"resembles" poems
Touch it: it won't shrink like an eyeball,
This egg-shaped bailiwick, clear as a tear.
Here's yesterday, last year ---
Palm-spear and lily distinct as flora in the vast
Windless threadwork of a tapestry.
Flick the glass with your fingernail:
It will ping like a Chinese chime in the slightest air stir
Though nobody in there looks up or bothers to answer.
The inhabitants are light as cork,
Every one of them permanently busy.
At their feet, the sea waves bow in single file.
Never trespassing in bad temper:
Stalling in midair,
Short-reined, pawing like paradeground horses.
Overhead, the clouds sit tasseled and fancy
As Victorian cushions. This family
Of valentine faces might please a collector:
They ring true, like good china.
Elsewhere the landscape is more frank.
The light falls without letup, blindingly.
A woman is dragging her shadow in a circle
About a bald hospital saucer.
It resembles the moon, or a sheet of blank paper
And appears to have suffered a sort of private blitzkrieg.
She lives quietly
With no attachments, like a foetus in a bottle,
The obsolete house, the sea, flattened to a picture
She has one too many dimensions to enter.
Grief and anger, exorcised,
Leave her alone now.
The future is a grey seagull
Tattling in its cat-voice of departure.
Age and terror, like nurses, attend her,
And a drowned man, complaining of the great cold,
Crawls up out of the sea.
41.9k
Here it goes again.
Another poem to describe how useless I am.
How tattered my soul is.
How my brain resembles my hands,
callused, numb, and broken dry skin.
I'm a terrible person.
Self indulgent and full of sin.
And here it goes again.
In the mirror I see nothing.
A big steaming pile of nothing.
Full of wasted dreams, 'what ifs' and 'one days.'
The **** that I write never comes out right.
The **** that I dream is just that:
a big steaming pile of nothing.
Here it goes again.
As if I am something.
But I can't get past how useless I am.
A speck in this cosmic dust cloud.
And here I go again, thinking I am a tornado.
How I will crush your dream home
and leave behind a big steaming pile of debris.
Here I go again,
thinking I am nothing.
When really, I am something.
I am a speck in this cosmic cloud,
without me that tornado wouldn't be.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
w e a r e t h e o c e a n . . .
y o u a r e t h e s u n s e t . . .
I a m t h e s t a r l e s s
s k y . . .
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 11:08 PM UTC
*Coming into his dreams
seducing him for fun.
Stripping the clothes
off her skin to make him
turned on. Starting to kiss
his neck while he sits on bed
with his legs wide spread.
Coming into his dream
seducing him with her silky
chocolate brown hair. The way
it falls down covering her *******
resembles the same way the
angels fell from the heavens
above. Kissing him there and
there marking his skin every
where while he takes off her watermelon coloured
underwear she kisses him
deep and hard before the sun
rise and before its time for him
to wake up and open his hazelnut coloured brown eyes. She comes
to his dreams to ****** him in
the dead of every single night* ~
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 4:57 AM UTC
I am Sin
In its purest and rawest form.
& for that, I have no shame
as fire in the bible resembles
purification.
I...
repent.
And so
as this fire
burns between my legs
flickering images of your full, yet delicate figure
cross my mind.
I turn into myself
& wish me anew.
my fingers cupping and twirling
so gracefully...
caressing...
as I scream my confessions
I'm born again.
Oct 24, 2022
Oct 24, 2022 at 10:53 PM UTC
What a city I murmur to myself looking at its map.
We approached the city known as Dis,
with its vast army and its burdened citizens.
At last we reached the moats
dug deep around the dismal city.
What destroys the poetry of a city?
Automobiles destroy it,
and they destroy more than the poetry.
Dante and Virgil chased by 7 or 8 dangerous devils
Grumpy, Happy, Sneezy, Sleepy, ***** . . .
Our heroes reduced from metaphysical philosophers
interested in god and what man has done to man
to improvising primitive tools for survival.
Hope abandoned, we rate our chances of expiring
in the nuclear fire – excellent –
during the decline of western civilization.
On the other hand, I hope
our current problems are only temporary
and it’s just a matter of time before
the public ignores the 24-hour news cycle.
Bad news sells but the good life’s all around us.
One feels love and devotion
even for the 60 million who voted for our opponent.
Vaclav Havel said with a wisdom well beyond brilliance:
“Either we have hope within us or we don’t.
It is a dimension of the soul, and it’s not dependent
on some particular observation of the world or estimate of the situation.
It is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart
that transcends the world as it’s immediately experienced.
It is not the conviction that something will turn out well,
but the certainty that something makes sense
no matter how it turns out.”
It resembles grief. But it's not quite grief. I'll give you grief.
Certain days planned to be eventful I look forward to for weeks.
Let the peaceful transfer of power proceed. The sorrow and the pity.
Never may the anarchic man find rest at my hearth.
When the laws are kept, how proudly the city stands!
When the laws are broken, what of the city then?
We are moving through some allegory between a City of Hope,
where history has been abolished, and a City of History,
where hope can be slipped in only as contraband.
Failing to achieve understanding, we're searching
outer space for an entity to unite us as humanity.
That person, or city, is consciousness.
Two ancient female poets are a revelation,
the clarity of their complaints: lost lover, lost city.
Our enemy eventually becomes our brother,
his misery lifted by coming to her city.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC
She reads
And she sleeps
Way too much
It's her coping defence
When nothing else will suffice
She needs to get away
Without actually leaving
Because she's too scared
And too tired
To leave her bed
So she cracks open a book
To escape somewhere far away
And she'll sob for the characters
Whose brokenness resembles hers
And then she'll sleep
And have sweet dreams
Of realities that are not her own
Because pretending is so much easier
Than facing reality
So she'll sleep and dream
And secretly wish she won't wake up
So she can finally escape
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
lies are dots....
obscures the truth yet resembles the truth
so share these dots
connect them
and see the bigger picture known as the truth
but
one man's truth is another man's lie....
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 9:23 AM UTC
A view just before sunrise
Resembles like a sunset
But the difference is vast
As it is fills with a hope of rays
A view just before sunrise
Is well felt deep inside
When it starts to gleam
With its sun rays
A view just before sunrise
Is a blooming sun of rays
Which fill with bright lights
And make beautiful sights
A view just before sunrise
Is a view of hopes
Excited in full of vibes
With its vibrant colours
A view just before sunrise
Is a one more chance
Given to know the worth of lives
To live with full of senses
A view just before sunrise
Is to be grateful to God’s grace
To be a part of living miracles
Especially in this competitive eras
A view just before sunrise
Is enjoyed well when it rises
And when it rise to its bests
It seems as smiling at us
A view just before sunrise
Is a smiley face of sun
As of a blooming sunflower’s
With its joyful pleasures
A view just before sunrise
Is the waiting periods
To see the rising queen
Reflecting as golden eyes
A view just before sunrise
Is hope of new days
In its blessed paces
For every faces
A view just before sunrise
Helps to plan in advance
To utilise the opportunities
With its best ways
A view just before sunrise
May bless us to rise
With its immense cheers
So all can have its leisures
A view just before sunrise
Is the stipulated time frames
To harvest the best nuts
From the life’s tests
A view just before sunrise
Is to raise yourselves
To shine as jewel stones
As a sun in yourselves
A view just before sunrise
Is to enjoy the glory of living vibes To make best diamond from coals
So that it lustre in darks
A view just before sunrise
In nutshell, is a glorious shine
As a diamond kept in caves
To brighten the path of ways
Nov 30, 2019
Nov 30, 2019 at 8:04 PM UTC
Looking at the clock, I struggle
Despair floating like an eye floaty thing
Get the hell out of here
Like cheese, I age, the more so the more I smell like a ****** old guy like god **** quit buying clothes from Dillard's
Like an onion, I make people cry because my face resembles a donkey getting ***** by an eagle that's ice skating and juggling
All at the same time.
Stuck in my socioeconomic class
My mom is getting harassed
My brain cells are getting grassed
I hate communists.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
Are you fleeing from Love because of a single humiliation?
What do you know of Love except the name?
Love has a hundred forms of pride and disdain,
and is gained by a hundred means of persuasion.
Since Love is loyal, it purchases one who is loyal:
it has no interest in a disloyal companion.
The human being resembles a tree; its root is a covenant with God:
that root must be cherished with all one's might.
A weak covenant is a rotten root, without grace or fruit.
Though the boughs and leaves of the date palm are green,
greenness brings no benefit if the root is corrupt.
If a branch is without green leaves, yet has a good root,
a hundred leaves will put forth their hands in the end.
8.2k
This specific autumnal celebration is characterised by throbbing obscenities, where a masquerade of piety resembles the trembling jester as he performs before medieval royalty.
Oh, to witness the salmon run in Northern ecosystems where the caniform classification stands in a dominant stance at the edge of the falls.
So, my independent and competitive contemporary, let us bow with sober reflection at those anthropological schools who swim upstream in this spiritual river in the vain pursuit of unattainable freedom.
Today, on this second Monday of October, the name of the game has been brutally ***** by propagandist salesmen.
So, at this juncture of existential consumerism, we stand within the jaws of our ever-smiling aristocracy. But, if you dare to open your eyes, my friend of unfathomable denial; you will find that the tradition is called Thanksgiving.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 9:46 PM UTC
my head it resembles a revolver
My mind the spinning wheel
Loaded with thoughts
ready to shoot out
hoping it catches someones eye
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 12:15 PM UTC
This garden is filled
With blossoming loneliness
I tied myself
To this sandcastle filled with thorns
What is your name?
Do you even have a place to go?
Oh, could you tell me?
I saw you hiding in this garden
And I know
Your heat is real
Your hand picks the blue flowers
I want to hold it but
This is my destiny
Don’t smile on me
Light on me
Because I can’t go to you
There’s no name to call
You know that I can’t
Show you me
Give you me
I can’t show you my weakness
So I’m putting on a mask to go see you
But I still want you
A flower that resembles you
Blossomed in this garden of loneliness
I wanted to give it to you
As I take off this stupid mask
But I know
This can’t go on forever
I must hide
Because I’m ugly
I’m afraid
So pathetic
I’m so afraid
In the end, will you leave me too?
So I’m putting on a mask to go see you
What I can do is
To make a pretty flower
That resembles you
Blossom in this garden, in this world
Then breathe as the person you know
But I still want you
I still want you
Maybe back then
If I had just a little more
Courage
And stood before you
Would everything be different now?
I’m crying
At this sandcastle
That’s disappearing
And breaking down
As I look at this broken mask
And I still want you
But I still want you
But I still want you
And I still want you
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 2:02 AM UTC
Here I stand on the intersection
Blocking every apparition
That appears before the collision
Of my unearthed passion
The debris it scattered
And the fragments it recollected
Did no good for our Russian Roulette
And my black dress that sweeped
Aiming blade to each direction
And shadow-chasing apparitions
Here I stand, on the intersection
With the devil’s spawn in front
The sinner angel on my left
The lost brothers of long-ago arts
And the mourning ladies behind in red
If I let my blade slip in front
Inferno is the runaway paradise prepared
Yet if I let my blade to my sides
Heaven hold no place for my stained black dress
And the mourning ladies in red
Have no colors that resembles mine
But that is just an extermination
That won’t even matter
For tragic is just a trapped magic
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
I'm sorry if I annoy you with my clingyness.
I just miss you
I'm sorry if I ask a lot.
I just want to know you better; how your day was
I'm sorry if I get mad when you don't reply.
I just really want to talk to you
I'm sorry if I get jealous.
I just don't want to lose you
And I'm sorry if I can't make you happy.
I wish I could
Just tell me to stop and I would.
Even though it's difficult.
Even if you're on my mind daily.
I would be lying if I say you're always on my mind but I'll admit you almost am.
Every little thing I see somehow resembles to you.
The scent I smell in the air sometimes becomes your scent, making me look for you.
Honestly, you're my drug.
Your scent,my ecstasy.
Maybe because I feel you're close when I remember it.
You don't have to reply without emotion.
You don't have to make it that obvious.
*Let me down hard.
Let me know even if it'll hurt.*
Because darling, it's better than thinking I would ever have a chance
Lastly, I'm sorry for not being enough, for loving you when you make me feel like you don't want me to.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
This city makes me miss you.
And I would pretend to be surprised,
but the ceilings in cities are always too high
and my thoughts tend to wander.
(For the record, I am less than impressed
that they found their way back to you.)
Last night, I swear you were waiting for me to fall asleep
to climb into the rafters, and sneak into my dreams.
I woke up feeling haunted and exhausted.
Now you've been following me all day,
and I'm tired of looking over my shoulder.
Kissing him makes me remember the taste of your bitter coffee breath.
His kind eyes contrast the complex hurt yours used to reflect.
His simple, level-headed ways make me recall all
of the circles our troubled words used to spin,
the endless loops we were always trapped within.
My ears keep echoing with the way
you used to chatter nervously in your sleep.
And I can almost still smell your apartment
with the candles struggling to mask damp laundry,
unwashed dishes, the smell of sweat and stale ****
The heaviness collecting inside of my chest resembles
the weight of your body wrapped around my lap
the last time we spoke and the way my fingers
still found their way to your back.
I wonder if you understood the things my fingertips traced
while our words started cornering us into our familiar place.
We were circling the drain anyway,
I was just another silly girl who thought she could save someone.
I'm really sorry
You should be
I miss you
Good.
**You always saw through my ********
it scared the hell out of me.**
*I would have loved you exactly the way you are-unconditionally
You were always enough.*
I love being miserable.
Well, you should probably get used to it.
We were circling the drain anyway...
Our conversations are the world's worst song on repeat
but I felt such smug closure after that night
things finally felt finished or at least mostly complete.
So why now did you feel the need to start the haunting again?
Call off your ******* ghost, B.
I am tired. Its over this time.
This needs to finally end.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
she is not the innocence
of the sweet ladies in the water
but the sirens that call to me
beckoning,
never touching
she no longer resembles
the sunset at the ocean
but the violent waves
that tossed the ship
and she is never the sunshine
that guided my mast to shore
but the red light, the fog
that left me wondering
and
lost
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 1:38 AM UTC
Her body resembles the ocean,
Her hair is as wavy as the ocean's waves,
Her eyes as bright as the moon's reflection on the ocean,
Her kiss as cold as the ocean's water,
Her skin as soft as the beach's sand,
But she is deadly,
Be sure not to swim off into that body of hers,
If you drown you'll see whats inside,
You'll see her inner beauty,
Be sure not to fall in love with her inner beauty,
Because if you do,
You'll never want to leave,
But to her you'll just be another one of her victims.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
White, Yellow, and Brown
Different shapes, sizes, and textures
Curly, straight, and wavy
You look at your reflection and do not see it
You're brown
You’re slim, light, and skinny
Your body does not resemble what it means to be a woman in your culture
A Latina woman has curves
A Latina woman's skin glistens underneath the sun
She contains an inner glow that resembles the strength she holds.
A Latina women speaks fluent English and Spanish
The purr that rolls off her tongue when she rolls her “R’s”
Her accent is what blows men away
Her accent is seen as exotic and from another world
But yours is different
You look at your reflection and do not see it
There is no purr because you can't roll the “R’s” off your tongue
Your slight accent is what worries you
Afraid your accent is going to get you a stare instead of a wink.
Afraid to speak you stay quiet and become discrete
You look at your reflection and see
brown sugar that’s sweet and fine
Your skin contains different specks of color which makes you different
The sun captures the qualities that you contain within.
You look at your reflection and see
A woman that speaks the language of romance
The language that distinguishes you from the crowd
The language that brings you strength and courage
The accent you once feared would bring you shame is the same one you have come to love.
You look at your reflection and see
A woman that has grown internally to love herself for the way she is
you contain the inner glow that resembles the strength and knowledge you have attained.
The eclipse has finally passed the sun and your time to shine has arrived.
White, Yellow, and Brown
Different shapes, sizes, and textures
Curly, straight, and wavy
You look at your reflection and see
A Latina woman.
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 6:13 AM UTC
(And Reasons Why I Have It Pretty Good)
2. Starving people in Africa who have nothing that even resembles a stable govermnent to keep them safe and fed and alive.
3. Couples going through divorce or recovering from divorce, and their poor children. =\
4. Drug addicts living on the streets without a family or a hope.
5. Women and children caught up in human trafficking and slavery who have no one to save them.
6. Would-be-mothers who cannot have children. This is heartbreaking for many women.
7. Children abused by their own parents who then have to go through foster care and withstand the constant reminder that they do not have parents that love and care for them.
8. People who have no hope and who believe a bottle of pills is the only way to take away their pain. Life is never a curse, and it is not one's responsibility to take when it becomes unbearable.
9. Fathers who can't find a job in our economy and who feel like a failure because they can't support their family's needs.
10. People who sit in a church and believe they are being good enough to go to heaven, when they've never heard the true gospel spoken to them before.
1. And most importantly...the great number of individuals who have not heard and those who have rejected the Good News of Jesus Christ. It's nothing that I have done that makes me any different than them, but only the grace of God that I took hold of. I won't stand by while my fellow man lives on less than I do every day. I am blessed with food, a better government than many in this world, and parents who love each other and the Lord. I have a life of hope that sustains me better than drugs, a life worth living, and the financial support that only God could supply. And I have a church that preaches the gospel each Sunday and reminds me of how much I need Him.
Lord, never let me forget Your many blessings. Self-pity, worry, and depression keep me from my true potential as Your daughter and servant. Show me how to share my blessings with others, so that I can spread Your Word to everyone I meet.
Amen.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
To all the ************* who don't
Know what is and isn't important
For their own **** good.
A ***** rigid, spiked, smelly
One finger salute for each
And every one of you.
This ************ throws his kids
Out into the streets in November.
Big man of the house who trys so
Desperately to be intimidating,
With a ****** back and a
Horrible stench of alcohol on his breath.
This ************ who thinks she's special.
The stuck up ***** that too closely
Resembles a plump ****** carrot.
Who thinks the perfect guy is a hairless
Fruity smelling mommy's boy *****
With perfect flippy hair and a big ****
This ************ the few, the proud,
The fruity smelling mommy's boy *****
Who wouldn't know a pair of pliers
If they were ripping off his sparkly earrings.
Never having an ounce of dirt on his hands,
But at least she... I mean he has nice teeth.
This ************ that can't tell one honest
Fact about his "hard and lonely" home life.
The one who nods and laughs but just wants to ****
Who beats off to his computer after taking a hit
That he bummed off his rich friends.
Who is confused as to why some people (me) hate him.
This ************ who screws with the emotions
Of one of the best guys ever to glide through her life.
Who throws him on a roller coaster with smiles
And flirtatious giggling while she lets him kiss her.
Then throws him to the side and takes the next in line.
I wish only the very best for you, you ****** *****
Those ************* who abuse, torment
Or play with someone who just wishes the best.
The ones who hurt the vulnerable
To feel better for themselves.
No one deserves the **** you give,
Except each and every one of you.
Honorable mention to those *******
That complain about all men being the same
When in reality they're just searching for
The same type of meat headed ******
Every time they have such a painful terrible
Breakup. Just shut the **** up. For real.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
there is a darkness
that the silver song
of soft illusion lights
in symbolic equivalents
of images real
it is a light
brutally interrogative
magnifying with dazzling rays
the breakage
at the jagged edges of the world
and lays hostage to impersonation
that resembles fragments
of smashed oval shaped mirrors
reflecting pieces of broken
brown terracotta soldiers
and causes the eyes to hurt
with a watched inner holocaust
of disturbing coloured detonations,
implosively autonomous
given to a deceived departure
a departure from reality
given by the advocacy
of ideological rationalism
that sees three kings
with blood on their crowns
in amplified convulsions
call mustre for
disturbance, disorder, destruction
and death
as blood stains the Balkan streets
and all emotional impulse
is volatilized
and a sinister, stuporous, stagnancy
stalks the land
where sustaining minds
are subject to a brutal insensitivity
that dazzles on the edge of a spiral vertigo
it is a light
brutally interrogative
magnifying with dazzling rays
a vocabulary of incoherence
like the rancid stains of *****
that inhabit the jagged edges of the world
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
I'm laying on the floor at 1:37am
on a tuesday, or maybe wednesday.
the vents are reeking of that dog again.
Blanketed by only a scented candle
I see shadows, it resembles residue
a stained glass ceiling.
There is an ache between my shoulders
as I contemplate living, or sleeping
but that's always been the same thing.
As I listen to the showering upstairs,
I try to find ways to speak in words
that have nothing to do with you.
Dec 6, 2022
Dec 6, 2022 at 5:33 AM UTC
*In memory of, and with respect to the victims of the 2011 terrorist acts in Norway.
As the weather resembles, one remembers...*
Perhaps if you went to my school,
You'd have gotten beaten up for your egocentricity
Long before it grew to such deranged preportions.
As misplaced as the runes you carved into Glock and rifle;
You'd have been not only estranged, but broken.
Disarmed decades before detonation.
Alas. A distorted berserker you ploughed through
Establishments and hearts; an armed teenager fuelled on
Video games, soft candy and steroids.
Pity the nation that nurses such an unpoetic national enemy.
We forgot your name and face, as you never knew ours.
The symbol we chose was an ocean of roses,
Like torches held to our love unharmed.
Norwegian leap year two-thousand-eleven;
Only twenty-two days in July.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC