"relieves" poems
A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breath and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a lone shed, and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, thankful to receive the momentary peace.
A possible misstep turns the wary peace on end with the jagged cut of broken leaves. The once relieved brow now concedes surprise as wild eyes are cast towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash a weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, the formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera backs out of the splintered hole, and pans over a silhouetted forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.
Our only closure, a black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.
The end.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 10:52 PM UTC
The lull of a restless night relieves my senses
It's monotone silence maintains my breath
The cold night breeze enters through an open window
It whispers soft tunes and attempts to put me to sleep
The humming of an exhausted laptop helps me decompress
It distracts me from overthinking and blocks out my stress
As the night goes on it starts to rain
It comforts my senses and cleanses my pain
This time-worn house cracks and creaks
It talks of troubled times and how it came to be
This place I call home proves i’m never alone
And it's always there to support me
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 9:25 AM UTC
your smile
shines in every season
In spring it blooms
In summer it blinds
In autumn it relieves (me)
In winter it warms
i would not know
what to do
without
you and your shining
smile
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
the frustration I had
after failing
to bring myself to ******
for the
tenth
time this past week
makes me more
furious
than depressed
seriously
my *** drive
has always been high
as soon as I
got over
the shame
society places on women
for enjoying
their sexuality
I have always used
************
as a release
relieves
stress
leaves me
relaxed
and
content
or should I say,
left me
feeling that way
usually
it was once a day
fairly frequent
but, it
matched
my *** drive's
needs
what the **** is wrong with me
I have tried
imagining,
watching,
reading,
looking at
every form
of erotica
that exists
I have searched
through everything
I can find
from
****
******
stories,
comics
and my search history
will let you know
that I've searched
everything
from
****
to
******
to
interracial lesbian forced *******
and things
worse
than that
e v e r y t h i n g
used to take me,
oh, I dunno
maybe three minutes
with my ********
after
around an hour
is when I give up
now
I even bought
a different
********
NO
RELEASE
NO
PASSION
GONE
what is
WRONG
WITH
ME
oh yeah -
depression
I mean
I knew it was bad
when video games
no longer
had appeal
that was enough
games
have been a passion
and a hobby of mine
since I was five
the other hobby
I started a bit older than five
but
you stole that one, too
after depression
beat the **** out of me
on Tuesday
I thought that was it
thought
since the next morning
I awoke
without the urge
to **** myself
it was over
nope
you have robbed me
of the simplest
things
in my life
that give me pleasure
no more
wriggling
moaning
spasming
the tingling
sensation
that starts in my toes
and makes its way
up
the length of my body
the warmness
that follows
with it
the
satisfaction
slight smile
snuggly
sleepy
post ****** me
I miss her
give her
back
I miss my life
give it
back
this isn't
ME
for ***** sake!
I am a ******
witty
humorous creature
full of passion
looking
for opportunities
to get myself off!
not this
depressed
apathetic
vessel
without soul.
you won't stop
until you have
everything
in my life
you won't stop
until you
put
my soul in your mouth
chew
grind
crush it
your saliva
breaks me down
spit me out
please
I am fighting
for you to cough me up
regurgitate
the essence
of me
let me put myself
back inside this body
please
please
no
you won't stop
you will eat my soul
until
ever fiber
protein
ounce of health
I had
is now
inside of you,
depression
cold-hearted *****
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 6:10 AM UTC
The Victoria plum-tree that we planted this year
Is now full of blossom that looks lovely from here
The creamy white flowers and the brightest green leaves
Makes beautiful colour as Springtime relieves.
The garden of Winter, this year so wet
Does blossom herald a ‘best Summer yet.’
It’s quite true of course that village life so snug
Can have a tendency to make one feel smug
But for years our’s has struggled, it now has no shops
And a pub that’s near closure though it still sells the ‘hops.’
We don’t take it lightly the community here
For we know we could lose it which would cost us all dear.
It’s not really the money though the costs would be great
But there’d be no Village Hall and no Summer Fete
No chats with our friends over stiles by the field
Nor any more eggs from the local chicks yield.
We don’t take it lightly the community here
And we will fight to keep it which will cost us all dear.
©JRW2014
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
Music kills my pain,
It speaks to my heart,
It relieves my stress,
Makes me dance,
Makes me laugh,
Makes me smile,
Makes me think,
Music is powerful..
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC
In pubs with bar flies.
Kronenburg, Becks, Carling, Stella Artois and Fosters,
Dancing in our blood,
Utterly inured; we are endured by all:
The solipsism most profound.
And when Johnnie, Jack and Jameson join,
The sentimental and the morbid
Are conjoined.
And ****
In the custody of beer halls,
The shadows that draw, fade,
And calls – e’en Death’s! -- are put on hold!
No time; instead, before the last, another pint.
For in this hallowed inn,
Drinking what’s in the glass,
And espousing the glow within,
Cares regress.
No woes,
Or loaded psyches,
For when the pressure builds,
The best: a jet of yellow bliss,
Relieves the pain,
On Armitage Shanks' porcelain.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC
Mirror
by Kajal Ahmad, a Kurdish poet
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My era’s obscuring mirror
shattered
because it magnified the small
and made the great seem insignificant.
Dictators and monsters filled its contours.
Now when I breathe
its jagged shards pierce my heart
and instead of sweat
I exude glass.
Keywords/Tags: Kajal Ahmad, Kurd, Kurdish, translation, mirror, shattered, magnified, dictators, monsters, jagged, shards, sweat, perspire, leak, bleed, extrude, protrude, glass
The Lonely Earth
by Kajal Ahmad
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The pale celestial bodies
never bid her "Good morning! "
nor do the creative stars
kiss her.
Earth, where so many tender persuasions and roses lie interred,
might expire for the lack of a glance, or an odor.
She's a lonely dusty orb,
so very lonely! , as she observes the moon's patchwork attire
knowing the sun's an imposter
who sears with rays he has stolen for himself
and who looks down on the moon and earth like lodgers.
Kurds are Birds
by Kajal Ahmad
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Per the latest scientific classification, Kurds
now belong to a species of bird!
This is why,
traveling across the torn, fraying pages of history,
they are nomads recognized by their caravans.
Yes, Kurds are birds! And,
even worse, when
there's nowhere left to nest, no refuge from their pain,
they turn to the illusion of traveling again
between the warm and arctic sectors of their homeland.
So I don't think it strange Kurds can fly but not land.
They wander from region to region
never realizing their dreams
of settling,
of forming a colony, of nesting.
No, they never settle down long enough
to visit Rumi and inquire about his health,
or to bow down deeply in the gust-
stirred dust,
like Nali.
Bi Havre (“Together”)
possibly the oldest Kurdish poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I want us to be together:
we would eat together,
climb the mountain together,
sing songs together, songs of love,
songs from the heart, sung from above.
I want us to have one heart, together.
Many words in this ancient poem are in doubt, so I have excerpted what I grok to be the central meaning.
And because Kajal mentioned Rumi, here are my translations of Rumi:
Raise your words, not their volume.
Rain grows flowers, not thunder.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Birdsong
by Rumi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Birdsong relieves
my deepest griefs:
now I'm just as ecstatic as they,
but with nothing to say!
Please universe,
rehearse
your poetry
through me!
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 3:00 AM UTC
For so long I wanted to be water
An element that soothes and saves
For I was born of fire
Wild, destructive and difficult to tame
I tried to dull my flames
In order to gain some control
Though the spark deep inside me
Wanted freedom to console
The hatred I held inside
I couldn't accept my role
I wanted to be everything I wasn't
The ocean, the rain, the winter's cold
How can I run free
When all I'll ever do is destroy
The fire that burns in me
Is a passion I can no longer avoid
I finally embrace my element
As it is in my nature
I want to be free to be myself
I've never felt more sure
For so long I longed to be water
An element that subdues and relieves
But I was born of fire
With a warmth that burns so passionately
I am a candle that provides you light
I am the fire that warms you whole
I brighten your darkest night
I thaw the coldest hearts and souls
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 2:44 AM UTC
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QUIVER ALL-MAXIMIZING
SAMUEL DAVID <[email protected]>
3:38 AM (56 minutes ago)
to Daniel
SOAR OWNERSHIP
/ UTTERANCES OUTLABOURED PILGRIMS/
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Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 7:44 AM UTC
Today again I saw a gate in the sky.
Streams of pale light trickled through it.
I no longer looked at the sun, only straight ahead,
My silhouette reflected in the ***** tram window.
I looked farther, hypnotized,
sipping words veiled in the dust of the autumn sun.
