"refrains" poems
My best friend is insanely gorgeous.
However she refrains from seeing it.
So I try to remind her everyday.
She always finds a way to brighten my mood,
Even when I'm crying; she helps me pull through.
She's strong, and knows how to move on.
But for some reason, she stays by my side.
Through the fights, and the distance.
I don't think she knows how much I appreciate her existence.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
Rivers flow
in volumes and refrains
the shadows of black phoebes
chasing waves
as they ripple
in quiet tones
a majestic scenery
tainted by involuntary lullabies
of atonement
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
I can cry;
the glorious moon cheats
the dazzling sun wanes
the cloudy sky smirks
the pudgy earth refrains
I can cry;
the man in the sidewalk eats
the woman in bus denies
the children on the playground smell
the puppy on the stairway bites
I can cry;
the riddles in the book defy
the maze and mouse are a lie
the gun for a bullet doesn’t shoot
the whistle in my palm doesn’t hoot.
I can cry;
the thoughts in my head lead astray
the senses of my body can delay
the questions I answered gave away
the answers I’ve forgotten are a mistake.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 11:20 AM UTC
# *I hadn’t meant to spy
just an evening’s walk along the beach
knowing that things are sometimes strewn there after storms
between a gust of wind—a break in clouds
Coming upon moonlight
gleaming on wet teenage backs
Two—
by a leaning erosion fence
fondling the last discoveries of childhood
fumbling with the barriers of her bikini
behind the erosion fence
out of sight and forbidding
Breeding like sea grass by rhizomes
prowling that neck, those *******
Gasping! Warring!
for the land of white warmth below their tans
His hands grip, lift, position, insist
By such undertow
mouths and hips pinioned in disbelief...
where they cannot be seen
two half-rounds in rhythm – struggle in the surge of being
as the surf binds them in refrains
about the ankles* #
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 9:48 PM UTC
“The Carousel”
February 7th, 2014.
Valerie Viele
There is never a moment to stop
A real stop
A true stop
A sincere stop
When everything quits, halts, ceases and refrains
No matter where one stands
or what character one sits upon
Even if one is stationary
The carousel still revolves
One can walk this way
One can walk that way
One can lie down
but the carousel still revolves
Can one get off?
Can one get back on?
Can one make the choice?
There is never a moment to stop
and the carousel still revolves
SSK<3
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
Words are now
as if
I never wrote
gather as an aching
lump in my throat.
They don't seek paper
only a river
to pour and mingle
in refrains of a dumb sadness
flow away
sunburned and tidewashed
to where the river is widest
deepest with sighs
of life not enough
in once only
and when just begun
ending broken on the shore.
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 9:59 AM UTC
When Death comes knocking at the door
And as the curtain finally falls
My voice will be stilled
My heart, now ticking off like a clock
Will ever be silent
My foot falls shall no more be heard
All my songs will be stifled in the throat
All my crazy thoughts will be frozen
And I shall take leave of all
And the whole lot of petty things I hold dear
But what difference does it make?
The earth will continue to spin as before
The stars will illumine the night sky
Days will follow days in endless succession
Time, chanting the refrains of joy and sorrow,
On wings, shall fly to destinations unknown.
Will there be anyone to grieve my absence?
Will my sons ever miss their Mama?
Will my loved one still hold me close to his heart?
May be for a while
A short little while
But as years glide,
And my tomb lies over grown with weeds
And the engraving on my head stone
Fades out in morbid grime and moss,
When I merge with the dust as dust,
When I lie inert, a rattling heap of bones under the sod
When my spirit still hovers around in vain
With insatiable longing for all your love,
Then give me, my Lord! A ride in your chariot!
Remove from my spirit the languor of endless waiting!
Carry me to Thy *****
Embalm me with Thy love,
That I shall no more crave for earthly love
And with you in bliss, ever united
Look down evermore content
As the wheels roll down to Eternity!
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 6:47 AM UTC
Tightly clenched the fist shakes
Never steady like a nail
Blood curdles through the veins
Self-torturous it won’t fail
Keep still to breathe
Inhale the oxidation of life
Flowing molecularly steady
Before the shattered knife
But why negativity it remains
Lingers closely by the trees
Hovering over the city
Lacking soulfulness to squeeze
One refrains from the nuisance
Though it fights back with a rage
No world is perfect
Keep me locked in this cage
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
The grotesque weight of human ignorance
Has slain the carcasses of innocence
Though I shall amplify resilience
Decline its fascist pleas to vanquish
No more spare **** it shall ****
No severed tissues we shall tape
No stealth blades puncturing the nape
We're foreign to psychotic language
Advance we must, cascade we shan't
Supremacy's the hymn we chant
Our eminence shall never slant
Majority refrains to languish
Not a stain of slumber peaks
Bones of stark rivalry we seek
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 1:25 AM UTC
Look at all the parrots--
Parroting the words
Of all the other parrots--
Of all the other birds--
Parroting profusely
All the same refrains--
Parroting the constant patter
In their parrot brains--
Parroting the preaching
From the pulpit to the pews--
Parroting their parents'
And their parents' parents' views--
Parroting their leaders
And their pompous platitudes--
Parroting their peers'
Pretentious attitudes--
Parroting the patriarchs'
Proselytizing that'll
Put your teeth on edge
With their pathetic prattle--
Parroting the poppycock
Of trite pontifications--
Parroting pernicious
And sly manipulations--
Parroting the pretty birds
Whose pageantry and glory
Appeal to their prurient tastes
In each pathetic story--
Parroting the songsters
With parasitic pleasure
And counting out the rhythm
Of every pitiful measure--
Parroting the powerful
Whose ploys are so profuse,
Leaving the powerless
Pummeled with abuse--
Parroting with passion
Presumptuous prophesies
With putative contrition,
"Humbly" on their knees--
Parroting themselves--
Together all in sync--
How they love to parrot
So they don't have to think!
- by Bob B
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 8:10 AM UTC
When he sees a shine inside of her
Even while the Sun's descending rays are beaming in his eyes
Or the beautiful glow she has at the darkest hour of the night
He begins to hear love calling his name
The way she makes him feel like he's being nurtured all over again
Isn't a coincidence
She's not attempting to change him, only mold him into a better man
She makes him feel limitless
When the tips of her fingers smoothly caresses the hair on his head and whispers into his ear
She kisses his temple, her lips makes him tremble
And her soft voice is all he hears
He closes his eyes and Thank God
For sending him such a golden soul
Through all of his iniquities and transgressions he don't deserve
Her sweet sufficient love
But his graciousness for her is in evident form
He will walk with her during the pouring rain
Shed blood to share her pain
Captivated by her mysterious allure
He opens himself to love
Inviting her by her hands to join him
In Unison
Still blesses her with enough expansion to stride her confidence in pride
She makes the candle inside of him ignite
The romance inside cry
Out
She's his rib
That God silently plucked from his side in the still of the night as he slumbered
She's the dire lightning to his thunder
From her kind love he knows he's invincible
SHE is the principal
Of why he suits up his tie and perform longs days of labor and sweat
Because he knows that
He's her Eagle, soaring in the sky
He protects her with all of his life
She brings comfort to his soul
Strength to his bones
With one knee planted on the dust
He will hand her The World
No bedazzles are needed
He has his pearl
He refrains from anger
Controls his temptations
Exalt his rapture
Inside of his dominant, sensuous life
She is captured
In his confusion
His pain
frustration
passion and
emotional being
Words, Money, Jewelry, or Love can't explain the joy that she brings
He is a Man In Love
and a man in love, is no simple thing
Copy Right 2013
©Patty Ann
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC
A Crop of Lies irrigate farmland
Deception grows and dies
Its corpse sustains
A cycle refrains
Cold, this night is
Cracks open the ground
Revealing a sight
Seeping through with light
Regions were found
To be taken and conquered
Sailors sailed to eat sailors
And they as well ate bread
Sounds of paranormal had
Guided every boat, then plane
Then spaceship, to the inside
Of a toy box they made
“These Crops dictate Truth”
Says Man (or monster)
Every night is cold; cracked
These Crops are impure
Livestock tell stories of their leader
It’s more of saying really
Because they’re ******* livestock
The Truth cannot tell nor talk
Reason slips off their skin
Like water off oil
Harder and harder it is
For Man to let joy soak in
Journeys of discovery
Travel through the television
Crisps, colas, pies, and cakes
Is what ******* does it
Beef pulp, French toast, tomato paste
Is what ******* does it
All we consume is ****
Crying fat morons decompose
“I really like the rain”
Says ****** with pudding stain
And her body melts and pours
As the rain does inexcusably
Great big dogs soak up in the rain
Unlike Man with his walking cane
They are all dying as they retreat
Underneath a roof of sin to replace
Emotional politicians claim they’re drug-free
As they smoke cigs and drink alcohol
Infant babies were torn apart in shopping malls
Did the World set them free?
Man (or monster) propose
To have a war on anything
Must any more children die?
Or can they get high; watch television?
What the **** is wrong with an aspect
Of harmless self-discovery
Can Man wager livestock’s epiphany?
Is it o.k. to live in a subdivision?
Or on a farm, or in the television?
Do these Crops have to dictate
Which victim we choose to mate?
To dictate our truth?
Can the fake astronaut admit?
He got ******* high; watched sitcoms
Ate potato chips, ate cereal out of the box
Never told a soul it was a hoax
Crops soak in the sweet rain
As the political Man weeps
These Crops become true
Dying Men no longer retreat
A Crop of Lies
Become so true
This wisdom is beauty
What we see now
Is as clear as day
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
XVIII
Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the Royal Bench
Of Brittish Themis, with no mean applause
Pronounc’t and in his volumes taught our Lawes,
Which others at their Barr so often wrench:
To day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth, that after no repenting drawes;
Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intend, and what the French.
To measure life, learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heav’n a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.
2.8k
~~♡~~♥~~♡~~
*"Hush little baby, don't you cry,
mama's here for you only
and tomorrow she will buy
all the pretty little ponies
black and brown
tan and roan
all the pretty little ponies"
lullaby sung by my mother
when I was a child*
there I lay
at end of the day
safe in my mother's arms
she had a voice
so soft and low
I succumbed to its charms
I don't remember
her grey eyes
so full of care and pain
I recall her dear soft breast
and those sweet refrains
later on in life I found
she was very ill
mood swings plagued her
all her days
and then they had no pill.
she was not a
stable mom
she was always up or down
but she tried the best she could
when she was around
I won't forget her lilting voice
though she was in despair
she made those ponies
twirl and dance
to show her child
she cared.
soulsurvivor
2/7/2015
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
My secret thoughts reside
in the backyard of my existence
where darkness cries out in shivers
clear to my bones.
I wake up to find them
packed neatly on shelves in my mind
and wish I could just crawl away,
be left alone.
They come from my emotions,
dressed in sadness
with no intention of ever comforting
what they transform.
There are days
when they make a decision
to rearrange the places I stand
until I am left without hope,
forlorn.
My secret thoughts are the lyrics of my being
which bid my heart
to walk on a white canvas
of the purest snow.
Oh the damage
that could be done
if I spoke them aloud,
my true feelings revealed
with these eyes full of woe.
I cannot bend or I'll break
so I hide on these shelves
in my mind,
packed neatly away
from all that challenges
my tree of life,
such as falling leaves.
My secret thoughts control
how my tongue refrains
from speech,
So my true feelings,
you will.....
never see.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
A subtle carol echoes of the evening
Upon bended knee I am arrested
Betwixt strange refrains
Shaking the floorboards of Teicu
The evocative moans amplify
The foolish peacemaker of astrologists
The English dream of poetry
Those I coaxed by death
Were the witnesses of the tragedy
And were familiar with its ballad
Crafted the design ‘tis conceptual ***********
Eradicated their honor for vanilla threads
As they shimmy and shimmy
They defile elongated hankering
And retreated in the greenhouse of Woodstock
Its language made iconic by efficacious character
Having often been labeled an experiment
Broadening its brilliance along death’s boulevard
‘tis she who was the stunning one
Her language made sacred by her iconic fame
A long time controversial reference
An automaton, an origin of extraterrestrial etiology
The evocative moans ensnares the tourist
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 10:48 PM UTC
----
Sometimes they take over
The rhythms in your head
Nuances of rhyme schemes
The lines your muse has fed
You want to use a smaller word
Pontificate instead
It gallops through your consciousness
A wild horse - unlead!
The hooves go on like thunder
Upon the steed you ride
Tearing up the page
Pen in hand - astride
You are without a bridle
Legs grip the mustang's side
He has his own way
He is a beast with pride!
No - he has no stable
No - his blood flows wild!
Fed grass of the planes
He's restless as a child
A stallion - yes! A bucking bronc!
Unbroken - never mild!
Get into his rhetoric
He's always getting riled!
Write like you're a MUSTANG!
RIDE ON!!! You have no reins!
Get into his rhythm
The rhyme scheme is unstrained
Your footing is unsure
In uncertain terrains
Playing echo chamber music
Those cacophonous refrains
Bust that bronc!!! He's waiting -
Your own head unrestrained!!!
SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/19/2015
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
Across the hills, across the plains,
Across the sands and seas,
He searched for poems and refrains,
For wonders never cease...
While there's a child within God's heart
And His remembrance, too,
The Poemhunter scans for art,
Esteems each point of view...
Across the noblest hopes and dreams,
Ideals and fancy thoughts,
The spectrum of Man's mad extremes
Proves that it takes all sorts...
While there's a vision, judge or law,
Or simply self-control,
The Poemhunter must explore
Their sanctity, their soul...
He reads the rhythms, rhymes and rules
That writers would relay,
He heeds the wisemen, sighs at fools...
Lets God guide him His way...
While there's a cherished childlike prayer
That words can somehow bless,
The Poemhunter's search will share
God's Truth and happiness...
Denis Martindale, copyright, August 2010.
Denis Martindale 1300 poems
http://www.poemhunter.com/denis-martindale/
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 11:47 AM UTC
The rocking chair,
I sat there with you
And you sat there with me holding my fragile-dreaming hand
As the wind blew the warmest summer scent
through the blind-starred sky
I saw you
in those stars,
in the brightest ones
that spelled out my future
in white ink
scrawled over the black night.
The rocking chair,
Where I watched the sunrise sprinkle red-light
on my auburn hair
As you gave me
My own star
on a gold band
The unsettling murmurs
declaring us too young,
too naive, too fast
were drowned out by the steady sway of our rocking chair pendulously swinging toward the sky.
It was a different time then,
The rotted chair has been taken down
And my fiery hair has faded to gray with age;
sadness;
time
and your cool, blue heart
refrains from sound
But yet
I know
that somehow
you still sit
in our rocking chair watching me
watch the timeless sky scrawl our past
in black ink
over the white stars.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
337
I know a place where Summer strives
With such a practised Frost—
She—each year—leads her Daisies back—
Recording briefly—”Lost”—
But when the South Wind stirs the Pools
And struggles in the lanes—
Her Heart misgives Her, for Her Vow—
And she pours soft Refrains
Into the lap of Adamant—
And spices—and the Dew—
That stiffens quietly to Quartz—
Upon her Amber Shoe—
2.1k
10,000 steps to a poem
<~>
walk to save my visions, my subterfuge-self, trying to
encapsulate the moments, seconds of nano-instances of a
tableau of histories, of actions becoming interactions,
a physical mitosis, ground into one human paste of word-cells
by a singular mortar and pestle that more than blends, but condenses
walk in Whitman’s footsteps, prowl old cobbled
streets seeing them anew, listening to the patois
of each skyward pathway, a commingling of
catechisms, Tefilot, Salah, Stuti Karana, into a stampede becoming a tornado funnel of a multivariate alphabets singularity - a prayer|poem returning to birth-mother
rush homeward desperate to retain the holy mess of verbal music,
before aged eyes release the visions, into a heavenly lost but found
depot of single lefty gloves, snatches and refrains, hymnals, phrases,
10,000 preservation band steps keeping but scraps, weeping
for the so much lost, yet blessing-uttering thankful for this one,
to a one
*who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to
this moment, to this season.*
4/4/21
1:50pm
~writ by night, daylight born~
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 1:57 PM UTC
this combo presents itself
inexplicably demanding a
poem~all~its~own by gum, (1)
though the brain refrains from
providing any clues where/what
might be inside the intersection of
the Ven diagrams of cross pollination and enervation
but as an only love poet,
he thinks he is brilliant,
and visualizes the intersexual
excitement of two insects (bees)
recombinant/\recumbent after the stimulation
of cross pollination as most
enervating
<>
said the Queen bee to a worker bee:
"*Honey, be a dear and pass me a cigarette,
all that pollinating and wing flapping is
just so enervating, I think I'll just die*"(2)
Jul 27, 2025
Jul 27, 2025 at 7:47 AM UTC
The night is dark against your fair fur feathers
And your wingspan holds true against the glass.
Legs splayed against the pane, hard and fast pressed against the portal to my world.
You'll do anything to touch the light.
I cannot blame you, I have been there,
Outside in the cold warming yourself with the thought of a light bulb
Feeling the phosphorus of that explosion with your eyes and ears
Longing to be a part of what is good.
No, I cannot let you in, for
I am ready to selfishly bathe in this illumination
The moonlight will do for you
So I suppose I'm just as bad as the others were when
They kept me out.
Window panes and light refrains
From being yours, but mine.
All you shall do is hang there and wish
You had a light switch of your own
Ready to make your own world bright
Ready to lift you from the darkness
Ready to help you spread your wings
And fly in the day like all the other successes.
With just a flick.
Poor moth, it must be
Cold out there.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
that Scythe has rent my heart, i'm penetrated
the blade's removed yet its cold steel remains
our spirit's gone, our breaths remain abated
upon us both the crime's been perpetrated
and though the blade is marked with just his stains
that Scythe has rent my heart, i'm penetrated
his essence from my own's been dislocated
my life remains with only his remains
our spirit's gone, our breaths remain abated
my soul's been scraped, upon my thoughts' been grated
his blood powdered, mixed with my tears, i'm stained
that Scythe has rent my heart, i'm penetrated
and as grief's torments whip my heart striated
all joy swirls round and round a filthy drain
our spirit's gone, our breaths remain abated
i frame my memories,they're venerated
as cries repeat in minor key refrains
that Scythe has rent my heart, i'm penetrated
our spirit's gone, our breaths remain abated
(C)2010, Christos Rigakos
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC