"revising" poems
I need rehab from you, and I’m sorry
but this isn’t healthy.
Admitting being a problem is sobering
And I hope you can recover from my withdrawal.
I’ll be busy detoxing myself,
For everyone after you.
But mostly for myself.
I hope you remember how great you are!!
As I try to forget all the poison you gave me
I'll be cheering you on from a far!!
& revising the scripts I tell myself
So that one day I'll stop playing the role
You put me in
And I'll start living
For myself again
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 12:04 AM UTC
I should waste more time revising. I feel as though it may benefit me; may I extrapolate the fact I stated waste more time, not spend. I could use that time practicing songs on my bass or beating Mario’s *** on the GameCube. I feel mediocre but that’s okay because I AM mediocre; and a sell-out. I should make that point clear. I smoke; not like a chimney, it depends on if I feel like combusting into a cloud of tobacco ash. I would happily crementate my being. I would happily get hit by a car and become the road **** I would happily fall from a concrete building into a six foot deep cavern. Passive suicidal thoughts at eight in the mourning; just like coffee but it doesn’t make you need to **** Just those bitter moments you need to get your day started on the wrong side of the bed.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
Hours revising
Days and days
Sit in the chair
***** up the words
You know this **** right?
Guess what?
Hours revising
Days and days
Doesn't mean you
Read the question right.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 1:06 PM UTC
School's coming to an end,
and it's GCSE's,
using all my expertise gained through-out the school years,
It could all end in tears.
Teachers say it's a big deal,
that's what they convey,
it is for them, anyway.
The last few weeks of term and you hand in your coursework,
that was fine, I wish I could shirk the exams,
not very good at revising,
but our teachers are advising us to watch GCSE Bitesize,
but it doesn't really cover what we've learned,
which is a bit of a concern.
We all cram into the exam hall,
it's a bit last minute,
but I'm trying to recall my revision notes.
An Inspector Calls by J.B Priestley,
something's stirring,
Arthur Birling,
a public scandal is too much to handle,
Eva Smith,
Eric and Gerald both had affairs,
but the latter actually cared.
That's a start, I guess.
The exam invigilator sets the clocks,
and permits one hour and forty-five minutes.
The Science exams are multiple-choice,
Biology is fine, but Physics and Chemistry haunt me.
Geography next,
tectonic plates,
and the traits of EDC's,
as well as Less Economically Developed Countries.
That's all over,
we await our mark,
the best part is still to come,
everyone meeting down the park,
and that too me is the abiding memory of my school days,
one last time we're all together in glorious weather,
before going our separate ways.
May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 1:54 PM 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
Always there, Justin Tyme. He's a good friend of mine.
This morning I went into the kitchen and yelled "you're toast!" and then I ate it.
A lovely response to a question: "Does a bear **** in the woods?"
I reply, "What about polar bears???"
When people say, "Jesus is holy." Do you think he cringes?
My girlfriend told me that I had scruples. I suddenly became scared and made a doctor’s appointment for an STD check.
What did Ernie say when Bert asked to get ice cream? “Sure Bert.”
I find it interesting when people say,
"It's the quiet ones you have to "worry'' about.
I believe it's the ones who blend in you have to worry about.
"Awkward Silence" ??
What is so awkward about silence???
I believe people are awkward, not silence.
...................................................
I need some bliss so, I'm going to be ignorant.
Along with his three Peeps, Hershey Kisses the Tootsie Roll Midgets.
To display their different mediums of art, the sky is the Gods exhibit and we are the critics.
For the Nondreamers:
You may look down on me as If I appear to have my head in the clouds.
Note to self: When you look up at the sky, I'm looking down on you.
Some say I'm cheesy...may be that I'm just Krafty.
I saw a sign on the freeway that said 'Exercise daily and walk with Jesus.' So I did. Jesus and I walked together laughing and smiling all the way to the lake front, but he kept walking...Then it dawned on me, I forgot my aqua shoes.
"I tend to add a hint of lemon while preparing my sought after traditional Christmas goose." Here's a hint, don't ruin the hint.
Ask a person with a lisp to say thimble and symbol...it sounds the same.
We are all artists who never put ourselves out for display.
Empty thoughts filled with absence.
What's on my mind is nothing, but what's inside is pure bliss.
I'm existing in the nonexistent.
God needs glasses and hearing aids.
Last night she nailed me harder than Jesus! (too soon)??
"I would be more than happy to give you an external hard drive."
"Ah, give or take.'' I'm confused...what do I do??
Good Friday??? Good God! That's terrible. Put me on a cross and I'll tell you how "good" my day is...maybe we should consider revising the name of this holiday?
I'm a conductor who's lost his train of thought.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 9:43 AM UTC
Bent over the stream
of laundrywomen drench
words that flitter to and fro,
rinsing and revising spoken prose
across whispered conversations
Fading away into the piercing gaze
of an endless summer’s haze
the laundrywomen have mastered
the art of washing the soul with only water
and well-meant poems as soap
as if it were the cloth in their hands
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 5:34 AM UTC
1966, my first school book review, aged 13.
**It's hard, to say the least when you are bashful
to give voice to all the words you wish to say
for when your restless feet beneath you start to shuffle
you know you'd rather take your chance and run away.
You have a premonition to be elsewhere
to a place they call 'the land of two left feet'
where self-confidence is ****** beyond redemption
where the introvert is king, and not dead-meat.
As the arms of doom draw near to embrace you
and the ground before you cracks and opens wide
tongues of flame curl around to engulf you...
in the scheme of things you're skinned, trussed and fried.
You take a sip of water and start choking
as a splash of liquid dribbles down your chin
then the teacher offers you a paper tissue
and patiently she smiles as you begin.
Breaking out into a sweat you feel self-conscious
as the collar of your shirt begins to shrink
then you twist and tie in knots that paper hanky
and wished you'd poured yourself a stiffer drink.
Though you fumble for the words, they're not forthcoming
as you pour yet one more glass from the carafe
and while a tongue that's tied in knots may be amusing
in a mouth that's parched you really should not laugh.
Amid a mixture of derision and ovation
with that sickly smile still plastered to your face
you waited for the hard word from the teacher
but she said 'sit down' and well done Howard Brace.
You prayed that you had never stirred that morning
and rolled your sleepy body out of bed...
of the precious weeks you failed to spend revising
for the Book-Review and the text you barely read.
... ... ...**
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 10:13 AM UTC
World traveller.
Suit wearer.
Likes The Shawshank Redemption.
He's off to a singles party
somewhere in Doncaster,
it’s Christmas themed
and fancy dress
though it’s
planned for October the 23rd
during Christmas's only rest.
And I know that in Donny
you find love where you can,
and I know he spent hours
revising his master plan fancy dress idea,
but a raw turkey outfit, coloured
like **** semolina once bought
for a Jamie recipe that didn’t quite work,
won’t cut it on the dance floor.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
clicking teeth
rattling breath
veins too small and cramped lungs
spindly ribs and spiderweb lips
you wake up
sunshine on your face
lazy smile lazy voice eyes squinted
why can't I be happy like you?
you taste like ozone and i have traced the knots on your ankles
and the hole in your chest
for hours
revising calculations
compiling a chart
mapping your unknown spaces to find the real distance from you to me
not in the light years from your mouth to mine
but thoughts
memories
four thousand six hundred fourty four instances without me
that void is infinite
your mouth is full of flies
your brain is a quasar with no light on the horizon
there is nothing left of you but bones
and a nest of veins and arteries with your heart stuck in the center like an egg
your wings are melting
you've flown too close to the sun again
wax tattoos you poppy red in drip
drip
drips
how could i forget you?
your parabolas
your rosy cheeks
and the weight of you
how could i forget?
you have no solution
(i could help you find one)
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
A SESTINA FOR BRIAN
How being born on Christmas Day can make
some people think that you have this passion
for being so compassionate and construct
all sorts of things like Christ the Great Carpenter
did for living spaces of all levels
of human dwelling. You have always had to create
things for dwelling spaces and you always change
It’s like you have been going in your innate passion
since you were a baby. I saw you in winter, to make
a snow igloo. You had everything planned and constructed
this igloo right by the side of the house. It had this level
of true sophistication for a boy of your age. You could create
wonderful things: towers and tree forts and then change
to art work to decorate our house.
Brian, I’ve known you to go out of your way to make
breakfast for us. I remember the strange passion
you had and made us peanut butter and banana constructions
of pancakes. You did all sorts of culinary things on the level
of perfection to even make the best chefs just create
something to quench their envy of you. You never change
Now, when you got older, you still possessed this desire to make
you went through Penn State Ogontz and kept up this passion
to create other things and learn enough to construct
buildings but you needed the education to earn a living to create
things with your hard-earned degree and actually change
and re-arrange houses or interior of places on a different level
Why your inner mental and emotional makeup came out in such passion
that all who came into contact with you when you failed to construct
a certain project to your own perfectionistic liking and it made
you very angry and you used such profanity and it just changed
you from this compassionate and soft hearted soul into creating a raving demon out of you.
The way that you used to go out of your way and created
A wonderful family unit from a wife to a pair of children made
you bring out another facet of your personality: the father level
The two children came out of that union as some construct
from your desire to keep on creating through this passion
to keep up on revising and re-building so that you always change
@2006 Linda Barrett
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.
I hate thee to the co-ordinate y
My soul exists, and so begging to die
In revising chem, maths and more all days.
I hate thee more than the universe size
If Olber’s paradox was somehow true.
I hate thee freely, as men fight Mech 2.
I hate thee purely, as they waste their lives.
I hate thee with a passion put to use
Poetically procrastinating you.
I hate thee with hatred I cannot lose
With my lost UMS – hate thee with breath,
Pens, tears, of all my strife – and, if God choose,
I shall only be free when I’m with death.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
my chest's burning like
i'm ready to slam my phone
and i'm just so sick of
adjusting my feelings
revising my words
setting up my smiles
to keep everyone happy
avoid another contrariety
runaway from the reality
a baby born crying then
she was forced to laugh
Oct 19, 2020
Oct 19, 2020 at 8:33 AM UTC
'literature has a way of owning you'--
(the author said, after the book-signing;
and taking me behind the shelves, showed me
what possession meant, riptide trough and swell)
---much as the sea lays claim to one adrift,
to drown or hold aloft, then pin to bed,
displacing breath; choke...release...toss free, choke;
lungs drenched: retching silt, pelagic darkness
spotted with the faint transmuted sun.
whether full to glint a myriad in sky,
or blind to evanesce in foam and spray...
an atlantean crush of symbols: lost--
my inner mythic fades to distant waves
revising how i write of self, sunk
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
Enlighten Me-
I’m always underestimating self-master bating-
Graduated-
At the top of fund frustration-
My motivation needs money relations-
The contemplation of money making has my mind at a constant hating-
My breaking patience-
Has my mind like a **** relating-
Regulations of all my banking-
See my bank account disintegrating-
I’m suffocating-making payments-Late fee statements-
Debit-Credit-Cash-oking
Debit-Credit-Cash-oking
Racking bills my back is breaking-my nerves are shaking-
Shaking more than I anticipated-
Now I’m here with a life to fear-
Writing till my mind is clear-
Writing till I feel what’s real-
Writing till I seal a deal-
Multiplying-
Adding-Subtracting-and dividing-
Signing more checks than providing-
It’s suicide I’m not denying-Rhyming trying its crucifying-
Clocking in before the sun is rising Grinding flying hoping griming-living life nine to fiving-
Its re-revising-Re-defining-Rectifying-
More so that I think I’m hiding-
Killing with finical violence-Violating my banks alliance-
Maxing plastic so fantastic now I need some re-advising-interest rates have a grown man crying-Million dollars seem so un-winding-
Now I’m whining-
Constant buying-
Gas rates got me into biking-riding-fighting-
Just surviving-any discount seems so delighting-winning lotto seems o-so-righteous-buy one get one is so exciting-
Boot leg buying I ain’t lying-
Being broke is constant rewinding-It’s reminding-so relying-over drawing is my new binding-it’s confining-so I’m finding-Making takings of my disliking-Making takings that are so dang freighting-dollar scratchers are so inviting-
But this realization is so enlightening-
Moving as fast as a bolt of lighting-
I’m asking you G-d to help me like this-
I’m feeling the pain and I think I might just-
ROB ME A BANK-
BY:
RICHARD ITSKOVICH
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 2:57 PM UTC
I have written poems about rising.
