"redone" poems
Her shoes untouched unmoved
lay carelessly
in the middle of her room
the strings still tied
forever waiting to be
undone and redone
tightly around dainty feet.
a wet shiny black nose
rest atop the left shoe.
peering through the
wide door crack
he raises his golden head
paint splattered with gray
making eye contact
with a sorrowful wine,
questioning.
a moment.
the somber shake of the head
a whimper as he settles his snout
back on the left shoe
waiting…
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:15 AM UTC
the homeless are ******** in the streets,
well some of them are
the homeless have been ******** in the streets
a lot lately
when they are not getting scatological on the streets of seattle
they are conjuring the other images of themselves, because there is always so much more to this story
as they sit on the sidewalk and/or in entrances of shops, restaurants, and other commercial establishments
throwing empty beer cans in the street
at the people walking past
they say seattle is going to be the next san francisco
because that is what tech is, nothing new
forgotten already done ideas redone
same price tags same coast line same **** in the streets
they must have thought something better
was here, waiting for them
when they rode into town
from other towns
housing, more drugs, a new life
in these streets that they **** in
not sure what they heard
their tents under the over pass
their trash upon the hill
overlooking the highway
their tents always have a highway view
their trash too
i should be that afraid of my own life
of what tomorrow will be
oversharing in a voice
that is not my own
miss jean brodie in **** city style
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 5:16 AM UTC
Parallel universe
A universe redone
What is real
One in your mind is fun
One in your heart is what you feel
Multi layered love
Layers of human reality
When looking from above
Like the mourning dove
Who’s actuality
Is a lonely spotted seed
Only to detect
The things that work out perfectly
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 7:28 AM UTC
is not a kiss of measured bliss,
perfect in its timeliness;
it's the one that leaves your heart undone,
a far from perfect hit-and-run
that isn't great until redone.
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 6:16 PM UTC
Reflections of my self, my being, my person, my soul,
Forever replayed, reshown, redone, reinacted
For the fact is
The strength that settles in my palms is ignited by the ignorance of man.
Oh man oh man how corrupt and vile does your mind be
Calculating and engineering plans and strategies
That will never leave your mind,
Free
To be or not to be
A mockerey
Of your confused biology, which hysterically
Questions your existence.
A gift so great,
Yet bronzed with your persistence to query the beauty I have given you,
Which is life!
Behind every man is a woman who loves and sacrifices their own needs and Necessities for happiness,
Clarity and justice.
A dancing cherubim dancing elegantly like a warm summer ray from your childhood Window.
Revitilises,
Re-energises,
Re-grows,
The root of your soul
As if the buds of may.
Honey toned, chocolate foamed
Milky light,
All pleasures for your delight.
Spread on to one body of immaculate perfection
Formed from Aphrodite's tears.
But the woman,
The woman possesses such omnipotent spiritual clasp on nature
That if she was to know,
Overstand
Or
Even accept a miniscule quantity of this knowledge
Then-man-would-be-woman.
To trap and encase a man like a rodent
Is to burn a ring of fire around his finger that leads life to his heart,
Where it beats impatiently to the tune of the womans song.
Skin soft, eyes lost
Sight of who I am,
Many different descriptions -although similar- still not the same,
But am I really to blame?
For the insecurities that you have belittled on me.
For my hair is long,
Then short,
Then short,
Then none.
My skin dark,
Then light,
Then light,
But not right
A constant fight,
A battle to aim for the right kind of existence but even still
I Exist!
And realise whatever you insist, still
I Exist,
Which is that gift that i hold in my being here,
Looking there
At my elegant stare,,
Which i dare
To offend the image, which you have sought to be womanly.
No longer do I fear my image
As it is a powerful icon of modern day life
To withstand the turbulent stresses and grind of strife
To help a man.
To have.
A happy.
WIFE!
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
Cupid comes a'knocking
Who is it what do you want
I come bearing gifts girl
Don’t be afraid open up
No Cupid not again
Haven't you done enough
When you lit my heart aflame
Plunged me into the deepest depths of pain
No cupid not again
No more joy turning to rust in my veins
And my heart beating beaten and bruised
And my eyes falling like summer rain
No cupid not again
I can't do this anymore
Aim that broken bow away from my heart
Find some other fool's door
Its different this time girl
This time I brought you the one
With brown locks and a crooked smile
And eyes that shine like the sun
Open up girl
Love can be rewritten and redone
It’s a process of years and centuries and eons
A persevering stroll not a manic run
Don’t lie to me Cupid
When your hands still hold the smoking gun
Rome wasn’t built in a day
But it sure was destroyed in one
There is nothing left to give of me can't you see
There is nothing left to be won
You failed me before Cupid
When you shot at him and missed
And he didn’t care a **** for me
While I dreamt of him in colours that don’t exist
How many more victims will you find
How many more hearts will you break like mine
How many more souls will your bow plunder and defile
Not anymore Cupid. Not this time.
I sharpen my claws and smile a wicked smile
Hone the fires burning in my eyes all the while
Prepare to rip the white wings off his body
Prepare to sear his halo to char
Come in Cupid, I whisper
The door is left ajar
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
a lick to the ******* up my *** glowin' a white
boy on Jim Beam and nitro screams hell yes! without
the benefit of an amplifier ebony and ivory together
brings the old south to her knees
she begs tell me 'fore you **** I say yes then oops
sorry black betty
take a grain of salt with that
for twenty bucks
on the Choctawahatchee banks so way below
the yellow rivers
Mason / Dixon look out jealous
with crosses burning ten miles further south
we are in limited territory, look out
for the man,
and swallow.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
at least you still have your heart
i'm molded glass and iron
things are ice and cold
metallic, lacking fire
no understanding, just being
waves floated and crashed
days lived and passed
stories told, forgotten
words spoken, promises broken
hermetics exposed, porcelain froze
perfection, a far distance
many planes, lands, wildernesses and visions
spirit awoken, undone and redone
sure to speak up or be forever a silenced pun
s.q.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC
You are ***
I remember you in hotel rooms,
You are ***
I remember you in redone garages,
A mother talking in her sleep
While lips and other things touch under covers
You are ***
I remember you after going out to get a drink from the garage
His back pressed against the old car
My knees on the ***** concrete.
You are ***
I remember you in dormitories
Being quiet because of paper thin walls
and awkward moments with unexpected roommates.
You are ***
I remember you in cars
Mine at 4 in the morning,
Every seat violated.
His car in the backseat
In the parking lot,
Public, but while snow fell down
First ****** in a car,
first ****** while looking at something so picturesque,
First from kisses down under,
You are ***
You are *** in the shower
You are *** in the morning
You are *** loud and hard
You are *** sensual and slow and quiet
You are *** yet to be had
You are *** in parts of me that should never be touched,
You are hot and sticky
Anywhere I want you
On my ******* or in my mouth
You are ***
And I want you.
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 9, 2010 at 7:24 PM UTC
I should be just like you, Heart of black ice, Be kind, A friend, how to create an illusion, in your mind, be close, pretend to be real, a way to know, your dreams, your plans, your next move,
When I see your aspirations, which carry you forward,
Being a master manipulator, like you, I will cunningly plan your fall, like a jester, laughing with the crowd, which I am convinced you have always been, nothing more than that of an immutable intimidated.
You are really just a coward, you are afraid of someone, you just make an effort to do what is best, you are afraid of someone, who is not even a threat to you, or the position you occupy.
Prove your superiority, self-confidence, by being proudly bold! Your pride, your arrogance, your ignorance, your blindness and your hypocrisy ...
NO, I could never be like you, ruining others like you do, I thought I was the fool, now I see, now I have peace.
So I sincerely pray. "God open his heart, to accept your extraordinary grace, through you, we will both know our part, our place, and if not soon, then in Heaven, we will have
an eternity to be redone. "Yes, I love you my sister in Christ!
- VenJencie Ⓒ Author Ven J. Arnold
Venjencie Clifton Arnold
Nov 10, 2021
Nov 10, 2021 at 11:06 PM UTC
I'd like to retravel
The road to here
Straighten out a few curves
Undo some straight lines
Unmuddle some puddles
Shake the mud out of my eyes
Take more time to explore
Those missed detours
The road to here
Has been a long one
Sometimes walked
Sometimes on the run
Sometimes rocky, often dusty
And sometimes fun
But never did I ever
Leave a deed undone
I traveled it in the rain
I traveled it in the sun
Ups and downs and switchbacks
There's no going back again
Can't be redone
Miles and miles and miles
Of tears and smiles and love
The road to here.
r ~ 8/2/14
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
I want to go home but I don't have a home.
I live in the middle space between where you're driving from
and where you're driving to.
I live on backseats and inside large purses.
I live in vending machines
and beds you used to sleep in all the time
but don't sleep in anymore
because you moved away.
I live on driveways that got redone while you were gone,
and new haircuts you couldn't see because you weren't there.
I live on promises that we'll do something.
I live in those cool new sunglasses you got,
but they broke,
and I never got to see your wear them.
I live in the little space between you and your lover,
the one that feels like "I love you"
but really means
"I love you, but I'm not in love with you."
I live on unsatisfactory naps
and the island your friends put you on when you finally said what you'd been wanting to say.
I live under the rug when you complain about people behind their backs
because no one really knows how to tell someone they don't like them
for who they are...
as a person.
I live in every spare shoebox that isn't filled with notes
and gets jealous of the other shoeboxes that are filled with notes.
I live on the top bunk
and I've never fallen off
but I'm still kind of scared that I will one day.
I live on the laugh that lets me know you're still listening.
I live where I never wanted to live,
but I live here,
because I choose to live here.
And you live there because you choose to live there,
even if it doesn't seem that way.
I'm here and you're there.
I'm here for you and you're there for me,
even if it doesn't seem that way.
This is where I live.
You should send me a letter some time.
Apr 22, 2010
Apr 22, 2010 at 5:07 PM UTC
Urgently,
I rush to the small cafe down the road,
I waited for your show for about a week,
now your finally here.
I pay my entrance fee and grab a front row seat.
It’s starting, Curtains open.
The light dim and every ones quite.
On the edge.
You step up to the microphone.
I hear music slowing began to play,
I feel a breeze as you began to speak.
Your voice’s, mentally kissing my neck,
As word play began to transform the crowd.
Transforms me.
I imagine the stage, like a field of flowers,
A bed in it’s center.
Verse after Verse, You speak of,
Your ****** Epistemology.
But I want you to be my very own lyricist
Be my proprietor and fully take ownership over me.
Every word, every phrase & verse, I hang on,listening.
Clinging to your Rhythmic Melodie.
Strum me Metaphorically,Embrace my mind.
Love me poetically. "Undress my soul".
I almost expired when these words were said, as you
experimentally held out your hand & repeated the words.
like a chant, like your beckoning for me to come to you.
I feel I’m in a monopolistic competition.
Fighting the crown for your attention.
For your affection.
Continually You speak,
Word’s played over& over .
Done and redone to the beat and base of your baritone,
While you some time whisper in that **** tenor voice of yours.
I’m lost, Gone!
Refilled with a driving need to be where you are...,
ON STAGE!
A.M.A.
Copyright © Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-2008
All right reserved
Jan 28, 2010
Jan 28, 2010 at 11:55 AM UTC
It may seem so dull extraordinarily mundane
Like a movie seen yesterday to be seen again
Frame by frame alike dialogues repetitive
Seen before you go to bed heard before you leave!
But if you stop skimming the surface see it little close
There are magic happening right under your nose
She isn’t playing the same script speaking the same lines
Her colors change each hour so do her smile’s designs!
If you live the bare surface are content to stick there
You miss the subtle changes for you her redone hair
For you a coat of powder on what’s a familiar face
To move though you don’t notice in your pink favorite dress!
If you feel too weary see in changing hours no gain
Your life seems too ordinary and hopelessly mundane
You miss how she reinvents herself with you in her mind
Hoping you would see and not turn your eyes blind!
It may seem so dull extraordinarily mundane
Like a life lived yesterday to be lived today again
It’s only your turned off mind that makes it look all same
Missing out the new movies she’s building frame by frame!
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 7:09 AM UTC
Beyond the past,
Beyond our future.
Evolution is inevitable.
Change,
Will always be apart of,
THIS sand of time.
AS the dreams commence,
As our path becomes clear.
The treasuring reward,
Is within the crystal sphere.
One finds its true dream,
Within the universe that bonds.
Finding Thy Destiny,
Beyond the red sands.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
In those late, fragile hours
on those dark, desolate nights
my soul seems to wander the earth
searching for a heart that matches mine
if soulmates do exist
then i'm missing a puzzle twain
Plato wasn't fallacious when he said the soul splits a brace
once you cradled my hand in yours,
our fingers dance, entwined;
I sensed this eternal connection,
that we are forever, intricately aligned
Feb 29, 2024
Feb 29, 2024 at 3:08 PM UTC
I am waiting for the stars to lead me
Away from this late night double-feature
But I just can't get these scars to leave me
Our time was too short
For me to realise
That a five-star last resort
Was all I was to you
I should have been the wiser
I should have seen the womaniser
In time to stop myself from
Building you inside me
I fell in love with the beauty in the bridges
And the richness of the ridges
Connecting you to me
Can't you see
How this poetry
Is defined by everything I've ever laid my heart on
Every race I've ever had a head start on
Every game I've ever played a part in
And every end of a new beginning of mine starting?
How can I wake up
Into a new day
When all I have left of you still belongs to this one?
How can I be redone
When I can't even say
The sounds that make up the music of my name?
How am I supposed to move on
When everything still looks the same?
I've bid farewell to the vows we'll never take
And I've said goodbye to the children we'll never make
Yet I will wait for you indefinitely
And like a dream that's blown apart
I will wait for you
At the bottom of my heart
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
I am lacking
a sufficient amount of peanut packing.
Lighting struck beach
shatters underneath
the footsteps of my thoughts.
Roo will have to wait
until tomorrow's date.
I apologize
to myself
for being distracted.
This series of thoughts
has become protracted
I am losing my point.
Owl will be redone
and this spool will be respun
The heart of what is meant
by my words will circumvent
my lack of inspiration.
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 5:22 AM UTC
Her face is a sour
Washed out ugly gray
Similar to that of dishwater
With greenish clumps
That closely resemble
Floating milk clods in the
Center of her face
For eyes
Her hair is a worn out
Expanse of stringed greasy mess
As if she'd dunked it into a fry cook's sink
And left it to sit
With the occasional underscore
Of a darker, muddy brown
Streaks of feces throughout her head
For highlights
Her body is such a frail
Structure of porous bones and blood
A once pure white is soiled with
Brownish blood red speckles and smears
Like the horrid remains of a wolf’s meal
She can’t even hold herself up and she
Shudders and shakes constantly like some
Sort of like a hypothermic deadbeat
She’s so undeniably ugly and
Disgusting feeble and poor
But how would you feel if I
A relatively sane, accepted member of society
Was able to see something in this horrid girl that I loved?
You’d never accept it and you’d no longer recognize me
For finding love the wasn’t perfectly suited to your ideals
My love has to be pretty
Jun 29, 2011
Jun 29, 2011 at 9:41 AM UTC
I sit here.Hunched over my computer computing
What will become of me?
This lonely mess of an almost man is mostly at wits end
But just when it counts
Like blanking out on a test that can’t be redone
Its no one’s fault
But all my fault
Though statistics say you can only fail just so much
But just enough to feel like maybe just one more try
Just one more try
Which turns into two
Three
Four
Then You find yourself counting backwards
Waiting for time to be up
So you can hand in your paper
So you can convince yourself its the way it had to be
Or at least the way it is
You look at it objectively
You omit words like I and feel
So you can still sleep at night
Or at least not cry in plane sight
So you can still fight
Just one more time
One more time away from oblivion
Cause one is all you need
For its the last step that kills you
That throws you from that cliff
That precipice
From wince you can never return
So i make sure i’m always one step behind
That fine line
Between giving in
And getting up
But eventually you get tired
Of standing. Disappointed.With nothing much to show for it
But a pat on the back and a better luck next time
With that hope in your eyes
But it hurts,almost like sand
Till the tears dissolve it
and all thats left is a brutal reality
Thats must worse than we deserve
But then you look at it objectively
And know.It must be just what you deserve
Which is too much for all the kind words in the world to reverse
So I stand.
Counting forwards.
Counting backwards
But always stopping at one
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 3:44 PM UTC
I don't want you
Any part of your noxious soul
You ******* obliterate, destroy
Like venom in veins
Slowly eat away
Look at the pain
You caused so much
Broken hearts, twisted remarks
Undone, redone to undo again
Your ways make absolutely no ******* sense
****** sensations
My only limitation
But insanity comes with a heavy price
Now nothing ever seems to suffice
Normal conversation is all that was required
Of course, too much to ask, from a lowly squire
Everything you touch turns to ash
If it weren't for compassion I would've never acted so rash
But now that's all trash
You've proven your worth
Correct, none
I want all my doings to be undone
**** your tainted mind
***How do I leave this **** behind***
s.q.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
Oh hello, oh hello. Brown bat, trap cat. Needle, consumption. Broken home, habits come to be redone by sons & daughters of guiltless mothers & fathers. We breath a sigh of relief because, that's not our kids. Street signs, bicycle rides. Not Ferris wheels. Blacks, against whites, gays & their rights. The only problem use to be if you are fat. But we lay that down, on the old tracks. The ones America doesn't use anymore. Instead we scroll through life, with a fingers & thumbs. Scaling stocks & bonds. We follow leaders with humor while the nation needs lead by leaders with the process of brains that we are only human. Not machine, just a man with a gun. A home, away from home. What if we just stopped. Consuming consumers.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
I am not godly
and with that
and my triangle shaped torso,
my shoulders are only so broad
i can not carry the weight of my body
ever expanding
with that of glistening papers
and paintings
and customer service
you have not felt my nausea
or seen my list
a weekly redone reminder
of what I must remember to do
am I your star child
or am I obedient
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC