE another popular one.
Hmmm...what about HAIR CUT or TOMBOY or DIGITAL
those are quite good or WOODGREEN or HULL or DOG
that reared its head...woof....woof...hahahah or CEREAL,
beats me what that's about or even MONEY..though that
never was an issue, how about GOLD-DIGGER just for
drama or 50/50 which has been mentioned. Hey! don't forget
RED, what to do without that pinking away.
So please Little Hoods, students of the Opposition Department
keep with the programme and work on these pointers
crack your little brains and write poems like crazy little ants
Your contribution is valuable cause persistent is the Key.
Keep up with your assignment and forget all other things
Oppose, oppose, oppose, work those little brains!
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 4:30 PM UTC
I am a kind word uttered and repeated
By the voice of Nature;
I am a star fallen from the
Blue tent upon the green carpet.
I am the daughter of the elements
With whom Winter conceived;
To whom Spring gave birth; I was
Reared in the lap of Summer and I
Slept in the bed of Autumn.
At dawn I unite with the breeze
To announce the coming of light;
At eventide I join the birds
In bidding the light farewell.
The plains are decorated with
My beautiful colors, and the air
Is scented with my fragrance.
As I embrace Slumber the eyes of
Night watch over me, and as I
Awaken I stare at the sun, which is
The only eye of the day.
I drink dew for wine, and hearken to
The voices of the birds, and dance
To the rhythmic swaying of the grass.
I am the lover's gift; I am the wedding wreath;
I am the memory of a moment of happiness;
I am the last gift of the living to the dead;
I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.
But I look up high to see only the light,
And never look down to see my shadow.
This is wisdom which man must learn.
7.6k
The imaginers of now were children once,
each day they each imagined tomorrow.
Their daddies had just won the war
happy days were really here again, this time.
---
Now, we see what we see, it's not what we saw.
And this is better than I imagined.
My first oral book report was on 1984, in 1962.
Percentages and stats, the odds,
out of 8 billion…
I carry my weight, saltwise,
I'm light, too. Immaterial in fact.
I watched the internet take form
before my very eyes,
magi technic never seen since Darius the Mede.
Good job, geeks.
Reared on radio waves your
grandfathers never heard,
your signal receptors from mito-mom,
oh, what a plan. The promised ones.
Many sons.
hmmm 60 cycle white noise in the field,
the field of fields,
Future Farmers of America and stuff
Powers we imagined,
a color TV we could watch
in the backseat for days on Route 66,
a restaurant just for kids
Toys 'r' Us oh, wow,
those came and went
and our Grand kids
are imagining tomorrow,
doin' fine with less of what we thought was cool,
taking for granted all I
accepted as granted, in the "It is Finished"
Golden Parachute
Package deal,
Grace and Peace
that multiplies.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 4:32 AM UTC
That time.
It’s come ‘round again;
Reared its self to meet me.
Staring me down like a gazelle.
What I wouldn’t give for one more cup of tea,
One more glance to the left or right depending.
One more sinister smirk at another's expense to be wafted forward
With some sad regress or another in response.
Not now,
Not when it was getting all intense and fearless.
Don’t cut me off,
Give me another ounce of this.
Whatever this is.
I won’t ask questions,
I won’t move.
I’ll partake in silence.
Just give it to me for an evening more.
But there it is in front of me,
Bearing down on me,
Leaning into me,
Expectant.
Oct 13, 2010
Oct 13, 2010 at 1:17 PM UTC
In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace—
Radiant palace—reared its head.
In the monarch Thought’s dominion—
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This—all this—was in the olden
Time long ago),
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.
Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute’s well-tuned law,
Bound about a throne where, sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch’s high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn!—for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate !)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever
And laugh—but smile no more.
5k
Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
(Time-eaten towers and tremble not!)
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
No rays from the holy Heaven come down
On the long night-time of that town;
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently—
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free—
Up domes—up spires—up kingly halls—
Up fanes—up Babylon-like walls—
Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers—
Up many and many a marvellous shrine
Whose wreathed friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, and the vine.
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
That all seem pendulous in air,
While from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.
There open fanes and gaping graves
Yawn level with the luminous waves;
But not the riches there that lie
In each idol’s diamond eye—
Not the gaily-jewelled dead
Tempt the waters from their bed;
For no ripples curl, alas!
Along that wilderness of glass—
No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some far-off happier sea—
No heavings hint that winds have been
On seas less hideously serene.
But lo, a stir is in the air!
The wave—there is a movement there!
As if the towers had ****** aside,
In slightly sinking, the dull tide—
As if their tops had feebly given
A void within the filmy Heaven.
The waves have now a redder glow—
The hours are breathing faint and low—
And when, amid no earthly moans,
Down, down that town shall settle hence,
Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,
Shall do it reverence.
4.9k
my parents reared me
like an animal.
they didnt realize i was a cannibal.
so i ate them,
and thats why im
a gentleman.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:22 PM UTC
Crazy reared its many heads
Twisted shades of paisley swirls
Kaleidoscope emotionality
Rollercoaster of fear and love
Through the storms of mushroom clouds
An air of peace remained
For that ever-changing scene
Was founded in the purest love
The realest dream come true
No fear of insanity consuming truth
Truth is kaleidoscopes are beautiful
Never boring by design
There is peace in the knowledge
That crazy is exceptional, brilliant
To know a soul, exciting
And through it all
We traverse the universe as one
Riding the wings of insanity
Skiing across the seas
On the backs of narwhals
Simply because they are awesome
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 4:55 AM UTC
Friend Rockstar,
Listen, yield to a robust think-tank,
earlobes skidding against wheat and grain.
Terrible story, yes, what happened to that little girl.
Sterile teddy nightgowns weeping in the squad car windows.
Teacher – Teacher, do you harken my yodels for grace?
I’ve never been maternal.
Put the game on. Abortion.
That’s what I’m about.
Grab a bra. Sling some weight.
That’s what I’m about.
Some housefly wings on a weathered corn cob.
Some downhome, homegrown twang for those fancy, fussy britches.
Muddy workboots. Sweat-soaked collars.
That’s what I’m about.
Him done made me read, sir.
What sacraments did we write today?
I can still remember my first broken bone.
I can still remember my first broken *****
That could be what this is all about.
Mary, Mary, you can be contrite,
so knife – so critter – so laze – so stalked.
Who fertilized your seeds? Who reared your sprouts?
Cockle shells and silver bells, honey,
can’t grow up
to be pretty little maids all in a row.
Sterile teddy nightgowns – green bells in gaseous gardens.
Friend Rockstar, you may have to sleep.
This restless harbor is a shivering anecdote spilled from a belly,
a vast, deep cavern with love notes written in milk.
Your fried, stern smile was a flaking fingernail adjacent to the crack in the flowerpot.
Some garden, I say.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 7:12 PM UTC
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786
Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow’r,
Thou’s met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure
Thy slender stem:
To spare thee now is past my pow’r,
Thou bonie gem.
Alas! it’s no thy neebor sweet,
The bonie lark, companion meet,
Bending thee ‘mang the dewy weet,
Wi’ spreckled breast!
When upward-springing, blithe, to greet
The purpling east.
Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
Amid the storm,
Scarce reared above the parent-earth
Thy tender form.
The flaunting flow’rs our gardens yield,
High shelt’ring woods and wa’s maun shield;
But thou, beneath the random bield
O’ clod or stane,
Adorns the histie stibble-field,
Unseen, alane.
There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawy ***** sunward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;
But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!
Such is the fate of artless Maid,
Sweet flow’ret of the rural shade!
By love’s simplicity betrayed,
And guileless trust,
Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid
Low i’ the dust.
Such is the fate of simple Bard,
On Life’s rough ocean luckless starred!
Unskilful he to note the card
Of prudent lore,
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o’er!
Such fate to suffering worth is giv’n,
Who long with wants and woes has striv’n,
By human pride or cunning driv’n
To mis’ry’s brink,
Till wrenched of ev’ry stay but Heav’n,
He, ruined, sink!
Ev’n thou who mourn’st the Daisy’s fate,
That fate is thine -no distant date;
Stern Ruin’s ploughshare drives, elate,
Full on thy bloom,
Till crushed beneath the furrow’s weight,
Shall be thy doom!
4.3k
You’ll love me yet!—and I can tarry
Your love’s protracted growing:
June reared that bunch of flowers you carry
From seeds of April’s sowing.
I plant a heartful now: some seed
At least is sure to strike,
And yield—what you’ll not pluck indeed,
Not love, but, may be, like!
You’ll look at least on love’s remains,
A grave’s one violet:
Your look?—that pays a thousand pains.
What’s death?—You’ll love me yet!
3.9k
There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who sat on a horse when he reared;
But they said, "Never mind!
You will fall off behind,
You propitious Old Man with a beard!"
3.7k
1192
An honest Tear
Is durabler than Bronze—
This Cenotaph
May each that dies—
Reared by itself—
No Deputy suffice—
Gratitude bears
When Obelisk decays
3.3k
This is the time lean woods shall spend
A steeped-up twilight, and the pale evening drink,
And the perilous roe, the leaper to the west brink,
Trembling and bright to the caverned cloud descend.
Now shall you see pent oak gone gusty and frantic,
Stooped with dry weeping, ruinously unloosing
The sparse disheveled leaf, or reared and tossing
A dreary scarecrow bough in funeral antic.
Then, tatter you and rend,
Oak heart, to your profession mourning; not obscure
The outcome, not crepuscular; on the deep floor
Sable and gold match lustres and contend.
And rags of shrouding will not muffle the slain.
This is the immortal extinction, the priceless wound
Not to be staunched. The live gold leaks beyond,
And matter’s sanctified, dipped in a gold stain.
3.3k
Beauties, have ye seen this toy,
Called Love, a little boy,
Almost naked, wanton, blind;
Cruel now, and then as kind?
If he be amongst ye, say?
He is Venus' runaway.
She that will but now discover
Where the winged wag doth hover,
Shall to-night receive a kiss,
How or where herself would wish:
But who brings him to his mother,
Shall have that kiss, and another.
He hath marks about him plenty:
You shall know him among twenty.
All his body is a fire,
And his breath a flame entire,
That, being shot like lightning in,
Wounds the heart, but not the skin.
At his sight, the sun hath turned,
Neptune in the waters burned;
Hell hath felt a greater heat;
Jove himself forsook his seat:
From the centre to the sky,
Are his trophies reared high.
Wings he hath, which though ye clip,
He will leap from lip to lip,
Over liver, lights, and heart,
But not stay in any part;
But if chance his arrow misses,
He will shoot himself in kisses.
He doth bear a golden bow,
And a quiver, hanging low,
Full of arrows, that outbrave
Dian's shafts; where, if he have
Any head more sharp than other,
With that first he strikes his mother.
Still the fairest are his fuel.
When his days are to be cruel,
Lovers' hearts are all his food,
And his baths their warmest blood:
Naught but wounds his hands doth season,
And he hates none like to Reason.
Trust him not; his words, though sweet,
Seldom with his heart do meet.
All his practice is deceit;
Every gift it is a bait;
Not a kiss but poison bears;
And most treason in his tears.
Idle minutes are his reign;
Then, the straggler makes his gain
By presenting maids with toys,
And would have ye think them joys:
'Tis the ambition of the elf
To have all childish as himself.
If by these ye please to know him,
Beauties, be not nice, but show him.
Though ye had a will to hide him,
Now, we hope, ye'll not abide him;
Since you hear his falser play,
And that he's Venus' runaway.
3.3k
O America, wake up from your dream.
Your top of the hill
Perception.
I plead, awake.
Awaken from your false beliefs, your
Warped view of the world.
Believing it is yours to buy and
Consume, while others starve.
O America, I see your shadow,
Cast over your deprived. A desperate
Attempt to hide the desperate,
The lost and the depraved.
The waste of your creation,
Left to wallow in the filth of
Your existence. The broken
Pieces of your people. Invisible
to your people.
O America, I see your wretched youth.
Apathetic and sadistic, desensitized by
Your lifestyle. Enslaved by your media
to buy any which way.
Your whorish children, your joke of a generation.
Raised like cattle in shameful schools, reared in
Broken homes. Self destructive and stupid.
O America, turn off your television prophets,
Preaching their gospel of guilt in exchange for
Credit card numbers. Bastardizing science
And teaching bigotry.
Protesting human rights and feeding fallacies,
Indoctrinating children with fearful remorse.
Extorting their sheep to build their steeples,
Making sin out of human nature.
O America, I pray,
Wake up from your nightmare.
Before you collapse upon yourself, before
You're swallowed by your unfeedable mouth.
Arise, before you die. Cut the strings that
Manipulate you like a puppet. Reject society,
The cultural cancer.
O state of damnation, awake.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 4:59 PM UTC
inspired by my wife Vanessa....
Can you walk a mile
In my Sunday shoes?
Go to places I've been long and wide
Or some places you'll pay your dues?
Can you wear my shoes
That danced in God's praises
Cutting a step or two
Head reared back and voice raises high
Those old dusty Sunday shoes.
I walked places far as well a near
And back again to anywhere
To any place I want to go from here
And then again.
To marches long for freedom's cry
To church on a dusty country road
To the fields where cotton grow high
In my old dusty Sunday shoes.
Can you just walk in
These old dusty shoes?
Being foe or either friend
In those old dusty shoes.
If i have to walk to hell and back
I would in these dusty old shoes
But I only walk to church in them in fact
These old dusty Sunday shoes.
I'll keep walking in them until
The Good Master calls me home
Hoping someone will someday fill
These old dusty Sunday shoes.
Dec. 2007
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 7:22 PM UTC
Vail tied to a weathering mask
with a child in tow
who grows swollen
And swells like his mother
from which he reluctantly
reared his head
In what was called The Cadaver Twist
A ******* accident, no less
No virtue in a conscience yet to breech
A lesson likely learned early
If only ...
Paternal instinct as the peripheral
responds autonomously to the bottle
with intervals of grease pouring
down the gullet
The rain decimates in torrential strife
Laying in bog known as
What Once Was
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
Now the New Adventure excitement dares...
And...HUH? Your waiting Preview disappeared!
But, why? With so much Stories we do care
How fruitful and ******* your Holiday reared
You signed with a Smile; That much Girls adore
Inside the Jet would Paradise lay its Leis
From there the Codec stopped; Much I restore
What may have consumed the rest of the Day
Spottings? Cocktails? Folklore or Breaker-Dance,
None which I Follow or Dare to presume
This is your Notebook; Far to live by Chance
On how you Grow and Party in your Room.
Preserve your Courage. This is your Best Hour
To check New Frontiers; Increase your Mind by far.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
Some may consider you a pagan god
But you are the most handsome lord
You are blue in colour
And are invincible in valour
You reared the cattle
But led a pierce battle
You are the darling of shepherd women
And you are undoubtedly supra human
You play the flute with divine melody
No poet can extol your musical prosody
You are a thief of butter
No one can describe you better
Like Jesus you were born in a cattle shed
Your divine word the whole world spread
You are most romantic and highly philosophic
You are beyond the purview of any religious critic
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 6:45 AM UTC
Once I dipt into the future far as human eye could see,
And I saw the Chief Forecaster, dead as any one can be--
Dead and ****** and shut in Hades as a liar from his birth,
With a record of unreason seldome paralleled on earth.
While I looked he reared him solemnly, that incandescent youth,
From the coals that he'd preferred to the advantages of truth.
He cast his eyes about him and above him; then he wrote
On a slab of thin asbestos what I venture here to quote--
For I read it in the rose-light of the everlasting glow:
"Cloudy; variable winds, with local showers; cooler; snow."
2.5k
Barrels of oil painted smooth in acryllic
fill up the cracks with a feeling
spit out the money to feed the machine
Fair if it's toiling kids
draped along spoiled villians
immersed to serve the version of a billionaire's dream
eat the rich
Try me after I've been taught
I could've bought my chain
I would've lost my name
I should've dropped my shame facade
to play the game
We grew the youthful breath of heaven from the clay beneath our bones
imbued and innervated
aided you and drew the oath to play within the zone
circle reverie treasury burdens
bury the feathery,
herding squarely to fame - put on a show
eat the rich
dare me
you and yours invaded
bated breath had sung belated effort, whistle "death has reared it's head
at our expense so grab a sword.
We can war this **** straight out of this ole ditch
and fix whatever ***** gone wrong with it
with grit and sense
and build a fence"
Forget the soil your roots are grown in,
if you want to.
bask in shadow
of the weight of trust and decency
impeding our advances to your winner's table
fabled robin hoods with internets
guess who's deft enough let you know through every filter
left for us we may upset your dinner guests
let em know what's on the menu
eat the rich
let em know
The irony in learning
how to burn the fuel that kills you
after all the warning signs were there
sound familiar? it's a slog
burnin up, they'll crawl around
and find a meal on common ground
try the light show one more time
maybe that'll work
"The serfs are like a herd you see
they can't be riled along without a sermon
Burden them with silks and styles
worry them toward money piles"
Remind them of the fire they've been turning
Analogies aside I must abide by me and mine
but I've still got my eye on anything
...concerning
eat the rich
with discretion I guess.
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 7:35 AM UTC
Poseidon reared his unkempt head
Above the waves today
An ocean monster dripped in dread
Chest to chest with the bay
“Today, or any day at all!”
The shore-side heard his plea
Salt shucked shoulders tall as islands small
“No being shall ever challenge me!”
One gull omitted a thoughtful word
Which sounded much like “Rak!”
One offended brow raised at what he heard
Poseidon countered with a slap
Five foul fingers touched the sky
And fell upon the sea
A wave as great as mountains high
Sighed upon the beaches knee
With a drunken beat of lazy wing
The gull escaped his perch
Finding another on which to cling
Without a moment’s search
Fists clenched around the shallows
Poseidon was enraged
With urchin riddled lips pursed he bellowed
And blew the beach away
Up went beachgoers along the coast
Into the sandy storm
Sun chapped mums beginning to roast
Castling children, One man named Norm
Gull glided softly on the wind
Providing a flap or two
And to the defeated Poseidon's chagrin
Let out a cantankerous coo
In one last fit of aqueous rage
Posiedon surfaced to land
And in a briny blind rampage
Grabbed the gull with swole hands
Gull in hand Poseidon yelled
“What dare you mean sly poultry?
My kingdom is unparalleled,
All pilgrims seek my choultry”
But the oily gull slipped through his grip
And flew quite far away
And as he watched it dive and dip
He came to see the bay
Debris was strewn across the sand
His subjects were in ruin
Disaster spread across the land
And it was all his doin’
A desperate shade turned Poseidon
As he returned to the great deep
“What use am I as a mighty king
If protection I cannot keep?”
That is how a seagull won
Against The God of Sea
Who forgot about his job, just one,
To keep the big blue world carefree
Dec 26, 2020
Dec 26, 2020 at 9:17 PM UTC