"ridding" poems
I’m no author, novelist or poet.
I’m just Me,
And don’t I know it.
I don’t need to be classified,
As long as I’m writing, I’m satisfied.
Typing out words, line by line,
I don’t care if they don’t rhyme.
I don’t care if my verses don’t scan:
I’m not always an Iambic Man.
I just say what I gotta say,
I’m not worried about any pay.
Words come to me without much bidding,
The world of its evils I hope to be ridding.
I love to spread lots and lots of Love,
Bringing peace to all like a messenger dove.
Things of beauty bring joy, John Keats rightly said,
To make us sleep easy when we go to bed.
So I’ll paint what I paint,
And sing what I sing,
Just letting those words
Do their magical thing.
Paul Butters
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 4:54 AM UTC
There are many hobbies out there
Most of them I do not dare
Some are jokes
Some are fun
Just to think about them
Makes me run
I don’t have a hobby
And I never will
My hands are butter
My feet are stones
I am so alone
Without a hobby of my own
People go ridding
People go swimming
People are singing
While they are running
Me,
I am sitting all on my own
I am so alone
Without a hobby of my own
Jul 29, 2011
Jul 29, 2011 at 1:19 AM UTC
Where we shoveled coal into the furnace was an inconsiderable door. Behind it held ***** chubby cherubs with cherry tomato noses, whose job it was to keep the fires of our parent's liquor cabinets full. This they did to keep them from constantly beating us, but the happy distraction did not always work. So, we would pluckily go. Go to the scuzzy pond at dusk with kerosine lanterns and listen for croaks. We tied forks to the ends of canes or stakes and would gig bullfrogs for dinner. It became only momentarily mortifying, but was always a choice way of ridding our sisters and other clingy girls of our company. We'd fry the legs in cornstarch and pepper flakes and be allowed to share with the adults their beer if it was a good catch. Usually, it was. Most of forever we waited for teaberry season, always the best time of the year. Though it was hotter than Beelzebub's bath water we'd go swimming in that **** pond to reach our favorite teaberry patches. This ensured our riches and fame throughout our Appalachian village. Everyone would eat teaberry ice cream and sing our names and no one beat us on those days.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
i miss the feeling of being held
your strong arms around my chest
muscles flexing
grasping around my throat
pulling my ponytail
eyes looking up eager to get rid of this love drought
your fingertips tracing my thighs
hands pinned down while you look me in the eyes
a hard ******
to soothe my craving lust
heart racing faster
breathing increasing
...faster
...faster
...and faster
stop.
like a tsunami of relief
washing over me
ridding me of my misery
all my senses heightened
my vocal chords tightened
let out a scream
Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 3:23 PM UTC
Ridding the Dark Shadows that lie,
Deep adumbrations of the past;
That lurk within close quarters
Is an ever present cynical task.
By this, I mean, the scoundrels will always be near.
But not to live within us, nor to cause us fear.
Their presence simply affirms that we're living in the light;
Because Shadows are never visible in the dark of night.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 5:12 PM UTC
Growing up there was chaos reshaping the love;
it was the cycle that gave us our dynamic.
A single thing acted like a looming shadow as it circled our warm home.
It would **** them one by one into its cold smog.
I grew used to its presence;
making me numb to its touch.
I had to settle the rest of their souls by ridding them of the darkness.
I was young but I understood pain;
I saw it in their eyes,
heard it behind a smile,
and felt it with the lingering touch -
longing to be comforted.
Eventually, the shadow turns to light.
The pain dissolved,
but I still remember every situation I made right -
the memories of the darkness still live inside me.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC
Have you heard the story of The Five Elements?
There was Water to replenish the Earth, quenching his thirst.
Fire was jealous, so he had to burn Earth, and this only dried Water up.
Wind had no interest in sides, and he played with Fire's flames, causing them to grow. He made ripples in Water, causing her to come back with waves.
With Water's waves, she put Fire out. Fire and Water are always fussing, like an old married couple.
Wind enjoyed messing with Earth, as well, blowing stuff around and destroying rock - although that took some time.
Earth did not mind any of them. Water gave him life, and also helped him start anew with floods.
Fire also helped Earth, by ridding of the dead and helping the living start over. Wind also helped Earth.
Wind helped spread DNA and helped things begin life.
Spirit had no place where the others were concerned. She was wiser than them all, but she could not destroy, like Fire, Water, and Wind.
She did not hold them all together like Earth. She could not quench thirst like Water, and she could not help start populations like Wind, nor could she rid of the dead like Fire.
Though, Spirit is what helps them keep going. She is the animals, the insects, the plants.
She's the soul and everything of the like.
Without Spirit, Earth would be barren.
Yes, the other Elements would still exist, but there would be no point.
No one is better than another. No, they hold each other together.
Fire may love Water and Water may love Fire.
Earth and Spirit are the eldest and have been around the longest; their love is the strongest.
Wind is not a child, but he has the will of one. Nothing can tie him down.
Their family is not perfect, but there would be nothing without them.
This is the story of the Five Elements.
Alone, they are nothing.
Together, they are stronger.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
At spawn of first light
Darkness embarks into the recesses of hibernation
And so begins the blinding incline,
the inevitable blonde coiled wreaths frustration is on the rise
forces a discharge so multiple and emanate,
the skyward black shrinks back
from panoptic reaches,
into a delinquent weakened rumor
When this daily task of ridding the black ends a victor
The climb continues upward in a high sky setting
Consequential over the mornings painstaking labors
Wiping from his brow,
in a waving motion
To release mists over global hydration
By welcoming this morning dew,
the earth is one more day new
and can take great relief in this rebirth
Assuring all parched famine will gain resolve
taking in their absolve
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC
"Bulimia nervosa, an eating disorder that involves bingeing on food followed by purging, can cause gum disease, osteoporosis, kidney disease, heart disease, and death. Bulimia affects mostly women and teens." - WebMD.com
My eyes blurred as I wiped away the remaining evidence from my mouth.
I cried.
It seems that bulimia had taken over my life these past couple of months.
Even my hands shake now.
For some reason, I didn't seem to care that I could give myself cancer with this, that I could die from this.
My headaches have gotten worse, my depression even more intense.
And my poor, sweet mother, willing to believe that I am sick and NOT doing this to myself.
Could I really do this to her?
She now has the duty to care for several children that are not hers because she cares too much.
She tries, but she no longer listens to her own children.
My mother is broken.
Revealing this to her will only break her more.
So I'll keep quiet.
Purging and ridding myself of my shame and self respect.
What could possibly be worse?
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
They told you to fear forest fires.
They told you how dangerous it was.
How destructive.
But they didn't tell you how
it's the earth's way of renewing itself,
of ridding itself of the grit,
so it can rise anew.
I want a forest fire to take over my heart,
to let it burn the walls,
to purge the sorrow,
to take away the mud seeping through the cracks.
It will not be a pretty sight.
Flowers will be set ablaze.
It will destroy
but it will bear.
You will see me standing
in the middle of the trees reborn—
the one who set the forest ablaze,
the one who rose up in smoke.
Changed.
Radiating.
The wind at my command.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 5:35 AM UTC
From white sakura in the garden way,
had gone the milky odor sprey.
and icy heart of flooding sense
that is not me ....
that pencil wispered to a paper sheet...
The sun kisses mountines , fields
Reflect on Caspian black waters ...
May be i dream of early twilight moon,
Ridding the pinky horse ....
that is not me ...
that pencil wispered to a paper sheet...
I sent the doves with posts
three or four indeed....but...
They hadnt been read .
may be they still in net...
You sang me the song on the old quatar,
fingers dance a melody ...Habibi ...
Are you alive ?
Then i greet you with hugs
Then ...i will die from hapiness
Just for you...Habibi !
Please be alive ...let me know ....
that is not me ...
that pencil wispered to a paper sheet...
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
Betwixt twilight and dawn
T'was a terror that spoke,
Ridding me of my blessings
And tore me of my senses.
Curled and coward I shook!
Uttering of Lords,
I cracked my voice,
"Devils Live!
T'is them creeping
Deep in darkness!"
When God's hold their breathe
And the Sun dies for sin!
Breathe you wretched child
And live once again!
But when the word is said
And stands the Priest over the Dead
Remind yourself not that what ever
those men and women died for,
They could have loved it more
were they here instead.
Still they feed on what against you heed;
Dripping, still with thirst.
They will drink you dry
And lick their lips as if you were the first.
To banish them from the night!
Regard my words for their worth.
Remember the chant in the midst of tarnish
And survive my lovely soul child, renew your birth!
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
I may write about you
I may think about you
But it doesn't mean
That I still dream about you
Or that I still want you
I don't even think it means that I love you
These poems
These extra ramblings
Are my way of ridding my spirit of your toxic presence
I'm liberating myself of the constant feeling of rejection
I'm relieving myself of the tremendous feelings of guilt
But most of all
I'm shedding away all of the feelings of unworthiness and ugliness that you caused me to feel
You ripped me in two
These poems get rid of the brokenness
While I attempt to puzzle myself back together
You left me a mess
That's how I know you're not the best
I'm moving on now
And you'll be sorry
Because there will come a time
When you'll really need me
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
What a gorgeous night to ride,
the temperature’s just right.
Jeans an "T" and a leather vest,
are quite suitable tonight.
I walk out, get on my bike.
Turn the key; switch on headlight.
Push the button; start her up.
Set aside my coffee cup.
Sitting on my steed of steel.
The road ahead has much appeal.
The air feels good as I ride out.
Great night to ride without a doubt.
Twisting on my throttle grip,
into traffic now I slip.
My headlight shines on lines of white.
This road, this bike, both feel so right.
Accelerating past some cars,
stopping at some smaller bars.
Grab a burger and some fries.
Lets move on my buddy cries.
So many places I've not seen.
Come on lets ride!
Know what I mean?
We've turns to make and, roads to cross,
Lets keep ridding until we're lost.
We keep on riding through the night,
Much to soon comes morning's light.
Our eyes now heavy needing sleep.
The highways call will for now keep.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 9:41 PM UTC
*Golden Light Was Poured Into My Eye,
As It Enveloped My Shaking Fingers.
It Wrapped Around My Hoarse Voice,
As Though It Were An Elegant Scarf,
Keeping Me From The Cold.
The Light Found Itself Inside Of Me,
Sweeping Away The Dust Of Despair;
Ridding Me Of The Shadows Lurking
Behind My Heart.
Beams Poured Into My Mind,
Slicing Through The Grime And Grit
Of The Moments Which Chose To
So Selfishly Define Me.
Colors Emerged From My Parted Lips,
The Hues Which Have Been Treasured
Memories Of Autumn And Evenings.
A Metamorphosis Had Occured.
I Materialized From A Gray Husk
With Brilliant, Shimmering Wings.
I Am Radiant.
I Am Jubilant.
I Am Reborn.*
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
Where was I, when you were alive?
Was I sleeping, dreaming, kicking, screaming,
Staring in wonder at the bright stars a-gleaming?
Where was I when you were crying?
Was I thinking of life after dying,
Seeing as it was, or blind and sighing,
Where was I when you were crying?
When you were born, what was I doing?
Was I speaking, walking, peeking, stalking,
Dancing, singing, laughing, mingling,
Looking, lying, toking, trying?
Where was I when you were on the beach,
Staring out towards the sea?
Perhaps I was taking a ***
Or sipping my hot cup of tea?
Where was I when you were sleeping?
Perhaps I was in mid-air, leaping,
Or watching as MTV was bleeping swearwords.
Where was I when you fell ill?
Was I parked up on a hill,
Waiting for life to arrive
With a plan it did contrive?
