"recreations" poems
A short direction
To avoid dejection,
By variations
In occupations,
And prolongation
Of relaxation,
And combinations
Of recreations,
And disputation
On the state of the nation
In adaptation
To your station,
By invitations
To friends and relations,
By evitation
Of amputation,
By permutation
In conversation,
And deep reflection
You'll avoid dejection.
Learn well your grammar,
And never stammer,
Write well and neatly,
And sing most sweetly,
Be enterprising,
Love early rising,
Go walk of six miles,
Have ready quick smiles,
With lightsome laughter,
Soft flowing after.
Drink tea, not coffee;
Never eat toffy.
Eat bread with butter.
Once more, don't stutter.
Don't waste your money,
Abstain from honey.
Shut doors behind you,
(Don't slam them, mind you.)
Drink beer, not porter.
Don't enter the water
Till to swim you are able.
Sit close to the table.
Take care of a candle.
Shut a door by the handle,
Don't push with your shoulder
Until you are older.
Lose not a button.
Refuse cold mutton.
Starve your canaries.
Believe in fairies.
If you are able,
Don't have a stable
With any mangers.
Be rude to strangers.
Moral: Behave.
4.9k
It was long ago,
When the competition wasn't tough,
Whenever he went in the field to show the people who's buff.
Then came the down fall,
He shot on goal,
Yet he missed the target,
Seemed like what moved was the pole.
Heart broken he went on to find other recreations,
Hoping at least that would last,
Unlike his non glorious past,
It was like he became a knew caste,
Yet destruction came in the way as an exam he didn't pass,
So he had to attend another class that would cut down his mass,
And take him to the pitch a last.
He finally got in the team,
Life was great,
Or that was what it was like to seem,
Guess sadness is written in his fate.
The competition was cancelled,
Heart broken getting over it would take a while,
That's when he shed his last tear and his last smile.
Then came a time when he could've cheered up,
His wounds would've healed,
As usual he ran out of luck,
It was a scar and not a wound that his heart yield.
He didn't get the captaincy he deserved,
It was the hardest blow he got,
There's was nothing more he could've suffered,
Then he began to not care a lot.
Living a careless live he opened social media to looks at some good ol' memes,
Not knowing that over here he would find the girl of his dreams.
He didn't try really hard to get her,
But there was nothing that could make him forget her.
Then a shadow came as usual to steal his dream,
She was the best girl he said without being biased,
She stole his heart like an unplanned heist.
But somewhere down the line,
When everything's gonna be fine,
He should know with the perfect girl he's gonna dine,
With the perfect goal he's gonna shine,
Because he should know one thing for sure,
God isn't gonna be quiet no more.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 9:35 PM UTC
Heart’s eyes are more dominant than our eyes
It can gaze far-flung beyond the skies
Where the heaven lies…
Where the Angel stays
Where the Torrent engages in recreations
Where the eternal bird chants
Where the heavenly rose shows its salsa
Where the leaves making love with each other crafts a fascinating musica
Where the sun can’t go moon can’t smile
Oh heart! Oh heart! Take me, Take me
Bear me aloft, Bear me aloft
Let me fly on your eternal wings that can fly an infinite mile…….
HUDA
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
* *A tear is shed
For those who are blind to the beauty of this world
Who can only feast on sarcasm, writhing in irony
* *It soon evaporates.
Pictures of a future dressed in ribbons and lace, cast off and burned
Pictures of the future carrying disdainful dystopia, infamous for invalids
Hung to admire in sublime distaste by those that seek knowledge
And see the repetitious antiquities of time that come to pass
But others care not for plans and the imminent
Those that keep to the light of the gas
And carry the past to the present
Hoping for trends to try again, reliving what they had never lived
Laconic and loquacious in emotions and words
Against the gossip, but paradoxically
Pushing for the creation of their “ritualistic social Golgotha”.
Those who abuse the glory of their munificent, malicious mentality
Pathetically unable to procure authentic happiness
A tear is shed.
Inside the recesses of the soul where emotions dare not dwell.
It too evaporates.
Trapped in fear and the “cliched harlequin speech of suicide”
Begging for the masses to cast them out and find each other
A tear is shed.