It’s a good subject for poets.
Isn’t a poem itself a rising?
We spend much time revising
what we write and what we do.
There are so many good words ending in izing.
I could write a whole poem
using words symbolizing
so much of life -
it’s absolutely tantalizing.
I watch and read about all the polarizing.
It is a cool oasis lingering here
synchronizing
my words with my feelings and thoughts
realizing the heart of who I really am
comprising ways of saying my truth
without moralizing.
At times it is agonizing -
all this analyzing
how I belong and how I don’t
if I’ll join others or if I won’t.
I look at that guy Jesus
and how so many obsess
about his blood and sacrifice
all the while not recognizing
it’s not so much about our sins
and his need to atone as it is
about the good he did
who he sat with and loved,
the seeds he sowed
who he stopped to touch
on the side of the road.
I find obsessions with power
really unappetizing.
I’d rather spend my time rising
from darkness into light
or embracing my sadness, exercising
and emphasizing what is energizing.
When I do that, it is quite surprising
how creative my muse is helping ME
to also rise.
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 10:38 AM UTC
i tuck in the right end
of the saree
checking for excess at the bottom,
like revising, rewording, deleting words
from a poem.
turn once,
tuck in again
make up my mind about
how i want the pallu,
like i decide the end
before writing the beginning.
then comes the folding
which i invariably get wrong
the first time
every time
much like the infinitely pressed
backspace key, followed by
almost desperate slapping of keys.
i breath a sigh of relief
as i pin the pallu, content,
before i move on
to the daunting gathers -
the middle of the poem
that looks the same for all
but i convince myself otherwise
and look in the mirror
and find a poem smiling back at me.
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 1:18 PM UTC
the man
I’ve only
just met
sober
but have
arm in arm
week one
through week
three
been jolly
with
is
for the sake of his mother
revising
his life
cycle
from
**** sadness, balloons*
to
*sadness, **** balloons*
---
it is either my attention span or my nakedness
in concrete poetry
that keeps me
from god
(when a scar of thunder / outs itself / I am blue)
or bluish
(like a sock in a blue
coat’s
pocket)
---
by the
of a sudden
time
the man
is tolerable
he ha(s)
a number of
rethought
balloon
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
What am I doing?
Reading, stressing, revising
On **** that will in no way further me in life
Why am I doing this to myself
Every day, semester, year?
All the stress, all the tears?
Pushing me past the breaking point and then pushing a little more 'til I'm going going gone
And yet I can't stop.
I can't just say **** it" and forget about it
It has to be done
I have to be better than everyone
Who cares about mental health when there's a ******* exam tomorrow?
*******
Please be an
A
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC
bewilderment, many more women than men, and still so few a man committing polygamy, it's almost like the mirroring of so many men committing suicide; the loss of the practice of polygamy leaves so many men committing suicide prematurely, leaving so many women alive to give the abnormal ratio without an actual diseased cause of death of men, hence the statistics.
just when you start enjoying it,
you stop,
there are so many going to restaurants,
but you're just a turkey
readied for stuffing,
you gorge on it
like traffic in Hinduism with
the holy cow that's a pedestrian
in England...
chomp and chop the food
like a toilet blockage,
you eat it without a palette,
no cheese and crackers after,
no candlelight, no wine,
it's a strange looking necessity,
esp. once digested;
it's as necessary as death for your
engagement: you have to eat,
you have to die...
i eat to add to the insomnia cure
because i should but can't pay alimony
payments because an engagement is
not lawfully enforced...