When you were driving,
Or tidying,
Perhaps on a snowboard somewhere, sliding,
Was I alone at home and hiding?
Or on the bike somewhere, and riding?
Maybe I was wide-awake,
Or laughing with my friends, while baked,
Or greasing a pan to bake a cake,
Contemplating what makes a lake.
Or perhaps I was asleep and dreaming,
and lost in my subconscious readings,
With avatars of all my friends,
Buying a Mercedes Benz.
Where was I when you were wasted?
Was I laughing at old hatreds,
Staring at a crawling aphid,
Or in the shower, and stark naked?
Where were you while I was thinking?
Perhaps you were awake and blinking,
All the sleep out of your eyes,
After dreaming of cute Albanian guys?
Where is everyone this second?
I mean, this specific second,
As I write or read this poem,
Perform it for a crowd so wholesome,
Where am I as you read this?
Up on a stage and fighting fears false lisp,
To make sure all of these words are crisp,
Or eating bread with ham and swiss?
Are you dead, or are you living?
A minion to society's bidding,
Or policing streets and finally ridding
Pavement of the hobos twitching out of crystal ****
Perhaps you're firing a gun,
Or you've found the only 'one,'
To love through thick and thin, till death;
Or thinking, "Wow, poor old MacBeth."
In this moment, is it all;
So listen to the moments call,
And cancel all your texting plans,
And use those thumbs to grasp the hand,
Of a loved one next to you;
"The day before" was never true,
So there's no better time for you,
To look for some more love to brew.
So get up, and go do.
Go do it.
Apr 27, 2011
Apr 27, 2011 at 12:10 PM UTC
Gilded cage so small and tiny
Even singing comes out whiny
Stinking of fake fresh and piney
Tis the season
Leaking water warm and briny
With good reason
Christmas cheer and glasses toast
Loved ones smile and laugh and boast
I sit perched upon my post
A tinsled column
Invisible reluctant host
A heart that's solemn
A longing for a love so distant
The melancholy is persistent
A smile could erase it in an instant
On a face cherubic
For my heart is not resistent
It's theraputic
So that smile that is perfection
Is mirrored in my own reflection
Without a thought about rejection
Hallucinations
About the subtlest inflection
In Salutations
Surrounded by the merrily intense
With drunkard tendencies immense
A bar with all accoutrements
They pound tequila
Drinking away the sacraments
Oh yes, I feel ya
Merry time with old Kris Kringle
Guests all lubed enough to mingle
Mistletoe hangs and sleigh bells jingle
Gifts homemade
Tables adourned and glasses tingle
Gold brocade
Still I sit all caged and flightless
Blind to joy all sad and sightless
Drink could make it hurt a mite less
I'm going backward
Laying here all limp and lifeless
Broke and fractured
Surrounded by the fake and vexing
Artificial and quite perplexing
Reality they are rejecting
The devil may care
Bellies bare and muscles flexing
Lost underwear
So ******* dancing to the jukebox
Lost alone here in the boondocks
There is no snow upon the rooftops
Ahead they forge
Find a room before that thing pops
It's so engorged
Neighbor ***** all dressed in orange
Wearing gold to make the poor cringe
Stripping time to fill her syringe
I'll be her hinderance
Still too drunk from her last binge
Faulty remembrance
Ridding riff raff from the party
People still drunk on Bacardi
Noxious gasses burp and farty
With toilets makeshift
Worn out makeup on the smarty
She needs a facelift
Time to let the people go
Too tired to keep watching the show
Drinking hard and walking slow
Verbose yet listless
Honey I don't want to know
It's not my business
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
I was very cautious
I knew if I wasn't what it would cost us
I made sure the bedroom was perfect
I wanted MY romantic affect
I hung the plastic, then the curtains
Bed exactly in the middle, I had to be certain
Lit a few candles
Then sliped on my dress, and my sandals
I cruise the street
For my baby to meet
I pick him up at the corner
My heart beats faster, my body warmer
We go back to my house
Where we start to mess about
I lead you to my bedroom
We'll be making love soon
To my bed you are shackled
You have no idea of my feeling of hackles
Straddling you, and ridding you like a horse
All the wail your loving it of course
With you still in me, I bring out my toys
They are only for my collection of boys
They are bright and shiny
I will not treat you kindly
They are so sharp they can split a hair
And in their refection you just stare
You can't believe what you see
As the look on my face is pure glee
You body starts to convulse and thrash
Then with my blades I start to slash
I plunge my toy in
With the evilest grin
I love the squirting gushing sound
It's all so profound
I have loved all my men
That's why I let no one chase them
Forever in death they are mine
I'm one of a kind
I slash him to ribbons
It's as fun as the dickens
He's still alive
And feels every vibe
Covered in blood
Our bodies fit like a glove
I slowly climb off top
And lop of his part
Blood sprays the room
Death will be here soon
I'm so happy I made it romantic
And taped up the plastic
I'm the Black Spider
I **** all I desire
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
The storm– she will come,
Oh- by the roar of the drum,
The boom of the beat–
Now cometh defeat,
Four seals are now shattered,
The ground will be battered,
Come forth thy lost line,
Thou shall face His divine…
The sky opened to set them free–
The creature like thunder: “Come and See!”
Foremost in the lead–
Upon the White steed–
Arrow of the Bow,
All obstruction fall low,
Striking the weaker down–
The fire glistens about his crown,
Above all the rest,
Behold all victory; CONQUEST…
The bizarre of the steeds–
The color that bleeds–
A Fiery red that burns in the eyes,
As each soldier dies–
The civil war spark,
As if for a lark!
In the fight of the four,
The second is WAR…
Come and See! Come and See!
Now the count is to three,
The black horse doth ride,
The third horseman as guide,
The hand bears balance not gore–
The sole vocal of four;
“…And see thou hurt not the oil and the wine”
The third–oh the third–John! The third is FAMINE…
Oh the horror– the horror– the fire filled eyes!
All that follows in path now simply just dies,
The pale green beast is a savage- a monster- no heart,
The ending- the rebirth- the salvation doth start,
The fourth rider tears– ravaging all the land,
The unholy Reaper with scythe in it’s hand!
The harvester hath expelled mankind’s final breath–
With Hell at the rear– the fourth and final is DEATH…
The war now to heaven and Hell now to Earth,
The charcoals are black and red hot in the hearth,
Cast forth by the Lion of Judah- the Lamb of the Lord!
With all of existence- the Divine became bored,
The Harbingers of the Last Judgment- the servants divine,
The living creatures cometh to steal all hope from thine,
Cometh One then come Two from the mythical Seal,
Cometh Three then come Four from the seven rumored to be real…
CONQUEST– the archer- the first rider of pure WHITE,
Crown capped with unholy deception of light…
WAR– the swordsman- the second rider of fiery RED,
Blood and betrayal as thou mark thy brother dead…
FAMINE– the balance- the third rider of pitch BLACK,
Food and resources all man will soon lack…
DEATH– the reaper- the fourth rider of pale GREEN,
Hell guiding scythe ridding Earth of all souls unclean…
The horsemen they triumph in biblical tale–
Consider an alternate story and detail,
Think not of no hope in the book Revelation,
Rather- imagine the truth of a war of no rotation,
The power unbalanced to alter dimension,
A different battle scene with a similar intention…
– Written By: Jacob Coffey –
*********************************
Just my take on a Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Hope you enjoyed it!
– Jacob Coffey
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 7:30 PM UTC
The wonders of Springtime
Whisk me away.
The glisten of raindrops
So freshly they lay.
The chirping of birds,
Sweet songs do they sing.
With echoes of laughter
They joyfully ring.
A newness of life
As sprouts start to bloom.
A colorful sight!
Ridding Winter's dark gloom.
The magic of flowers
Stretching up toward the sky.
Green grass all around them,
The aromas sublime.
The buzzing of bees
Hum happy and free.
In fields of wildflowers,
What a sight to be seen!
The wonders of Springtime
Fill me with bliss!
Naught a happier sight
To be seen than this!
©KSS 4/2015
Mar 20, 2021
Mar 20, 2021 at 6:06 PM UTC
I remodeled my home,
By ridding it of old furniture made of
Dark and malice thoughts,
And redecorated with thoughts of joy and inspiration.
I decorated the empty ceilings
With a full moon and some shining stars,
I took down the drapery that once covered the windows, and watched From my living room as the new dawn embraced the sunshine.
In my garden, I built a house for the melodious birds to warble their Songs, and constructed a temple for prayer from my tears and sorrows.
I planted an olive tree in memory of innocent souls, and decorated it with Some tulips, roses, and jasmine flowers for the anthem of love!
Hussein Dekmak
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 11:01 AM UTC
Placing the bandaid
on top of the next.
Placating my irrational thoughts,
but all so fleeting.
I'm happy. Then...
the wounds peak through,
I know these outside influences
whether drugs or relationships won't hold up
in the ultimate goal -
the real happiness quantifier.
That happiness
Beautiful soulful careless laughter
Give me that happiness.
Sing and dance,
but not at the expense of my lungs and kidneys.
Talk about something you know
For you.
Intrinsically fascinating,
Not fabricating lies based on ideas
for Others to like you.
Stop pleasing others for their expense.
Please yourself through ridding
Yourself of dense
Self pitying thoughts and
Push-over tendencies
Rejection fearing
and Stop baring these heavy suicidal thoughts.
Learn
To appreciate your worth,
You have a gift of
Kindness, intelligence, mindfulness.
I love myself
Or at least I'm learning to
and the healthy way.
By myself.
And I won't ask your opinion, is that okay?
Yeah I'm still learning.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
my mind hasn't been this dark since fourth grade when i was in a "depressed place" I would cry and cry and say I was just sad. no reason behind it. Maybe it was just hormones or part of growing up but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't stop. Flash forward to now. I can't stop crying, a new reason everyday. it feels like a million little rain clouds took over my mind and blocked out my joy. I crave things that are destructive. that boy my parents hate who has an ego problem but the fact someone likes me makes me feel great. I crave that sharp knife going in to my big, awkward thigh. and the idea of death has become so familiar to me I welcome it like a friend. I want so badly to stop this but when people forget you ******* exist you let it in a little more than before. You picture crying and bleeding and screaming. it excites you like ridding a roller coaster. maybe this could stop but I'm so ******* alone. I forgot the boy who liked to talk about Jesus and I follow the one who puts me down. I forgot about my friends who snuggled and laughed but chose the ones who hate everything. I push things away that let me remember joy but keep the stuff that makes the rain clouds.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
Just when I thought I've
written you out completely,
scratched your memory off the edges of my bones,
wrung the imprint of your lips from mine,
wretched out every word you ever poured into me,
tore your image from the hippocampus of my brain,
Just when I thought I had said
all there is to say about you,
about us,
about this,
Just when I think I have
finally left it all behind,
You come back to me.
In my dreams
in my late nights
in the bottle of wine I force myself to finish
in the pack of cigarettes I don't even like smoking
in my wandering mind
in the short seconds between each day
in all of my writing,
Your name is always the first thing to be marked down.
Lover, I can't forget
I am still spilling your tongue
from my mouth
You seep through my pores on hot days,
the freckles on my face remind me
of how you once found constellations in them,
you built galaxies in my eyelids,
lover,
the cleansing is only just beginning.
I am too full on our history
There is no empty when it comes to us
I will be forever ridding
myself of your contents
I thought the tidal wave of
still missing had passed
but here I am
drowning again.
Doggy paddling to stay afloat,
I have never been very good
at swimming. I am still
hanging on to the deflated
life raft that is your hand,
you let go of mine a long time ago,
it's about time I do the same.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC