"retrospects" poems - Hello Poetry

1271 September’s Baccalaureate A combination is Of Crickets—Crows—and Retrospects And a dissembling Breeze That hints without assuming— An Innuendo sear That makes the Heart put up its Fun And turn Philosopher.

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Emily Dickinson

September’s Baccalaureate

1271 September’s Baccalaureate A combination is Of Crickets—Crows—and Retrospects And a dissembling Breeze That hints without assuming— An Innuendo sear That makes the Heart put up its Fun And turn Philosopher.

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Edified by our prayers- mustered from the beginning Years we've been together, retrospects we are reliving. Rendezvous at 71st- always brings back joy My feelings always comes to burst, undeniably the best moment I do enjoy One and two and three and counting years since we've been with each other Love encompasses our reminiscing longing more in making memories together In God we always hope and trust, we raise Him up! With all of these, there's only one question left to be asked...

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Sep 20, 2019

Sep 20, 2019 at 2:10 AM UTC

hyacinth

Question. Mark!

Edified by our prayers- mustered from the beginning Years we've been together, retrospects we are reliving. Rendezvous at 71st- always brings back joy My feelings always comes to burst, undeniably the best moment I do enjoy One and two and three and counting years since we've been with each other Love encompasses our reminiscing longing more in making memories together In God we always hope and trust, we raise Him up! With all of these, there's only one question left to be asked...

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Throwback dissonance, results in future social dystopian conversations. Tormented lives swept under rugs, in between the cracks of floor boards. Dust and filth, years of names. All scratched into the bathroom stalls of so called neighborhood's, subordinates of time and "hush-hush" the city to the suburbanites. Shocking to them eating dinners still in the 1990's, fastened tight in seat belts of self esteem, MTV news and 50 inches of reality. You must be joking, not ever knowing, folly box dwellers, why they say all "white". The back doors were shut and locked when you looked left and double took right; as jokes from the safety of your water stained walls and cigarette burned carpets, to joke hatred like art and we must pretend not us though? Wall to wall, our prison starts here and ends in our front lawns as the country shouts "white man" and we must remain silent. My father's land, nearly 20 year cultural hiatus that split our family in two, came back from time, in a paperclip, over the wall, east to the west side of Berlin and delivered in a rebel DeLorean with bumper stickers of second amendment speeches and pro-life Bible out of contextual arguments. These retrospects, taking advantage of sales on tiki torches while stealing phrases from my great grandfather class of 1933. And the whole country shouts "white man". No, my country, not white men. In skin yes, in history, no. They were never men. Never did my father speak of men. I heard the gang rapes of Gypsy's. Stories of slain Catholics. Murders of homosexuals, The bones crushed of opposing parties. The staple mascot of pain, Judaism extermination that swept through culture like a bad advertisement tune. Gassed. Tortured. Worked. They come for us all. Not as white men. They come as their own. This is not man. They maybe white, but not man. I am a white man, but it's always been human, first. That's black. That's white. That's purple. That's life. They come for our progress, not our skins.

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Aug 13, 2017

Aug 13, 2017 at 11:51 AM UTC

Lousyerface

I am human first.

Throwback dissonance, results in future social dystopian conversations. Tormented lives swept under rugs, in between the cracks of floor boards. Dust and filth, years of names. All scratched into the bathroom stalls of so called neighborhood's, subordinates of time and "hush-hush" the city to the suburbanites. Shocking to them eating dinners still in the 1990's, fastened tight in seat belts of self esteem, MTV news and 50 inches of reality. You must be joking, not ever knowing, folly box dwellers, why they say all "white". The back doors were shut and locked when you looked left and double took right; as jokes from the safety of your water stained walls and cigarette burned carpets, to joke hatred like art and we must pretend not us though? Wall to wall, our prison starts here and ends in our front lawns as the country shouts "white man" and we must remain silent. My father's land, nearly 20 year cultural hiatus that split our family in two, came back from time, in a paperclip, over the wall, east to the west side of Berlin and delivered in a rebel DeLorean with bumper stickers of second amendment speeches and pro-life Bible out of contextual arguments. These retrospects, taking advantage of sales on tiki torches while stealing phrases from my great grandfather class of 1933. And the whole country shouts "white man". No, my country, not white men. In skin yes, in history, no. They were never men. Never did my father speak of men. I heard the gang rapes of Gypsy's. Stories of slain Catholics. Murders of homosexuals, The bones crushed of opposing parties. The staple mascot of pain, Judaism extermination that swept through culture like a bad advertisement tune. Gassed. Tortured. Worked. They come for us all. Not as white men. They come as their own. This is not man. They maybe white, but not man. I am a white man, but it's always been human, first. That's black. That's white. That's purple. That's life. They come for our progress, not our skins.

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Walking on a street's path A distance as far as I've been back Lessons and retrospects carried in an heavy backpack Streets lights off standing tall under the sky' s dark Dark as panther in a zoo or a park O' peace of sight Rare are you in my days Endangered sanity at night's plight The glory of day uplifted and dropped in an emigrant's flight Walk on keep A voice passes me by In dark knowledge of my start Not even enfants it has been But grown exceedingly pass my reach Still walking yet destination awaits me Legs crumbling head unarmed Growing older yet they passed me Ha' you famous of sight haven't you grown Said as they were inferior now superior I am as they were before Lights inplaced at my backpack Never knew I these lights is a collection mindless to my knowing The lights of conquest and triumph which beam is essential Lightings of value and dignity exuding inevitable shine Lights of blunder rays so repeat them not All these lights never knew I The inscrutability invades my mind Evoked my soul to it's captivity O' spirit of exigency,deceit, corruption and unpatriotism Can't thy be exhumed Control my mind ignore the lights pack Walking through out the darkness you caused Growing older moving backwards Retrospects of who I was Doctor now patient Teacher now student Long gone host now parasite Too late to back Extremely damaged to front Can't just find a way through this darkness Old lady of Africa Treasured by history Record as a routine I've broken Adrift till I've broken my self About to none That's for the others impeccably Imperiled by a spirit in mind Collecting the strings yet I play not any Evinced impetuosity mischief set in motion Can't desorb in this modern solvent Peter natural to be seen as such I should be the star that parties with the moon The zephyr that coaxes the tree leaves in mobility Being not the sun that chases the moon away the sky Nor the fire that burns the trees This darkness drives away my delight Impute backwardness Lest I think those lights I ignored years long This journey seems impervious This dire adventure is far from the abyss of remedy

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Dec 22, 2020

Dec 22, 2020 at 10:23 AM UTC

Chimabill

Impervious Journey

Walking on a street's path A distance as far as I've been back Lessons and retrospects carried in an heavy backpack Streets lights off standing tall under the sky' s dark Dark as panther in a zoo or a park O' peace of sight Rare are you in my days Endangered sanity at night's plight The glory of day uplifted and dropped in an emigrant's flight Walk on keep A voice passes me by In dark knowledge of my start Not even enfants it has been But grown exceedingly pass my reach Still walking yet destination awaits me Legs crumbling head unarmed Growing older yet they passed me Ha' you famous of sight haven't you grown Said as they were inferior now superior I am as they were before Lights inplaced at my backpack Never knew I these lights is a collection mindless to my knowing The lights of conquest and triumph which beam is essential Lightings of value and dignity exuding inevitable shine Lights of blunder rays so repeat them not All these lights never knew I The inscrutability invades my mind Evoked my soul to it's captivity O' spirit of exigency,deceit, corruption and unpatriotism Can't thy be exhumed Control my mind ignore the lights pack Walking through out the darkness you caused Growing older moving backwards Retrospects of who I was Doctor now patient Teacher now student Long gone host now parasite Too late to back Extremely damaged to front Can't just find a way through this darkness Old lady of Africa Treasured by history Record as a routine I've broken Adrift till I've broken my self About to none That's for the others impeccably Imperiled by a spirit in mind Collecting the strings yet I play not any Evinced impetuosity mischief set in motion Can't desorb in this modern solvent Peter natural to be seen as such I should be the star that parties with the moon The zephyr that coaxes the tree leaves in mobility Being not the sun that chases the moon away the sky Nor the fire that burns the trees This darkness drives away my delight Impute backwardness Lest I think those lights I ignored years long This journey seems impervious This dire adventure is far from the abyss of remedy

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can't think amidst this chaotic conglomerate coined companionship screaming speakers weak winstons sinful sexes indirect intentions vicious voices as if it's insufficiently pacifistic in this excessive thinking my nemesis feigns friends concoctions contradictions composure i uphold to call when they call upon myself sometimes i get caught giggling by my eyes in solace till sagacious flashbacks attack i reminisce in retrospects those words of his he chose to omit their counterparts which he transmits with infinite tact royalty don't smile signal leave who you lead behind holding their breaths and possessive obsessive over more questions to ask than answers to grasp balance is a task and who if not you is talented at abandoning straight lines that find themselves at last lost alone in intricately tangled tracks - end

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Jul 16, 2017

Jul 16, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC

absinthe

no calm only storm

can't think amidst this chaotic conglomerate coined companionship screaming speakers weak winstons sinful sexes indirect intentions vicious voices as if it's insufficiently pacifistic in this excessive thinking my nemesis feigns friends concoctions contradictions composure i uphold to call when they call upon myself sometimes i get caught giggling by my eyes in solace till sagacious flashbacks attack i reminisce in retrospects those words of his he chose to omit their counterparts which he transmits with infinite tact royalty don't smile signal leave who you lead behind holding their breaths and possessive obsessive over more questions to ask than answers to grasp balance is a task and who if not you is talented at abandoning straight lines that find themselves at last lost alone in intricately tangled tracks - end

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