"repercussion" poems
I am a woman , I should be timid - They say
I am a human , I know no limit - I say,
My existence is not meant for your judgment
Crushing me is not a sign of your triumphant,
My love for you has always been abundant
Why am I the one to make all the adjustments,
Look into my eyes , you'll see a twinkle
Savaging it , is so sinful,
My demand for freedom makes you reluctant
Clothed in societal norms , I have to bear its repercussion,
How are the governing laws so different for Both
What makes you so nervous of my growth,
Why do I have to fight for what is my right
Why do you enjoy my plight,
Being submissive is declared my attire
No one hears what my heart desires,
I am not the one to dance on your note
I am a volcano that erupts on my own,
I don't demand anything extraordinary
All I seek is equality,
Equality to Breathe without fear
Equality to be safe my dear!!!!!
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 3:36 AM UTC
I hear a knock upon my door.
Or was it there inside my head, where only ever dread for the things in life I can't obtain remains; No matter how hard I may in one form or another train?
And so I'll sell a piece of my soul yet again; My price of admission to taste love's glory for but a momentary grin.
With you it was so much different.
My heart is still broke, but my real loss is more than conviction.
I lost my heart, my soul, my vision.
A future bleaker than a demonic prediction.
My mind is racing as I try to relax but thoughts of you come rushing back.
I try to close my eyes to snore but there's always a monster lurking behind memory's door.
And as I recalled I saw my cursed fate,
Always here to be here but never to stay.
I'm airport luggage thrown and lost,
Maybe sought another day.
But I'll still love you through any amount of pain.
I've loved before you but never loved in this way: So full of passion and love for who we both are and could be. I'd marry you now and yet I've never stopped you to say that you're such an invaluable friend, and I'm sorry I can't be okay.
I hate that I'm not only jealous but hurt when I shouldn't feel so deeply burnt by the girl that stole my heart; She's so far beyond my worth.
But she came at night and without a knife she took my heart off it's throne in life, and put it kneeling like she had the key. As if some Divine being that, before we had even met, had my heart beat.
Your love for him is clear even from afar,
And so my heart will beat forever subpar.
So confusing are you truly to me.
The one thing I know is you are the one to whom my soul and heart chose to leave me to be.
Maybe heartless and soul-less should go hand in hand? Ripped from the body by something far greater than man.
Something unknowingly more than human, yet divined by human hands.
Ill be content that while I'm still so broke, She can be healed and her love will help her float: And she can finally forgive herself for the wrongs He wrote.
She'll shoulder the pain and strife of life,
With love beside her every night.
I can be okay but never better,
So I write to myself and you all this letter.
I'm high as a kite,
And just as exposed,
I will never not hear the call of my soul.
Depart away so you can hate me,
And close the chapter of my life called meaning.
I want only for you to be whole.
Regardless of cost, repercussion or role.
My love for you will live until dawn rises untouched by Earth's rock.
Yet ever haunting as a ghost who only ever knocks.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC
Forgive me Father for we were too blind to lead our hearts, misled by our fragile thoughts and irreconcilable differences.
Forgive me Father for the misinterpretation created in in my head by dilemma and submerged in trauma;
I was blind to trust and numb to disregard our own fresh wounds rubbed in salts in guise of words.
W o r d s
Cuts like a knife, straight to the heart and insidious
Like an uninvited guest, it stays till you're completely exhausted.
Drowned myself in vulnerability to trust the stranger
Unsure of the grave repercussion and danger.
Forgive us Father for losing ourselves in pain and game
For we were too naive to comprehend
Until we embarked on suffering till the end.
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 2:50 AM UTC
Mild day in winter, week before Christmas
Turns out the tree in your front yard has been
A holly tree all along, finally showing true colors
As a taxi driver leaves the driveway and
A neighbor in a red shirt crosses the concrete
Sidewalk. The succulents to my side reach like alien
Synapses, your white car looks at me cross-
eyed, cinnabar brick damp with Peninsula fog.
The morning’s cup of coffee still lingers on my
Tongue, my body aches with last night’s indulgences
And repressions. Warmth is relative, hangovers
Are absolute. A pagan zodiac spins inside a
Haze of long-lost memories, a gauntlet of trees.
A gentler repercussion, a less insightful song,
For I am only human, stains on my sleeve,
Sleeping in when I should be producing anything.
I forget what I am, except a shivering flesh vessel.
I cannot remember what I was supposed
To be.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
I watch you smoke Neptune for the last time outside your front door
Listening to you talk about music or the weather
Your hand twitches and the cobalt glass shatters in three pieces at your feet, but you don't even look down and continue your monologue
The dry air between us heaves a smokers cough and sighs
In the den, under low ceilings and blurry repercussion
Ciphering through lots of nothing on tv
You settle on some garbage show
But end up kissing me instead
I had to leave at one thirty five
Someone always has to leave eventually
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 6:58 PM UTC
when you are new, consequences seem minuscule
authority is a foreign concept, maybe too close to home
a repercussion to fear
the day your light enters the world, rules border your actions like the lines on a freeway
who’s to say that rebellion is a bad thing
expression in its greatest form.
acting out to show discontent.
but the underlying causes are beautiful.
with experience, things become so real.
one mistake and you can be sent away for a lifetime.
acting out is no longer to show off
development at different times, yet 18 years to decide
mens rea vs actus reus.
shouldn’t it be the intentions that decide?
authority to shut down rebellion, self expression if you will
own up to the reaction of our action.
its a bit distorted.
in other words over the top
how many rules there are.
but whats the point in breaking the rules if there were no rules to be broken.
we find ourselves in this given situation.
the animosity for authority; yet the lust towards rebellion.
if there was no authority to implement the proper etiquette to fit the social norm, would there even be a point to committing heinous acts that are considered “illegal”.
living to find a meaning to match with the experiences.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
Rapid Eye Movements
cruise down the Autobahn,
driving dreams of soldiers
slaying the Beast in the East:
seeds hidden in the cuff links
that return home for the victory parade.
The victory parade of the new millennium
is a mirage: desert sand creeps
through the streets of Basra;
spray painted slogans of “Aryan Nation”
are left behind on pock-marked walls.
High level terror alerts
scroll across the Fear o' Dome,
breeding paranoid glances
from commercial-class passengers
while they fly above fenced camps
where centralized secret service agents
watch the unloading of another train.
"Son, do you forget the sacrifices?
Have you lost all your respect?
Okay, it’s possible that the Feds
were influenced by the Purebreds—
a minor repercussion
of maintaining our national security.
It isn’t even about racial purity—
you are all mixed now, anyway.
Whether female, black, jew, or gay,
we must unite together as a nation;
raise its flag with pride,
and fight against a common enemy!
This enemy is trying to disintegrate
the cornerstone of our free society!
Son, can you not see! Not see-notsee-notsea-notsi-notzi-natzi-nazi-natzi-notzi-notsi-notsea-notsee-not see!"
_____
—cold sweat.
I awaken to remnants of nightmarish images
sifting through my mind:
flocks of carnivorous sheep
with invisible shepherds.
The dream had felt real—
solid, like flesh-out reality.
I rush out of bed,
just to make sure.
From my bedroom window,
I see the neighbour’s Iron Eagle weathervane
goose-stepping towards the west.
A lawnmower growls in the background.
Everything appears normal here
on the corner of 4th Reichstag Blvd.
2016 Neu Berlin Remix, July 13th, 2016
(original version was written on March 29th, 2010)
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 6:14 PM UTC
it happened again
another life taken
****
i
am
so
tired
of
this
i thought
this is
the reality of being black
the least i could do
was bear witness to
that fateful moment
when two men thought
they had the right
to play God
to knock you over
and look down on you
as they pulled the trigger
the racism in their bullets
make wounds that
never heal
in hearts that are
still beating
and i'm so sorry that
the last thing you saw
were hateful eyes
i'm sitting here and
pleading insanity
on behalf of humanity
bullets in black bodies
from the hands of
ignorant and aggressive
white men
who ****** without
repercussion or remorse
the cycle repeats
as the definition states
bullets in black bodies
from the hands of
ignorant and aggressive
white men
who ****** without
repercussion or remorse
what is it going to take
to remedy this pain
please someone assure us
that this time
his life will
not be in vain
we have to change
and stop living in
America: the land of
the insane.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 7:46 PM UTC
we all remember
where we were
watching the towers
burn and fall
knowing that things would
never be the same at all
disbelief at first, or
had an action movie
slipped into the news
no, it was real
and then twenty years
of vengeful repercussion
of military posturing
of suffering for many
we watched
the baddies being painted
good and evil
being redefined
virtue confused
impotence and power
conflated
lies and spin
consecrated
truth
alternated
idiot rich guys
promoted
tax for the poor
promulgated
democracy
desecrated
climate destruction
accelerated
by denialist
complacency
inequality
more concentrated
goodness and morality
infiltrated
by posturing political
pus weasels
venal vultures
of self interest
grasping for
short term dominance
and then ..
complacency pervaded
as absurdity
was accepted
as our new state of normal
and the height
of compassion
was owning a dog
and tut tutting
as refugees marched
across our news screens
and now we
bemoan being isolated
from being contaminated
we are mostly relegated
to stay in our mansions
while dinner is contemplated
have you been vaccinated?
Sep 11, 2021
Sep 11, 2021 at 4:32 AM UTC
It has never been my intension
nor was it ever a bone of contention
to alter or disrupt the social convention
but now is the time to pay close attention
to the decline of the human condition
Responsibility rescinded creating moral decomposition
accountability abandoned causing legal repercussion
right and wrong are muddled in a malicious juxtaposition
public opposition has festered into social imperfection
the omission of tradition by politician’s redefinition
HEED THIS ADMONITION OR ARDENT APPREHENSION
SAGACIOUS SUSPICION AND PERSISTANT PREVENTION
Of the decommission of the Physician, Pediatrician
the Technician, and the Mathematician
and give this acquisition to those with no ambition
even those under suspicion of sedition
or held in detention without fear of restitution
This is the deception of the devolution
of the middle classification
and the total destruction
of American personification
praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
Never decide all of a sudden
Take time and act shrewdly
In case you take a rash step
The repercussion will be bad
Consult many in the trade
Talk to those whom you trust
Very carefully analyze points
Finally a solution will emerge
Acting based on just instinct
Will take in the wrong direction
It may spoil all your initiative
Animals are only **** rash
Crude decisions end shabbily
Producing lots of confusions
The position may turn terrible
As a result of blind approach
Use brain and also your heart
Here only shrewdness mingles
With your heart's natural mercy
Use this combination to achieve.
mvvenkataraman
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
words can poison.
when young we read fairy tales and fantasies,
fans of fictitious fables.
when "taught" religion we are immediately placed into a mind-trap,
with heavenly reward
and hellish repercussion.
allow independence
abolish imprisonment
words can cure.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 5:20 PM UTC
Staggering with each step.
Unsure,
Unreliable.
A state I have never felt.
Uncharted,
Unimaginable.
As if I am treading without sight,
As if I am wandering without hearing.
I have to depend on my instincts,
In a world of disgruntled confidence.
I grab for anything,
Yearning to latch on to something solid,
Something paramount,
Something substantial.
I yearn for connection.
I ache for love in a way I've never felt before.
I want to take your hand and never let go.
I want to take you into my arms and be enveloped in happiness.
Impossible, for I am not capable,
Perpetually alone.
A nomad in my own brain.
A sole vagrant left to travel for infinity.
I can try to be optimistic,
But my past only shows one path,
One I have sowed myself,
I must take the consequences.
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 5:17 PM UTC
minds and mentalities
corrupted and broken
from the noxious words
and infectious actions
by the repercussion and influence
of the people we once knew
who's hardened brains perished
and withered away
who's guarded hearts mutilated
and commutated
who's perspective reciprocated
and influenced predominantly
by fallacious things
how will we,
when will we
restore our youth?
m.p.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 5:50 AM UTC
You questioned my virtue
After witnessing all the things that I’ve been through
From the time I kept my heavily gates locked and suffered the repercussion
A swollen face and minor concussion
To the time I had a miscarriage scared and alone
We still loved each other but first I needed the father of my child to atone..
I always thought my honesty was something you adored
Never thought the day would come where you would be the one calling me a *****
I could never be this open with anybody other than you.
I thought you were my best friend but now that couldn’t be any less true.
You used to tell me everything
From the highlight of your nights to the grimiest of schemes
Something along the way was lost
I sit and wonder what it could be
Now I cry cause I can’t remember the last time
you kissed my forehead ever so gently
Your kisses aren’t the same
But whose to blame
I remember the time when I could fall asleep in your arms
I hated how those pictures of me passed out They didn’t do any justice for my girlish charms..
I thought you knew me and my insecurities
I thought I knew you but I look at you now and I don’t know who is standing in front me
I’m sure you feel the same
I don’t know how it got to this to point
and I sure as hell don’t know who to blame..
What if it could be a good thing
Maybe the birth of our son will give us a new song to sing
I still want to be your wife but
I guess I should be grateful that I’ll always be in your life
I always wanted to have your child, I wanted at least four.
I don’t know where you’ll be after you walk out that door..
And I’ve never been so scared
Never thought the day would come where I wouldn’t be spared
Will you ever come back?
You’re harder to reach the further you fade to black..
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 1:32 AM UTC
From the beginning, the lesson has always been the same
to never rest responsibilities on no brow but mine,
and this counts for movement, creation,
production, prosperity,
repercussion,
function, and gumption.
All the times I am attached,
I am blessed and protected and cured,
but by all means,
it's too easy.
After a honeymoon's worth,
like any wild thing
without a real home,
I scratch to go outside.
For one truth being the weight of my footsteps,
and with each placement a wealth of self-reliance,
surely I'm prouder than any motor.
And most of all,
to greet the night as I greet the day,
I accept my stillness,
my unbottled moment,
which dictates I may breathe
the freedom to reap my bounty.
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 4:34 PM UTC
I befall in deception yet again,
As you drank my blood in a wine glass,
Your mere presence leaves me crippled of senses other than my sight,
My heart beat induces every other sense numb,
It beats louder and louder,
Ensuing on me a maddening repercussion,
spirals of emotions swarm,
While my flesh rots,
As I have loved you with every vessel and there is none of me left,
Nothing more than a shadow,
That worships your presence,
And devours it's self in your absence,
My selfishness fails to Reason Infront of your heartless arrogance,
Indeed,
You have fueled a bizarre touch to my nature,
Yet,
my heart hums a tune in envy wishing for you to satiate me with your presence,
And engage with my hearts hollowness by being a permanent dweller,
So I can thrive in oblivion of my own tangible hollowness,
I am deceased until you pour within me life,
Drop by drop,
But then you flicker a fire to watch me burn,
Your mistaken to think I have not burned to ashes,
For I am a moth for your flame,
Oct 9, 2024
Oct 9, 2024 at 4:05 AM UTC
How one must declare his way of thinking,
Without offending another's way of breathing,
How must one walk his own journey,
While plowing through the lilies of the field?
The silent chill of the nights sweet calling,
Will one ignore the way it is drawing-
The coat around the stranger's back,
The wool it clings like soppy wet paper.
The pines reaching into the black silky sky,
Stealing wonder, boasting like the badger -
Make shifting the scene into his own world,
Backbone reaching, strong, furrowed.
A note, a baby's innocent cry, a laugh
Seemingly part of every single night-
One does not live without repercussion,
There is no passive in passion,
everything around is connecting,
This, offended men, is this possible to deny?
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 2:48 PM UTC
power lives in the sticks of the youthful retrogrades
peddling away at toy cars and glass bombs
So much potential weakened by the seduction of mediocrity
called to the middle by pigs in suits of glamor
dancing to hollow songs in a crater of mistaken humanoids
all prying for the final meat Popsicle
and it belongs to him with all his shady remarks
and sincere disregard for the gravitational potential energy of your existence
He WILL break you
morph your limbs into callous claws to weak to open the locks
which chain you to the village whipping pole
He along with his mutiness will laugh as he warps your brain
into a dough shaped plato carving barely resembling an *****
His thievery is not a simple repercussion of his damaged limping stare
it is clear he does not want to be fixed as suffering is his favorite playmate, he waits in the faces of all those that swing alone
injecting shots of mind numbing cubicle anti-rage into his neck veins
this is his piece
as you dry heave the blood of your loyalty onto parchment for his inspection you must learn to swim
paddle that canoe out of the iridescent concrete showering of his affection
for this is not your jigsaw
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 10:51 AM UTC
Recognizing my time
Who I am
Is no one waste
Choosing to be
Something that we
Evaluate
What judgement is carried out?
To see another person
Does a piece of paper determine
Who should I be
After years
Controlling my destiny
Which has no end
Accompany in the same place
With tireless beckon and repercussion
Therefore
How can a piece of paper
Show me
A future beyond heaven's gates
Aug 17, 2010
Aug 17, 2010 at 2:28 AM UTC
I never used to be like this,
Not even 4 months ago,
I never used to wake up feeling sick
to my stomach,
Disgusted with myself, that I'm a
problem that people have to deal with,
Filled with anxiety causing a shaking
in my heart and ribs,
These butterflies are not cute,
They have wings of glass, puncturing
me from the inside out.
They're not because of you, but only
a repercussion of thinking of you,
and him, and her, and them,
and then, and when, and how.
You'll leave.
He thought he didn't hurt me.
She was the only thing I had.
They showed me I can't be one
of them.
Then the butterflies awoke,
When I couldn't cope,
How can I trust that you
won't do the same.
I'm not a person. I'm the problem.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
i have experienced writer’s block before,
but not like this...
not when i’ve forgotten the meaning of every word that comes to mind,
every word except one: you
you are by far the worst thing that has happened to my poetry
because, before, i could write about my sadness,
about how the world was closing in on me,
but you stood in the way of that
almost as if you were saying 'no, darling, let me show you something new.'
so you showed me the world in a new light,
and suddenly it felt so big i did not know how to deal with it;
could not find the words to describe what i was feeling,
could not find the words.
in the weeks that we have been together,
my sadness became dormant.
sometimes,
sometimes it still erupts out of me;
the hot lava of my tears washing away any hope i had had left.
but even in those moments
you have been there,
there for the repercussion,
for the mending,
there for me.
Now all i can write about is you, you are the only thing that makes sense in my lines,
like, you belong there, you were made to be my inspiration.
around you, my verses and phrases dance, tangle themselves in your eyelashes,
curl themselves around your legs
a beautiful revelation of purpose.
until it doesn’t make sense anymore
and then i am stuck again
stuck in the spaces between the words that adore you so
but to them, i am a prisoner, forbidden from venturing out into the world of rhyme schemes and verses
this is what has been happening to me since you’ve left
and let me tell you,
the day you left i was
preparing myself for a novel
filled with wit and conversation
and joy
but now i can hardly find a single line
that doesn’t call out your name
*how could i ever forget about the way you hurt me
if you are all my writing remembers?*
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 2:31 PM UTC
Life as we know it is a chance,
But require made hands to dance,
Then **** on everyone with winning prance.
Reading the moving lips,
Looking for people's reactive bits
And que into people's tips.
It's them ballers,
The high rollers,
With stacks of hundreds of dollars,
The snobby know it all white collars.
With them fancy cars,
Hanging in cliquey bars,
Swinging the club in many pars,
As if some royalty bloodline of a tsar.
But in a game of chance, owning a yacht means nothing without a boat!
All those credit cards mean nothing without the proper cards on the table!
Riches mean nothing in a table, nor nice clothes in a game.
Because even kings and queens could fall flat on their faces with those aces!
So let me tell you little bit about this game,
It's reading people to tame,
Where you grind the game without a shame,
Stepping up to no longer stay the same
It's a game recognize your name to a fame.
Just remember the high cards can get you far,
But get beaten by them deus in a bar,
The pairs are wonderful as it gets higher
jokers bring jokes to her admirer,
While the ladies yell "off with their heads!"
In the royal court Cowboys rule supreme,
But those pair of aces undo royalties like puddle of creme.
Two pairs are better than a pair,
And three of a kinds are better than a two pair,
While the wheel is super fair.
Straight line is common winning line
But Flushes them after a dine
The boat takes them for a cruise,
Quads will get them a bruise,
But the nutz are royal flush of hidden ruse!
It's the mastering of perception,
Made hands with repercussion.
Because life as we know it is a chance,
But requires made hands to dance,
And hold onto your winning chips by ******* on them with your prance.
When you have nothing, there is nothing to lose,
Because Hold'em no limit is the purest form of living a life!
,
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
a shell, contoured and carved with an aged elegance so accentuated that it practically screams its 'i'm so much better than you' chant, or
rather than scream, it whispers it softly for only my misshaped ears to hear, so that the dignified mutter echoes like a beautiful musical instrument played wrong in the crevices of my head
and
i stupidly stand, my feet sinking in the so-tainted sand, trying to come up with a retort, witty and cold enough to knock jeremy clarkson off his feet and back into top gear following a mild repercussion aimed at a light-hearted producer - instead of acknowledging the fact that *it is a ******* shell on a ******* beach*
but
miss common-sense-defying with the too-happy polka-dotty headscarf and the five-minute-hipster-outfit that took an hour and thirteen minutes to form is intimidated by the shell that reminds her incomprehensibly of herself.
she's been reading too much john green.
or she's realising the truth, that she is an empty shell on a beach so trodden on that hansel and gretal would lose their footprints, that she is beauty and magnificence and elegance but she is empty, made of things she takes away from her television endeavors and her bookshelf, and she is empty.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC