"retell" poems
Listening ears don't come easy
Most come with mouths harbouring wagging tongues
Pouncing on the chance to retell your story
Exploiting your need to empty acrid lungs
Listening ears, they're indeed very rare
Unidentifiable no matter how well you know
Lurking behind a mask of concern and care
Sweet words employed so your cards you'd show
Listening ears could be just a myth
An idiom to quench the thirst to confide
Listening ears sometimes come with fangs for teeth
Hungering and lusting for your trust and pride
Listening ear, oh why you come with a mouth so foul
Why the cunning trickery and unscrupulous deceit
Kindness as bait, when in fact you prowl
Many none the wiser until they are bit
Listening ear, in you I gave my trust
I bared my innermost and gave my all
Hoped that you'd soothe my ailing crust
Instead you lifted me high only to watch me fall
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
She sits there with her hair left flowing,
Staring out to the sea all knowing.
Singing till the last light breaks,
And darkness comes and claws and rapes.
Lamenting and sad her tears they fall,
Upon her tail and waist so subtle so small.
“Love me forever please the land of men,
For in the sea my heart is spent
Retell my tale but with a happy end,
Where my lover did not bow and bend.
To the whims of another lover,
Who raptures better beneath the bedcover
Whisper lover across the sea,
But stranded here my tail will keep me.
You had your chance to love and hold,
But to the sea my heart you sold."
A mermaid that now is not so little,
Damaged by a man so vain and fickle.
She languishes in perpetual beauty,
Never to forget her punishment and duty.
For if her tail does touch the ocean,
Her heart will falter from that accursed potion,
And to the sea she will fall prone,
And turn to nothing more than the seas soothing foam.
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 12:26 PM UTC
Surrounded by friends
A welcoming hug lingers
Filled with what ifs
Uncomfortable for some
Warmly welcomed by others
Conversations fueled by
Wine, beer, and martinis
The comfort of acceptance
Non-judgmental reception
Imagining what’s not said
Some thoughts you can read
Others arise unbidden tongue-tied
Accidental truth shared
Sheltered by laughter
We retell our practiced stories
Not noticing the kind
I’ve-heard-it-before looks
Oh to hear the late night summaries
The evenings score card
We sway from oh so silly to
Pugnacious
We may have crossed lines
We never saw and wouldn’t have cared
If we did
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
They say that music and maths are the worlds unifier,
its non-barrier standard. All can unite in music and maths.
Yet, they forget the literature form of Poetry.
Poetry its long history, dating back to the Sumerian Epic of Gilgamesh. Evolving from folk songs such as the Chinese Shijing, or from a need to retell oral epics, as with the Sanskrit Vedas, Zoroastrian Gathas, and the Homeric epics.
Poetry is the history of mankind. Memorable for its form, rhyme,
meter, subject, symbolism, metaphors, similes, hidden meanings,
Truth, fantasy and fable.
All human emotion, no matter what colour, gender, creed, faith or belief system, is welcome through poetry, gains from poetry, learns from poetry and in return is taught by poetry.
Those lines in a myriad of languages, styles, form and content is mankind's story, a poem can feed your soul 'Invictus' taught humankind through one man's struggle. Not music, not maths.
From a Sonnet to Shi
Villanelle toTanka
Haiku to Ode
Ghazal to Narrative poetry
Epic poetry to Dramatic poetry
Satirical poetry to Light poetry
Lyric poetry to an Elegy
Verse fable to Prose poetry.
We write poetry because we are human! filled with passion.
And other pursuits are necessary to sustain human life.
But poetry IS what I stay alive for.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
I tried to show him Jupiter last night
and the night before, my *****
and before that, the knuckles of my fist.
Then, also, the sinking of my soul on far too much Adderall
and the nature of a festering crush-- in a huge symbolic gesture.
Because saying, "I fantasize about this man daily"
would be too obvious and obviously intentionally hurtful.
This man barks about fidelity, wretched women and suicidal Nihilism
while I scribble, "Oh my **** if it was me..."
and I watch his legs move and my body groans
groans into the next two hours.
I think about them both performing ***********
on the beautiful, small breasted women I ********** to.
Today in History, *I used to ********** to women of my own body type*
because I once found myself desirable.
Now it's the women under the "Most Viewed" tab.
I love hearing a strong woman say ****
I love hearing him blend nasty words with rhetoric.
When I retell moments, I fantasize foul language.
I wish I was a scribbler like Ry
who doesn't scribble anymore.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
Your eyes **** me.
I am dead: I put dirt in my hair
now it lives where I do,
in owl bites.
