"rebut" poems
Before i met you i was in love with me
Im now left with a hatred towards her
Never would i think
We’d make it this far
Yet be so behind
Wasted time and wasted love
All i ever wanted was the truest form
I could care less for lust.
If i could go back in time
Do you know i would take your place
And if I ever lost you
did you know I'd meet you cause I couldn't stay
My body feels less than what is
No, it's not my anxiety it's my confidence
That has flown away.
I thought our love was that great.
And who’s to say it’s not
My love can cover a sea of hungry men
Yet only for you I’ve always kept it.
Because in the end i always meant it
Old fashioned is what they call my treasures yet the only true treasure i keep close is love.
Not a foreign bag
Just the truest form that'll last
It’s gone now I’m gone now- rebut
Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 5:26 PM UTC
All the experiences
from life's coffers
I'm willing to take
To commit into text
with deliberate romanticism
My brand of unspoken poetry
with sense
only I can make
To rebut
my mind's
skeptic cynicism
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 7:34 PM UTC
You, story master of comparison
Can you see without your Claritin?
Even the tools of your insight
Have they helped to make things right?
The story of your life
Is one among many
Your unique point of view
May only be true for you
And those that think like you do
There really is something to this wish fulfillment
But don’t think because you saw it out there
It’s the lords’ prayer.
So thinkers think
and
lovers’ love
and
dreamers continue in dreams.
Still, everything is not what it seems.
We think we are above
the beautiful greenery
scenery that we see
but did you ever see a tree
compare itself to another
Said one tree to another:
Your foliage is a pale shade of yellow
Your bark is a lark
And you can’t play the cello
Like me
What kind of tree can you be?
Do the bees share their honey
or
does one crafty bee have a secret stash
hidden below the window sash
that he’s saving for a rainy day,
A getaway?
Did you ever hear a songbird say
My song is sweeter than yours.
My high notes higher
On swifter wings do I soar.
If you’re tempted like me
To let a bee be a bee
And a tree be a tree
You will understand
If you want to soar
Don’t first attempt it from the highest floor
Don’t think there is a highest floor
Don’t think you need to soar
Don’t try to understand
Just let a bee be a bee
A tree be a tree
These are the things will set you free
Like the wind
You will wind like a gentle breeze
Then gust if you must
Never making a fuss
Don’t think you are,
Were, will ever be, anything
More or less than me,
Us, you, they, whoever
It was when I realized that all my trying
Simply wasn’t working
And I gave up.
But all it caused to say was
****
I get it,
I really do
But,
Personally
If I want to keep you near dear
I must set you free dear
Understand it’s very hard for me
I think you’ll agree.
I know what to do
Doesn’t mean I’ll do it
I’m not like a gentle breeze
More like a hurricane than a sneeze
Depends on your point of view
Because you see me,
Through you.
It’s true.
I have no idea what that means
It may be true
For all I know
I said so I should have meant it
I think it’s more like
I see through you,
Too
You can come out of the closet
And I will come out too,
But only with you.
Because we are the only two in there.
I don’t see anyone else.
Do you?
I’m not suggesting what you think
Far from it
So far from it
You know what I mean
No point in explaining
If nobody gets it
You do
And you’re not complaining.
So if you don’t want to be a bored buddha,
Eat some bread and buttar
Don’t forget to shutter
Stutter
Flutter
Mutter
Never rebut her
Never say mame
Because you found the only ******
And now you’re in a jam.
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 9:56 AM UTC
Last night an estranged man came to my door.
Upon its opening we stared, unsure
of why the other one stood opposite.
"Excuse me, but what do you solicit?
Do you know anyone home at present?"
Besotted by ale, "Yes, for I live here."
Rash in my response, he could not rebut,
I should have helped, yet I slammed the door shut...
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 11:22 PM UTC
I tasted every bitter lie
As you shoved them down my throat
Now I'm full of poison-soaked phrases
Badly in need of an antidote
Lost promises rest in my abdomen
Next to the deception I was fed
I need a cure for untrue words
Before this illness renders me dead
Fallacies come crawling back up
Venom rising in my windpipe
Sick to my stomach with acceptance
Your falsehoods have become overripe
I can't contain the toxic deceit
It's overflowing from my gut
Excuses pour out from my mouth
Alibis Ive managed to rebut
The ***** burns my weary tongue
Sour as it leaves my lips
Betrayal has me feeling queasy
Unwell from hearing your rehearsed scripts
My stomach empties it's contents
Spewing intricate facades
Until it is rid of all the
Charades, illusions, and frauds
Infected with dishonesty
My body is rocked by unease
I've taken a turn for the worse
Consumed by this relentless disease
This virus I have come down with
Takes it's toll on my heart and mind
I grow more fatigued each day
But relief I have yet to find
Chills, shakes, soreness, and migraines
Plague my organs, bones, and skin
My muscles are endlessly cramping
I loathe the fever I'm burning in
I do not know why I feast on your
contaminated reality
I'm sure if I continue to
I will soon be a fatality
My health is deteriorating
Still i dine on fantasies unreal
I hope for a miracle pill but
My flesh may not be able to heal
I fear I'll be plagued as long as I
Swallow your lies, deranged and uncouth
The cure I have been longing for
is a simple medicine called Truth
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 5:33 AM UTC
bilanya cinta rebut logika
pun buah mengkudu dikata tebu
bilanya cinta rasuki jiwa
sepiring nasipun selalu ada bayang dirimu
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 9:08 PM UTC
My name is Thomas de Charney
16 years old but rarely play
Father a humble Templar Knight
Pedigree noble bloodline might
Was born special is all I know
For God’s direction to and fro
Shield from danger ab ovo
Reason revealed from His glow
Broadsword and lance, reading abound
Practice and fight til victors crowned
Warrior and Monk seen as one
One and Only Begotten Son
Father taught me the skill to fight
Learn skill to read on parchment write
Knight Templar to be, but then what ?
Fate left to God with no rebut
Then one day Father came to me
Young Parsifal son you will be
Sequestrated as directed
Pushed to excel unaffected
Templar Knight who carries his sword
Doing God’s work for no reward
Beget with specific design
Some day made known I do consign
_______________________________________
Father, it’s time we practice, yes—deke the
wield of your sword and parry your blows, and
push myself until all the sweat has left my
body. For I am a young Parsifal soon to become
a Templar Knight.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
I gave him eighteen years, thousands in gas money, and more music than he deserved, and all I got in return was a subscription to Fox News– which, by the way, is a complete ******** “thank you” gift because you can fool yourself into believing anything.
"You know what's going to happen tomorrow? Rain!" when in fact I'm certain its going to be a scorcher.
He sits bedside, making horrible jokes and bringing up remember-that-times. When will he ever pay the rent? Even though he doesn’t sleep here– he never sleeps– he should at least pay me in something other than beheading-dreams. And in the shower we review ****** flaws, and in the mirror we recount all the mean things I ever said or did to him for being such an insufferable *******
“Stop it.”
He looks uncomfortable, not as sure of himself. He ponders what I meant for a while, opens his mouth to rebut and gets another stop it.
“Stop it. Get a job.” Because he contributes nothing.
“But you should…”
“Stop it. Get a job, because all I’m gaining from us right now is a bunch of lies. Quit watching Fox News.”
“Listen here, ******
“Stop it. Get a job. Quit watching Fox News.” And he leaves for a couple hours.
He knocks.
“Stop it.”
The knocking stops.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
Sisters can be difficult creatures,
The towels left transforms me into a preacher.
They combine and plead that it wasn't either- of them,
Defending that they are benign and not leavers.
But I do not accept their lines, I rebut them and decline
What they are feeding me and a desire to confine them- overwhelms.
But instead of convulsing into a seizure or giving in to something malign and of a devious nature,
My words become fiercer as I deliver my "bottom-line"
To those rascally creatures that I wish to refine.
Yet I can hear features of mine, in their voices, before I was their keeper and only nine,
And it made me realize that I, too, once was a creature and not fully defined.
Calming down I enshrine myself and become a wistful dreamer.
To have things I've made stay made would be sublime, and so much cleaner.
And so- in my confines dreaming of refined sisterly creatures, I recline.
Alas, being a teacher makes me want to lie supine.
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 10:22 PM UTC
Here's an adage to evaluate:
God helps those who help themselves.
Allow me please to start debating,
Speaking first on race relations;
Then you might go on on tax deductions,
And I'll rebut with school age shootings,
And all the *** and moral misconduct;
But the pinnacle's reached
With hedonistic fate,
The Oval Office of those United States.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 9:25 AM UTC
Penghujung hari tiba
Kau menutup tirai panggung
Mengganti naskah dan cerita
Siap untuk kau mainkan kembali
Penghujung hari tiba
Hangat sentuhanmu menguap
Kecupanmu memudar
Kau rebut kembali rasa yang kau titipkan
Namun kitalah kepura-puraan yang sempurna
Dua tokoh utama dalam naskah drama
Aku cermin pecah yang berkali-kali direkatkan
Kaulah sang pandai kaca
Malam akan segera berlalu
Kau tutup tirai, siapkan panggung baru
Rias kembali wajah serta tubuhmu
Aku siap melupakan hari semalam
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 5:20 AM UTC
Poem is a thing of devotion
That rarefies mind's aperture
To captivate the reader's emotion
Through the winding lane of lines
With unparalled tincture
Matter manifests its mines
As the words waltz in detention
To mold the motion of thought
Rhythm ramifies perception
To reach the crest of credo
Via the voices that rebut
Poem elevates by veto.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC
Cresol dusk imbued to rustic hypnosis,
The civic stroll outside,zombified with
What must be glorious ataxia.
The masquerade hosted by dust,
An implicit surrender to the elements,
Basked in nocturnia-- lo,
The elements ceased having meaning
When I learnt I could not hold control
over them.
See the sky ramp and shiver,shuffling stars
In a showcase to those loving,an augury to those
Self-appointed sinners--
And see me,disconnected and without a care,
I surrender my breath as limboid tangents
And the elements do not rebut.
I am homed in becoming alone,
I am possessed in converse and I am lost
without the choice to be otherwise.
I watch the gimcrack mannerisms loop effably,
Understanding the road to omniscience is tipped
In ego alone--
One must not surrender,rather accept
And work a way round the system.
The cosmic map is eidetic,it's lanuage
dares not pander to speech,
it's sleep is one day needed
and complimentary to our own--
I listen to the madrigal and no longer seek to compose it,
I choose to believe that nothing is chosen.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 3:22 PM UTC
If I went back in time I’d kick myself in the shin,
try to grow a spine and then reinforce my chin,
with hardened steel over rusted tin.
‘Cause it’s taken hits beyond count, infact I’ve lost track of the amount,
but I know even with my jaw broken I can still force out a grin.
I don’t want to have to lie
but it seems I’m guided into it for an alibi,
and I can’t help but question why I try,
when there’s no one to answer to; just time flying by.
I’m not as stupid as I act,
but I guess I can say I’m a good actor.
I make a sound but immediately retract,
because in a split second I balance every factor.
I don’t want to be another casualty
in a war effort so effortlessly,
in a fight that shouldn’t concern me,
but my flight instinct took flight instinctively.
If I could go back in time I’d clock myself in the face,
past me would rebut “what a disgrace,”
while I’d agree to the mirrored me who’s never finishing, **** even last place.
I know that my shoes were tight and tied,
I was at the line waiting I never could hide,
but still I’d trip and flounder, I should’ve double checked each lace.
I don’t want to have to lie
but it seems it’s better than admitting defeat or spitting out a goodbye.
And I can’t help but wonder why,
I even cry when I’ve taped my mouth shut and closed each eye.
The butterfly of my effect has lost each wing,
trapped in a jar, not going far;
what a tragic thing.
I press my hand against the dome,
to let it be known, it’s not alone,
this prison’s now it’s home.
Poetry has given me the ability to travel through time
to stand in shoes I abandoned on the concrete.
Paint the scenery in every word and rhyme,
and change the outcome in each stanza and beat.
I fully feel the sun shine and the wind’s blow
every single day like I’ve just arrived and met.
Now I’m cursed to be a Romeo to a stand in Juliet.
Design the plan for me, and I’ll blur the lines and matra,
I’ll fight as Marc Anthony to only one Cleopatra.
Jul 16, 2019
Jul 16, 2019 at 11:16 PM UTC
When I'm 15,
I want to be happy and free.
I want to do what I want to do
and not give a ******* **** what others say
because it's been too long
I've been pleasing others while desperately wanting to be truly who I am,
trying to tie my lips and not say what I have in mind,
afraid of what others might think,
and afraid that I won't be able to rebut their hurtful, insensitive remarks
I want to free,
because that's all that really matters
what I think is kept in here
and doing what I please
is what pleases me.
I want to be amazing,
a change of new skin,
a new beginning,
a new me,
with a smarter brain and more wit,
to challenge the foes and
give no ****
this is who I'd like to be
and starting from being fifteen,
I will be a new person.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 4:05 AM UTC
Not long after you are stuck with aloneness,
You are struck with complete loneliness.
The loneliness that makes you cry out in the night
Waking up in complete fright
It is not the darkness,
It is not even what’s in the night
It is what is not there
What is not starring or lusting
I do not feel right,
Like I am slowly busting through the seams
My lips are sealed shut, but all I wish to do is scream
I wish she still invaded my dreams
I wish I could still persuade myself that I am okay
That I am not so faded and jaded
I wish I could just be completely isolated
From this life where I am just trying to be motivated
I am finding out how not to be dominated
By this tragic society
I am shut off
Cut off
To rebut, becomes an everyday affair
Loneliness may be unfair
But truly in its’ full extent,
this life is just pure despair
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
Fingers like scraped nails bore into my skin,
and while in a breathless attempt to rebut,
I found myself diving into a helpless hole
of madness that revolved around your touch.
While it burned and scraped for the futures promises,
the sweet sizzle and scratching left me craving more,
and I've never really liked long hugs and find myself
attracted to long stares,
because the intensity revolves like a tornado,
and the world is paused,
and Christ you have the most beautiful eyes I have yet to see.
I hate getting sappy, but
I'd love to be your tree.
But with no grounded roots,
and wicked wrangly branches
the stability is unknowingly nowhere to be found.
Sadness is worst than cancer,
for it metastasizes more rapidly than anything
imaginable,
so we must be in Wonderland,
where forever may be simply a second
and each forever fills you up more and more
with the cancer that threatens the life of every burden,
or mistake,
or habit, or anything that in the end is bad for you.
But stand as you are, for comparing you to something is rather
disrespectful
for beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
and I'd rather be blind than not see you once more.
You are my metaphor and my easiest comparison to abstraction.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
From womb to tomb
Our lives are not our own
Fabricated to secure
One cannot rebut
Limitless threads
The scheduler strums
With our every pain, joy,
kindness or crime
They birth our futures
Make sure we have rhyme
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 9:45 PM UTC
I want to be complacent, a replacement to this hole all others call a heart!! Dust from the start!
I want to be comprised of no compromise, and teased by one's wild garden.. I feel indigent to the search, where the Indegenous perch, and strike their venom fangs!!
Narcissism runs paid to high, for everyone's a god these days!
How wrong, how misled!!
Did you bump thine head at thy crawling from the womb? Or still intombed?
Postulate truth I adventure, for I seek no gold diggers, just this aaorta to grow bigger, as frowns can go their own..
An amour' unknown, curdled in with the lumps!
Didn't you know a little lump leavens the whole bread?
Knowledgeable pragmatic...
Rebut me all you will, for I do not need pills, only the comfort of a woman's attire! Flamed as fire!!!
Vociferous with one I want to be, virtuoso's, making melodys angel choired!
I need none invective, only an erudite of plebian Babylon!!
A daughter and son to raise amongst the brinks of end of days impromptu!!!
Tacitly I wait, where heaven is at her gate,
Only if I knew what time!
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 7:37 PM UTC
Nak
Ibumu lahir saat gawat ekonomi seluruh semesta
Saat gawat sebumi memikirkan nilai
Saat dunia ditimpa wabah tak ternampak
Tapi dunia masih cantik
Nak
Ibumu saksi dunia sedang gusar
Saksi pemimpinan goyah
Rebutkan yg tak pasti
Matanya buta
Telinga nya tuli
Tak terdengar rintihan kasta bawahan
Tak terpeduli dan lari meninggalkan hakiki
Ibumu tegak ditengah
Saat mereka berkelahi
Bercemuhan
Hai, ibu saksi saat mereka tak waras
Nak,
Ibumu saksi peninggalan ramai org
Mata kepala ibu melihat org rebah tak bermaya
Ibumu saksi bapak menangisi anak
Bayi lahir tak bersusu ibu
Adik pergi tak berpeluk abang
Dan
Ibumu saksi org tak bisa menjamah nasi
Bukan kerna tak upaya
Tapi kerna rakus ahli prejudis
Dan anjing ditaktor
.
.
Nak
Ibumu saksi saat propaganda dilaungkan
"Demokrasi ini adalah kita semua
Suara kamu kami dengar"
.
.
Anakku
Dengarlah
Ibumu saksi saat dunia tak adil tapi dihias indah
Ibumu saksi saat negeri kita kacau tapi dirai aman
Ibumu saksi nak...
Ibumu saksi perit itu tak cuma kehilangan
Tapi rindu yg bakal tak terubatkan
Salam yg takkan tersampaikan
Dan sebelum kau hingga ke saat itu
Harus lah kau tau
Setiap sisi kita tertanam secebis sedikit hati
Maka harus kau cari yg baik baik sentiasa
.
Kerna mmg sifat dunia begitu
Rebut yg tak pasti
Bertelinga dan tuli
Bergeliga tapi rakus
Dan punyai mata tapi buta
Dan harus kau ingat yg merbahaya sekali
Punyai iman tapi tak berTuhan
Oct 23, 2021
Oct 23, 2021 at 12:00 PM UTC
Not Gonna Do It
Tile covered with dirt and sand,
but, I'm not lifting a helping hand.
***** dishes in the sink,
I'd rather sit on the couch and drink.
Clothes need to be folded,
by now they must be molded.
Dinner needs to be cooked,
that is something, I overlooked.
House could use a good dusting,
this house is very disgusting.
Kids need to go to school,
I guess I'll do that, ha ha April Fool.
Grass needs to be cut,
on that chore, I will rebut.
Toilet needs a good cleaning,
yea right, you must be dreaming.
Windows need to be washed,
that plan, I quickly squashed.
Rugs need a good vacuum,
you know better, than to assume.
These are things, I will never do,
I like this house, looking like a zoo.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
as much as i wanted to
force the insanity
through words,
the writer is long gone
what remains
are the howls of its
former self
only the beggars
and the cigarette
street vendors
can be excluded from
the numbness of the world. . .
vacation photos
shopping bags
thousand followers
and friends
fine dining
fame
fancy cars
a hundred year old champagne
political correctness
the rewarding feeling
the attention. .
we (they) have evolved
to a lesser being
with no purpose
and for when my direction
hits theirs (yours)
it would only cause
an exhausting and meaningless
bout of words to which
they (you) delusionalize
themselves with as to
an stimulating debate
i'm sorry. .
i guess i am as tired
as those exclusive school
graduates-activists
whenever there's
really nothing
to protest about
for the time being
whatever the rebut is,
"sure" comes in handy;
saves you all the trouble
i'll stop now..
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 12:49 PM UTC
You pile salt to envelop bulls’ flesh but not before bees find lost hive.
Fluctuating Hesperides tangle begats, unknot pearly everlasting’s.
Starlings, ravens, fill presiding oaks with chutter.
Tall-eyed dandelion, almond-poached porphyry eyelash,
comfort hermitage, every tool a die, every fool a sty.
Might quick shadowy poesie reproach Castile,
conquer pedestrian, rebut baroque, indent emerald.
Do not explain anything.
Lady Murasaki’s long line reaches beyond September.
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 1:57 PM UTC