Dry spaces. Leaves.
Golden bile sparkled,
And no one saw this wonder in the sky.
At the stop, in the crowd rushing by,
An experiment took place:
A man wrapped in copper threads.
He searched for relief while anger bound his soul.
He fought the air, attacked with words,
Like a puppet moving in convulsions.
Hands clenched, anger in his eyes.
“This will pass, this will fade,” I thought,
Moving to another car.
A primal tremor. A change of frequency.
Someone is turning the **** of our universe.
How many more cells of the body will they spoil
Before it is ground to ashes?
Until all ends in colonization,
A reward for micro-souls from another world.
People sunk in their minds
do not hear the hum of strings.
And I plead in my thoughts:
listen, look, be your reality.
Behind the gate a hundred weeks ago,
a crackling gramophone plays.
My calm relieves someone’s thoughts.
Somewhere, thousands of hours ago,
the past becomes the future.
Next time when you pass by me, indifferent,
the warmth of my thought will warm your
Dry, wrinkled hands.
I will never know You, and I would like to know
what you will say when these trembling words arrive on the wind.
In the autumn glow of the setting sun,
Like a gentle brushing of leaves at the next opening of the gate.
I will be there in the crack like a stray thought
that wanted to become immortality.
Sep 25, 2025
Sep 25, 2025 at 5:59 PM UTC
Kurds are Birds
by Kajal Ahmad, a Kurdish poet
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Per the latest scientific classification, Kurds
now belong to a species of bird!
This is why,
traveling across the torn, fraying pages of history,
they are nomads recognized by their caravans.
Yes, Kurds are birds! And,
even worse, when
there’s nowhere left to nest, no refuge for their pain,
they turn to the illusion of traveling again
between the warm and arctic sectors of their homeland.
So I don’t think it strange Kurds can fly but not land.
They wander from region to region
never realizing their dreams
of settling,
of forming a colony, of nesting.
No, they never settle down long enough
to visit Rumi and inquire about his health,
or to bow down deeply in the gust-
stirred dust,
like Nali.
And because Kajal mentioned Rumi, here are my translations of Rumi:
Raise your words, not their volume.
Rain grows flowers, not thunder.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Birdsong
by Rumi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Birdsong relieves
my deepest griefs:
now I'm just as ecstatic as they,
but with nothing to say!
Please universe,
rehearse
your poetry
through me!
Keywords/Tags: Kajal Ahmad, Kurdish, translation, Kurds, birds, nomads, caravans, refuge, homeland, fly, land, flying, landing, colony, nest, nesting, Rumi, Nali
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 3:24 AM UTC
How could I spell out love when it is absent of her name?
The way her eyes reflected a sunrise, the envy of Eos
She was like honey in the sky, the amber of her energy enraptured me
I was bewitched
She was a masterpiece drawn with starlight, unfathomable beauty
An ivory sculpture crafted by the hands of a god, masterpiece of Hephaestus
I remember the time I was blessed by that smile,
A vilified promise
The scent of patchouli and the taste of my favorite tea
Like ambrosia for a mortal, that sweet taste of paradise
Sunflowers and the many other favorites that she gave me
Stolen without a word
She used to call me late at night to talk about her day
But the days for me got longer, I couldn't keep her entertained
Such a coldness hid underneath the warmth I thought she gave me
Gone like a ghost in the night
I thought I was breathless because I loved her, now I’m suffocated by the agony
She was killing me underneath the sweetness, constricting like a boa
And when I close my eyes to see the memories lapse she's still in them
Haunting me like she wanted
Eros' is golden arrows struck me hard and shamelessly
Through my heart and left a scar, chasmic and wide
Her toxic serotonin left me high, addicted to her energy
A limitless euphoria
I spoke to the gods above and I told them of my love
What a liar she's made me out to be, the clever snake
I begged that Aphrodite let my words reach her
But they fell on deaf ears
Now I pray that Anteros relieves me and hears my plea
Unravel these feelings in my heart, lift the anchor of her name
Don't let me be the sole carrier of the blame
For the ruin that remains
Nov 7, 2021
Nov 7, 2021 at 7:42 AM UTC
It's been some time, a lengthy while
Since I've written poems freestyle
Rhymes, you see, are pretty things
But they're like birds with broken wings
But when freestyle starts feeling fake
And no longer relieves my ache
I take refuge in dear old rhyme
Till my music can truly chime
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 2:43 PM UTC
Where is that hand,
That motherly embrace,
Which comforts in its ****** -
That motherly hand I can trust?
Where is that hand,
That warming caress,
Which eases the nerves -
That cocoon of soft curves?
There is no rest anymore
In thoughts of exile and escape;
My being is shaken to the core,
My soul bent under the stress.
Where is that hand,
That soothing absence,
Which cradles you gently -
That silence of calm and mercy?
Where is the hand,
That promise of better days,
Which relieves innocently -
That convincing “don’t worry”?
There is no rest anymore
In thoughts of exile and escape;
My being is shaken to the core,
My soul bent under the stress.
Apr 5, 2022
Apr 5, 2022 at 2:25 PM UTC
No matter how many pills
No matter how strong
No matter the cocktail of meds
I can't seem to be who they want.
I can't be the ideal human
I can't be that model of society
I can't bring myself to swallow their rules
I can't stand up and swallow their pills any longer
I know what they want from me
I know how they want me
I know what everyone wants
Everyone but me
You know what its like
Depression dragging behind you all day
The psychopath in you screaming to gain reigns
The crazy illusions as schizophrenia settles in
The lack of anything as the sociopath wraps you in a blanket
The madness that you've grown to love
As it all slowly takes you your handed a cup with a pill
It is the cage to keep your mind as it is alive
It lets you step outside the hovel of your mind
And lock all those memories and screaming away
A new you
Is it really you anymore
Our reason is based upon who we've grown up as
Why can't we think how we were made too
Why are we to blame when we didn't raise ourselves
The key to your mind was and will never be the pills
The medicine is just a cage to mold you how they want us
The key to our happiness is and will always be ourselves
Its in all of our minds
That sickening depression do what relieves it
The psychopathic beast inside unleash it
The schizophrenic visions embrace them
The lack of humanity that blankets your mind
Let yourself do as your supposed
No one in this world can make you happy all the time
No one but ourselves
We are our own master of mind.
If reason doesn't suit you release it.
Madness is like a comforter when you wake up on a cold day
It will keep you happy and healthy
Accept the medicine if you want reality
If reality even with the cage isn't comfortable come with me
Dance in the madness of anarchy
Let your mind run free
Let yourself be who you were born to be
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 9:04 AM UTC
Before I die please tell me how you do all this ,
How are you carrying me? how you kept a stupid me sharing extreme bliss,
How you do all of this ; being polite and kissing with your prayers,
Knowing that may be it won't give you what you deserve and end up devastated with a sharp spear ,
That spear dipped in poison of pain,
And sorrow along with only threatening thunder but no soothening rain,
The rain which relieves the painful emotions,
Which are highly toxic and in extreme end up with potions ,
It's not just a big heart which take all hurt inside ,
And just pushing endless Love outside,
Even if I annoy you; tease you or push you off the ease and stab you from inside ,
You don't manage you just put them aside ,
Put it in the trash can and wrap me with care and made yourself so polite ,
Is it really possible to do without no reason at all,
Or there is something like a big treasure at the end of this fall?
I mean really is there any big worth behind all of this?
Or just it's only you and only just board me up in your boat; oh no not a boat it's a ship ,
Ship carrying every thing which can make things more than ease,
Counting from a little help upto a endless number of beautiful moments with ,
Are you a human? do you really exist?
I have numerous of questions for you; will you stay in contact forever ?
And if you don't I don't have a problem but I wish for you God must give you happiness in a big basket everyday and a person to love you every second.
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 12:01 PM UTC
You forgotten color you
no real word rhymes with you so
you’re only rhymed with slang
sign of autumn
complexion of jack o lanterns
patterned with black you are the color scheme of a holi-
well horror day
you are
the color of the sky when
moon relieves sun
you look good with stone washed blue jeans
sun dresses of your hue please the eye
elmer’s glue nozzle tip
you are the good OJ
no gloves or lame *** raps
most important you are my mother’s favorite color
for her to love such a weird tint
just marks the seed of a weirdness that I now embrace
orange
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
A soft smooth motion
across the skin of your feet-
A peaceful touch of grace
that strokes the knots and
relieves the strain.
The stressful day complete,
no bickering or complaints.
This calm, this quiet
must remain for the sake of our brains
You must realize,
It's the end of the day-
You're safely at home
And everything is okay.
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 1:56 PM UTC
And now emerges white bits of sunshine;
Eyes urged to wake, and tongues to pray;
To Lord of the worlds and of nights and days;
That we be pure in the heart and mind;
Feet saileth lower amongst one another;
With such admiration that lasts forever;
Faithful heads bow and touch the pious floor;
Pearls of rewards doubling behind the door.
And His beauty is deeper than solace;
More luminous than desire and grace;
He asks for love, chastity, and firm abstinence;
He longs for faith, modesty, and true penitence.
Praises and glory are floated to Allah;
Mouths recite and phrase la ilaha illallah.
And claim their very peace upon beloved Muhammad;
With dear respect from the deepest roots of hearts.
Winds might blow and grass might be green;
But we fear still, the restless Might of the Unseen;
He who watches and renders all our affairs;
He who breathes our blood and strands of our hair;
And do fear Him and seek His Abode;
For we shall cease and retreat to our Lord;
As this earth fades, where His end starts therefrom;
And sees our deeds since we dwelled in mothers' wombs;
But Allah is ever fair, filial, and loving;
He is the Keenest, and the Most Heroic king;
He rules perfectly the East and the West;
He listens to what flows within every chest;
And He is All-Forgiving and ever Merciful;
He is swift to both the living and the dead;
He relieves tears of the believing souls;
He lives and sparks, within our very breath.
And He is but ecstatic like the rainbow;
Nothing is more countable than His tomorrow;
His Warm Hands are what we all rush for;
His Words are a poem, like never before.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
Desperate these words,
Chasing fleeting shadow,
Echoes flocking like birds
Amid myriad distortions,
The unquiet mind's sorrow.
In birth chosen for sweetness,
A bid for attentions of one
Soon fade mere whispers,
Weak and defeated tomorrow,
Exhaled anguish unheard.
Written lines would have best
Been spoken in ears years ago
'Ere time flowed its course,
When ever softer verse
Might shimmer
Then a symphony,
Maybe able
To drown life's other sounds
Like Mozart, loud as one can turn up.
Would there be any remedy
Which relieves burdens of memory...
The music of dulcet strings
Does dull stings, still only temporary;
And since abandoned,
Thoughts of more ultimate things.
So still, some poet's quill
Crafts dreams into sparrows,
Sets fluttering free
Their unnatural wings
To sing a song of regret,
Share madness with the winds.
Jan 14, 2010
Jan 14, 2010 at 3:22 PM UTC
We sometimes cry like kids Simply because there is a kid Inside each of us ... We often cry like kids Simply because we need to do so To relieve ourselves ... We rarely cry for nothing Simply because we need someone or We need something to cry for Like loss of a dear person or a dead pet ... Our precious tears are worthy of Precious diamonds when we really cry From our hearts anytime ... Crying relieves us and we need sometimes To cry like kids ...
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 8:01 AM UTC
They say wisdom comes with age, but i believe wisdom comes to those who seek it
I've learned to take every chance that comes my way
That self-motivation actually works
How laughing when I'm down actually cheers me up
That other peoples opinions about me don't matter
That drama stops by cutting out the people who create it
That I can't force feelings my heart won't accept
How crying relieves my soul
That my curiosity and assumptions always kills a part of me
To talk to people that understand what I'm going through
To stop caring about people who don't care about me any more
To love those who are in my life with all my heart
How God is with me and will always be with me
That my life isn't mine to control
That the love of God is all I need and no man will ever love me more than He does
That to live is Christ and to die is gain.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 11:55 PM UTC
439
Undue Significance a starving man attaches
To Food—
Far off—He sighs—and therefore—Hopeless—
And therefore—Good—
Partaken—it relieves—indeed—
But proves us
That Spices fly
In the Receipt—It was the Distance—
Was Savory—
2.1k
The monk shows me the scar
where he took the bullet
the 70s fiery rebel
is now a Shiva-ite by faith.
I try to see in his eyes
remnant of youth’s spark
believing the fire never dies
from time now buried in the dark.
The March wind blows the dust
banyan trunks make a cool shade
in the lull he relieves a past
no way could he obliterate.
*A time was I held a gun
the police was hot on my trail
day night I was on the run
in the pride of being a rebel.*
Cast shadows an eerie silence
now evening could no longer wait
I wave to him from a distance
Shiva waits on him to meditate.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC