"resign" poems
Rise and shine, first thing in the morning walking past the mirror.
Avoiding its reflection, not wanting to see its reflective picture.
Kneeling in the shower, hands pressed tightly to her ribs.
Who is this frightened child? Does she even exist?
She took a step back from the world, no one knew she was alive.
Now she’s grasping at her life, just trying to survive.
A tainted childhood in shame now fragile bones from self abuse,
don’t blame her though, she was only a child confused.
How did this happen? When did this begin?
She seemed so happy, or was that all pretend?
She had started at 130, or so,
but felt as if she had lost control.
What happened to this dear sweet innocent child?
Her idea of beauty and perfection had driven her wild.
Minus 25 later she was so close.
Almost 100 without any clothes.
No one would touch her, they thought she would break.
She told herself she was content with that trade.
I was 18.
~
I’m much better now in my adult discipline
eating healthy 3 meals a day purely for consumption.
Yesterday, I skipped dinner in lieu of drinking wine.
Today at noon, hovering over my breakfast, I resign
Some days I struggle. Some days I am not fine.
But ...
I will eat my breakfast, lunch and dinner.
And paint my pretty pictures.
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 2:01 PM UTC
We were a strange kind
your mind ignited mine
we grew on eachother like a fertilized vine
& crashed and burned before our time
ours is a tale I long to rewrite
let ink spill out, 7 chapters in a night
regretting words I hissed in spite
forgiving ourselves for ending the fight
I'd start back before I knew your name
slip into to a less polluted time
before I cried after drinking red wine
back when our souls were intertwined
before contracts of our destiny were signed
before my heart was forced to resign
once upon a time,
I was yours and you were mine
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 7:14 AM UTC
I speak in praise of the ******** yes,
and as a male, I decline to be clandestine about this.
The reason I so admire the ******** is that it's the female's key
to being multiply ******** and frankly, I'm in awe of this.
You see, the male ***** can't compare
because, of course, it has a dual purpose.
It wasn't put there just for bliss,
which is the only purpose of the ********
Males must just resign
themselves to their dangling ganglia, the ****
which is so easy to malign compared to the delicate paradigm
of the **** and its remarkable economy of design.
Now I realize that females may be suspicious
of my focus on their ********
but actually, I think it’s ingenious.
My own discovery of this was serendipitous and propitious.
You see? Really, I’m envious of the ********
because it's indefatigable and delectable,
(I think she likes a little nibble),
and anyway, there’s not much point in trying to distinguish
between *********** and the ********
So there's my poem to the little ****
with admiration and respect.
I speak in praise of the ********
Truly. A gift for all of us.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC
As a kid you just want to grow up
Even when the adults tell you not to
Independence and adulthood is your focus
When they warned us away from growing up
they forgot to mention a few things:
No one said being an adult would feel like drowning,
like a slow suffocation you do to yourself
You do what you have to in order to survive.
You keep breathing in the things that drown you,
because what else are you going to do with them
But with each breath you sink lower and lower.
With each breath you learn something new about yourself
With each breath you are forced to take under this water made of
bills,
and jobs,
a lot of responility
and not much sleep
you drown a little more
and resign your self to the slow death of adulthood
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 6:38 AM UTC
A few hours after midnight; the world is fast asleep.
Alone and cold do I wander. Like a nightmare do I creep.
With the intent of nothing I sit and watch the street.
It’s a week after Halloween and my shoes are on my feet.
I near my house, I think I’ll shave, (My chin has an itch.)
But at my feet upon the ground a color doesn’t fit;
Black on black with a spot of white doesn’t sit quite right.
You’d think they’d be more careful, ornery little gits.
Yet here at my feet, some candy lies plainly in my sight.
I stop to stare and wonder, and my brain does a nervous twitch.
So here I am; with a piece of candy that might have mange
Meanwhile my mind is discovering a whole new range
For all the pain we go through, to keep the world nice,
Nothing anyone does ever seems to pay the price.
I’ve got a new hybrid car, gets 50 to the gallon plus it’s electric.
And when I finish a snack trash is out the window. Are we epileptic?
I mean you’ve got to be kidding me, who can say that they are not
A miserable little hypocrite? World is full of betrayal and lies.
Filling with anger, righteous and hot, I feel a change in my soul.
I’ll be better! I’ll change the world or the two of us will sever ties!
The earth will follow my example and we’ll hold to higher goal.
Give me a few years and then lets see what we’ve got!
I hold onto the fantasy for a while, sad to let it slip.
But the truth does sink in and reality has a tighter grip.
Even if I spoke who would listen? One cry in a thousand’s not so great.
I’m not saying we shouldn’t try, to resign ourselves to our fate.
I’ve never been a pessimist, just a realistic optimist you understand.
If you want change, aim for what you can hold in your hand.
Think you can bring about world peace, think you’ve got the might?
Try to keep peace in your town, or your block, or home without a fight.
I stand and think to myself one more Sucker here and there,
Isn’t going to change a thing. If ten men vowed never to let themselves repeat
Their mistakes, the next day a chance would come, one would stand,
Nine would shudder and forsake him. Alone he’d return to his seat.
I step away and head home. I return my thoughts to the matters at hand.
Like my homework; a poem and some calc. I’ve still got to lose some ****** hair
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
Goddess of virility suckles me
to ******
Her legs stiffen…
to acute angles.
Toes, ballerina firm
make her
body—
levitate from the bed.
A smile reveals…fangs
the tips of which
are barely…touching
my ear.
The lizard tongue hisses in ecstasy
revealing ancient—spiritual…bliss
mystics could only
speculate of.
Her anaconda legs
wrap—
around my back
as her fingernails
embed into
my spine.
When I yank
Her hair
Her eyes
Scream inside out.
Our bodies—
Swimming in
An ocean of ravenous
Liquids pulsating from our pores.
Sopping hair clings
to our foreheads
we suddenly realize—
A new shape is invented.
We make a sound so primal
inside each other’s mouth
as her jaws snap down
to my neck—
both bodies rigor-mortis stiffen
as the mountains collapse around us
and the sky is ripped open as a tsunami
billows down into a wave of exhaustion.
The wind cradles us,
Back to the earth
We split,
Admiring a new continent
We created.
Our limp bodies—
numb from the velocity and suggestions
resign to the crater
we call a bed.
We smile, simultaneously,
looking past
our brains,
realizing…
in this moment
we, are one.
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 7:18 AM UTC
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The Devil—had he fidelity
Would be the best friend—
Because he has ability—
But Devils cannot mend—
Perfidy is the virtue
That would but he resign
The Devil—without question
Were thoroughly divine
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I was waiting for my sweet release,
To find my peace, my soul's release.
For life has been a bitter pill,
A constant ache, an endless hill.
I write this note to say goodbye,
To tell the truth, to ease the lie.
I was a boy who tried his best,
But never could stand up to the test.
I disappointed those I loved,
A burden on them, always shoved.
I never did anything of worth,
A life of shame, a stain on earth.
I know that death is not the end,
A new beginning, a chance to mend.
But I can't bear this pain no more,
The weight of life, the endless chore.
So to those who read this note of mine,
Please don't feel guilty, don't resign.
My fate was sealed, my heart was cold,
My life was but a story untold.
My rendezvous with death is near,
But don't you shed a single tear.
For in the end, I'll find my peace,
And all my troubles will finally cease.
Apr 30, 2023
Apr 30, 2023 at 3:47 AM UTC
You softly whisper to yourself, love’s music ends right here
As you put away your tender heart’s violin
So utterly sincere in your resignation to quietly exist
To never play your heart’s violin again
You hear the sweetest music played around you every day
With no desire to join in with your own sound
So quietly existing in this world of your resignation
Such a sense of peace, you have found
Then one day when you awaken, the worlds a bit too still
You sit and wistfully stare at your heart’s violin
Think about your resignation and the peace you found within
And ever so quickly, you turn away again
The world keeps on a moving, not only quiet but so dark
No longer do you hear any music played
Makes you begin to wonder if this peace you’ve found within
Is also, what made the music fade
The solitude and peace found in this bittersweet release
Has now become your heart’s only friend
You resign to the fact that your violin you must play
If you want to hear the music once again
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 11:23 AM UTC
Every day, I work so hard
To save my money, for a future family
The time has now come to collect my prize
But it seems this month, fate forgot about me
A few years pass, and still no baby
I'm a patient one, but this is scaring me
To think that all these years, sweating and building
Were for nothing
Babies and babies around me
In parks, malls, and in the arms of my friends and family
Now I panic - could this be happening to me?
Bitterness creeps up on me
And hate for everyone who is happy
I always knew life was unfair
And my time has now come to pay the price
And all the indignation and despair
Are powerless and poisonous...
But to resign oneself is to give up!
And I'd rather let venom flow through my veins
And my screams of frustration burn everything with green fire
Until a child's smile will heal me as new
Or everything will turn to ashes
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
To learn this gospel of that Birthing Home
A splendid way to start your own New House
Of your Man so proud; Dignity his own
Shows this Great Fixture of a Faithful Spouse
And I, envy-filled, toddlerish to Draft
To ask when my Best Time would ever come
You, Heroine's Pride, caused my Sorrows to Laugh
And boot this Troll for his Merriments done
Only for your Wish more Blessings invade
And never, ever Dream it should Resign
Which, termed Jolly, decomposed his best *****
And Danced with Gnomes your Prosperity fine.
Begging you, this Heart, please tell HER I Care
For the Flames I lit; My Penance I fare.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 3:33 AM UTC
Sent to a friend who had complained that I was glad enough to see
him when he came, but didn't seem to miss him if he stayed away.
And cannot pleasures, while they last,
Be actual unless, when past,
They leave us shuddering and aghast,
With anguish smarting?
And cannot friends be firm and fast,
And yet bear parting?
And must I then, at Friendship's call,
Calmly resign the little all
(Trifling, I grant, it is and small)
I have of gladness,
And lend my being to the thrall
Of gloom and sadness?
And think you that I should be dumb,
And full DOLORUM OMNIUM,
Excepting when YOU choose to come
And share my dinner?
At other times be sour and glum
And daily thinner?
Must he then only live to weep,
Who'd prove his friendship true and deep
By day a lonely shadow creep,
At night-time languish,
Oft raising in his broken sleep
The moan of anguish?
The lover, if for certain days
His fair one be denied his gaze,
Sinks not in grief and wild amaze,
But, wiser wooer,
He spends the time in writing lays,
And posts them to her.
And if the verse flow free and fast,
Till even the poet is aghast,
A touching Valentine at last
The post shall carry,
When thirteen days are gone and past
Of February.
Farewell, dear friend, and when we meet,
In desert waste or crowded street,
Perhaps before this week shall fleet,
Perhaps to-morrow.
I trust to find YOUR heart the seat
Of wasting sorrow.
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She is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.
She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun ’tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of colored beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.
She loves me all that she can,
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
And she never will be all mine.
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Why Damon, why, why, why so pressing?
The Heart you beg's not worth possessing:
Each Look, each Word, each Smile's affected,
And inward Charms are quite neglected:
Then scorn her, scorn her, foolish Swain,
And sigh no more, no more in vain.
Beauty's worthless, fading, flying;
Who would for Trifles think of dying?
Who for a Face, a Shape, wou'd languish,
And tell the Brooks, and Groves his Anguish,
Till she, till she thinks fit to prize him,
And all, and all beside despise him?
Fix, fix your Thoughts on what's inviting,
On what will never bear the slighting:
Wit and Virtue claim your Duty,
They're much more worth that Gold and Beauty:
To them, to them, your Heart resign,
And you'll no more, no more repine.
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All’s over, then: does truth sound bitter
As one at first believes?
Hark, ’tis the sparrows’ good-night twitter
About your cottage eaves!
And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly,
I noticed that today;
One day more bursts them open fully
—You know the red turns grey.
Tomorrow we meet the same then, dearest?
May I take your hand in mine?
Mere friends are we,—well, friends the merest
Keep much that I resign:
For each glance of that eye so bright and black,
Though I keep with heart’s endeavour,—
Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back,
Though it stay in my soul for ever!—
—Yet I will but say what mere friends say,
Or only a thought stronger;
I will hold your hand but as long as all may,
Or so very little longer!
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The first duty of the State
Should be sanitation,
Not defense, nor cyber-security.
Drain the swamps.
**** the vermin.
Wash & sweep the streets.
Let us forgive his past shenanigans.
A vote for ****** is a
Vote for cleanliness.
After all: next to Godliness.
(American politician **Anthony ****** former member of the U.S. House of Representatives from New York City, was involved in a ****** scandal related to sexting, or sending explicit ****** material by cell phone. On June 16, 2011, ****** announced his intention to resign from Congress with his official resignation occurring on June 23, 2011.)
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 10:39 PM UTC
Find peace with your baffled mind
Induce equanimity in between your struggling breaths
Remedy the desolation with your flowing tears
Resign to the solitude with your dispirited shadow
Catch the glimpses with your swollen eyes
Wear a smile with your shivering lips
Seek solace in between your trembling fingers
Walk the steps with your hesitant feet
Gather strength from your shattered pieces
Feel your existence amidst your aching soul
Endure the sorrow with your feeble self
Preserve the love in your failing heart
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
When fierce conflicting passions urge
The breast, where love is wont to glow,
What mind can stem the stormy surge
Which rolls the tide of human woe?
The hope of praise, the dread of shame,
Can rouse the tortur’d breast no more;
The wild desire, the guilty flame,
Absorbs each wish it felt before.
But if affection gently thrills
The soul, by purer dreams possest,
The pleasing balm of mortal ills
In love can soothe the aching breast:
If thus thou comest in disguise,
Fair Venus! from thy native heaven,
What heart, unfeeling, would despise
The sweetest boon the Gods have given?
But, never from thy golden bow,
May I beneath the shaft expire!
Whose creeping venom, sure and slow,
Awakes an all-consuming fire:
Ye racking doubts! ye jealous fears!
With others wage internal war;
Repentance! source of future tears,
From me be ever distant far!
May no distracting thoughts destroy
The holy calm of sacred love!
May all the hours be winged with joy,
Which hover faithful hearts above!
Fair Venus! on thy myrtle shrine
May I with some fond lover sigh!
Whose heart may mingle pure with mine,
With me to live, with me to die!
My native soil! belov’d before,
Now dearer, as my peaceful home,
Ne’er may I quit thy rocky shore,
A hapless banish’d wretch to roam!
This very day, this very hour,
May I resign this fleeting breath!
Nor quit my silent humble bower;
A doom, to me, far worse than death.
Have I not heard the exile’s sigh,
And seen the exile’s silent tear,
Through distant climes condemn’d to fly,
A pensive, weary wanderer here?
Ah! hapless dame! no sire bewails,
No friend thy wretched fate deplores,
No kindred voice with rapture hails
Thy steps within a stranger’s doors.
Perish the fiend! whose iron heart
To fair affection’s truth unknown,
Bids her he fondly lov’d depart,
Unpitied, helpless, and alone;
Who ne’er unlocks with silver key,
The milder treasures of his soul;
May such a friend be far from me,
And Ocean’s storms between us roll!
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In the great scheme of life, many choices you make,
Where to work, who to date, your yard when to rake.
The game of hearts is not quite the same,
Who you love and end up with, is all based on aim.
Yes Cupids aim, is sometimes not good,
Dam arrow it lands, in many a strange hood.
Once per chance the target is hit,
They may be charming, attractive and full of wit.
Only the lucky lovers get this type of win,
The arrow is known to bring pain, shame and sin.
Never knowing what's in store for you,
Loving arms and a partner that’s true,
Or an unfaithful idiot, to make you feel blue.
You may think you scored, they look smokin' hot,
Having *** day and night, you love them a lot.
This sounds pretty awesome, is there a down side?
Not unless you count secrets, and the lovers he hides.
The girl that finds sales, and will spend all your cash,
She goes out on black Friday, doing the fifty yard dash.
Coming home the next day, a smile on her face,
I saved money here, and there, and this place!
What she fails to tell you, is your fresh out of money,
Say something about it, she'll resign as your honey.
The men are no better, their tempers get hot,
Slobs and the lazy, and the ones that smoke ***
One time in the game, Cupid seemed to shoot straight,
He gave me a lover, to see I couldn’t wait.
We had some good times, but the end is the same,
Bad excuses, feelings hurt, another to tame.
Please freakin' Cupid, have a talk with William Tell,
Take an archery lesson, or your bow I will sell.
You keep making me fall, for the wrong type of mate,
Just want a good friend, not a women to hate.
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
We wear our helmets
Together with our suits for race
I am the driver
You are my co-driver
Buckle up! Seat belts on
We're ready to race
Radio's on, I let you decide on which station
Ready? Get set. Let's start the chase!
We start smoothly
Our gear's not even on three
I step up the gas
Let's speed up and fast!
I don't really see the need to rush
But since we're on the track
Better give it our best shot
Or else we'll lose the bout
Also, there are competitors
Whose pace we can't help but to compare
They have such high scores
Which subconsciously became our goal
Then came rough roads
I swerve from left to right
We go off road
Several times
A **** after a ****
Seems like an under-construction ramp
"Watch out!"
And then a bump
Blood and bruises
Filled our faces
You looked at me with so much blame
But, hey, isn't this a tag-team game?
Sure, I was the one holding the steering wheel
But you were my co-driver, sitting at the passenger seat
You were the one in charge to navigate
To follow your instructions was all I did
I admit I had troubles as well
Insecurities, jealousy made me tremble
I felt I made an impossible gamble
But, I am very sorry, I am human after all
I cannot see your tears
You're not that easy to read or I'm just bad at it
But I have to take a guess
You're very sorry as well
We looked into each other and we had the hint
We had to change our views for this trip
Ah, I know what action would fit
We smile as we said, "In this race, we quit."
I started the engine
And we buckled up again
We quit the race, but we didn't quit our journey
We'll continue slowly but surely, as we enjoy the sceneries
We've had enough of contests
Championships that never had any winner
Championships that only brought stress
It's not the destination, but the journey which matters
If ever in case you resign as my co-driver, however
I'll probably hire another
After forever?
Or I'll just also quit as a driver
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 4:20 AM UTC
What do you do at 3am when you're tired and bored and its raining?
Maybe this is punishment.
For eating those grapes before you paid for them in Sainsburys.
Or that time you forgot who Buzz Aldron was, or when you took pleasure at beating a five year old at Cluedo.
She started crying, and even then, you still
would not relinquish your title.
Maybe its for that time
You were accidentally racist to the chinese guy taking your order.
Or when you forgot to buy your mum a birthday card, or when you made fun of your best friend for not being taller.
Or when you said, 'Maybe
selective breeding in humans,
Is not such a bad thing after all.'
Yes, Its definitely punishment for that.
But maybe its for all the litter you've dropped, inadvertently or on purpose.
Or for last week when you accidentally kicked the cat, or for stealing those library books,
For swearing at kids
and blaspheming at the dinner table,
Christ!
Maybe its for nicking your brothers chips, even when you're not really that hungry.
For halfhearted apologies handed out like office stationary, for scoffing at most modern art.
For not revising when you
Really, really should
...But telling your parents you are.
But even with all of this, isn't the punishment, just a little bit too harsh?
Well now you are sarcastic, and bitter and pessimistic at least 90% of the time.
And you do hide the fact that you quite like country music, and that you have a blanket with sleeves (and you genuinely use it) and that you're really rather patriotic at heart.
And you didn't say all that stuff when you should have.
And you said all that other stuff you didn't mean
And you spend far too much of your time
Invested in impressing the people you're never going to see again.
And you realize all of this... at three o'clock in the morning, alone but for the fading of the rain.
And you swear to yourself, with all the fervour of a tired insomniac. That tomorrow.
There. Will. Be. Change.
But in the cold, harsh light of nine o'clock the same day. Six hours after you fell asleep. You resign yourself to the fact that last nights punishments can all be absolved, by a nice warm cup of tea.
And despite what you say
at 3am when you're tired and bored,
listening to the sound of the rain.
You will always be a pessimistic idiot, with delusions of grandeur.
That watches too much American TV.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 6:38 AM UTC
A student of the crowded breeze.
On a whim Raise like the dandelions' seed,
Vibrantly dissent like, in fall, trees' leaves.
An apostle of purpose beyond what one sees for the unknown is nothing and possibility.
Our lessons are on the topic of practical whimsy, in their way; the wind that cools your face also fans a flame and guides the rain.
The Sensei go by many names, I know them from the roles they play:
Boreas shepherds my turmoil,
A tempest;
senseless, cold and violent as if without vision only vengeance.
Notus shows my passion;
A gust to an ember on dry land,
Unreasonable, unpredictable and destructive without a plan.
Zephyr entices my love;
A subtle intimate current for dance,
The beauty of birds and bees flying from flower to flower and branch to branch.
Eurus reflects my way;
A flurry that moves the sand.
The removal of sediment,
the return to foundation born from action mixed with patience.
They can only guide me
I can ride the winds of the odyssey or resign to the winds of dreams
but I know
I Am
A student of the breeze.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 5:04 PM UTC
Tell me not here, it needs not saying,
What tune the enchantress plays
In aftermaths of soft September
Or under blanching mays,
For she and I were long acquainted
And I knew all her ways.
On russet floors, by waters idle,
The pine lets fall its cone;
The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing
In leafy dells alone;
And traveller's joy beguiles in autumn
Hearts that have lost their own.
On acres of the seeded grasses
The changing burnish heaves;
Or marshalled under moons of harvest
Stand still all night the sheaves;
Or beeches strip in storms for winter
And stain the wind with leaves.
Posses, as I possessed a season,
The countries I resign,
Where over elmy plains the highway
Would mount the hills and shine,
And full of shade the pillared forest
Would murmur and be mine.
For nature, heartless, witless nature,
Will neither care nor know
What stranger's feet may find the meadow
And trespass there and go,
Nor ask amid the dews of morning
If they are mine or no.
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