I can retell the memory of
your body crying
to resurrect my dusty corners –
bent over, tangled in candy
floss I am shivering
we are in a war.
Your movements **** me, too.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 2:31 AM UTC
I was sexually abused when I was a child,
the only light at the end of that tunnel,
is that it wasn’t done,
by a family member,
but it was done,
and I don’t even remember,
as much as Christine Blasey Ford does,
nor have I ever had to testify,
all I remember was the taste of that ****
and how it taste like buried secrets,
the way they ferment and rot,
when lodged in the gut and not allowed to surface,
see we’ve all been abused,
and not a single one of us deserved it,
so now we serve this life sentence of guilty regret-ness,
which in turn as positioned me in service,
oh America The Beautiful,
when did we become so broken,
everyone’s got a story,
of either being abused or abusing,
watched the Judge Kavanaugh hearing,
watched Dr. Christine struggle to retell her tale,
under the glaring lights of the TV cameras,
under the glaring stare of a bunch of older white males,
I mean let’s put it into perspective,
here is a lady who’s held this secret for years,
and then in an instant she was broadcast worldwide,
for the whole world to hear,
her life will never be the same,
she’s admitted her most private moments to the public,
and all because to the highest court in the country,
this demon from her past is about to be appointed,
and I don’t know what my point is,
maybe I don’t have one,
like a lonely kid,
who’s only role model is a fictional superhero,
because he doesn’t have an honorable father,
a lonely kid,
who’s only friend is his pet dog,
that he takes faithfully with him,
we he goes on walks just to get lost,
doesn’t have a destination,
still he feels like he’s in a rush,
can’t focus his attention and is always impatient,
and don’t know where to go and only wants to find the love,
and when he tries to speak up to tell someone what’s up,
he’s just dismissed as ignorant and told to hush,
and what does it mean when a ****** predator,
has the title of Judge,
how can someone that acts so immorally,
be put in a position to weigh the scales of justice evenly,
maybe there’s no right and wrong anyways,
maybe nothing is for certain and there are no guarantees,
maybe,
maybe not,
but I do know one thing for certain,
wherever I go the trauma from my past is brought,
because I was sexually abused when I was a child,
and the only light at the end of that tunnel,
is that it wasn’t done,
by a family member…
∆ LaLux ∆
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 9:22 PM UTC
Unread. I am a poem,
Read me. I deserve your time,
Heartless. Drop-in your heart for me.
Thirsty. Rain your love,
Feed me. I love your reviews,
Artless. All my words are so truthful.
Story. I am an unforgettable saga,
Narrate me. Retell me to your family,
Fearless. I become proud forevermore.
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 5:14 AM UTC
You’ll never sleep with me again,
So sometimes I retell your bedtime stories to other men.
You’ll never call me again,
So sometimes I repeat the same compliments to other men.
You’ll never spend time with me again,
So sometimes I rewatch our show with other men.
You’ll never love me again,
So sometimes I say it to several other men.
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 4:48 AM UTC
Most men run like clockwork.
Each piece is relevant to the system.
Alas, I am different.
I am a clock, like all other men,
But I am filled with broken parts:
Broken gears, broken hands,
And broken everything else.
I can no longer move forward in time
For my hands are stuck
Cursed to tell and retell one minute.
Why would the clockmaker
Turn me into a monstrosity?
Is this a punishment for my sins
Or is it a challenge I cannot win?
Am I broken to start with
Or is this a cruel joke?
I wish not to retell the same time
Because it is a time that haunts me.
A time that has brought me grief.
Fix me, so I may not be stuck.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
For the sake of discretion, when I retell this story, I am a fish, gill-hooked, near gutted, and thrown back. You are a goose with swan beauty, but not swan grace. There is a girl throwing bread onto the water above my head. Competing for the same crumbs, through what could be a mirror, our mouths met. You took the bread, but I kissed you.
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 10:03 PM UTC
It was a year and eleven days before my birthday
When the event occurred
The date was 9/11
And people all over called it.
Twin buildings fell
In New York, it was sad
Everyone watched and everyone mourned
The second shot heard around the world
A whole planet cried
For the ones that it lost
School was off
Jobs were too
But the firefighters worked
As well as the policemen
On the day 9/11 in 2001
The whole world cried
People sang for those who died
We'll never forget the dreadful day
The day the Twin Towers went away.
People were saved
And lived to tell the tale
And those who retell it today
Know it all too well
The Twin Towers crashed
And the Twin Towers burned
And everyone saw
And everyone learned
We'll never get over
The day in September
All we do is remember
Remember.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:34 PM UTC
The teacher dies having made her small contribution
to the colonization of other planets by motivating
a boy who would otherwise be a coal miner to become
a rocket engineer.
Throughout the nation teachers
are sending their prize pupils through the funnel
flask to produce technology from pure science.
The mother and father are good, disciplined, god-
fearing people who stand firm against dissolution
and chaos. They hold their clod of soil in place
and others do the same to create the landscape
of community.
Communities across the nation
and the world produce the many to support the few
who make the tools and do the math to colonize
the planets. Once the secret of warp speed is
discovered, expansion of the species is
limitless.
Perhaps it is not a direct contribution
to destiny, yet some stories may be told
for centuries.
It takes constantly renewed
consciousness to persevere, retell the stories
and interpret lessons. You go, girl.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
From the framed picture hung on the wall
Two faces look nobly down
The faces of my grandma and grandpa
Taking me to the times gone by
Smiling at their wavering progeny,
They retell the saga of their blissful life
A life of selfless share and care
Inspiring generations in their travail
Curling back to times and climes primeval
I hear the sound of their footfalls aloud
In a humble dwelling, joyfully they lived
As children of the soil with hands full of toil
They worked together from dawn to dusk
Greeting every new dawn with fresher zeal
Their hearts were securely fastened in love
And had needs minimum and complaints nil
Two fountains that sprang from sources different
Had merged together before their early teens
Through wedlock they had been customarily bound
At a time when they hardly knew what it meant
Had played together as buddies for long
Until instinct made them man and wife
When fledglings were hatched in their little nest
They worked together never knowing rest
Hit by adversities hard, at times they sank very low
But with resilience, bounced back
And frugally saved every nickel and dime
To meet the needs of their growing household
They tottered together in the evening of their life
Serving as prop to each other when about to fall
In their twilight years, ambling the corridors of memory
They reminisced sweetly the joyful events of life
Now they lie together in the same churchyard
Two streams that evenly and tranquilly ran side by side
Never once been shattered on the rocks and shoals of life
Making one wonder if their life is History or Fable
In the swelling magnitude of our life
Though trivial was their share
Yet they stay as beacons of light
Leaving a trail of light to blaze our paths
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
When the clock strikes at four
my mind will not be at rest anymore,
when the clock strikes at four
this little energy i have will be fully drained,
these pillars of mine will be very weak
and unstable to hold my body anymore.
When the clock strikes at four
i will be tired of forgetting,
my hand will not be able to keep the pen dancing,.my thoughts will be saturated by you
i cannot do it anymore
i can hardly bare sitting here anymore.
Its a Friday
After such a long day yesterday.
Tomorrow is Saturday
And thanks God that i will be home tonight.
I shall fail to cope because my mind roams in thoughts
saturated by my plans for tomorrow.
It is 8o'clock on the wall,
the moment for me to start trying to solve for X's
at nine i will have to retell the story of Animal Farm,
the death of Othello and anylse those poems.
At 10:30 i will be free
an additional language always makes my day.
But when the clock strikes at one
my soul will be gone and my body will be shut down,
i shall await for the clock to strikes 3:30
before some little excitment kicks in.
When the clock strikes at four,
i shall carry my bags with me and
get drifted away by the wind like
chaff.
I shall find my way home,
only to get a peace of mind and a hot bath.
And then think about you until i nearly drawn,
when the clock strikes at four,
i know i will be going home today.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
*I promise you the next time I write,
I would write your name in place with mine.
So that people would look for you and not me,
and they would see, my love, the reason why I write.
As they gaze at your face, they would understand.
As they hear your voice, they would know
that many a next time I would write,
but only of one they are sowed;
and even without you,
I wouldn't for another.
I'd just retell our story. Your stories. How my heart has been taken. The joys. The frowns. Our very endeared moments. The tragedies.
I would retell it in a hudred different ways, but I don't think I could write for another because only you and your kisses give my pen its ink and my words the power.
I would retell it.
But I wish I never should.*
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
To flow
Lost in the mind of unattachment~
Relation floats to the top,
Bubbling in iridescent mounds.
Blood spinning full body,
Taken ancient ritual
To lands unknown,
Abyss flies,
High collapse,
Forms dissolve to absorb.
Human knows, mankind blows its ashes
Into the sea
Where fish nibble surface gifts,
Crawl to form surface, lifts
Familiar exotica,
Erotica basks
In sunshine frays,
Grays may blend broken rays
Off the pleasure. Desire
Bubbles & brews to the top,
Furling into forms to which our touch is born,
Our travels sojourn,
Ever sifting, filtering the moon & the sun.
Feeling joy form & torn,
The reverb sung & proverb born,
Chug on, truck on
Traveling Celestial Mist.
The smoke sends its message to our ancestors,
Thanks & quests, may we rest &
Face our tests &
Jump off the highest crests &
Flow down through the darkest depths.
Fearless, shall we be, tearless, never be.
The taste & the smell, Earth’s story we shall tell & retell to our kin,
Our progeny rebel against the story of sin,
Announce the return to our dance, making sense of the din.
We may collapse the columns, but in deep truth
The cycles form regardless of ruth.
With that knowing smile,
A goddess wraps her finger
Round his golden locks,
Open, as always, they dangle and glisten,
If we would listen,
The fear would instantly disappear,
Jeers against the queer would shift into gear
To endear us to the weird &
We would cheer!
The dampness will burn,
The heartache will churn,
Our souls still yearn for
That moment when we lose it.
The bruised tips healing in the instant,
The shock waves reckon this is it
& the feedback expatiates past the limits.
We already have the wildness,
The bliss of expansiveness,
Still spinning in the Spiral Ever Endless.
10/28/12
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 3:19 AM UTC
Then I heard from a passing auto, with a Sirius
half-mile bleed in the dry desert air, A guru
I recognized, saying... of tamed earthlings
they and those who inform them, do
become
Too constipated about every thing,
swallowing yesteryears whole,
unchewed, and set to
digest the whole truth,
- Moses or Valis - sortasame
- Big Gulp
then tell it, as you will, no ****
You are mortal, you cannnot not
gnoshit smells stinky,
nogood stinky,
mmgood insinct, too, scent
of a wombed
mind, crying more, more, more,
can you imagine,
poor Solomon, surrounded
by wives and concubines', praying
together, thy kingdom,
come in me,
let me bher the child to stomp
the accusering head,
let my barren womb bloom…
- the child serpent wise
- dove harmless,
- let it be me
yeh, song of solo,mon,
makes no carnal minded sense,
who ever took the time,
to compose those lines,
wished ever to know, once
a fluid mind rose into the ever was,
and saw too many told tells to retell,
how dude, did you guess?
- got a clue from sadhu, guru
Guess what.
Aug 13, 2021
Aug 13, 2021 at 3:54 PM UTC
*The end of one story is the beginning of another.
Many obstacles and challenges have been overcome.
But the pursuit of happiness is far from over...
Because a whole new story has just begun!
A whole new story, as of now, unwritten...
With no words, no pictures, no tales to retell.
Whatever challenges and hardships await you in the future...
Only time will tell!*
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
rusty knees folded under a
quilt weaved by the calloused hands of
particles of grandmothers' grandmothers,
head heavy on a
down-breasted pillow,
rising and falling softly
in a bedroom den,
whispering relative semantics of
a testament revised
while outside, tornadoes uproot trees
and displace plywood houses
with charred pies frozen on the windowsill,
entombed from the harsh winter's frost
and incubation in false ovens;
i recall seasonal naps of
drifting and wakening
and colourful mosaics
painted across the dreamland sky,
drinking cups of melatonin-laced chamomile
steeped in an angel teapot that induced
psychosomatic apparitions in constant relay
from earhole to earhole and
assisted with pulling an endless rope out of my
mouth which had been tied to the pit of my ulcerated stomach,
my head twisting in a corkscrew spiral,
meeting a longing gaze
and twisting back again,
oh! my bottled neck!
you retell poems softly spoken loudly
with my kisses on your heavy eyelids,
before we drift through the sheer veil
into unified consciousness,
taking a glimpse at our crowning home in
an infinite land,
enveloped in time-honoured Love
bestowed upon us in
pure, Divine fate,
watching endless words of
'i love you', 'i love you'
trickle like sand though a
heavenly hour glass figure;
to wake, a chance to celebrate,
to die, a chance to find each other again.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
Hide my face under those blue Sheets
Then coyly I pop my eyes out,
Crinkle my nose as I feel the light
Of the beautiful sun, up and about.
My mind always wonders
How you must have slept
Envisage your beautifully closed eyes
And in them, the dreams bedecked.
Retell my dreams to myself
Like stories in purest form, without amends
Then expatiate my fantasies to You
I weave the loose ends.
I wonder how it would be
To have you sleep by my side
Holding lovingly on to your skin
As our hearts revived.
I wouldn't want to leave your side
Through sun, hail and snow.
Melt my tender skin on yours,
Seasons may come and go.
The days slip by like grains of sand
Held loosely in an infant's hand,
I want you to know one thing though
You are the beginning, my love
You are the end.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
Let’s play a game of pretend
Where I don’t have to acknowledge our end
When heartbreak was a distant stranger
When loving too fast was the only danger
When the walls were non-existent, and we ignored the suggested lines
I’ll go back to when I didn’t have to lie by calling you mine
Then I could hug you one more time, and I’ll get to say all the things that I wanted to say
Like I did, I’d always remind you of my undying love. I’d acknowledge your perfection every day
I wouldn’t mind getting the chance to fall in love with you again
For you, I’ll take every rule possible, and find a way to make it bend
I’d make you sing your favorite songs, again, and again for me. Just because I can
Every day I’d remind you that even if the world is against you, I’d still be your biggest fan
I’d be able to say your name, and keep my eyes dry because I’m pretending you're still my world
No one could ever compare. No competition, you’d always be my favorite girl
I’d take the chance to love, and know you all over again, while admitting you’re my blessing, and curse
I’d still love you more than what’s good for me. And I’ll pretend it’s better, not worse
I’d learn all your favorite fruits, and bagels again, and squeeze your hand a little tighter
I’d introduce you to the war of love, and especially to its two newest fighters
I’d make you retell your secrets. Watch you redraw all the flowers, and hearts you drew
I’d gladly go through all the first awkwardness of our love again, and my bad attempts to explain how much I love you
This game of pretend scares me into thinking of what I could’ve done better
Now all I can do is remember, and try to keep my eyes from getting wetter
I’d look deeper in your eyes. I’d look longer for one last time, but don't call me crazy
Maybe I’d redo all these things, and more, if I got the privilege to get you back. If, and maybe
But in the meantime, I’ll stay daydream of the days that I got to call you my baby
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 8:35 PM UTC
Refract the light
Retract the night
Refrain from pain
Regain from feign
Repel all sight
Rebel all flight
Reuse that smile
Reduce that rile
Retell a story
Resell a glory
Reflect ambition
Reject omission.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
Deny we the possibility of order
Ignore we an Outside Law
Suggest we an endless possibility
Worlds without end
Positions simultaneous
Moving in all directions or none
Claim we the future as ours
Defy we realities of law external
Look we inward-outward simultaneously
To become one or none or all
Reject a single story
Saw we the Arms from Truth
Reduce we the Other to I
Forget we the order of Universes
Without-Within
The clockwork structures
Atomic
Celestial
Genetic
Physical
Biological
In and or-ganic
Reorder or Retell we the Cyclical Tales
Birth and Rebirth
Seasons and Times
Journeys of stars swirling through space
Endless flights of planets
Endless migrations of living things
Each rhyming to universal rhythms
Watts and amperes circular-linear mysteries
Predicting futures from their undisputed histories
Deny we external truth
Held here in the gracious grasp of gravity
Warmed gently by a tolerant star
Inhabitants of a universe
Unable to explain itself
Or even how its atoms came
To repel and to attract
In perfect tensions
Or to unleash energies
Predictable and measurable
In milliseconds and millenniums
---------------------------
Marionettes macabre
Cut loose from our strings
Dancing slowing dirges
Proclaiming opening spaces
Beneath closed skies
Denying a Maker
Rejecting hymnody to sing
Ditties laden with lies.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 12:14 PM UTC
death, apparent,
or...
apparently so...
was never a concern to
concern oneself
with the debate
between a man,
and a god....
i,e.?
funny...
the little **** sleeps
like a baby...
little ****
a maine **** cat,
male,
extracted testicles...
falls asleep
listening to
the dead can dance...
only album favorite....
my cat favored
to fall asleep in half the time
it took to listen to the track...
you can state your
Apocalypse Now! counter
in half the time...
beginning with....
now!
i'm done begging,
i'm imploring you...
added minutes?!
michele campanella...
WAGNER's
walhall
from, das rheingold...
such esteemed people!
such awaiting people!
such... nuanced...
of what could be claimed as...
people...
what wonder!
what ignominious
ingenuity of retraction!
to, have, fathomed!
the last of what ia esteemed
to be deemed,
the, *least"...
finest upon the finest,
and, supposedly,
no more,
that a utility of a hammer,
for whatever came the observation,
to make comprehension
of... the noun: nail,
and the adverb...
nailing it...
with the verb and noun
of final utility of: hammer...
dear... prospect...
of whatever was inclined
by your stressed ingenuity of fault...
how have you....
my... oh my...
your creation wss
supposed to be more stupid
than the people you already deemed
stupider,
and already demanded
yourself to, despise?
and your intelligent
"creation"...
wasn't supposed to notice this,
discrepancy?
now ensure you retell this narrative...
'mother...'
'yes, David...'
'play me... the raconteurs'
old enough.'
mother knows, best.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 9:36 PM UTC