"reprise" poems
Twenty years in the fast lane, speeding
was ecstacy at the time.
Sweet heady bubbles of coke,
buzzing at feeding.
No softeners added, lemon or lime.
My therapy, my medication.
****** my mind on a long vacation.
Knowing this time would
one day arrive.
My restless legs, my tired insides.
My not so central nervous system,
twitching fingers, flickering eyes.
This to me is no surprise.
My therapy, now my reprise.
Peotyr by aKydee.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC
I'm in love with modern technology,
computer screens
& push buttons,
it's an age of immediate gratfication,
carefully calculated
to **** the dopamine
right out of broken hearted lovers.
I'm in love with modern technology
I can't get no satisfaction
& I try
& I try,
not to cry.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
Muted, muffled, dull thud on concrete,
Staggered, drunken, half conscious nobody,
Starved, seeking, worried about payments,
**** in hand, knocking on the wrong doors,
Fire and brimstone stoked in the belly,
Mad, strange, appetizing burlesque eyes,
Obnoxious smacking and licking of parched lips,
Rolling on half rationed legs,
Quiet, sullen, mournful footsteps,
Presently placed awkwardly one in front of the other,
Memory serves correctly, destitute, reprise,
Thunderclaps and crashing roars,
Almost forgotten, with great relief,
Soon, very soon, to be lost forever,
Candlelight, sobbing vigils, no power,
Nail, Nail, Nail,
Praise in the box, graffiti walled,
Like a bathroom stall, just as ******
Docile dissolving vessels,
Brought to the commonplace dropoff,
Settled down and greatly relieved.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 11:38 PM UTC
Lightning in the skies
Saturated clouds above
Moisture in your eyes
And should the rain ere reprise
Would you always stay beside?
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 8:33 PM UTC
His body emerged
From the deep blue ocean
Heart barely beating and
Eyes almost closed
They left him for dead.
The sun's light burned him
And its heat suffocated him
But he kept wondering
How would it feel
To touch the sun.
Once again,
Icarus rose
Towards the sun
Believing this time
Things would be different
But as long as the sun
Remains the sun
And Icarus
A blind believer
Fate won't change its course
So, once again,
Icarus fell.
And found himself
More broken
Than before.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC
Once again a still sunrise,
Quite too much to my surprise;
Now no longer the same reprise,
Never believing in fate's demise.
Once again awaits the sun,
Otherworldly; waits for none;
Terrestrial battles with wars unsung,
The time is now, and has begun.
Once waves of calamity striking the coast,
Now sinking caravels with swift riposte;
This paves the insanity to roads of most,
No graves on marvels without a host.
My ambiguous ocean, bounds not to the throes,
An effluent river asks not where it goes;
But through frigid winters it finally froze,
Yet two rigid reasons -- it once again flows.
Your guess is as mine, for nobody knows,
This mess is divine, and to us it bestows;
Thrown into disaster, yet much room for prose,
We are the ship-masters -- and everyone rows.
So set my oars down, and go for the sails,
Open your eyes, ears & mind; there is no trail;
Wandering didactic wisp you will find, futility of 'fail',
Galactic inhale, cosmic exhale, maybe then will the true path unveil.
So leave nasty mates; abandon the ship,
No mutiny required, just let the wreck tip,
As though through spread fingers they suddenly slip,
Though red feelings linger, you find your own grip.
Then leave folly habits -- straight at the shore,
Shut it & lock it, and close the **** door;
There always are options -- endless possibilities to explore,
Just activate your wings, open wide--soar.
Glad once again, for another sunset,
What you pursue is what you will get;
So forget calumet, anisette & cigarettes,
Simply don't fret -- paint vignettes with no regrets.
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 1:17 AM UTC
Lonely wanderings
Holding hands with the wind
Flying away to distant lands
Over the mountains and seas
So many questions does arise
A silent reprise of my music
None, but these ears are tuned
A braveheart’s sojourn unknown
Here for a tryst with soliloquy
Answers from the heart and soul
A new journey awaits the wanderer
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
pastel monotone thoughts paint
an image of me in her mind
complete with shrinkwrap
and a bright smiley face sticker
her eager hand sweats the dealt moment
she awaits with impatience for
her daily christmas time package
her daily reprise of her happy moment
she remembers it with fondness
her pastel colours spread slowly
like an intellectual STD
a malfunction of the common man
she is a true modern miscreant
she wants a pretty girl lover
that comes complete with emo look a like
laptop gamer girl
attached the hip down to matchin **** selfies
a hundred smooth moves and cheat codes
she wants the complete package at the discount rate
shes a card carrying member of
some fan girl fandango
she calls me captain saveahoe
street nasty superhero with kung-fu grip
trailing through the dank alleys
in search of the legendary ultimate dumpster
the prize of every divers wet dreams
wandering all night with a few vampire hangers on
looking for a fashionable means to a glorious end
meanwhile the corner girl is waiting on me
thinking i'm just trying to find her a safe place to be
she is my safe place and i'm hers
the few of us that survive the moment
stroll on through the rain
to the dairy queen
to see and be seen
dont cha' hate that whole show up
to show off
she lives to die for it
but thats ok
cause i love her just the same
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
sweet bright eyes, what can i say?
i wouldn't lie to you if i told you that your light led me down this way.
sweet amber eyes, why can't i stay?
maybe it's better that my heart is nothing more than your prey.
celestial, copper eyes, with lashes that shadow like a veil,
a stare, a glare, physique that could never compare.
lustrous, luminous eyes with the allure of a panther,
it didn't take long to see your eyes bore the answer.
i shake and shiver.
sweet brown eyes, make my soul quiver.
serrated lashes that stab like knives;
sweet bright eyes,
become my soul's reprise
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 9:47 AM UTC
~
*solstice = sun stopped; in the case of winter solstice,
the moment when the sun ceases its journey northward
from the earth’s equator and turns southward toward
longer days; much like the journey our sun takes,
love solstice then is that moment of
arrest and redirect for one’s direction of travel
in life... and in this, the moment
a Sagittarian and Capricornian
separated on two sides of the solstice,
turn, collide and coalesce.*
~
hers,
the waning side,
winter's reprise,
calls to the night,
at height of eventide.
his,
on ebbing turn,
the sun's reverse,
together rise to step
as one at winter's ball.
their dance across the sky
'neath moonlit nights.
two in love,
in lockstep of
the stars above,
collide and coalesce,
their waltz amidst
the delicate pearls of
a Milky Way stage!
no more his lonely
path among the stars;
his heart she's swept,
to never dance alone;
her arrow sent with bow,
piercing to the marrow,
holds his life,
his very soul.
bold and daring,
her voice of caring,
soothes his troubled heart.
he, her promise, calls
to her adven’trous heart,
two stepping toward
a rising warming sun,
in birth that spans
the space and time between,
forever now as one;
this their solstice of love!
~
post script.
*she (late Sagittarian) is the setting-sun-kissed, rain-misted huntress,
he (early Capricornian) is the rising sun's icicled traveler.
mere days separating their arrival, though theirs could not be
more varied. their births under different signs; his in the wintry
heartland, hers in the sun-kissed southwest; individually they are fire
and ice, huntress and wanderer who together have captured,
captivated each the other’s heart. you’re not likely to see them
separately, but when you do, it’s only briefly when resupplying
their home, their hearth, their hearts. two making a most unlikely one,
but oh so surprisingly, so beautifully passionate!*
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
She danced
a symbolic grace
with a look of malice
written on her face
She cast a
lunatic eclipse
of my erratic soul
The Maiden
The Mother
The Crone
It was more than a phase
Just a glimpse into our story-lines
She was the moon
I was the son
The anima
The animus
star-crossed
in our own paths
in our own way
I crowned her in stars,
she shed the scales
from her eyes
and we met
in a fiery embrace
Heaven on Earth
aligned like syzygy,
but only for a moment
We destroyed each other,
Yet we were complete.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
i.
the Hibiscus is the paradisiacal
armistice of quagmire and wind:
leave it there anchored to Earth.
ii
when it rains, it bows to no one;
when it genuflects to no bird,
it trills on the red of the moseying hour—
nobody sees the Hibiscus.
only the children of the vandal.
iii.
last summer we had makeshift
bubble machines and in the high-rise
of the twilight's cradle, we ran
viciously against the humdrum town
blowing bushels of laughter at
the dreary populace — the brooms
to a sweeping rustle, unsettled dust
mounting the ether.
we hurtled across the
infantile roads like they owed us something finitely attributed
to our locomotives.
iv.
the Semana Santa had gone by
and the season, no matter how promisingly redolent with emollient brush
of wind and laboring silence, held
no reprise — the Hibiscus,
it is not alone in the quiet verdigris.
v.
somewhere amid the hubbub of city,
there is a pendulum of line biting
the shore of waiting repeatedly.
only steel scaffolds erected and no
flagrant scent aroused. peregrinating
in the haloed hour, the nascent furl of
belch from vociferous iron-clad beasts
in all of EDSA
and when i look at people around me
they look like gumamelas, finally,
yet i am
not coming home.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 3:15 AM UTC
Here lies a continuation of being.
View it as scenery indifferent to the weather channel.
A silent, exponential inverted sunshine euphoria
Warming the deepest letters of the soul:
U and I swaying outside linear cubic conventions corroded-
We sway like flowering Earth Resonance blooming as foreign
[Sensations]
A toe-curling in the chest stretched intimate at the highest hour
[Movement]
An unconditional syncopation of the heart and mind echoing a
Design as Liquid Resonance - I am that which you are.
“I could cry solid tears. Where have I been all these years,” says
You to reflected I rippling
[Perception]
Never spoken, only written as an abstract entity aware of vibrations
Tethered to timeless stories never read, only felt as I and U in
Reflected them, the missing strangers with a need to be found
[Immortalized]
Twisted eyes, encumbered lips, everflowing knitted letters stuttered. Kissed. Growing from itself a rehearsed mantra embroidered pattern discord. Mythical. The murmuration of a serenade’s evil dermis that feigns thick to tooth and claw, but silences to love as the overture.
Wide-eyed, you and I are a nascent reprise of words cloaked in inked pages turning in the billowing wind.
"Read them to me."
So I read in heavy rain.
From Monday to Sunday.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
[Fanfare, obviously]
This poem should begin with the call of a bugle,
as is fitting for an ode of Braveheart Macdougal.
Children of Parklands, take heed and be wary,
as I relate now, in verse, a tale cautionary.
Benigna Murdie was a most virtuous lass,
blesséd with promise and a penchant for sass.
To peer pressure she was admirably immune,
and ne'er did she bow to the temptation of goon.
Nary a drop of ***** has e'er passed her lips,
save for politeness and church-mandated sips.
Yet even the mightiest fall-- what a pity!
(harder than I did that night in the city).
So I hope you all glean a moral from this,
and your interpretation does not go too amiss.
But all is self-evident, to quote Descartes,
so allow me to recount this tale from the start.
She hails from a country renown for their piety,
for their pacifist ways and universal sobriety.
The Scottish are known throughout the land
for their temperance of character and lightness of hand.
And our poor Bennigles was no rule-exception,
she subscribed quite wholly to this perception.
A more reserved and reclusive girl you've not seen,
virtually a saint at only nineteen.
Passed out on the couch, liquor was never the root,
only strain from the studying and academic pursuit.
A paradigm of virtue, a pillar of purity,
no “that's-what-she-said's” to compromise maturity.
But that all changed one day touched by fate,
when Rachel realized that hedonism's great.
She took to the streets to revel in her glee,
and legit nothing bad happened cause this isn't tv.
Alas, now I'm drunk and the screen is a-shaking,
perhaps of wine I should halt my partaking.
I cannot continue with this facetious ode,
as we all well know that this is a total load.
But I'll miss you, my Brit, and our shitshow nights,
our Australian exploits and your culinary delights.
Sorry I couldn't finish to detail your demise,
but perhaps I'll conclude after an Australia-reprise.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
Expired words
from time to time
still find a way inside
Hyperbole
you said to me
reprise irrespectively
of the fact they died
and should have been forgotten
but some of rot
and some of them blossom.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 7:40 AM UTC
Strumming the untuned strings, he stares drunkenly into the setting sun of yesteryears songs, sung of lost dreams and the birthed ambitions of the dark, dark days to be.
Happily, he tears up in the fortunate tragedies, of the reclamation in his dreams, as he seethes out the damnation of his steeds, galloping gallantly through his being.
All seeing, in the finite fleeting when he sings, of strummed dreams to the rhythms of heart beats lost, embossed on the epitaphs of kings.
Sad songs of dreams once had.
Be glad for that, which does not **** you, only to bestow upon you, the gratitude of the weirding ways, in passionate display for us all to play nice.
Shake these dice and jump aboard this bus of wandering poetry, from the porches of poets singing to the sun.
From the morning Moet, to the afternoon beer run.
we sing of dreams
of better things
we blaspheme
and spin the scenes
of our murdered dreams
and just clean the guilt away
I am so awesome as to be devoid of fault.
I am a god that cracks the asphalt.
I am the angel signing the clause, of deserved harm.
I am the indentured servant sounding the alarm, with the charm of a Trojan horse, forced to adhere to the most righteous path.
The first
The last
Laugh of inevitability
Honing in on the ability to capture the longevity of dream warriors, in the lock of predators, in the employ of a senator, from the center of the heart, to impart on you the fear from thieves caught in the plight of those fraught with the graces of an exterminator, exterminating the pro-creators of your world. Soldiers unraveled in the lavished gavels of real criminals drowning in their own subliminal theories of the self imposed heresies of intention.
Free will
A fragile blessing
I cracked, all so long ago, as i gently bestow my belligerence upon your innocence and **** it all away.
I'm the ******* son
Strumming for the only one.
Once.
Before the lore of the storm.
Born of the swoon of a gun.
More than one.
Once.
As the day faded into night, his strumming turned plucking, as he slightly eased from reprise to silence, in the whisper of nights words, easing him into the blur, of sleep.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
Earthquake weather cracked the sky deep
A cool reprise in midstreaked heat
Alight with the flame of desire
burning with a full pink moon
Sleeping canyons black from fire
Glowed swelling, glimmering into
Neptune’s fantasies, frenzied
Splintered mad with sweltering gems
Shaking the summer from our hair
Dreams falling like stardust into the ravine
As the earth said “anything can be, anything can be...”
Flickering upon cracked faults
Glisten and catch in the night’s sunlight
Devastatingly seductive, smolderingly bright.
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 12:38 PM UTC
Draw upon the breath of stars, and scorch my heart with fiery scars
Scars that linger from my past. A past that lies with lies and outcasts
Tied to fears of fearing flaws...insecure…. like never before.
Paradise, a sweet reprise to heartfelt sighs and moonlit nights
Starlit sheets and reddened cheeks, eye to eye and tightened thighs.
A face that takes my breath away.
A heart to steal my soul today.
A smile to stop the world from spinning
A laugh to make my head start swimming.
Disarmed, with you in my arms words lose all meaning.
Eyes pierce mine and landmine my mind
Lips seal mine and line my life with diamonds
Priceless and unbreakable diamonds.
A gemstone life.
Emerald eyes. Pearl skin, Morganite lips and flawless fingertips
Overdosed on what I want most, coming close to those and doting shows.
It shows through rose tinted sight and might just last if lasting lasts at last.
Dreamlike days and sleepless nights have shrouded my sight with blinding light
My eyesight has been gored.
Just one more day until my sight is restored.
By she who has been long adored.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
The world is full of hatred and spite,
It may come as a surprise
Oh innocent youth,
But allow me to reprise,
The world is full of hatred and spite.
Oh innocent youth,
Change it, we must,
In the way we see fit.
Take charge of the reigns,
And demolish the parts
causing the most pain.
Ignorance and Arrogance
Are the Gods of the day,
Lack of wanting or caring
For the power of knowledge,
Content to be slaves,
Lost in their ways.
Oh tainted youth,
How far will this path take us?
Destroying our home, our friendships, our lives,
Our bodies, our minds, our dreams,
Crushed and broken,
Until nothing is left,
Nothing except subservient beings.
Oh enraged youth,
How do we change the events
set into motion,
Call me a radical but I have such a notion.
Seek knowledge, peace,
Love, and understanding.
In these virtues you will find
The mind’s true elation,
Then, and only then,
Will you break free
From the grip of preoccupation.
Oh enlightened youth,
When and how will our voices be heard?
Whenever it is, we break ranks from the herd.
It will require us all,
Brothers, sisters, blacks, and whites,
No group left uncalled,
For fear that upon deaf ears
our efforts should fall,
Oh empowered youth,
With these tools we must fashion,
Our revolution of choice,
With chests out and heads high,
We will make sure they hear,
Our unified voice.
For without the power of us,
There will be no change,
But the power of us
Is a force to reckon,
Yet we must keep our path straight,
And let it not derange.
Oh complacent youth,
I fear that change should not come,
Soon enough, or yet at all,
Unless we stand tall, and call,
For those in their hall,
To Bring Down their Wall.
When we treat all equal,
With love and respect,
We will have won.
But what do you expect?
Oh innocent youth,
This will not happen, it cannot happen,
The world is filled with Hatred and Spite,
And I fear we will gaze eternally,
At our cause, fading,
Into that great twilight.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 9:49 PM UTC
i have held with
fascination, when i was young,
all of my toys.
a parallel universe of
marvels. imperial is the mood
of these ecstasies!
i remember my cheap svelte revolver
back in 1998 bought from
the festive bazaar in the marketplace at the dreary heart of Bocaue when i was
consumed by the thought of brutal force and how swiftly, in the hands of men meant for twisting open
the doors, welcome death
or the metallurgy of it.
i used to run off into the sunset
toting my gun high with pride
shunning the Sun, and the
reprise of my carousals is my mother
soldering in her white hands
a "walis tambo" and summoning me
homeward with a churlish grin
on my face, triumphantly ecstatic
over my rendezvous.
now my gun has withstood the
tatterdemalion of dog days
and in one corner i felt its
brokenness as it yearns to
be retired early in the peak
of my youth. happiness wears down like a chip on the old linoleumed floor and i tinker with
it to unsheathe the grime
of the unspoken stucco concrete.
i placed it in a box, my black revolver, together with the toys
that i once laughed with
when only bliss is as simple as a juvenile love, or the easy picking
of a santan over the fields
where i ran off into
the viridian laughing with the verdure of the world that i once knew as something so beautiful
and intricate.
i heard my black revolver went
somewhere behind the macadamized wall where i dreamt of having a basketball ring nailed to.
only i knew how to play
my revolver, and now that i am
caught within the heaviness
of all things that mean greater
than all other joys,
no other days could ever
surpass how
i made
a hero in myself
mighty with the tales
that i keep.
good ole black revolver, 1998.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
Today I bought a square plate
it's not for me, but for an enemy
that I could do worse things to, if I was a less noble person
as the things they've done I will not speak.
The plate is porcelain and quite finely made
elegant and excellently finished for how not so pricey it was
hints of history seems to hide in it's shell--
as seams are weaved into
what has probably lived a long and unused existence
this handcrafted masterpiece.
Separately painted by some fancy artist
to whom I do not recognize the name of,
although it is said he may have done something wrought with his ear
or did this man's uncle make this plate, oh well, I am unsure.
It is these very details to why,
I am now in possession of this piece of the past
that will be priceless to those who know more craftsmanship,
at least more knowledgeable than the man who sold it to me.
From the gleaming in your eyes
I can tell this plate may even mean a great deal to you
is this true my good friend?
oh well, I guess I can give the plate to you
instead of the devil I spoke of before.
*As I handed my prize to them
it began to feel heavier than any ordinary plate should,
gravity granted the greatest reprise I've ever sought
as the demon's face whelmed with depression
and mine satisfaction--
for being such a convincing storyteller.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 5:33 AM UTC
My child,
As you watch your worlds get torn apart
With a malevolence you can’t comprehend,
Please do not throw yourself into the crossfire,
This is a war you cannot mend.
Their anger is too deep-rooted,
Their hurt is much too strong,
They will insist on going down fighting,
And refuse to see where they are wrong.
Find shelter from this constant storm,
Please close your eyes and ears.
They won’t listen to your pleading,
They choose not to see your tears.
Your screams won’t penetrate their spiteful resolve,
Your little voice will go unheard,
You have no choice but to be strong now;
A responsibility so undeserved.
My child, you cannot help them
As they stand firm on this battle site.
You must know this will be one of many,
There is too much wrong to put right.
If they could see how their bellowing makes you recoil,
See you cowering on your knees,
They might take heed of the damage they’re wreaking,
Reconsider this incessant, vindictive reprise.
But this road is far from ending,
So don’t exhaust your resilience here,
You must protect yourself from the barrage,
For they have not the strength to shield your fears.
It will be another long and tiresome night
As you are again dragged through this mess,
Processing all of their vicious accusations
For all that they refuse to confess.
So as you watch the two people you revere the most
Spit venom at volumes you can’t stand,
I beg you not to let it make you hateful -
This is not what they had planned.
I know how you long to fix it,
Desperate to appease their pain,
But my child, too much has already been broken,
Just please know you are not to blame.
I wish I could offer an escape route,
Tell you everything will be OK,
But there is no choice except to ride out this bitterness,
Await the dawn of a new day.
And on that day you’ll find a way to forgive them,
For destroying everything you knew as home,
For their selfishness stealing all innocence
And turning safe places into war-zones.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
I said brown eyes were my favorite,
but the hottest fires burn blue,
and her eyes were no exception.
Eyes like hers can burn a heart to ashes
and turn a universe upside down.
Eyes like hers can make a soul fall in love
and never turn back.
Nov 14, 2020
Nov 14, 2020 at 3:02 PM UTC
rock on, baby.
slow dance to nirvana
at the stoplight in the deep south of
town
and never let him damage ya
BUT if he does
chip his tooth
and write on his
skin
clenching a permanent marker
in between your teeth that's
blacker than your soul
could ever be -
"I'LL SEE YOU WHEN THE SUN
SETS EAST...
DON'T FORGET ME."
-z. vega
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 2:08 AM UTC