"rein" poems
Dad made a kite
Out of paper and wood
And a white, ripped up sheet for a tail.
We all watched with wonder when without any wind
He could make his kite rise up and sail!
The trick, he would tell us
Is to run just a bit, then let the string play out just so.
There is wind up above us that you cannot see
It will make the kite rise up and go.
Up went his kite
High up over the trees
And soon it was up with clouds.
It dipped, skipped and twirled as he tightened his rein
“It’s DANCING!” we shouted out loud!
The kite, he would tell us
Responds to your touch, don’t hold it too loose or too tight.
Be forgiving, yet firm, let it fly by itself
And most times it will turn out all right.
Dad gave the kite
To the youngest child there,
And the rest of us waited our turn.
The kite soared, then collapsed; our confidence too
Dad taught; we attempted to learn.
Life, he would tell us
Is like flying a kite, you hold on but you cannot control.
Don’t let a failure or lack of success
Stop you from reaching your goal.
Be like the kite
Reach as high as you can
Set your goals high, and dance with the clouds!
Respect and remember the wind you can’t see.
It’s your Faith that will make others proud.
Faith, he would tell us
Is the courage to fly, and belief in a Presence unseen.
But most of all Faith is the strength to go on
When your kite gets stuck high in a tree.
PwL 3/30/15
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
*Past is rigid
Can’t change
Present is vivid
Hold the rein
Future is ghost
Figment insane*
Bharti
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 6:15 AM UTC
English with 26 letters, is generally thought to be the simplest language on earth. A language built up on 26 letters is amazing.
But within just handful of letters, how many words can be misspelled..
My childish attempt to rhyme and write...
ei or ie, we are confused when we write,
it's then the words jump to end their lives.
Homonyms, homophones, homographs
It's fun to know the very facts.
Bear tried to **** Jack with its bare hands,
Jack had to bear the brunt of the bear.
Speed is what we thrive to do
If we forget to Brake, will break a head or two.
100 cents makes a dollar
Jack sent his wife to buy a stroller
She smelled the scent of a broiler
And forget all about the stroller.
The people who lives in Desert
do they have dates as their Dessert?
The dinner was perfect
The wine complemented the feast
The hosts were perfect
And were complimented for their treat.
The King who reigned Prussia
Rode high holding his horse's reins,
But his horse started to panic
As it started to Rain.
Drew looked at his new site
The building looked a perfect sight
When asked for the legal owner
He cited the document which held his right.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
When letters wait
to pounce on a blank page
when thoughts crowd the mind
like frothing **** in a pond
I keep wondering
what poetry is to me
what poetry is to many
Is it not the language of the heart
with no intervention of gray matter
the unlocking of closed vaults
stirring the embers of love, hurt or pain
or giving a free rein to fancy
and flying on magic carpets
to lands forlorn
Sometimes it is
a glide into a sea of tranquillity
an escape from
the humdrum of the world
a flash of liberation
from assaults of pain
a sedative
to numb the turmoil
a sanctuary
for a burdened heart
a window
to look at the world through
a companion
when one is inconsolably alone
a candle flame
in a darkening world
a cloth line
to hang the ***** laundry
a water lily blooming
in the pool of tears
a shelter
in homelessness
sometimes it is a ladder
to climb up to Heavens
an angel on wings
with tidings of hope
peace in a world
braced for war
Poetry, if you are all these
let us fall at your feet
bless us in our art
may we splurge in fancy
and conjure up worlds from words!
our poems may not be light houses
but could be fireflies
on a starless night!
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 11:56 AM UTC
I grip the barbed wire that I use a rein,
For this beast of a world that I cannot yet tame,
I grit my teeth and I hold my breath,
The name of my lover is death.
I kneel in the salt as I am abused,
With cables and whips, yet I am amused,
Blood hits the floor, and I smile at the stain,
The name of my lover is pain.
I spit out the words that I hear in my soul,
Reciting them from this internalized scroll,
I gather my demons and open the gate,
The name of my lover is hate.
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 8:06 PM UTC
You sullen pig of a man
you force me into the mud
with your stinking ash-cart!
Brother!
—if we were rich
we’d stick our chests out
and hold our heads high!
It is dreams that have destroyed us.
There is no more pride
in horses or in rein holding.
We sit hunched together brooding
our fate.
Well—
all things turn bitter in the end
whether you choose the right or
the left way
and—
dreams are not a bad thing.
4.8k
Dull lips give way to a finely sharpened tongue.
Soft skin slides underhand like roughly hidden scales.
*You asked of me to bare my blood.
Both times I cut my veins for you.
Both times you asked for more
And I bled once again,
for you, my Prince.*
A hand touches my soul; held within the demons greedy paws.
All the while, I wonder why, I let you continue to rein over me.
An insufferable plague you have bestowed over my brow.
Nay...
My heart.
My heart quakes from Lust's tightening grip.
My veins bleeding for you...
A card dealt from the sleight of a devils right hands.
A dagger in the left, aimed for the back.
- Hark -
The call of darkness beckons me on-wards.
Calling me home through the red fog and the vile pit of hatred.
*When you asked for me; I was yours.
Then, when you asked for another,
I withdrew...*
You are an enigma, in your entirety.
Oh, sweet angel
burden with a devils twisted soul.
You shall burn forlorn in a delightful blue flame.
*Alas, ask once more my Nephilim Prince.
Ask;
and I shall bleed my veins for you.*
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 6:10 PM UTC
A pleasantly bubbling creak murmurs softly, complacently flowing as a creak does, day in and day out
By the crumbling bank stands a strong willow tree, rooted by the prolfic stream
Thoughtlessly taking the water of which it needs, a simple commodity to a tree of such stature and poise
And gracefully, beautifully shivering at the base of his trunk, there lives a daisy, white and pure
The willows roots indulge themselves, thirsting, thirsting for more
Negligent to the flower below who makes its view that much more lovely
Than just a simple stream, and who provides to the animals and children a blustery smile
Beckoning them to the shade where they might play and the daisy might watch over them
And as the roots take and take they choke the misguided flower, leave her to wither
One soft petal falls to the grass rendering her no more than a tainted ****
No child will ever present her to his good mother now
Not now that she is no longer the pure beauty she once was, not with such an imperfection
And though she may beg for mercy, she must weaken and give herself to the strong roots of the willow
Until she is but a dying cause with browned stale edges and though she lay so close to life, stable life
She does not possess the power to take rein so she the sage awaits the logger in silent knowingness
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
How I tire of only going on planes
To travel to places where all I do
Is follow the directions of a sickly sweet travel book
Picked up from a bookstore that has never been anywhere.
How my eyes hunger for new places
My feet to be numb from too much walking
My lips and tongue ache to speak with new people
And my being longs for new experiences in a strange land.
Were that the butterflies in my stomach
Could grow teeth so that they could break free
I would rein them in with rope woven from my hopes and dreams
And follow the horizon until I find the right place.
Somewhere adventure is out there
Waiting for me.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC
The revolutionary ardent
Bordering on a prophet
For democracy's advent,
Up on grabbing
The rein of power,
With a superb
Acrobatic bent,
For a tyranny
An example set
For political thugs to emulate!
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC
So many hopes have
been laid to rest,
snuggling tight and cozy
where all dead dreams lie.
There wasn't even time to say goodbye.
Oh, my fighting spirit is now a sleeping spirit.
It doesn't wake to sweet smell of fancy,
to the buzzing of bees and all manner of honeys,
no.
It lies dead in the gutter,
or should I say,
asleep.
The only hope I have left, is to lie of the pain.
To wish away the wash of bitter taste
and lie away the bodies of thought and waste.
I have died too many times to count the carnage
and how I massacred myself,
past, present and future,
there is no more potential,
there is now just a rein
lying slack for lack of force,
the beast was too burdened...
There is a constant whispering.
Voices from a place I dare not venture.
My hands are bent and scarred, like twisted puppets.
How can I mend these broken dreams?
I can no longer traverse the seams,
now torn
beyond are the hopes I knew.
How do I mend the horses?
Is it not the hand of God that restores life
to dead things?
Why do his hands look like mine?
If I do not believe in myself,
how might I believe in him?
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 9:06 PM UTC
Many a notion I'd lay in indelible ink.
How the morning sun would harvest the contours of your face.
Accentuating...
Elevating...
Revealing...
Your majestic beauty.
Reminiscent of a different time and place.
Many a thought I'd pen in indelible ink.
When your breath meets with mine,
they'd hold their own conversation.
Deeply entranced,
In an everlasting dance
that would last forever.
Exchanging gaits of grandeur,
great longing and pine.
Many an inkling I'd etch in indelible ink.
The way my moon never gets eaten.
It'll balloon to its fullest...
Beaming it's brightest.
Seeping from its edges,
gushes forming rivers...
Bathing my earth in heavenly silver.
Calming the thundering hooves...
In my heart with rhyme and reason.
There are but three words...
Words so sacred I dare not utter in vain.
Proclamation so heavy my chest could hardly
hold in rein.
I've immortalised them here...
But in invisible ink...
Because no one would understand...
Of emotions so grand.
No one would have a clue...
That...
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC
You ask me why I’m so angry all the time
I laugh because if I don’t I’ll cry,
I laugh because if I don’t I’ll cry.
And then you’ll call me emotional and hysterical
As if we’re still in the era of old where simple female reactions
Were pathologised and the bold locked up for being “mentally ill”.
You ask me why I’m angry and I simply scoff
And deny because if I start speaking about why
The rage in me will boil over like lava in a volcano
And then where will we be?
[pause]
I want to tell you,
I want to tell you why.
Why this rage, this utter, all consuming anger, this deep-rooted grief.
Let me tell you how I feel like crying whenever I hear about
Another **** case, another girl murdered for daring to refuse,
Another woman of colour who endured terrifying pain,
All because she was who she was.
Another minority violated, another black trans woman killed, her ****** unsolved,
Another child abducted and sold, like a commodity
Another another another
It never stops and it never ends
From micro-aggressions to gross violence
I feel it all in my heart
Like a stab between the fourth and the fifth rib
And it adds to my rage.
The words burst forth from my lips,
But I rein them in
Because even though I want to protest
Against your complete ignorance and your casual misogyny
And my being revolts in response to your words,
I stop myself
because you are my family, my friend, my peer
And if I say something
You’ll just ask me why I’m so angry all the time.
Sometimes there’s no winning
Resistance is futile
In a world so steeped in patriarchy
That it’s unaware of the consequences
Of perpetuating sexist narratives.
But I still want to fight
The oppressive systems that chain the girl child,
The casual way we respond to certain slights
Against the all encompassing freedom of women.
And I’ll take on a thousand such questions
If only I can change one life,
If only I can spread the word and fight the good fight.
And, I would have told you all this
If only you had asked.
If only you had the patience
To listen as I blathered on
About statistics and documented proof
Of how 50% of the world’s population
Is still under constant threat to their lives.
I repeat, fifty percent of the world’s population
Lives with a constant threat to their lives.
I would have told you about how there are thousands of accounts
Of harassment and abuse and violation of basic human rights,
The right to say no, the right to thrive.
I would have told you,
I would have told you all
If only you had asked.
So don’t ask me why I’m angry
Ask yourself why you’re not.
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 11:45 AM UTC
There's a Revolution coming,
The boots are on the streets;
It's calling from the graves,
We're stirring from our sleep.
There's a hunger in the eyes;
The troops are on their feet.
The revolutions's coming
And the enemy won't retreat.
There's a revolution coming,
It's coming as we speak;
The revolution's coming,
It should be here next week.
The mob appeal
Is running lights,
Towered minions
Fight the fight
To rein in their percent,
From navel gazing heights.
Desks in towers,
Those grasping power,
Will tumble in defeat.
The gravity of their greed
Will drag them through the streets.
The bell at four
Will sound no more;
The chorus chants
For a holy war; and
Salvation for the weak.
There's a revolution
On the way,
We'll re-write all the laws,
We'll line up the Romanovs,
And shake down all the Shahs.
There's a revolution coming
And it's coming
With just cause.
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 10:33 AM UTC
**My life is foretold in every crevice of this universe,
in serene seas, and swaying sands,
in scorching degrees and holding hands,
with a lover in my longing arms,
fires raging, and yet i am sheltered from harm.
and throughout my journeys,
it is my deepest desire,
to ignite and set my ambitions on fire,
in the midst of euphoric dreaming,
with my lover on this late summer's evening.
and i shall be at one with the stars,
and my doors in life shall forever remain ajar.**
*Walk into this space it is endless
sublime congruence with the heavens
open is the third eye looking directly at abyss
i feel a divine hint on my skin
as if it were a celestial kiss
there is no need to travel in doubt
it is written across the evening canvas
open the gates of exotic awareness*
**It is writhing, it is gifting, entrusting me, and quaking,
yet I, within mine, remain still.
Fore be it told, and beneath footless form, it's subversive,
yet, I dance a sure tango, uphill.
I must be sure, so sure not to mind lone notches and disparity,
as crevices, you see, they arch to transverse.
Fearing but forging the depths of what is migration, we say,
from this hallowed tangle be my rise, my verse.
I’m floundering, I grant, when I think I hold discovery,
so, I tug at the rein of imprint and plan.
It is here my beloved reliance, my precious doubtless tread
is afforded the fair crossing of Pan.
So, although it contests and chides and outreaches,
I am in love and as love, an apprentice.
A conquest won, no never, but here, a concession, a regard-
I am, with no poet’s journey, amiss.**
Lilting ebulliently in ineffable fields of ecstasy.
Mellifluous waves, in life's voyage,
inure us to pulchritude paths, refined by old age.
Multifarious, nascent jubilant days, swaying in paint,
array the way as we sail away.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
1535
The Life that tied too tight escapes
Will ever after run
With a prudential look behind
And spectres of the Rein—
The Horse that scents the living Grass
And sees the Pastures smile
Will be retaken with a shot
If he is caught at all—
2.5k
WE ARE THE CHILDREN OF GOD ,,
And as such ,,,
This well could actually be our
elementary schooling ,
In classroom earth we've just not long moved in
To start our years of learning~
Others have been here for their time
As they for knowledge we are yearning~
We've found a lot of mysteries here
Ones that this time we cannot explain~
But we will have the answers when
We've done our years of rein~
Its said in scrolls and the many bibles of God
Gods day is a thousand years to our day one~
So we've only been here six days yet
According to the teachings now of some~
But the ages of this classroom earth
Go back before our knowledge and our knowing
Many different races , species , and gifts of God
Have been in this classroom longer than winds blowing
Our past loves ones spent time in classroom earth
They learned in their way as we've to do~
Then too moved on to yet another higher class
To see the rest of their schooling through~
One by one they've all left this class
As one by one we as well eventually will do~
And one by one this time around
We like them will go to higher classes too~
We wont need or use our bodies there at all
Just our intellect and love~
Lots of positive loving imagination as well
And always help from God both around us and above~
Terrence Michael Sutton
copyright 1978
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 8:00 AM UTC
The people in this place
—what are they doing here?
They come and go like actors in
a play whose star will very soon
begin to show himself,
although we have no clue
which one he is, for they‘re
all so like tin apostle
spoons, not truly separate beings
but figurines, a passive foil
to the inscrutible hero.
Is that him, that thin
pale figure who just now
is fleeing the inquisitive
crowd? But in a while he too
is slowly reingested, merged
into that far-off world
we can no longer be in.
The people in this place—what are they do-
ing here? They come and go like actors in
a play whose star will very soon begin
to show himself, although we have no clue
which one he is, for they‘re all so like tin
apostle spoons, not truly separate beings
but figurines, a passive foil to the in-
scrutible hero. Is that him, that thin
pale figure who just now is fleeing the in-
quisitive crowd? But in a while he too
is slowly reingested, merged into
that far-off world we can no longer be in.
The people in this place—what are
they doing here? They come and go
like actors in a play whose star
will very soon begin to show
himself, although we have no clue
which one he is, for they‘re all so
like tin apostle spoons, not tru-
ly separate beings but figurines,
a passive foil to the inscru-
tible hero. Is that him, that thin
pale figure who just now is fleeing
the inquisitive crowd? But in
a while he too is slowly rein-
gested, merged into that far-
off world we can no longer be in.
The people in this place—what are they doing here?
They come and go like actors in a play whose star
will very soon begin to show himself, although
we have no clue which one he is, for they‘re all so
like tin apostle spoons, not truly separate beings
but figurines, a passive foil to the inscru-
tible hero. Is that him, that thin pale figure who
just now is fleeing the inquisitive crowd? But in
a while he too is slowly reingested, merged
into that far-off world we can no longer be in.
Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
*On the top of rationality
Remains an abyss to insanity
That I persist to climb
Until I reach my prime
Until I grasp all the rains in my veins
Until I rein the reins
As I contemplate all the plains
Of grayish fate, thru trees of clocks
Leaves of wish and apples of Eve
Thru rocks weightless as chants
And thru ants and doves verging chess
Hazy mortals with gloves of hate
Lazy and crazy mortals,
In such rare lands of bliss,
Obliterating the glow...
**So, I knead the canvas with my bare hands
And threw myself into the abyss.***
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
In a parallel universe
A universe of opprtunities and justice
A universes that gives people their rights
People would each follow a path
That truly represents what's in their hearts
Instead of a doctor
I'd be
A ballerina
An architect
An interpreter
A writer
I would be
All the dreams that were stolen from me
In a world so damaged
To fulfill a child's dream
Therefore it destroys the talents
Before it grow beyond its rein
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
When you think
you're the only rooster
think again.
Rooster in the hen house
wins the hen.
The hen will stay
well behaved.
Until there's a hole
in the fence.
Then the hen will become
free rein again.
As the hen leaves
the roost!
That's when the other roosters
will strike again.
She will fluff up her feathers
to look the part!
Just Don't look away
for there is another
rooster up ahead.
This hen will react to
the new rooster
when it says,
cock-a-doodle-doo
That's when the hen smiles
and sounds off with
a cluck or two.
As the hen sticks her chest out.
Her tail feathers will go up.
The rooster she's with.
She doesn't give a flying
fluck
And the scenario
repeats itself
over and over again.
For this rooster is just
a bird brain.
It's all in his head!
That's what the hen
will say.
You're making it all up again.
So don't walk around to proud
saying,
**** -a-doodle-doo
with this hen.
She's not your hen.
She has to go back to
the roost soon.
She scored her points
with another rooster.
With it's cock-a-doodle-doo
That's all that matters
to this hen.
So, the next time
when the hen is outside
the fence.
She won't be cluckin for you.
It will be for the other rooster
that said cock-a-doodle-doo
in front of you.
For that rooster, does not care
who is with this hen.
As long as It gets
this hen in the end!
Back through the hole
in the fence.
The hen returns to
the roost.
Like so many times before.
To the rooster in the hen house
that
always wins.
Simba
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 11:16 PM UTC
The people in this place
—what are they doing here?
They come and go like actors in
a play whose star will very soon
begin to show himself,
although we have no clue
which one he is, for they‘re
all so like tin apostle
spoons, not truly separate beings
but figurines, a passive foil
to the inscrutible hero.
Is that him, that thin
pale figure who just now
is fleeing the inquisitive
crowd? But in a while he too
is slowly reingested, merged
into that far-off world
we can no longer be in.
The people in this place—what are they do-
ing here? They come and go like actors in
a play whose star will very soon begin
to show himself, although we have no clue
which one he is, for they‘re all so like tin
apostle spoons, not truly separate beings
but figurines, a passive foil to the in-
scrutible hero. Is that him, that thin
pale figure who just now is fleeing the in-
quisitive crowd? But in a while he too
is slowly reingested, merged into
that far-off world we can no longer be in.
The people in this place—what are
they doing here? They come and go
like actors in a play whose star
will very soon begin to show
himself, although we have no clue
which one he is, for they‘re all so
like tin apostle spoons, not tru-
ly separate beings but figurines,
a passive foil to the inscru-
tible hero. Is that him, that thin
pale figure who just now is fleeing
the inquisitive crowd? But in
a while he too is slowly rein-
gested, merged into that far-
off world we can no longer be in.
The people in this place—what are they doing here?
They come and go like actors in a play whose star
will very soon begin to show himself, although
we have no clue which one he is, for they‘re all so
like tin apostle spoons, not truly separate beings
but figurines, a passive foil to the inscru-
tible hero. Is that him, that thin pale figure who
just now is fleeing the inquisitive crowd? But in
a while he too is slowly reingested, merged
into that far-off world we can no longer be in.
Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
You can love me or loathe me,
Agree or disagree,
But you can never erase me.
I drive you,
Rein you in or rip you apart,
I encroach your mind with my conniving hands,
Yet you haven't the strength to expunge me.
However you might shut me out or restrain me
But in the end you succumb and I win.
I give you the hope to live,
The backbone to prop yourself up in despairing times,
The happiness to rejoice.
Call me friend or fiend,
Your fort or your facade,
Nonetheless I'm your past,
Will be your future and I'm here right now...
I'm undeniably your conscience
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 5:52 AM UTC
Jou eierbeloftes word
In mooi woordjies
En trane spoortjies
Toegedraai
En ingelyf
In die raadsale
Van my helderheid
En my bekwaamdheid
Oor gesonde redenasie
Uit legio self disintigrasie
Ek bêre dit knus
In my eie kluis
Te midde my huis
Ń yspaleis
As ek dit bewaar
Teen die donker gevaar
Wat dreig uit elke
Oordeelsdag
Wat op al die ponde
en onse wag
Elke "ek het vasgeval in verkeer"
Elke "jou wanvertroue maak my seer"
Elke kode woord
Agter die slot op jou skerm
bly jou sondeval verstoord!!
Jou eierbelofte is ń kuikenmoord!!
Dan hardloop ek terug
En kyk na die dop
Wat my toe snou
As ek dit net stywer toevou
, minweted salmonella
En bylepes
Skuil in die amnion
En wurg die blou driehoek
Op ń voortrekkervlag
Eet ek daarvan sal die dood op my wag
Jou eierbeloftes
Jou akkideskak eer
Jou asyn rein liefde
Sal ek bly trotseer
Vergewe my tranedal
Want blykbaar is
Ek net verlief
Op my eie terugval
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 10:26 AM UTC