"resurge" poems
You're progressive; and so you must denigrate
our triumphant victorious candidate.
Yes, you shot off your mouth.
Now you're trapped to the south
of the land where you promised to emigrate.
Before your resolve starts to stall,
you must heed the Canadian call.
Pack your bags and go forth
to your home in the north.
(or climb over that Mexican wall).
It's the END ! Now the Right will resurge,
and a new coalition emerge.
A Canadian rental
might help with your mental
well-being. We'll play you a dirge.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 4:04 PM UTC
Whenever the mist of pain and torment loomed;
And my already broken heart, dashed to pieces
You picked them all and glued them back together, mother
You helped me to resurge, with thousands of amorous kisses
When I was surrounded by deep blue silences and my heart cried in pain
You wept my ocean of tears but, you never shed one
The excruciating pain of my life, was hurting you too
But you always said, ‘My love, the struggles have just begun’
Beneath the tender look, your ardent black eyes beamed rebelliousness
I know that you wanted me to be the woman you never got to be
And so, as a present on your birthday, I make you a promise
That I will always be in the shelter of your arms; I will be the woman you want me to be and nothing will ever sunder you and me.
Sep 4, 2020
Sep 4, 2020 at 3:47 AM UTC
Her maddening superiority was becoming unbearable these days
Trying to find something in all the possible ways
Being trapped inside the labyrinth
Wondering
How shall I escape it one day?
Straight and fast.
Seems like the only promising way.
There is a place, at which she once stood.
Shimmering cold and completely alone
Accelerating beats of the keen drum
Always concealed below her chest bone.
Fragile, explosive and completely ****** up
Crying and trying but she could not stop
Beautiful, smart and completely alive
Striking security that will make her thrive.
Rid, run, rush, rip and retire
Is that the only escape?
Reveal, resurge, rise and revive
Is that the path we shall all take?
Being trapped inside the labyrinth
Wondering
How she would escape it one day.
Straight and fast
Seeming like the only promising way.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
Rhythmically reducing time
for you
for I.
Coagulation increasingly lessens the beat.
Off-written and wrecked,
We can’t turn home as
Junkies and
Dealers.
This home,
Washed out in familial gossip of relapse and resurge
After our firefights
Against venomous appetites.
Yet here we light this pipe, you and I,
With a reprise of shell-shocked war stories
Reanimating the grind
Of addiction’s battle.
Promise by the world,
A mind’s conviction and a 12-step program
Would naturally manifest in abstinent purity
And after,
Serenity.
Through the itch
Still
We are lumbering on, yet raging.
Violently insisting that these dreams are vouched for and
Stances held
Should leave our slicked soles immobile.
Smooth winds crinkling past twigs
And I with you, my dealer,
Am a lubricated branch on smooth-weathered granite grade.
In descent I tear at the throat with embarrassed tears.
Cries that only slicken the stone.
So of it, I swallow what will fill,
And beg you to do the same.
As fingernails rip from flesh
In grip of a still frame I can hear the 12-step program bid out again.
“Let there be sweat till the clouds run red.
Let trailing beads glisten while
I the blossom
Begin budding in the fall.”
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 12:00 AM UTC
Si la caída te quiebra,
no es por derrota:
el espíritu es libre,
resurge y celebra.
Más allá de la muerte,
la eternidad es posible.
Como llama encendida,
tu alma es invencible.
Ningún espíritu es vencido:
resiste y renace.
Ningún espíritu es vencido,
si cree en lo que hace.
Y ante cada batalla,
ante cada muralla,
ante cada victoria,
y ante cada gloria,
el alma guerrera
es fuego activo,
fuerte y verdadero,
eterno, constante.
Ningún espíritu es vencido:
insiste y renace.
Ningún espíritu es vencido,
si cree en lo que hace.
Cincelado en roca viva,
firme, inalterable,
tallas y esculpes,
sumas y sigues.
El alma no se quiebra
ante las adversidades.
Naciste hecho en fuego,
con fuerza y claridad.
Tallado paso a paso,
luchador incansable,
la noche no te frenó:
el dolor fue tu clave.
Ningún espíritu es vencido:
insiste y renace.
¡Jamás serás vencido,
si crees en lo que haces!
¡Jamás serás vencido,
si crees en lo que haces!
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 12:43 AM UTC
Daughters and Brothers:
Please resurge your relations if these nations wither away,
bringing endless vacancy,
as language becomes barren,
the dollar's value deserted,
and Pharaoh's hire hands
baring sharp arrows.
Or were they claws, not caring
to spare their favorite slaves
in pyramids of kings raised in a debased nature,
the same way we feel
we must hold our's sacred?
Yours Truly
P.S: this bs still exists
in fixed, pre-paid paper.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 2:13 AM UTC
Reality show
Notoriety hoes
Follow what glows
Behind a fame nose
In a shame pose
As the game goes
They keep staying low
While nasty stains grow
From thinking vapidly
And acting rapidly
Not speaking factually
We don’t see them actually
Seeming tame
And plain
Seeking fame
Their aim
All the same
They play a game
Of hoops of flame
Becoming circus acts
By removing tact
On a negative track
Of shooting flak
And shooting back
Negativity attracts
Harmful impacts
At an old impasse
Of cold syntax
Warranting a gin tax
Drinking from a tin flask
So the emptiness is masked
The reverb
Resurge
Rewords
The birds
Caught in the Internet
Like a flying intercept
Stealing their intellect
With a mundane misdirect
Of inane interests
A new method for dollar dreamers
Now the cynical screamers
Are digital streamers
Pivotal pleasers
Concerned with clicks
By scratch and kick
They hatch a trick
To match a *****
Dispatched to fix
Their lack of hits
The loud and obnoxious
Are proud of the noxious
And opening boxes
They stream video games
Other people made
They just played
For a good grade
In the leisure lane
No pleasure or pain
To treasure my brain
Their reality shows
In modality woes
Personality froze
Under their nose
In a monitor glow
Development slows
As far as irrelevant goes
They’re part of the flow
That doesn’t grow
Taking the shameful road to attention
For a dishonorable mention
Avoiding knowledge retention
For a superficial invention
Of social extension
They have a fatal mentality
That perception is reality
But the exception is vitality
That isn’t just an eventuality
For one must be capable and willing
To try to produce something fulfilling
Instead of just simple time killing
While hourglass sand keeps spilling
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 3:44 PM UTC
on this day, i write
tunes and voices coming in one ear
playing your message as i pause the music
playing the music as i leave your message
thought to resurge but a tough palm stood
to release the string from my opposite drum
attached is my depth from a pit, yelling
with you, we lost the bucket to save it
for this day i shut
so my fading code unbars
scripts i thought i'd never again crack
since my inclination to yours for me to be a part
from now and when i hear you
again will play the music that turns me than up
uncertain, but to neighbor by far is to keep you
from living in my lines
Jun 9, 2021
Jun 9, 2021 at 3:55 AM UTC
Cuando se fueron todos, yo
me quedé a solas con mi alma.
Plaza cuadrada, con su fuente
sin una lágrima de agua.
Balcones de piedra y de hierro.
Tejados de teja dorada.
Vencejos de la primavera
por el aire de la mañana...
Qué sosiego volver, hablarte,
abrazarte con mis miradas,
besarte la boca de tiempo
donde el polvo seca la lágrima.
Qué descanso poner mi oído
sobre tu madera encantada,
apurar las gotas de música
de la caja de tu guitarra,
recordar, preguntar, soñar
ahora que nada importa nada...
(Borro los pájaros. Enciendo
un cáliz de oro ante una acacia
Y, de pronto, un rumor lejano,
como de mar que se desata,
órgano de oro que libera
sus ruiseñores y sus aguas,
viento del sur que pulsa y sopla
espigas y juncos y cañas...
Ya los balcones solitarios
se han poblado de hombres que cantan,
de hombres que sueñan y se yerguen
en el umbral de la mañana.
Las flores doblan su carmín
allá en las praderas lejanas.
Las piedras sacuden el yugo
de los siglos que las encantan.
Todo resurge, clama, vive,
mueve sus pies, pezuñas, alas,
arde en la hoguera del instante,
hinche los mares y montañas,
desborda el tiempo, como un pájaro
que abre la puerta de su jaula.
Y, vencido el tiempo, en las manos
de Dios se duerme, que lo canta...)
Cuando se fueron todos, yo
me quedé a solas con mi alma.
Plaza cuadrada, con su fuente
sin una lágrima de agua.
Abril, blandiendo por el cielo
su acero pálido de espalda.
Qué sosiego tocarte, verte,
abrazarte con mis miradas,
apurar las gotas de música
de la caja de tu guitarra,
vagar sin fin y sin origen
sobre tus piedras hechizadas...
Andar sintiendo el alma muerta,
Dios mío, ya sin esperanza
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