Never seen but felt as it evaporates.
Felt by those who envelop themselves inside themselves
Those who plagiarize their sick self-conscious souls
Those who bring about the very misfortune they strive to devour
Those who are effortlessly envied as they exploit their habitual recreations
By those who wouldn’t dream of falsified euphoria
Those who bastardise and deface the name of creative individualism
As waters of the soul are purged and discarded
They are felt by those
And are quickly washed away in doubt and regret
Keeping to the light of the gas, dangerous and warm
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
I have the shape of the institution.
Each email address is a human.
They are known by their words and actions.
The whole wide world is just a fraction
of all I do not know. Expansion
and contraction, breathe in, out, meditation
on existence, non-existence, creation
and duration. I have no explanation
for fusion, fission, taxonomic relations
or artificial classification.
More I do not know: locomotion
by combustion, electron separation
and transportation via superconduction
which supports the idea of the unified nation.
What girls are like behind their eyes. ************
a useful restraint on overpopulation.
The story of a life, my life, any life, cohesion
must be rationed, conjured, a fiction
about a vexed, tenacious town, its rail station
truck stop, high school, night spots, recreations
the temporary citizens enact visions
dream-like orations, ballets, conflagrations
to in the end receive in annals honorable mention
from family, friends, neighbors, colleagues, institutions.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
Icy tangs are all the early morning, budding its flower
The young mother born into the sonata of her own being
That seems so foreign to thick sheltered blood,
My adult notch in this Exquisite Rotation.
Humid skies are as spy glasses to the truth
So says the colossus with our sun for an eye;
She steps out of the illusion beautifully blue
Robed in silks of celestial gold;
The skin hangs taught over the most beautiful
Pair of collarbones you’ve ever seen
The pass of your previous life comes in sublime waves
Of crashing aether and all the souls flee with irreclaimable mirth
Before popping in the atmosphere like spit and wishes
And everyday is the day of rest, a pondering
Of avant-gardens where a savior once walked.
He and his church left the path of the geese
For, he hears not, the pass of prayer on their lips.
But, I do not blame them: their mouths are full
With the sky’s drawstrings, reinvigorated from their disuse,
They’ve no time for the good word.
My family of geese fly for the astral bodies’ abode above
Where the casual speak of poets, philosophers can be hears
Talking about their *** lives, talking about themselves
No longer galvanized by their own recreations.
And as I go to place this thing in the place of pain
Warm rushes in the shifting life-force, the green of
Exuberant joy hits our hydrophobic throats
And we exhale, watching it roll back as the geese fly overhead
With no mind or reason why.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
Alcatragedy, aesthetics, and a
Bubbly feeling beneath our feet. Let's
Cruise between channels; there's no need to meet. Re-
Doxx on Galaxy's
Extremeties typeset whatever is
Faked, overridden, and
Glistening in chic.
Hybristophilionic puressure
Infracts upon the fourth wall we seek,
Jicking, ticking, trickling in.
(Kickstarted convection)
Life is beyond a stream...
Minuet attraction
Null, neo, and novelty
0.0
Pulse or minus me.
Quantitative lacerations, fantasy and a fascination
Recreations masking
Softsations
Taint my rose and wildest dreams!
Unphasing
Vermillion reasons to like it.
Wordless, grinding sonar screams; Isle,
Xana, et tu. Rumble a shy oasis in
Yeses, twos, and please
Zzz
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC
Dear Diary, perhaps you might tell me: "What Do You See?"
Cause the mirrors offer a reflection, that just cannot be: An eighteen year old boy, who's both happy and healthy.
Dear Diary, Dear... Who? Perhaps you might credit the broken creature that penned you. The one that inflicted these tears and tears; these crude reflections... recreations of its own scars and pains.
Dear Diary, Dear... Who? This question is one, that you wonder too. Perhaps ironic, as the answer is known only by you; just call me, Dear Who.
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 11:17 AM UTC
Your life was created
you deserve to be celebrated
Each soul is living heaven and hell
this makes many stories to tell
The wise man lives life simply
the ignorant can't even be fitting
they're so about possession
this world needs recreations
The legend gives life form
coming straight out of the dorms,
with a poetic soul to give emotion
and a rockers heart to devotion.
the man is like a shaman
yelling on stage yeah man!
with the smell of marijuana in the air
there is no time to spare,
Give in to the alternate reality
where its nothing but being happy
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC
The common cough potato
will sit, laugh, and enjoy,
these bizarre recreations
of life in Illinois.
Springfield sprung inspiration
for two who followed suit.
The Colorado duo
made a worthy substitute.
But from yellow men to paper dolls
most just sit and chuckle.
Yet many fail to notice
that its our world that they muckle.
In addition to your laughter
the writers hope for thought.
They are not just entertainers,
but artists quite distraught.
So while we laugh at Jew jokes
and George Burns makes more dough,
examine what's important
and let the artist's message grow.
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 8:49 AM UTC
I hereby invite every oz. Of pain I've been evading for years even before the recreations, to come forth, and hit me like a truck. I understand you may need to switch between reverse and drive a few times, but I am ready. I need my light again, for there's darkness in every direction I've been heading. Forever unsteady. At this point in my life i'd be happy to spend it sitting on the dock of the bay strumming the days away with the ghost of Otis Redding. I feel like ive been riding a bike, the chain aint on but I'm still pedaling. Show me a mystery and you will find another kid meddling. But I dont wanna hang around while the dust settles in. I want to watch the sun rise and set again. I want to float beyond the skin I've been living in. Soul been starving to go to a place I dont know exists. I'm grateful for my life, but it's getting harder to shake this. Been stuck in a cocoon phase unable to complete the change because the structure's too thick. Mind still races while keeping body tethered with bricks. But I will embrace it with the waves of sound and silence. There is a way to make it through, and I'm hoping I will find it. I will slowly stand up, again after hitting the ground. Maybe enlist the aid of Chris Jericho to help me break these walls down. I have lost many times but have not yet been fully defeated. I want to disappear, but a holistic retreat may be what's needed. Exorcise the traumas we mistakenly call demons. I'll die before I settle being a cheap cog in the machine. I just want to wake up again to see the reality of my dreams. Instead we're haunted by alarm clocks often robbing us of sleep, and memories of truly beautiful scenes...that just happened. Main character forgot his purpose along with the plot of the movie..why's the audience clappin'?
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 10:26 PM UTC
The forgotten essential workers
Who is seldom mention.
Who is so often belittle,
Porters,
Cooks,
Laundry workers
Dish-washers,
Elevator-repair men
Recreations,
Front Desk clerks
Certified Nurse’s Aide
Home health aide
Waiters,
God! Oh how hard we work!
Private’s aides
Now as we celebrate Juneteenth 19
Black lives matters, can we really be seen
After four hundred years of oppressions
Can we tossed back river of tears
we are in 2020 is this our commission?
We as Essential workers in your nursing homes
Being tested twice a week,
By your essential worker phlebotomist
Who puncture my vein with his cannula?
For the governor executives order
listen up you uncouth nurses who poke
The swab sticks deep into my nose.
Listen this quackery has to end!
Pandemic, politics, election strategy
We essential need more respect.
You with your white privileges, and your treats
(RE: PCR swabbing, week being on Wednesday and ends on Tuesday.
If you work 4 or more days you need to be swabbed 2x per week
In a 48hrs time frame, if not you will be taken off the schedule
You will be humiliated, said the Administrator Mr. Sal
Because he is not a babysitter there to reminds you..
Said a non- professional white privileges)
as the city navigate the pandemic
moving on to injustices of systemic racism,
poverty, militarism and
a war economy:
Mr. Governor Cuomo: I cannot breathe..
I
Mr. Governor Cuomo: I cannot breathe
Jun 20, 2020
Jun 20, 2020 at 9:16 AM UTC
The sky split, cracked open through sheer force. A spectre’s mind is hailed away to a foreign shore, nestled amongst unsolidified generalities, binding it to the aftermath of time’s relevance. Hope came in a voided sun, imploding in the sky over Bethlehem, and through its transparency, a vision of the end was brought forth to this unjust land, where filth rules supremacy, and dominion is granted for a grandfather’s pittance. It displayed the market value of a soul through a diminished stance, collapsing on the shore as violent waves crash and beat the resonant senses held within.
…
Contemporaries held in fear, chucked and pushed down back alleys, ending up under the pier, vandalizing a vanquished peer, awkward glances insuring no one is near. Washed away with the evening tide, passed up to the coast after a lifeless ride. Broken down, drifting with the stream, token now, drifting with the dream.
Naturalized and neutered before a board of advisors, composed of highly unsanitary elders, pieces of flawn stuck to the chin, picked up while eating from another’s bin. Dictated and deemed to seem all right, recreations shown on daily late night, refracted and turned into a joke, remuneration held as big brother had spoke. Patience restored as order forms in line, hastened into place by fluorinated wine, individuals return to their lives, and negligently pass over recent lies.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
Staggered and twisted
Like vines of a vineyard.
Bound
Waterous veins flowing earth's surface.
Bound
Unchallenged evidence
mysterious edge's.
Bonded
Archives dated,
contemplated.
Earths cremation?
Recreations
Inspirations
Binding
Light creates beautiful skies,
all earth's beauty
entwined.
Filling earth and its surface, stand back and watch
nature takes over.
Permanent impressions
characteristics.
Footprints of nature
Bonding life
Unsolved Mysteries
No space left behind.
Unearthed evidence revels
memories.
I love the earth and all its secrets.
Mar 2, 2021
Mar 2, 2021 at 7:41 PM UTC
When will things change?
Don't get me wrong- I love a good tragedy, greedily eat words off pages that depict horrors beyond my own imagination.
I'd be the first one to laugh in a shooting, clap as the plane goes down.
Watch as another monster wearing a skin or religion becomes all that wardrobe is known for;
It's easy to see horror as comedy because of the gross recreations we see on TV, media paints a picture of a society where kids are shot in alleyways; where politics are like sport, one side needs to go home with an empty net
For what cause or reason?
Unknown and unspoken the general consensus is to agree with like minded individuals.
Because if that guy says that he's a terrorist right? If person A is afraid of person B than A is clearly the racist one, right?
Or am I missing the point, is this all misconducted, these stories make Shakespearean plays seem realistic.
If a kid can be shot because he speaks another tongue does the radical suicide of two star crossed lovers really seem that insane?
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 2:21 AM UTC
I still dream about you.
They are not the vivid recreations of my memories that they used to be.
But you are in them ever still.
You appear as a fog; a vague ghost of yourself.
You float through my dreams beside me as an unwanted guide,
and you fade away just before an awakened state creeps back over my concious mind.
There was a time my dreams were filled with visions of you holding me close to your heart.
A time when I dreamt of wedding bells,
and the song of small feet roaming throughout an old country home.
Now my dreams are filled with horror, and chaos.
They are an untamed wilderness that I must survive nightly, and you are always there.
I haven’t decided which is worse: having you drift along through my dreams,
bruising my soul ever deeper with every glimpse of your face.
Or, gazing upon the end of humanity every time I close my eyes at night.
I spent so many years of my life longing for your presence that now you are imprinted opon my mind,
and as much a part of me as I am a part of myself.
Such a bittersweet existence in which I now reside.
Unrequited love is not the romantic expression Hollywood has made it to seem.
It is a disease that creeps in, and destroys it’s host entirely.
It is cancer of the heart which causes the bearer to react irrationally.
I cannot escape this unreturned affection, nor do I suspect myself to wish to.
I still dream about you.
They are not the vivid recreations of my memories that they used to be.
But you are in them ever still.
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 6:40 AM UTC
Look around
Look how many folks entering the grounds
We got wars famine disease
Natural disasters starvation
Poison facility and mold recreations
Children are bribed to be adults and vice versa
Abnormal is considered normal
And what was normal is now adnormal
They tell us what to feel what to wear what to buy
What baked and what to fry
Blinded are they by the third eye
Their faith goes to mankind
Instead of using their own minds
Words are soft and too kind
Newspapers dumbing down linguistic
To that of a level a primate could innerstand
But too many stuck on chasing money bands
Building there conscious around fiascos and chaos
And not one thinks to toss
Out the sheer idea that
They could be controlled
By an immutable force that's inevitable
At all cost spiritual dead in a mental coffin too often
People drift day to day repeating what some reporters say
There so dim-witted that they honestly believe that they are
Using their own minds
When indeed there just interpreting what message they just conveyed your obeyed
A savage to the powers that
Willfully destroy homes and family
See they want us to rant and rave with each other over color
Sister mother or brother
And smother
Ourselves with guilt shame and suffering
And thanks to a country where we always want
Instead of need its been corrupted since the planted seed
Of fascism that is
A small lucrative family of about 12 to 300 people
Run this fashion show
A live rodeo
So go ahead and book for the the light show
Of the red white and blue
Dancing colors
Wake up folks it's all a game
Pushing for success for what?
You come into this world with nothing
And you leave with nothing
So what the point of having something
When you literally have nothing
Wanting a dream house? Car ? Yaht? Island? Acres?
What is it all for lives are at stake
Poor fight the poor
And the rich lubricate the rich
And they give us their people
So they give us an illusion
That we're included which we aren't
Red And blue
Aye evil and good
Which side do you choose ?
Or do you ignore and follow your own destiny will and conscious?
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 11:49 PM UTC
Life at sixty is of celebrations.
It's like making one's own creation.
For well being physically
To be good emotionally
Think of inspiring recreations.
Walking exercises are the best action.
Practice being strong mentally.
Doing lovely things gracefully
Life at sixty
Writing poetry helps build notions.
Reading poetry clears intentions.
Canvas painting will give joy presntly
Good art work gives happiness endlessly.
Painting my life so vividly
Life at sixty
Jul 1, 2024
Jul 1, 2024 at 10:36 AM UTC
I am afraid,
But who isn't?
I am strong,
When they say I shouldn't.
I am pain,
In joyful situations.
I am tired,
During normal recreations.
I am lost,
Without my navigation.
I am fearless,
But no-one believes it
I am meek,
When strength is needed.
I am happy,
During ones bereavement.
I am alert,
With shadows creep'n.
I am found,
But who really believes me.
Who am I?
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
today to reduce the friction ,
i imagined his hands were yours
his rapid gasps as your
slow sweet melody in my ear
a song familiar yet distant
it’s like the time we spent listening to loud muffled music through closed doors
we knew all the words but all we could hear was a thudding beat
and softened lyrics
or when the living room tv played an instrumental that i twirled to
in the kitchen over coffee
distant and soft
most things with you were like that
my version of you was like that
who you are to the world is an armor
a protected identity
all present and sharp
formed from your roots
spoken through a body canvas
and select dialogue
displayed in your recreations of
what you want so desperately to be
but underneath the armor is a warm bed
a dimly lit lamp covered by a bandana
a deep belly laugh with reservations
tears and fears and everything lovely
so when they ask me “do you miss him”
i will gently answer “no”
for one simple reason that
the “him” i loved died when he gave me a last distant and soft goodbye
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 3:06 AM UTC
Fake smiles,false laughter,empty hellos,full emotions.
False judgments,pyramid scheme,government controlled,parent approved.
Ignorance,betrayal,obligations,applied frustrations,no more recreations,get a job,get it now,why haven't you made up your mind yet,you only have three more years to decide,you guys are fine, GO SPORTS;Music,is a waste of time.So much control,everlasting brainwashing, never ending goal,objectives,plans,so much planning,perfection if key,but never mind anything under or above it.
This isn't a place to learn; this is a government controlled,military dad run,hover mom sponsored, prison to try and set standards and expectations so the big man knows what we know; it doesn't matter what we want to know. Once "you" put the right bubble in the right place at the end of the year, the person that,"Cared so deeply about your education",has nothing to show for it other than the bounce on their check for abiding by their,"ever-so-giving-government."
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 4:10 PM UTC
Caustic sunrise cries
Vanilla tears sliding
Through recreations blessing.
Cleavers fountain spilling jovial venom
Sprinkles of **** onto children’s tongues
Lap and lick and suckle
Smile as you die and be thankful
Because jesus love you very much.
Jun 28, 2020
Jun 28, 2020 at 9:47 AM UTC