"rebuilt" poems - Hello Poetry

"rebuilt" poems

What they don’t tell you in school, while you’re trying to remember the difference between prophase and metaphase chromosomes and chromatin is that really biology isn’t science biology is life See, divorce divorce is like mitosis slow to start, but quick to finish Begins at prophase when conflicts arise as your family’s nucleolus, your family’s unity disappears Your carefree life, your chromatin, coil and change become tight, tense chromosomes Outside forces, mitotic spindles, residing in the cytoplasm start creeping towards your parents to separate their souls Metaphase: you’re all lined up single file ready for battle Centrosomes, middles of each new life, poised opposing each other with their spindles latched onto you kinetochore, your middle, like a dog with it’s leash Anaphase: everything separates, your world’s torn apart and you’re left silently watching alone as your sister is torn from your life Telophase: the pain starts to lessen as you uncoil and your broken family’s nuclear membrane begins to reform Once the paper’s are signed once the cell’s wall’s rebuilt your old life is over and the process it’s finished See, they don’t tell you don’t think you need to know that divorce is simply biology and mitosis well, it’s life

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Oct 29, 2014

Oct 29, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC

Biology: Mitosis

What they don’t tell you in school, while you’re trying to remember the difference between prophase and metaphase chromosomes and chromatin is that really biology isn’t science biology is life See, divorce divorce is like mitosis slow to start, but quick to finish Begins at prophase when conflicts arise as your family’s nucleolus, your family’s unity disappears Your carefree life, your chromatin, coil and change become tight, tense chromosomes Outside forces, mitotic spindles, residing in the cytoplasm start creeping towards your parents to separate their souls Metaphase: you’re all lined up single file ready for battle Centrosomes, middles of each new life, poised opposing each other with their spindles latched onto you kinetochore, your middle, like a dog with it’s leash Anaphase: everything separates, your world’s torn apart and you’re left silently watching alone as your sister is torn from your life Telophase: the pain starts to lessen as you uncoil and your broken family’s nuclear membrane begins to reform Once the paper’s are signed once the cell’s wall’s rebuilt your old life is over and the process it’s finished See, they don’t tell you don’t think you need to know that divorce is simply biology and mitosis well, it’s life

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They say that over time, it dissipates - it will drain from you, evaporate like smoke. It will descend upon you, destroy you; but will soon release you, and fade. But with time it instead grows stronger, demanding to be felt. It knocks on the doors of my soul, its urgency to be let inside unrelenting and ruthless. Like an unpredictable storm, it lands and ravages, leaving just fragments of a heart already rebuilt. What is gone is the will; the resiliency dulled, the courage spent. It's a deep-rooted **** an unrivaled opponent; It's a malevolent fire that refuses to be smothered. The Hurt: a wound that permeates, and remains.

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May 23, 2014

May 23, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC

They say that over time, it dissipates - it will drain from you, evaporate like smoke. It will descend upon you, destroy you; but will soon release you, and fade. But with time it instead grows stronger, demanding to be felt. It knocks on the doors of my soul, its urgency to be let inside unrelenting and ruthless. Like an unpredictable storm, it lands and ravages, leaving just fragments of a heart already rebuilt. What is gone is the will; the resiliency dulled, the courage spent. It's a deep-rooted **** an unrivaled opponent; It's a malevolent fire that refuses to be smothered. The Hurt: a wound that permeates, and remains.

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I write my identity in gluestick and markers I am a lamb raised by wolves swaddled pulsing cosmos girl-child My limbs are rebuilt like a 7 year old birdhouse with garish colours and bubbling pride I am pouring glitter onto my future the kaleidoscope cannot exist inside In the end I think there would be no nobler cause than to have a life worthy of taping on the refrigerator that I can swell with ever-young joy to know I have created with trial and forgiveness.

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Jul 10, 2012

Jul 10, 2012 at 2:26 PM UTC

Existential Elation (and the Art of Glitter)

I write my identity in gluestick and markers I am a lamb raised by wolves swaddled pulsing cosmos girl-child My limbs are rebuilt like a 7 year old birdhouse with garish colours and bubbling pride I am pouring glitter onto my future the kaleidoscope cannot exist inside In the end I think there would be no nobler cause than to have a life worthy of taping on the refrigerator that I can swell with ever-young joy to know I have created with trial and forgiveness.

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She sees herself as a machine, Something that can be fixed By a brilliant engineer, as herself She's aware that she needs help Yet she refuses every offer she gets Cause she believes the broken ones Can be fixed by brilliant engineers, like her A day came when she doesn’t know herself no more, So she tried to know herself once more And rebuilt it like she used to rebuild a broken machine Yes, she was slowly destroying herself Like a mechanic engineer destroying A broken machine To know what’s wrong with it Drugs for her brain Toxic pills for her liver Cigarettes for her lungs Blades for her skin She finally knew what’s wrong with her And tried to fix herself once more But none of her attempts worked Instead, her attempts destroyed herself even more She came to a realisation That humans are no machines Once broken, no one can fix them, Not even themselves

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Jun 30, 2013

Jun 30, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC

pastelbluebutterflyrose

A Desperate Human Engineer

She sees herself as a machine, Something that can be fixed By a brilliant engineer, as herself She's aware that she needs help Yet she refuses every offer she gets Cause she believes the broken ones Can be fixed by brilliant engineers, like her A day came when she doesn’t know herself no more, So she tried to know herself once more And rebuilt it like she used to rebuild a broken machine Yes, she was slowly destroying herself Like a mechanic engineer destroying A broken machine To know what’s wrong with it Drugs for her brain Toxic pills for her liver Cigarettes for her lungs Blades for her skin She finally knew what’s wrong with her And tried to fix herself once more But none of her attempts worked Instead, her attempts destroyed herself even more She came to a realisation That humans are no machines Once broken, no one can fix them, Not even themselves

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Three small chunks of my soul Ripped right out of my chest Every weekend *The same **** thing* The hugs, tears and kisses goodbye With them The screaming, mistrust and hateful words With him The pain seems neverending And never getting any better All the bridges burned Without a single look back But regret can build and build When you realize some bridges Can't be rebuilt And yet I can't regret him Or the pain he dealt to me Cause he helped to create Those three small pieces of my soul And they may be small But put together They create my life as a whole Every Weekend The same **** thing And it hurts Finally having that feeling Like you're actually whole Then all three pieces Get RIPPED Right out of my soul And until next weekend I cannot feel whole

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Mar 4, 2015

Mar 4, 2015 at 3:54 PM UTC

the-girl-who-loved-you

Three small chunks of my soul Ripped right out of my chest Every weekend *The same **** thing* The hugs, tears and kisses goodbye With them The screaming, mistrust and hateful words With him The pain seems neverending And never getting any better All the bridges burned Without a single look back But regret can build and build When you realize some bridges Can't be rebuilt And yet I can't regret him Or the pain he dealt to me Cause he helped to create Those three small pieces of my soul And they may be small But put together They create my life as a whole Every Weekend The same **** thing And it hurts Finally having that feeling Like you're actually whole Then all three pieces Get RIPPED Right out of my soul And until next weekend I cannot feel whole

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My couch, Is death, And avoidance is a second language, Ask me do I speak it? Conjoined twins, Of misery and manipulation, No calls, Only cushions and customer's custom complaints, From tomorrow, The phone wont ring, So I'll stay down this road, Listening to headlines and headlights Sing, Moody music dwelling, Where the lies and shame met in between, Cut the cue, end the scene The stage has been rebuilt, We talked like teenagers, And you told me that I've changed, But the same, Still that same number, No more gap, But your smile still kills, Pain with palendromes, We were here before, And so again we, Our fighting saying goodnight, Street lamps in different cities, Static. I'm just fine, Playing my part, My mainstream maybe different, But Obsession has been overcame, By the rising tide of a smile, If the teleprompting signs shine through, Meanwhiles and meditations What can I do, Except hope I'm reading, The Right Script, The couch, It asks, Where have you been? I set down another, chip.

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Jun 13, 2018

Jun 13, 2018 at 1:41 AM UTC

the-masked-sleepyz

Then and Now: A Mishmash of Feelings and You Knows & Who Knows

My couch, Is death, And avoidance is a second language, Ask me do I speak it? Conjoined twins, Of misery and manipulation, No calls, Only cushions and customer's custom complaints, From tomorrow, The phone wont ring, So I'll stay down this road, Listening to headlines and headlights Sing, Moody music dwelling, Where the lies and shame met in between, Cut the cue, end the scene The stage has been rebuilt, We talked like teenagers, And you told me that I've changed, But the same, Still that same number, No more gap, But your smile still kills, Pain with palendromes, We were here before, And so again we, Our fighting saying goodnight, Street lamps in different cities, Static. I'm just fine, Playing my part, My mainstream maybe different, But Obsession has been overcame, By the rising tide of a smile, If the teleprompting signs shine through, Meanwhiles and meditations What can I do, Except hope I'm reading, The Right Script, The couch, It asks, Where have you been? I set down another, chip.

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The sky was under stress Fire lit up the night Winds wailed and screeched Foundations were blasted Dread, death, doom and demise A woman crying, "The world nevermore!" A man thinking "It will be an eternity for daylight." A baby, so fragile and small, lays in the street. Danger arises Hope shattered Where is the light? And the salvation? Thugs and gangs roam the cities Terrorists never seem to stop People will die 'til the Day. Lucky seven no longer brings Death and sickness and disaster come Will the suffering end And will the Earth be rebuilt again?

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Nov 14, 2012

Nov 14, 2012 at 6:50 PM UTC

Frightful Night

The sky was under stress Fire lit up the night Winds wailed and screeched Foundations were blasted Dread, death, doom and demise A woman crying, "The world nevermore!" A man thinking "It will be an eternity for daylight." A baby, so fragile and small, lays in the street. Danger arises Hope shattered Where is the light? And the salvation? Thugs and gangs roam the cities Terrorists never seem to stop People will die 'til the Day. Lucky seven no longer brings Death and sickness and disaster come Will the suffering end And will the Earth be rebuilt again?

Continue reading...

I have trust issues. not because I mistook a raisin for a chocolate chip, but I mistook you as a person who wouldn't hurt me. Who wouldn't let me be tortured under the world's pressures You knew I was treasure but locked me away in your cheap jewelry box So, when I was freed of a year's slavery, I built my wall Much taller and stronger than before, just to hope it'd scare away monsters like you from my door. Until one learned how to climb. In time, I let his angel face distract me from his devil's soul But the guards of my heart blocked him out before I paid another toll. My wall was built and rebuilt a million times I installed the blinds and laid alone. Until a price charming climbed along or does he belong to those monsters? My heart says no but my trust issues say yes what if he can actually break the spell placed on me?

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May 15, 2015

May 15, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC

I have trust issues. not because I mistook a raisin for a chocolate chip, but I mistook you as a person who wouldn't hurt me. Who wouldn't let me be tortured under the world's pressures You knew I was treasure but locked me away in your cheap jewelry box So, when I was freed of a year's slavery, I built my wall Much taller and stronger than before, just to hope it'd scare away monsters like you from my door. Until one learned how to climb. In time, I let his angel face distract me from his devil's soul But the guards of my heart blocked him out before I paid another toll. My wall was built and rebuilt a million times I installed the blinds and laid alone. Until a price charming climbed along or does he belong to those monsters? My heart says no but my trust issues say yes what if he can actually break the spell placed on me?

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Love is a violent act. I mean, how does something, So sweet and lovely, Make you ready to commit, Brutality and adultery, And render us so incapable, Of thinking past jealousy? With red words fogging our eyes, And a black void echoing between our ears, I think love is a violent act. For nothing like it, Motivates us to tear down cities, Dance in the ruins, And rebuilt something new, All for one person. Love is a violent act, That makes us take our hearts, Pry, rip and tear slowly from our chests, And lay it as an offering, To someone who doesn't want it. Love is such a violent act, Melting our brains and controlling our tongues, Numbing us to the fact that if we care, we will hurt, Giving us an addiction worse than that to drugs, God, it made us do so many things we shouldn't have done. Love is such an unforgivable, Violent, Act.

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Jun 13, 2019

Jun 13, 2019 at 11:48 AM UTC

Love is a Violent Act

Love is a violent act. I mean, how does something, So sweet and lovely, Make you ready to commit, Brutality and adultery, And render us so incapable, Of thinking past jealousy? With red words fogging our eyes, And a black void echoing between our ears, I think love is a violent act. For nothing like it, Motivates us to tear down cities, Dance in the ruins, And rebuilt something new, All for one person. Love is a violent act, That makes us take our hearts, Pry, rip and tear slowly from our chests, And lay it as an offering, To someone who doesn't want it. Love is such a violent act, Melting our brains and controlling our tongues, Numbing us to the fact that if we care, we will hurt, Giving us an addiction worse than that to drugs, God, it made us do so many things we shouldn't have done. Love is such an unforgivable, Violent, Act.

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1114 The largest Fire ever known Occurs each Afternoon— Discovered is without surprise Proceeds without concern— Consumes and no report to men An Occidental Town, Rebuilt another morning To be burned down again.

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5.2k

Emily Dickinson

The largest Fire ever known

1114 The largest Fire ever known Occurs each Afternoon— Discovered is without surprise Proceeds without concern— Consumes and no report to men An Occidental Town, Rebuilt another morning To be burned down again.

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we want to say that we built this house with our hands with our blood we built this house and burned it down we rebuilt this house and burned it down we rebuilt this house and stayed i want to tell you that my father builds houses for a living but i have never lived in one i want to tell you that my mother still asks how you're doing i want to say that we built this house and it's never abandoned and we are never waiting by the windows that we always have wood for the fireplace we never drink alone i never fall asleep in the shower in this house our love keeps the lights on you can feel it through the floorboards like vibrations through a phonograph through the hardwood through your back we sleep monday through thursday and get paid on weekends to drink whiskey and slow dance in the kitchen we roll around in bed trying to catch the light our bodies become curtains or sponges you soak me up like sunshine and nobody asks where i went we always finish what we start i become welcome mat, welcome back, come back, come home i turned the basement into a music room when it rains for you it never floods we built this house with our hands, with our love, with our blood there is wood for the fireplace the flames never spread

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Oct 12, 2015

Oct 12, 2015 at 5:49 PM UTC

we want to say that we built this house with our hands with our blood we built this house and burned it down we rebuilt this house and burned it down we rebuilt this house and stayed i want to tell you that my father builds houses for a living but i have never lived in one i want to tell you that my mother still asks how you're doing i want to say that we built this house and it's never abandoned and we are never waiting by the windows that we always have wood for the fireplace we never drink alone i never fall asleep in the shower in this house our love keeps the lights on you can feel it through the floorboards like vibrations through a phonograph through the hardwood through your back we sleep monday through thursday and get paid on weekends to drink whiskey and slow dance in the kitchen we roll around in bed trying to catch the light our bodies become curtains or sponges you soak me up like sunshine and nobody asks where i went we always finish what we start i become welcome mat, welcome back, come back, come home i turned the basement into a music room when it rains for you it never floods we built this house with our hands, with our love, with our blood there is wood for the fireplace the flames never spread

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How can I reach the unreachable.. teach the unteachable who's comprehension is unbelieveable But the fact is unbelief is more than lack of knowledge.. Cause the truth is even Satan knows who God is.. Is it blindness... truth on deaf ears.. the embracing of silence.. should there be surpises .. when behind your eyelids enter a random act of violence.. A vision of darkness ..there's no light that why the pupils dilate the use of the iris.. But when use to darkness and the lights hits one close their eyelids.. I.e. Christ the truth the way the light.. Being unsaved is like living in the womb.. Darkness equivalent to that of a tomb.. Flashes of light is like labor contractions.. The unknown conviction hinting.. Considered a distraction.. Pushed out now watch the eyes reaction.. To the light cause from darkness there's a detachment.. If given a chance a adjustment happens.. An embracement of the light.. A rebirth Christ in action. How can i reach the unreachable..teach the unteachable .. With a script the director unknown Its more than the shout of action.. Living life like a movie unaware that the villains not acting.. Now could u imagine.. A movie set full of madness.. All the cast dead like really dead from a stabbing.. No equalizer the villain the only one left standing.. You may say excuse me.. Life is not a movie. Truly But a witness not performing there duty..is bystander.. No innocence exist... No bliss in ignorance... .Cause we all birth into sin. So many questions with wrong answers given like the truth don't exist.... How can I reach the unreachable teach the unteachable who I tell to this body of Christ they should enlist But when a pass is given and the shot is missed.. It negates the assist.. A reason for the lost of the game.. The thought of a lost soul has me ****** I'm the point guard I help the scorer sustain.. Chris Paul with rock which is the gospel.. Passing the truth like Paul the apostle .. Too many people out for a win like Christ didn't settle the score... Adam severed the relationship but Christ rebuilt the rapport... I am trying to reach and teach but there's no trust any more... Pointing u in the direction of accepting the Lord.., Embrace the word of God that double edge sword.. Them cuts is conviction.. The sword swinging is What it means to be a witness.. Led by the spirit A Christian Yes we are made in Gods image.. Trying to reach every soul because the wins and losses count.. Life is not a scrimmage.. How can one soul have a blemish.. Only dirt that can touch the soul is the ***** hands of sinning.. How can I reach the unreachable teach the unteachable..Who mistakes knowledge for ignorance... And reject truth because arrogance..