chemists are natural bachelors,
i told you, but you wouldn't
understand...
you were the ******* of youth,
the girl aged thirteen prone to suicide
and still the many numbers of men
committing to the act of suicide...
the law is in your favour, since you're
the incubator of it, the womb,
any rich **** can provide the Semitic root
of it all, cutting the excess skin of genitalia
of one *** whether ******** or ********
you think you won't get anti-ontological
behaviour? if what was intended was intended
and you play and revise the **** thing,
do you think the answering reason will
not look ridiculous enough to not attract ridicule
like a cow and flies, ready to spawn maggots
in the wet eye sockets?
you must be joking then!
monotheism was born in the halo
of revising mankind, abraham's snipping
isaac's "excess" skin...
it took place there... but revising a second
time with female circumcision...
well, revising humanity like that
gave us all the possible abominations accessible...
how can you teach the origin of man
with that ugly aesthetic of being furry
and a blunted snout of the gorilla
and not wonder why revising man
to an over-eager representation of engaging in ***
not combine into a holocaust...
you steal the sheath of the sword from the sword,
you'll find it constantly warring,
because that's what circumcision did,
it stole the sheath of the sword...
and no, this isn't crude imagery, ******
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 8:28 PM UTC
Do you realize what you do? Whenever you delete one of us?
You use minutes of your life to write us up, Isn't that such a bust?
We wait around patiently in your drafts, possibly abandoned or alone
Hoping for that day where we will be finished and complete, your profile would be our home!
But there was something about us that you didn't like
Instead of revising and editing, you clicked "DELETE". You gave up the fight!
Change us! Revive us! Turn us into something that will please you!
Afraid of what people may think of us? Then allow us to seal their lips like glue!
We will be whatever you want us to be, but PLEASE give us a chance!
Are you a coward? Are you too lazy? You have everything you need in advance!
Don't let us go so quickly! Please don't put us to shame!
Or do you only see us as empty words with no meaning on a blank white page....
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 2:54 PM UTC
.i come across objects that, being inanimate... somehow impose on the inanimate conviction of stasis... faking their inanimate ontology... in stasis... becoming animate... smiling... and... for all the oddity... i feel... slightly bewildered by the welcome... like i'm expected... like i'm welcome... just prior to death... i know where i am being allocated a home... and.. its a home, which foundations are focused upon the virtue of... patience.
but i've seen faces!
carved into stone!
**** your rationality!
**** it!
let it die a nice, solemn death
of being reprimanded for
deviating
from the scholastic bedroom
antics... of:
revising rubrics...
i care as much for it,
as i might care for...
whatever the **** it takes
to conjure up a turd's worth
of custard...
let's see the ******* ice-berg...
then, only then...
will i bring out
the ******* Titanic!
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
I know I should stop criticising
Every minuscule error in revising
The grammar in here
I should not interfere
And I really should stop analysing
But I cannot erase what I see
And the teacher insists inside me
That I share what I know
About grammar and how
To revise before posting for the world to see
Your and you're are some major sinners
They make good poets look like beginners
Plus confusions in tense
Make them seem rather dense
And that's sad when they should look like winners
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
Sit. Breathe. Think.
Stare. Fidget. Blink.
Deep. Empty. Hollow.
Pill. Glass. Swallow.
Smile. Cry. Cut.
Eat. Gag. Glut.
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 3:45 AM UTC
You are still keeping heavy arms,
You did not stop explosive devastations,
The earth is clamings trials – not once,
Have troubled vital forces for whole nature,
United Nations orders been ignored,
Intrudes feeling free for invasions,
Increasing wars revising what agreed,
Incoming time inclining independence,
Indifference for all asleep,
Discourage poll possessions intentions,
Remaining backwards countrys in need,
Would left among nations in faceless,
Despite foggy announcements on stand,
Among the stars would shine the planet,
Don’t leave your children on the sand,
And face cold judgments for a wild,
Pretending for the future bright,
Its hard to watch hearts children crying,
Forgiveness doesn’t have a chance,
Missed way to all the human kind
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC