"reserves" poems
Water lilies, libidinous lover boys, on the sly
circles her naked body, impertinently
while she unaware of this, swim and play
in her water-crazy, noisy country girl self
in this enclosure of ***** pines wildly in bloom,
She's happy for being shielded from prying looks
of rowdy village boys, adept in disrobing her with their eyes
Enamored, the lilies, white, blue and purple
inebriated all, by drinking the nubile beauty
limitless all along,under the level of water
and above, breached all the reserves,
ahamelessly sevoured her saucy proximity
til she left when the dusk, shed saffron all over.
Yet in her innocence she would think,
"Poor darlings,how much did they suffer, as I
splashed and broke the calm of the pond all evening"
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
Befrilled Godfather, why tune Yours to mine
These Rightful Verses your Country observes
I, an Eastern Bun's Lord in Mind consign
Put my Pun in-place for their own Reserves
Now this, a Muse if your Clock does witness
Would burn me at stake or hang me condemned
All because such Organs defy Fitness
And thought the ****** I will reprehend
I grow tired of this evident Trough
Whilst you once scribbled Trademarks with your Quill
How, my Heart-Nosed Configure such enough
Yet wish to join you in your White Pipes, still.
Your Epitaph stays; I dare not complete
Just press these Roses your Approval, meet.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
multimedia macramé
sloshing propaganda sewage
on the unsuspecting public
***** lice infest ****** hill folk
west Virginia outbreak threatening the world
as we know it
flesh altering nonsense explicitly graphed
charting movement of microbes
on air, land, and/ or sea
global currents the new deliverer of death –
infected immigrants sit smiling
internment camps providing nutrition
never before experienced
as non-natives negotiate freedom
by submitting to vaccinations baths
and the standard delousing powder –
paranoid hand-sanitizer users
glued to the **** tube
spray their shoes with disinfectant
praying to an absent GOD for health
while shoveling GMO corn chips into ever widening
mouth holes
pharmaceutical companies lick lifeless lips
as Congress recognizes their humanity
while rejecting the concerns of the poor
…..no money in it –
outlandish claims of outbreaking Ebola
flood the mainstream outlets
fear: version – infinity
one more plague plan to stimulate new legislation
more law
no touching
even looking at the infirm can be cause for isolation
radiation treatments
courtesy of Fukushima, reactors 1-4 –
new found focus on fracturing the shale
releasing new oil reserves
and old bacteria
dinosaur killers
free-radicals
radically changing the genetic code
humanity altered
once again –
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
RIVERS MAKES ME QUIVER
Youthful mind left wandering just feeling the wetness from yards into the curbs
Ripples running curbside over toes, forming those first streams for a meandering mind
Clouds collecting power,mists collecting,forming Drop by drop rains flowing into their reserves
High mountain lakes reflecting their passion, partitioned by beavers to make their own pond
Broken into brooks flowing faster downward into streams,cool and clear their taste like sweet liqueurs
Beauty not confined to a torrent but gifted with greenery and wildlife ,flowers that make the forests more confident
Trickles forming into cascades downward making outpourings & overflows waterfalls forced through the fissures
Gravity needs spaces we watch as it heightens then widens,making it's way through the continent quickly becoming most prominent
Admire her beauty but reap her rewards,wet bounty to feed the fields, food for fishes ,generations receive her treasures
Canoeists,kayakers or legendary steamboat captains are fond of their flowing, boys wondering where she will go ,knowing our tears of joy will flow to the sea should be our greatest compliment. R.C.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 9:19 AM UTC
You have no idea the full extent of what’s goin’
because you have been so consumed with your own pain and suffering.Believe me I do understand you and don’t blame you at all.
You have been through hell and back and I’m sorry for how trying that has been. I’m in hell too..and it *****
I’m tired of achin’, my emotional reserves are all draining…
It has been raining…
Sorry but I’m finally leavin’.
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 7:09 AM UTC
Come thou, thou last one, whom I recognize,
unbearable pain throughout this body's fabric:
as I in my spirit burned, see, I now burn in thee:
the wood that long resisted the advancing flames
which thou kept flaring, I now am nourishing
and burn in thee.
My gentle and mild being through thy ruthless fury
has turned into a raging hell that is not from here.
Quite pure, quite free of future planning, I mounted
the tangled funeral pyre built for my suffering,
so sure of nothing more to buy for future needs,
while in my heart the stored reserves kept silent.
Is it still I, who there past all recognition burn?
Memories I do not seize and bring inside.
O life! O living! O to be outside!
And I in flames. And no one here who knows me.
5.2k
Donald Trump was elected President of those United States,
He said to his household: Stay here awhile, I notice a fire..."
-Sheik Al Jilani
The people hate him, the nation opposes him,
Perhaps I shall bring you news of it."
-Sheik Al Jilani
Iraq is the world's second largest source of proven oil reserves...
Hold your tongue! You have no common sense! Your house on the river Tigris and yet you are dying of thirst?
-Sheik Al Jilani
just two steps from
everything
everything
O' seeker
hereafter
See,
-Me.
Two steps removed...
-right?
Coming home in a Baghdad Slater...bleary yet with sight. *
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 3:07 AM UTC
“but if you have to move your best friend’s body…
…you’re on your own.”
Your best friend dies
Before your eyes
Somehow stays alive
Then what?
***** salt-licked hair
Brittle and frayed by medicine
World’s unfathomable weight
Trembling beneath the Wisdom Tree
Her whole being crumples (arrugar)
But her life-force remains intact
Body bone
Running on spirit reserves
Why is that?
She stands and cries
Staring into ether
I sit
Wringing my hands
Her tears strike the ground
In tree-gecko unison
'''
Pacific parasite super-strains
Blood coated throat
The full range of abuse’s color on all fronts
for decades
Attempted assaults, ****
Dengue
Giant Centipede venom to the skull
But worst of all
Rootlessness and fear
the monkey on her back
had a monkey on its back
and was smoking a cigarette
'''
Have you ever seen someone
Completely broken?
Corpsic shell of a woman
Gaunt, wan in the tropics
“Don’t put your trust in walls…
…walls will only crush you when they fall”
Brick-bludgeoned body
The shrapnel lay like
Sun scorched
Novice-woven baskets
At her feet
But now she can see
And breath
Real breath
'''
Genocide’s a ***** yes.
Africans seem fatalistic to Americans
Baby boy body, Grandpa human- shield
“They’re your babies”
Short-lived, yes
But now they have peace
Witnesses still weave the jungle
What do you do with a friend who’s
Seen real atrocity? Evil?
'''
I’m learning.
Prayer is power
Will transcends the concrete (Bunkle, too.)
She serves realness only
Her seeking hands unweave the sacred
Time is of no luxury right now
Serve people through love
and Grace awaits discovery
'''
I’ve never carried a bleeding body.
I needn’t “fear the terror by night,
Nor the arrow by day”
But I saw someone perish
And resurrect
What a gift
What a gift
Gubaadagem, Tinmad.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
I've been running on empty
Skipping on dregs
Cycling on morsels
Jumping on egg
shells
It's time to recoup
regroup
renew, restore,
build more
reserves
Surrender to slumber
And swerve
Away from activity
Simply
pause,
And deeply breathe.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 6:36 PM UTC
Determine meaning of toxic
probe quantity of goodness required
to cease metabolic function
Give space to inspections
of remaining affect-reserves
Adjust interior humidity
to +/- decency
Console yourself.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 1:28 PM UTC
That sweet girl --
She who looks down on her scars,
That girl whose name I'm prohibited to utter.
She looks down at her scars and she aches
And she aches from crying until 3 in the morning
When she felt accustomed to the dark,
When the dark was the only thing she could feel,
When her parents didn't love her,
When that boy broke her heart.
Sometimes,
She looks down at her scars and she cries
And she cries because she still sees them
She still sees them as the trails of blood at 3 in the morning
When she shook with her crooked smile,
Until she moaned “Oh my God”
And went to clean them up.
Sometimes,
She looks down at her scars and she's numb
And she's numb just like she was
Like she was in the moments which precursed them
When she stopped to stare,
At nothing in the dark
And proceeded to cause new feelings.
Every day,
She wakes up to a body she's not happy with
And she looks at herself in the mirror
Like what she sees is only horror and it's not just the scars
It's the mole on her skin, the stretch marks, maybe that freckle on her neck --
And then her scars
And she takes shelter in her clothing.
Once in a while,
She has a bad day to which she wears her favorite shirt
And she reserves it and wears it because it tells the truth
It tells a truth she needs to hear but she doesn't believe in
It's everything she needed to know, when she was alone at 3 in the morning
And she wears it
It keeps herself sane.
I am that boy,
That sweet boy --
He looks down at his scars and he aches
And he aches from crying until 3 in the morning
When he felt accustomed to the dark,
When the dark was the only thing he could feel,
When his parents didn't love him,
When that girl broke his heart.
But you see,
His scars are different --
He looks down at his scars and he cries
And he cries because he still sees them
He still sees them as the memories, both good and bad, burned forever in his mind
Then he shakes with his crooked smile,
Until he moans “Oh my God”
And he eventually finds his “happy place”.
Sometimes,
He looks down at his scars and he's numb
And he's numb just like she was
Like she was in the moments which precursed them
When they both stopped to stare,
At nothing in the dark
And proceeded to cause new feelings.
But the truth is,
It never should have been this way
Their scars are only battle scars
Battles in which they won, battles in which they lived through --
But when they both stopped to stare,
At nothing in the dark
They proceeded to cause new feelings.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 5:04 PM UTC
The world watches you fall,
the largest proven oil reserves
but you couldn’t call out to your brothers
acknowledge your mistake
so that you may grow.
You **** children,
hunger grips every mother
and fathers struggle with
children of eight trying to earn a wage.
Your country is ****** up
holding it pride to its chest
waving the flag never admitting that
their force has killed eight thousand
or that their children are in hospitals
starving.
Kenyerber Aquino Merchán,
less than two starved to death
because hospitals have no formula
to feed the innocent.
Spine and rib cage protruding,
mourners with wildflowers from the hills,
and relatives cut out a pair
of cardboard wings from
empty white ration boxes.
Let you pass away,
sleeping now under my wings,
we’ll conger the wind
and ease the president's pride,
he is hiding under the cover
cowering the corner -
he has no one else to blame.
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 8:28 PM UTC
In the Presidential Palace, the steaks are served up seared.
There’s an excellent wine cellar for meals expertly prepared.
The Palace is cool in summer; in winter it's toasty warm,
And Maduro and his spouse are always safe and free from harm.
In the streets of Venezuela there is anger and despair.
Inflation is the problem but why should Maduro care.
The store shelves are nearly empty; most people live in fear
There is ****** done in daylight and the sense that chaos nears.
This was once a beautiful, Prosperous land, the envy of the South.
Then a populist Socialist came to drive investors out.
Now a nation, resource rich, has been importing oil,
a nation whose own oil reserves are the greatest in the world.
His critics?- dead or imprisoned; the media is controlled
There’s no term limits on his rule. Voters do as they are told.
Demonstrators, even peaceful, can be shot down in the street
While Maduro sips his wine and decides what next he’ll have to eat.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 7:27 AM UTC
Oh so many words with no way of forming logic
so many words trapped in confusion
So many words dying to be heard to be admired to be out gagging me but I just can't find my voice.
I just can't make it come out.
I'm alive, I'm breathing.
I walk around but I'm not really living.
Its the Pain.
I can feel it cursing through my veins with tears streaming down and staining my face.
Eroding all the life left on my face.
I've lived so long in this low I don't really know what a high feels like no more. Even in love I'm down low and mournful. Insecure and pitiful. Crazy if you ask me.
I know I have to get out this cycle but this low has stolen all my dreams like a quiet thief in the night,. Stolen my voice and I'm left with this burning desire for greatness with an empty vision. Because my dreams were too fragile , like a fetus in the womb killed by negligence and under nourishment. Or better yet ripped out by metal rods poking prodding in a ***** hidden backyard ally.
I prayed. I cry.
I believed. I cry.
I had faith. I cry.
I even used to look up to the stars and the moon.
Mostly past tense now. Because nothing ever really came out of it. My hopes became the barren womb of a woman failing to produce.
All past tense.
But I still cry as if pouring my soul into this water that leaves my body will appaul the gods enough to have pity on me. Restore my faith and recharge my halo cause its been running on reserves for so long. As though I'll finally see the God everyone raves about. As though I'll find my destiny. But I just end up dusting my rags and bearing this load that's nearly taken my life by my own hand so many times I could feature on a comedy.
A cliche but I have a void in my heart. I tried ignoring it. Filing it with nonsensical things that always dry out. At a point I thought I'd found a solution but my heart now in pieces I learnt never to trust in a human what you can't do yourself.
I let somebody take me through the fiery lanes of hell to leave me there
Oh so many words with no way of forming logic so many words trapped in confusion so many words gagging me but I just can't find my voice.
I just can't make it come out.
So many words dying to be heard to be admired to be out.
But I'm at a loss.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 7:20 AM UTC
Golden sand tickling your toes
Pebbles gleaming, glistening, slushing
When the tide comes back to shore.
Sand dunes hiding wildlife,
Multitudes of migratory birds,
Safely returning every year to
This beautiful, marshy paradise.
Skies so orange, pink and red,
An artists palette of natural art
Greet you at sunrise and sunset.
***** kippers, cod and plaice
Shrimps, cockles and whelks,
Mushy, minty peas and chips,
The show at the end of the pier.
The lifeboats and their hardy crew
Risking their lives to save others,
When visitors run into trouble
At the mercy of the cold North Sea.
Crumbling coastlines, cliff walks
And nature reserves full of the
Scent of wild garlic and herbs,
Norfolk lavender. Steam engines,
Fishing boats, river boats,
Paddling boats and cycles
Take you on journeys
Around the Broads or
Past the famous Castles.
Tigers and leopards peer
Through the bars of their
Zoo homes by the sea.
Easterly winds that bite your
Fingers as they whistle and
Howl through the City.
Guest houses closed for
The winter as you stroll
The lonely promenades
Breathing in the air.
Queen Bodicea, Normans,
Vikings and Romans all
Marched through this
Historical landscape
And yet we remain
Stalwart and strong
Proud of our heritage,
Our roots, our birthplace
There's only one place
Better than Norfolk,
And that's the
Beautiful Ozarks.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
Light your cigarette, then, in this shadow,
And talk to her, your arm engaged with hers.
Heavily over your heads the eaten maple
In the dead air of August strains and stirs.
Her stone-white face, in the lamp-light, turns toward you;
Darkly, with time-dark eyes, she questions you
Whether this universe is what she thinks it--
Simple and passionate and profound and true--
Or whether, as with a sound of dim disaster,
A plaintive music brought to a huddled fall,
Some ancient treachery slides through the heart of things--
The last star falling, seen from the utmost wall...
And you--what sinister, far, reserves of laughter,
What understandings, remote, perplexed, remain
Unguessed forever by her who is your victim--
Victim, of whom you too are victim again?
...Come! let us dance once more on the ancient asphalt:
Seeing, beneath its strange and recent shape,
The eternal horror of rock, from which, for ever,
We toss our tortured hands, to no escape.
2.3k
Five months on the front
Between Arras and Albert
Both sides hunt
For the other
Redcoats and Frogs side by side
Putting away their hate
Both filled with pride
To fight
Drain the Fritz of their resources
Push them back as far as they could
But the enemy observes
And are waiting
Huge frontal attack, approached on foot
Ordered by General Haig
The Germans stayed put
And killed from afar
July 1st was day one
November 18th was the last
When all the guns
Were dead
It was the bloodiest battle anyone saw
Over one million deceased
No mortal law
Ruled here
13 Kilometers were gained
Using tanks and heavy gear
Reserves were drained
Yet no one cared
Friends, fathers, husbands, brothers,
Fought and lost their lives
For the children, sisters, wives and mothers
Who were left behind
Only gravediggers make money here
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
My missionary work, to an extent,
has been accomplished under grace;
most of the poetry I’ve composed
has been shared with the World,
with the intent of drawing others
towards The Kingdom and the face
of Christ, beloved Lord and Savior.
Pushed far out of my comfort zone,
I’ve taken this notion of identity,
that’s found solely in my Christ,
and pushed bravely forward with it-
at the dismay of brethren who bemoan
the label of Christian poet and author.
I can’t and won’t apologize for actions
taken to glorify God through evangelism;
Christ is the living Word; His Truth
courses through my spirit, as I explore
my Faith and understanding of Salvation.
.
.
.
Author notes
Inspired by:
1 Thes 5:19 and
"A life fully lived out for Jesus is never a wasted life, because in it the true reward starts only the moment one dies, and from that time on wards the dividend for the earthly investment they made continues to comes back without limit for the eternity that is ahead of them." —Abraham Israel
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
A blasphemous ******** as the dwelling beast salivates in its hollow. The glaring screen in the darkness is its only light. Years upon years it has followed the same sick fantasies. Self loathing and sickening it has reached the paramount of the low. Trawling the deep dark corners of the web to find his fix. Like a ****** addict it has delusions of needing his fraudulent fetish. A tiny drop of drewl collides with the derelict ground. It flows onto the pile of stale hardened tissues used to dispose of the beasts ****** off spray. A trundle to the local park to put a spring in its step. Watching the adolescents thinking corrupt thoughts. Child bearers stab the beast with scared stares of disgust. Attention is being drawn towards the hairy obese miscreant. Ripped shorts to expose the genitalia of the malevolent monster. A father approaches, intentions of confrontation are obvious. The monstrous **** runs to the road, unaware of the approaching speeding bus. It is drawn under the wheel crushed with the weight. Blood spurts in every direction, like a hot needle to a balloon full of acid. Slowly he dies in agony and suffering. The evil **** got his penance. ***** for eternity in the dark depths of hell.
The devil reserves the darkest places for the darkest men. His penance came, as will yours.
By Joseph Burns
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
this shall be:
this shall be
my last poem of the year,
two thousand and thirteen,
with the muses' permission.
a fitting one as well,
for the words,
come easy,
like so many did this
annus mirabilis, year of wonders.
firm I believe,
words are living tools,
constantly being reshaped,
fitted to the occasion.
care must me taken,
words hurt when wasted, abused,
or used in contravention to the creator's
intentioned purpose of intended good.
so when a brother, a poet-man
hits the nailhead, words writ,
encapsulating an emo shared,
this reserves, a poem-celebration!
lines between humans unseen,
somehow too easy, rightly crossed,
guards dropped, secrets exposure,
with the ease of feeling no discomfiture.
yes, this is the Internet age,
sharing revelations often cheapened,
boundaries collapse,
when no consideration given.
when there is no skin, no eye-glance
real-exchanged, no feeling, no voice,
casual, to do, easy to say,
what is the risk,
what could be the casualty
of this causality?
the risk is fearsome.
so when the venture is for the better,
what matter the absence of the physicality,
the tears and hugs imagined
as good as any non-virtual,
but in the coming year,
this I swear:
I will be, I will be becoming, I will become you,
unto you, for as was written, so shall it be,
for as was written, it will become,
a beautiful first, a first re-union,
that will be.
*this notion so pleasing,
yet inherent contradictory,
aye, there's the rub,*
a first re-union of the unmet,
*to mark this three hundred and sixty fifth day,
the creator bequeathed me these prayer words
most easily, most faithfully,
as a blessing for all of us.*
Dec. 31, 2013
3:54 pm.
NYC
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:15 PM UTC
Chocolate rabbits from hell
My feet hurt from stepping
On chocolate eggs
And I have to look at my mom
As she watches me
Push the basket of chocolate aside
as i sit down for breakfast
and I have to ignore
the two brats
beside me
gorging themselves
on
little
round
pieces of
fat.
I remember last year
Jelly beans, crème eggs,
All that **** that I now
refuse to cram in my mouth;
Im not adding to
the reserves of pudge on my
hips/thighs/arms/stomache
inside and outside
everyday i
bloat
mirrors
****
I can hear sloshing in their stomaches
As they stand
Hockey practice, hockey practice
They’re carried off by chauffers,
My parents
For the rest of the day
Ill be alone
Last year that would have meant
A choco-fest, and I miss it a bit
As the hunger that no one will notice
begins to set in
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 4:58 PM UTC
Daddy, I have grown up and
Daddy, I have become a woman and
Daddy, I do not need you anymore
I have learned to live without your love
to starve myself from your embraces
because I got tired of expecting something
that wouldn't ever come
Exhaustion is a beast
it eats up all your reserves
and greedily asks for more, but
Daddy, my soul has no more to give
I have nothing left to feed it
mo more energy to devote to waiting anymore
I am broke
and you never came
And I wish I could have packed up
and moved on, but
Daddy, I never heard you say it,
I am proud of you
Five single syllable words
Oh, I heard them plenty
when I had gotten an a
or when I won a medal
Or when I did
something so spectacular
that I was lucky to wear your last name
but, Daddy, what about all the other days
you were only proud of me
when I made you look good
so what about my car crash
what about my fractured fingers
what about the times I broke my heart
So they weren't my crowning glory
and they definitely weren't my favorite memories
but they're still mine, and they still define me
And I don't know, can you be ok with that?
Can you look at me, busted head and all
and say, I am proud of you?
Daddy, I have grown up and
Daddy, I have become a woman and
Daddy, I do not need you anymore but
Daddy, that doesn't mean I want you to leave
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
Day 33, a review:
*Without it, I sit,
And if I'm bored, then I sleep.*
With it, I am up:
I look with wide open eyes,
Eyes that see the world
And all I could be doing.
I step with purpose,
Standing tall and confident.
I wake, take the pill,
Eat my food, drink my coffee,
And drive off to work
With an automatic smile,
And I sing along
To the songs I know by heart.
*Without it, I sit,
And if I must stand, I lean;
Dragging tired feet,
Holding a troubled tummy,
And wishing I'd wake.*
In the end, on these days off,
I find energy:
I discover the reserves
Of serotonin,
Dopamine and endorphins
That my body saved,
Keeping stored for "the future."
My brain slowly learns,
And the fuel to keep going
Isn't out of reach.
So on these days off,
I won't despair or decay.
I used to collapse,
Before I knew my full strength
And what it felt like
To set my mind and finish.
*So help me today,
God, let this Adderall work
To give energy
And to strengthen my body
For this scary four-mile hike.*
~didn't get my refill before leaving for vacation~
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
Realization Alliteration Poem
4/23/2013
Radical reforms
Revealed and revered
Reveled in without reserve
Reject rest until wrongs righted
Resistance looks radiant red like radishes
Recently reequipped with righteousness reacting like radiation
Rowdy crowds race like rabbits to meeting rooms
Rain and rapiers can't quell rampaging rallies without recourse
Reserves have been replicated, ready to razzle and rebuke, revenge
Reclaim rusted roofs of the ruins, wrecked in rural rubble's roots
Reality's reign can't be reversed so remember it, refuse to relive it
Run from its reach, relying on the rare reward you've received, a refuge
Recognize that regimes rotate routinely like roadkill riding on rail-cars drinking with rancid rats
Reach for the receiver, become a redeemer, referee your own rehab, require resolute ripples - realization.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 3:12 AM UTC