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May 22, 2013

May 22, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC

corey-christ-lyrical-worship

How can I reach the unreachable.. teach the unteachable who's comprehension is unbelieveable But the fact is unbelief is more than lack of knowledge.. Cause the truth is even Satan knows who God is.. Is it blindness... truth on deaf ears.. the embracing of silence.. should there be surpises .. when behind your eyelids enter a random act of violence.. A vision of darkness ..there's no light that why the pupils dilate the use of the iris.. But when use to darkness and the lights hits one close their eyelids.. I.e. Christ the truth the way the light.. Being unsaved is like living in the womb.. Darkness equivalent to that of a tomb.. Flashes of light is like labor contractions.. The unknown conviction hinting.. Considered a distraction.. Pushed out now watch the eyes reaction.. To the light cause from darkness there's a detachment.. If given a chance a adjustment happens.. An embracement of the light.. A rebirth Christ in action. How can i reach the unreachable..teach the unteachable .. With a script the director unknown Its more than the shout of action.. Living life like a movie unaware that the villains not acting.. Now could u imagine.. A movie set full of madness.. All the cast dead like really dead from a stabbing.. No equalizer the villain the only one left standing.. You may say excuse me.. Life is not a movie. Truly But a witness not performing there duty..is bystander.. No innocence exist... No bliss in ignorance... .Cause we all birth into sin. So many questions with wrong answers given like the truth don't exist.... How can I reach the unreachable teach the unteachable who I tell to this body of Christ they should enlist But when a pass is given and the shot is missed.. It negates the assist.. A reason for the lost of the game.. The thought of a lost soul has me ****** I'm the point guard I help the scorer sustain.. Chris Paul with rock which is the gospel.. Passing the truth like Paul the apostle .. Too many people out for a win like Christ didn't settle the score... Adam severed the relationship but Christ rebuilt the rapport... I am trying to reach and teach but there's no trust any more... Pointing u in the direction of accepting the Lord.., Embrace the word of God that double edge sword.. Them cuts is conviction.. The sword swinging is What it means to be a witness.. Led by the spirit A Christian Yes we are made in Gods image.. Trying to reach every soul because the wins and losses count.. Life is not a scrimmage.. How can one soul have a blemish.. Only dirt that can touch the soul is the ***** hands of sinning.. How can I reach the unreachable teach the unteachable..Who mistakes knowledge for ignorance... And reject truth because arrogance..

Continue reading...

I want to be torn into shreds. Take me apart at the joints. Break the best of me. Destroy all the human in me. I need to be rebuilt. A new start. Something better than before. Build me into complete again.

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Aug 7, 2014

Aug 7, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC

I want to be torn into shreds. Take me apart at the joints. Break the best of me. Destroy all the human in me. I need to be rebuilt. A new start. Something better than before. Build me into complete again.

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I scream so that I know i can still speak. I weep so i know i still feel. I break down so i can be rebuilt. I run to make it someplace. I hate so i must destroy. I die so i must live. I try so all i have must be destroyed. I hope so i must have dreams. I dream so I must never achieve. The sands of time fall the same for all of us, we all must at some point drown in those sands. Does the earth pray that we all melt away faster for we have defiled her. Do the waves of the see do the shore a favor by destroying it faster, did at one time the land plea with the sea to take it away? Did the sea not have the strength to let its friend go? Were the hands of man made to love and hold or destroy and throw away? Is there really more after we die, do we really deserve that gift? When will a poor mans hope make the world into a better place?

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Oct 5, 2011

Oct 5, 2011 at 2:27 AM UTC

I scream so that I know i can still speak. I weep so i know i still feel. I break down so i can be rebuilt. I run to make it someplace. I hate so i must destroy. I die so i must live. I try so all i have must be destroyed. I hope so i must have dreams. I dream so I must never achieve. The sands of time fall the same for all of us, we all must at some point drown in those sands. Does the earth pray that we all melt away faster for we have defiled her. Do the waves of the see do the shore a favor by destroying it faster, did at one time the land plea with the sea to take it away? Did the sea not have the strength to let its friend go? Were the hands of man made to love and hold or destroy and throw away? Is there really more after we die, do we really deserve that gift? When will a poor mans hope make the world into a better place?

Continue reading...

. Watching the rise and the fall of a kingdom Walls once rebuilt again tumble the ground Allowing the beasties free reign in the village Bellowing out o’er the wickedest sound Pacing the streets, seeking out bits of garbage Leaving their stains on the innocent few Leering in windows where children are hiding Tender young things and so easy to chew Thieves in the night lurk about come the morning Stealing the sun at the break of the dawn Drinking of sewage a’ flow in the gutters Checking off names as the many are gone Peering ‘round corners, down alleys, in shadows Seeking the favor of all who do grieve Laughing in spite of the torment now growing Licking their lips in the hope you believe Roaming in groups so the followed outnumber Say what you will for the king does not hear Lost in his throne made of mirrors that flatter Shivering, cowering, caving to fear Deaf to the villagers asking for reason Blind to the pillage befalling this land Dumb, well I guess that just goes without saying Nary a care what the people demand Feasting on turkey, potatoes and gravy Raising a glass to the enemy proud Taking a stand against those who support him Locking the front doors while yelling aloud ***“Carry your torches, your pitchforks, your honor It matters not for this evil shall win Even when gone there are echoes of anger Lingering on till they come back again Give them your all, what you’ve poured your heart into Down on your knees, bow to them one and all Step over rock and the piles of rubble This castle will stand even when the walls fall Shout all you like as no change is forthcoming Accept it or flee, you think I give a **** When you are gone many more will replace you Now pass those peas and a slice of that ham”*** So roam the beasties, their teeth ever sharpened Fanning the flames as so many are burned Tearing apart what the people envisioned Silly to think that they somehow had learned Nothing so happy with no ever after Always the same, it will happen again But unlike some other long winded stories Sadly in this I can not say “the end” Watching the rise and the fall of a kingdom Walls once rebuilt again tumble the ground Thankfully I can peruse from a distance Witnessing all without hanging around

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Jul 8, 2016

Jul 8, 2016 at 9:25 AM UTC

Nothing so happy with no ever after

. Watching the rise and the fall of a kingdom Walls once rebuilt again tumble the ground Allowing the beasties free reign in the village Bellowing out o’er the wickedest sound Pacing the streets, seeking out bits of garbage Leaving their stains on the innocent few Leering in windows where children are hiding Tender young things and so easy to chew Thieves in the night lurk about come the morning Stealing the sun at the break of the dawn Drinking of sewage a’ flow in the gutters Checking off names as the many are gone Peering ‘round corners, down alleys, in shadows Seeking the favor of all who do grieve Laughing in spite of the torment now growing Licking their lips in the hope you believe Roaming in groups so the followed outnumber Say what you will for the king does not hear Lost in his throne made of mirrors that flatter Shivering, cowering, caving to fear Deaf to the villagers asking for reason Blind to the pillage befalling this land Dumb, well I guess that just goes without saying Nary a care what the people demand Feasting on turkey, potatoes and gravy Raising a glass to the enemy proud Taking a stand against those who support him Locking the front doors while yelling aloud ***“Carry your torches, your pitchforks, your honor It matters not for this evil shall win Even when gone there are echoes of anger Lingering on till they come back again Give them your all, what you’ve poured your heart into Down on your knees, bow to them one and all Step over rock and the piles of rubble This castle will stand even when the walls fall Shout all you like as no change is forthcoming Accept it or flee, you think I give a **** When you are gone many more will replace you Now pass those peas and a slice of that ham”*** So roam the beasties, their teeth ever sharpened Fanning the flames as so many are burned Tearing apart what the people envisioned Silly to think that they somehow had learned Nothing so happy with no ever after Always the same, it will happen again But unlike some other long winded stories Sadly in this I can not say “the end” Watching the rise and the fall of a kingdom Walls once rebuilt again tumble the ground Thankfully I can peruse from a distance Witnessing all without hanging around

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The poem was inspired by a particular photo of the WT C, and after that by my first visit to the 9/11 Memorial. On the day of 9/11, I was working about a diagonal mile away, and from our windows, we could see people jumping to their death. Open sky annulled to bordered lines of uptown edges, worldview momentarily forcibly redefined by memories of buildings and sadder days, recollections of pillars of biblical smoke rising A photograph makes me look up, and sit down historically, need to catch a breath, to rest mentally, upon a storied small bridge's steps, that I well recall, a disappeared street stoop. all were rubble then and once upon that day. Wear, tear, and older eyes distill perspective, but the hardy heart is hardly stilled by the recognizable gray upon bon vivant gray reflective surfaces of memories of buildings and sadder days So today, on a reborn street, I rest upon reconstituted speckled curbstone, the city's lowered down ledges, the city's lowered down-town boundaries, constantly redrawn, but nonetheless, always rebuilt from their own regenerated stony compost, and the NY passersby doesn't even notice a man, head in hands, silently weeping, thinking that: We throw away so much we should have kept. We keep so much we should have thrown away. Lose keepsakes, but keep our mysterious sadnesses locked away in compartments that open only to benedictions uttered in ancient tongues. Make your own list, be your own curator, catalogue visions of sophomoric triumphs, museum mile pile those early poetic drafts, be unafraid of memories raw and ungentrified, overlaid, buried underneath postmortem of dust-piles of senior critiques Finally went downtown to see where the blessed water falls into catacomb pits that once were the foundations of buildings that ruled the cityscape, downtown anchors for a modern city that exists only because it was built on million year old granite bedrock Stone monuments are stolid, discrete. Memories are of grayed, frayed edge consistency. Negatives resurrected that survive digitally, all blend synthetically, layer upon layer, essence distilled in a single, black and white photograph that serves to disturb complacency, awaken stilled pain, reflections suppressed, are restored

0

Sep 11, 2013

Sep 11, 2013 at 6:36 PM UTC

The poem was inspired by a particular photo of the WT C, and after that by my first visit to the 9/11 Memorial. On the day of 9/11, I was working about a diagonal mile away, and from our windows, we could see people jumping to their death. Open sky annulled to bordered lines of uptown edges, worldview momentarily forcibly redefined by memories of buildings and sadder days, recollections of pillars of biblical smoke rising A photograph makes me look up, and sit down historically, need to catch a breath, to rest mentally, upon a storied small bridge's steps, that I well recall, a disappeared street stoop. all were rubble then and once upon that day. Wear, tear, and older eyes distill perspective, but the hardy heart is hardly stilled by the recognizable gray upon bon vivant gray reflective surfaces of memories of buildings and sadder days So today, on a reborn street, I rest upon reconstituted speckled curbstone, the city's lowered down ledges, the city's lowered down-town boundaries, constantly redrawn, but nonetheless, always rebuilt from their own regenerated stony compost, and the NY passersby doesn't even notice a man, head in hands, silently weeping, thinking that: We throw away so much we should have kept. We keep so much we should have thrown away. Lose keepsakes, but keep our mysterious sadnesses locked away in compartments that open only to benedictions uttered in ancient tongues. Make your own list, be your own curator, catalogue visions of sophomoric triumphs, museum mile pile those early poetic drafts, be unafraid of memories raw and ungentrified, overlaid, buried underneath postmortem of dust-piles of senior critiques Finally went downtown to see where the blessed water falls into catacomb pits that once were the foundations of buildings that ruled the cityscape, downtown anchors for a modern city that exists only because it was built on million year old granite bedrock Stone monuments are stolid, discrete. Memories are of grayed, frayed edge consistency. Negatives resurrected that survive digitally, all blend synthetically, layer upon layer, essence distilled in a single, black and white photograph that serves to disturb complacency, awaken stilled pain, reflections suppressed, are restored

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1 We're not in darkest Africa and jungles don't adorn, this little bit of overgrown that wraps around our lawn, 2 Plants of pretty colors sit comfortable in there bed, and about two dozen footsteps find us at the potting shed. 3 Our potting shed has seen better days, some parts have been rebuilt and it's suffering from subsidence for it's slightly on a tilt. 4 The walls desperately need painting because the wood has got some rot but a boring place to come and sit it definitely is not. 5 Odds and ends adorn the shelves and the places spiders tread where the dust has piled on the weight and the woodworm may have spread. 6 Smells that we first come across carry the scent of damp, foul stinks from half empty sacks, paint tins that have gone rank. 7 An old oil lamp expel the rust like dandruff from my head reigning down golden crumbs that looks like toasted bread. 8 We think that we have found some proof of what might linger around footprints so large and evident that a Tigers walked upon this ground. 9 So while we have been sleeping and resting through the night there's been a Tiger in our shed but he keeps out of sight. 10 We've sorted through many boxes we've moved some things aside, looked into shadows with a torch but we can't find where he hides. 11 Perhaps he's gone out hunting for an evening meal, eyeing up the neighbors dog with energetic zeal. 12 Perhaps he's out sunbathing, sitting somewhere in a tree camouflaged with all those stripes, that's the reason we can't see. 13 I don't know if he's Sumatran, Siberian or Bengal and he doesn't ever show himself or come to me when I call. 14 I believe he stays outside all day and only hides in here at night but I won't come down here when its dark only in the light. 15 He is a wild animal so one must take the some care for he could be stalking us as prey he could spring from anywhere. 16 But we leave the door unlocked for him and we've made a comfy bed, and a sign that just reads "WELCOME" to the Tiger in our shed

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Dec 19, 2014

Dec 19, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC

christopher-k-bayliss

The Tiger in our Shed!

1 We're not in darkest Africa and jungles don't adorn, this little bit of overgrown that wraps around our lawn, 2 Plants of pretty colors sit comfortable in there bed, and about two dozen footsteps find us at the potting shed. 3 Our potting shed has seen better days, some parts have been rebuilt and it's suffering from subsidence for it's slightly on a tilt. 4 The walls desperately need painting because the wood has got some rot but a boring place to come and sit it definitely is not. 5 Odds and ends adorn the shelves and the places spiders tread where the dust has piled on the weight and the woodworm may have spread. 6 Smells that we first come across carry the scent of damp, foul stinks from half empty sacks, paint tins that have gone rank. 7 An old oil lamp expel the rust like dandruff from my head reigning down golden crumbs that looks like toasted bread. 8 We think that we have found some proof of what might linger around footprints so large and evident that a Tigers walked upon this ground. 9 So while we have been sleeping and resting through the night there's been a Tiger in our shed but he keeps out of sight. 10 We've sorted through many boxes we've moved some things aside, looked into shadows with a torch but we can't find where he hides. 11 Perhaps he's gone out hunting for an evening meal, eyeing up the neighbors dog with energetic zeal. 12 Perhaps he's out sunbathing, sitting somewhere in a tree camouflaged with all those stripes, that's the reason we can't see. 13 I don't know if he's Sumatran, Siberian or Bengal and he doesn't ever show himself or come to me when I call. 14 I believe he stays outside all day and only hides in here at night but I won't come down here when its dark only in the light. 15 He is a wild animal so one must take the some care for he could be stalking us as prey he could spring from anywhere. 16 But we leave the door unlocked for him and we've made a comfy bed, and a sign that just reads "WELCOME" to the Tiger in our shed

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The stitching creases on a blank canvas A mindblowing beautiful pale coloring Never showing justice to the beauty As the canvas has already been covered In permanent marking That once made all stitching come undone The depth the paintbrush had made Was a cry for help The markings of the painter showed anger Not at anyone But at himself With no other solution Your beautiful canvas has been destroyed Yet rebuilt With a story to tell with every marking.

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Jul 28, 2014

Jul 28, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC

The stitching creases on a blank canvas A mindblowing beautiful pale coloring Never showing justice to the beauty As the canvas has already been covered In permanent marking That once made all stitching come undone The depth the paintbrush had made Was a cry for help The markings of the painter showed anger Not at anyone But at himself With no other solution Your beautiful canvas has been destroyed Yet rebuilt With a story to tell with every marking.

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A puzzle and its tiny pieces With little details and creases Fitting perfectly to the right parts Creating one whole piece of art Puzzles can be quite a handful It's fragile yet still beautiful It's time consuming and requires attention From beginning up till completion Remember that each piece is vital To lose one is highly crucial No two pieces are the same Each has its own part to claim Emptiness of one piece filled by another And careless mistakes that can make you start over Once it's finished it can be put up for display Or can be rebuilt again on another day As I was completing my puzzle I accidentally gave it a hard nuzzle The pieces went flying all over All that effort now just a blur I started to pick up the pieces one by one Wishing that they're still intact Realizing that the puzzle is (still) undone I hope I can get you, my missing piece back

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Aug 26, 2015

Aug 26, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC

Missing Puzzle Piece

A puzzle and its tiny pieces With little details and creases Fitting perfectly to the right parts Creating one whole piece of art Puzzles can be quite a handful It's fragile yet still beautiful It's time consuming and requires attention From beginning up till completion Remember that each piece is vital To lose one is highly crucial No two pieces are the same Each has its own part to claim Emptiness of one piece filled by another And careless mistakes that can make you start over Once it's finished it can be put up for display Or can be rebuilt again on another day As I was completing my puzzle I accidentally gave it a hard nuzzle The pieces went flying all over All that effort now just a blur I started to pick up the pieces one by one Wishing that they're still intact Realizing that the puzzle is (still) undone I hope I can get you, my missing piece back

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They say you only know what you're made of when you're broken. I found out I am made of Lego blocks - capable of being destroyed rebuilt restructured from one form to the next. I have been a dark fortress with dungeons and dragons and creatures that crawl out from the night But I have been broken down I have been taken down, piece by piece by little piece, lost a couple of parts, and now is slowly being rebuilt into a treehouse full of rainbows, fairies and happy thoughts Ahh Neverland, that's what they call it And I will fly My one and only Wendy to this new home.

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Oct 23, 2013

Oct 23, 2013 at 9:42 AM UTC

Lego Blocks. Letters to Anne 10/23/13

They say you only know what you're made of when you're broken. I found out I am made of Lego blocks - capable of being destroyed rebuilt restructured from one form to the next. I have been a dark fortress with dungeons and dragons and creatures that crawl out from the night But I have been broken down I have been taken down, piece by piece by little piece, lost a couple of parts, and now is slowly being rebuilt into a treehouse full of rainbows, fairies and happy thoughts Ahh Neverland, that's what they call it And I will fly My one and only Wendy to this new home.

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I hate things that creep, crawl, slither, and sting. But of all these, I hate spiders the most. Why? Because they’re just all … they’re all YUCK! That’s why. Spiders are one of the worst kinds of insects (arachnids but whatever) because they are the only kind that purposely tries to **** with you. See, unlike ants, or caterpillars, or even nasty-old silverfish, spiders don’t care whether or not you know they’re there. These monsters don’t bother to hide from you. Nah, they’re all like, “I know you see me motha’ ***** and I know you ain’t gonna do nothin’ ‘bout it ‘cause you know I’ma just go **** and end up in yo shirt!” One of the most common things that people who aren’t afraid of spiders say is this: “Kevin, you shouldn’t **** spiders.” Me: “Why not?” Them: “Because they eat other bugs.” I think what people don’t realize is that … I don’t care! So what if spiders eat other bugs? I’d rather have the other bugs than have those god-awful things creeping around my house. Whenever someone reminds me that spiders eat other bugs, I honestly wish I had the power to communicate with insects, because as far as I’m concerned we have a common enemy. I would join forces with the flies and ants or whatever to **** every single spider in my house. Then I would betray my new friends and **** them too. Case solved. But, as I think about it, it’s not just spiders that people tell me not to **** because they “eat other bugs.” Now that I think about it, every single thing that “eats other bugs” is also ten times more ******* scary than the things they’re supposed to be killing. Have you guys ever seen a “house spider” sometimes called a “house centipede"? If not, google it right now. That’s the kinda’ thing people tell you not to **** because it eats the other bugs. But just looking at its picture I’m like “holy **** I’ll take a few mosquitoes over that **** any day!” See, what people don’t realize is that I don’t hate spiders just for the sake of hating them. I hate them because when I see one I want to burn my house down and have it rebuilt from scratch. If I fail to **** a spider and the thing runs off, I will not sleep until my target has been apprehended and killed. I will literally sit near the spot it disappeared to with a flashlight and a can of windex until it returns to face its crime of entering my room. O.o yep.

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Jul 2, 2013

Jul 2, 2013 at 9:28 PM UTC

Rant of the Arachnophobic

I hate things that creep, crawl, slither, and sting. But of all these, I hate spiders the most. Why? Because they’re just all … they’re all YUCK! That’s why. Spiders are one of the worst kinds of insects (arachnids but whatever) because they are the only kind that purposely tries to **** with you. See, unlike ants, or caterpillars, or even nasty-old silverfish, spiders don’t care whether or not you know they’re there. These monsters don’t bother to hide from you. Nah, they’re all like, “I know you see me motha’ ***** and I know you ain’t gonna do nothin’ ‘bout it ‘cause you know I’ma just go **** and end up in yo shirt!” One of the most common things that people who aren’t afraid of spiders say is this: “Kevin, you shouldn’t **** spiders.” Me: “Why not?” Them: “Because they eat other bugs.” I think what people don’t realize is that … I don’t care! So what if spiders eat other bugs? I’d rather have the other bugs than have those god-awful things creeping around my house. Whenever someone reminds me that spiders eat other bugs, I honestly wish I had the power to communicate with insects, because as far as I’m concerned we have a common enemy. I would join forces with the flies and ants or whatever to **** every single spider in my house. Then I would betray my new friends and **** them too. Case solved. But, as I think about it, it’s not just spiders that people tell me not to **** because they “eat other bugs.” Now that I think about it, every single thing that “eats other bugs” is also ten times more ******* scary than the things they’re supposed to be killing. Have you guys ever seen a “house spider” sometimes called a “house centipede"? If not, google it right now. That’s the kinda’ thing people tell you not to **** because it eats the other bugs. But just looking at its picture I’m like “holy **** I’ll take a few mosquitoes over that **** any day!” See, what people don’t realize is that I don’t hate spiders just for the sake of hating them. I hate them because when I see one I want to burn my house down and have it rebuilt from scratch. If I fail to **** a spider and the thing runs off, I will not sleep until my target has been apprehended and killed. I will literally sit near the spot it disappeared to with a flashlight and a can of windex until it returns to face its crime of entering my room. O.o yep.

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~ one more for patty m. ~ slept late after dancing with my devils, from, from the wee, until a pealing pearl from the Earl of Dawn, recovering from an intrusion~invasion~brain~regurgitation, and it’s nearly 9am, sipping my first cuppa Hawaiian, & woke to a repost of a ten year old wondering plea(1) makes me think “This old thing,” poem, like a fav frock/suit that still drapes perfectly, and yet draws the ***** admiration and drippy drawling yummy compliments, gracefully, gratefully demurred with them three words, & it’s 8:39am, Bruce pitching in with “Born in the USA” recipe for a new thank u Gawd poem to make room for a fast~break diet for an old man with a rebuilt ticker, this very emission~transmission of a verbal politesse writ going some where, cooked on a medium slow burner fueling dressed up seeds of heartfelt appreciation made of ancient oat grasses birthing a poem~child of thanks to the Lawd for one more day, opportunity, the five sense’s delivery gratitude and gratifications, and the desire to intertwine the sights, music, a crisp blue November Sky, the need to bleed brew these words into a fulfilling, second moment mug, for the pearls and Earls of poetic humans 10:01am Thu Nov 2 2023

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Nov 2, 2023

Nov 2, 2023 at 10:16 AM UTC

“This old thing?” (of gratitude and gratifications)

~ one more for patty m. ~ slept late after dancing with my devils, from, from the wee, until a pealing pearl from the Earl of Dawn, recovering from an intrusion~invasion~brain~regurgitation, and it’s nearly 9am, sipping my first cuppa Hawaiian, & woke to a repost of a ten year old wondering plea(1) makes me think “This old thing,” poem, like a fav frock/suit that still drapes perfectly, and yet draws the ***** admiration and drippy drawling yummy compliments, gracefully, gratefully demurred with them three words, & it’s 8:39am, Bruce pitching in with “Born in the USA” recipe for a new thank u Gawd poem to make room for a fast~break diet for an old man with a rebuilt ticker, this very emission~transmission of a verbal politesse writ going some where, cooked on a medium slow burner fueling dressed up seeds of heartfelt appreciation made of ancient oat grasses birthing a poem~child of thanks to the Lawd for one more day, opportunity, the five sense’s delivery gratitude and gratifications, and the desire to intertwine the sights, music, a crisp blue November Sky, the need to bleed brew these words into a fulfilling, second moment mug, for the pearls and Earls of poetic humans 10:01am Thu Nov 2 2023

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Will my body remain a temple after you penetrate its innocence? Will these hands be forever stained by filth and guilt? Will the world forgive me for the sins in this lifetime? Will I ever have the chance to see this corrupt ground rebuilt?

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Jun 18, 2015

Jun 18, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC

Will my body remain a temple after you penetrate its innocence? Will these hands be forever stained by filth and guilt? Will the world forgive me for the sins in this lifetime? Will I ever have the chance to see this corrupt ground rebuilt?

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She was strong Strong as steel She was so strong But she could still feel She was strong And so was her call But just as strong Around her heart, were walls The walls were strong So, so strong. To keep out boys who might do her wrong But along came a boy Who told her things that she never knew And to her surprise, this boy stayed true. And after a while, she saw he was still there And yes she was strong But it takes strength to care. So she opened her door And let him inside He rebuilt her walls So she didn't have to hide He rebuilt the walls And put windows in So that the warm, warm sunshine could come flooding in.

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Aug 23, 2014

Aug 23, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC

She was strong Strong as steel She was so strong But she could still feel She was strong And so was her call But just as strong Around her heart, were walls The walls were strong So, so strong. To keep out boys who might do her wrong But along came a boy Who told her things that she never knew And to her surprise, this boy stayed true. And after a while, she saw he was still there And yes she was strong But it takes strength to care. So she opened her door And let him inside He rebuilt her walls So she didn't have to hide He rebuilt the walls And put windows in So that the warm, warm sunshine could come flooding in.

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You saw me naked. Not without clothes, but without my wall. The 10 foot, steel reinforced, wall around my heart. You broke in, brick by brick. And I let you, I let you see me vulnerable. Forgetting what others had done to me when they saw me the same. I wish I could say you were different. But, you saw me naked. And you laughed, pointed out my insecurities, and broke me so much that I rebuilt my wall. I rebuilt it higher and stronger than before. Protecting my heart from so called love. You also saw me without clothes. Burned your touch into my skin. Whispered sweet nothings into my ear, and that's just what they meant. Nothing. I can't look at my body without thinking about you. Because, you saw me naked. Defenseless and with open arms. I shouldn't have trusted you. But I did anyway. I thought that since you had a wall to we would be amazing together. But. I never saw you naked.

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Jan 31, 2018

Jan 31, 2018 at 8:54 AM UTC

You saw me naked...

You saw me naked. Not without clothes, but without my wall. The 10 foot, steel reinforced, wall around my heart. You broke in, brick by brick. And I let you, I let you see me vulnerable. Forgetting what others had done to me when they saw me the same. I wish I could say you were different. But, you saw me naked. And you laughed, pointed out my insecurities, and broke me so much that I rebuilt my wall. I rebuilt it higher and stronger than before. Protecting my heart from so called love. You also saw me without clothes. Burned your touch into my skin. Whispered sweet nothings into my ear, and that's just what they meant. Nothing. I can't look at my body without thinking about you. Because, you saw me naked. Defenseless and with open arms. I shouldn't have trusted you. But I did anyway. I thought that since you had a wall to we would be amazing together. But. I never saw you naked.

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