"righted" poems
So im happy
this is weird for me
the first time Im awake in the middle of the night
and not silently crying
im smiling
my face isnt use to this
a part of me thought this wouldnt fit
but it does
I'm connected to God
righted some of my wrongs
can breathe again
stepped out from the wrong
now im in the light
and i couldnt feel more right
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 2:36 AM UTC
you can’t right the same poem twice
hell, yes I can
in pointy fact,
only got one,
which gets re-righted
morning noon and evening-tide
substitute a variant spelling
wright vs write vs right
and the meaning changes thrice
*the only thing i can’t not duplicate is those **** love poems
each unique and writ for the woman specific,
each love one, custom jiggered,
each poem, crafted, to her pulse
each poem, drafted, to her scent
none alike, and that’s why I believe
in the god who commanded "create her"
to make love poems in his way,
gave me millions of veins, an extra ribbing,
of inspiration to pray to...
my heart altered, modified, daily*
**** poems
**** love poems
**** love
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 10:18 PM UTC
*As I wandered the dunes of Evermore,
I sought the golden key of light,
Found you there,
In my darkest night.*
*Now what dreams, these, that drift at night?
They break my bones, reveal a plight,
As star struck wanderers wove their tales,
And sang songs to one another of purest light,
There slipped a crack through the veil.*
*I hang my head now,
And sing this sad tale.*
The purest love, born on high,
Did ring our hearts and bind,
Yet faltered step upon the path
Did lose us on our way.
Dim grew the day,
As secrets held,
And puzzles became the way,
Of reading hearts and asking thoughts,
The clouds began to rain.
What love is this that sings my heart,
And draws me ever near?
More than mine to have and hold,
Shame brings me to reveal.
Slipped and fell upon gentle trails,
Now this love, how it longs!
I read the struggle in my words,
I hear it in every song.
I sing now, to set it right,
To show I know the truth.
My blood it boils, and face does flush,
Yet cannot keep, the love I feel,
With no place here to rest.
I slipped the path,
I slipped the path,
And broke your dearest trust!
Words to find to write this time,
Can not ever tell,
The sorrow I now feel,
*In losing you,
In losing true,
Losing, losing you.*
I loved you so much,
I wanted to see all of you,
Surround you with my love.
*I still do.
I still do.*
How can this be righted now?
Will there ever be a way?
I wanted to speak honestly,
Not darken all your days.
Not cloud your brow,
Nor break your heart,
Nor cause you any, smallest pain.
But could not find a way to dwell,
And keep this in my heart.
You burst upon me night and day,
I've fallen off the ledge.
Barely breathing from wanting you,
It's time you cast me away.
To keep to true,
Keep for you,
Leave me mine,
Leave me behind.
To say I'm sorry, seems so small,
And doesn't heal a thing at all.
I didn't know,
I didn't plan,
I did not come to steal.
Nothing I can say at all,
Nothing i can do.
*Losing true,
Losing true,
Losing, losing you.*
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
Feb. 2015
this writ,
content so obvious,
it begs,
why even bother...
Pen Man Ship
this is who you are,
this is your scent, scripted,
the parfume that memory triggers
declarative self-examination passing grades
if pen and paper
are your skin and blood,
then you, man,
ship to shore,
skinned alive,
in poems verbose spill all
ship in ship out,
the glories and the dreads,
expel ink oceans glorious India blue,
rivulets of tributaries,
spillages of what~where,
you are pen
you are man
you are ship
where intersect these routed things,
one is voyage~bound
for parts unknown
the pen be the oar,
and the man, the ship,
and when the sails raised,
the wind never fails,
only there is no
dead reckoning -
for there are no
landmarks observable
when sit~stand
to commence sail~writing
each writ a latitude recorded,
each poem a longitude drawn,
all together, a
body of work,
all together,
your life's coursework
is the captain's log
Pen is the Man is the Ship
in everyday words
he answers
the questions life poses,
in everyday words,
he realizes
the answers he (doesn't) posses,
with each passing poem
the ship, righted,
though the heading
remans unknown
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
Lines of life through gene transmission
When handed down through *****
Tho’ rugged, sound or sickly matched,
Are caste about like coins.
Luck ensures a robust chance
Of longevity and health
With intelligence or dolt hood
As a final gauge to wealth.
Traits of blue eyed, fair haired lovelies
Brown eyed, freckled, long of limb,
Temperaments across the spectrum
Placid fat to fiery slim.
Aptitude to run the long race
Good endurance, depth of heart,
Lady luck decrees their worth
Tho' the Priesthood may depart.
Frontal lobes of clear retention
Heightened rationale of thought,
Reasons through the problematic,
Resolutions made as ought.
Capacity to empathise
In tears of joy and sorrow spent,
Capacity for true belief
When wrong is righted with repent.
Goodness and black evil
Are caste about like chaff,
Depends upon the show of cards
Who laughs the final laugh.
Conscience can be virtuous
But then, so can be greed,
Depends upon the circumstance
And if approached at speed.
And finally indulgence
Plays a massive hand in this,
For love and lust determine
If a union is remiss.
And should that union founder,
Should Lady Luck throw in her hand
...You can blame it on the chromosomes
Which confounds the Makers stand!
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
14 June 2011
Jun 13, 2011
Jun 13, 2011 at 8:42 PM UTC
I was a single monkey I drew him in my world
typing the opening of my Hamlet. I write him in my lines.
different from all I had ever known a love that will only die with me.
every atom belonging to me as good the heart that keeps mine beating.
It belongs to her You were none
Her soul was beautiful now you’re all.
and she kept it veiled his swiftest blow,
lightly-laced humility and fear we righted our mistakes
with a strangely aching heart I trusted in his honest utterance.
I and this mystery, here we stand. Oh blind cupidity! insane anger!
She went out like a firefly, I never broke my faith
The heart hoards its thorns my heart is always propped up
Just as the rose profligates. in a field ready for the next arrow
I wondered about you when you told me never to leave.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC
When will we.. stop admiringly
distantly..
stop posting afar,
its impossible to try and reach a star,
But I can certainly shout
to the star above
conversate with it show it love.
In my heart and mind
sparkly hype find..
share my thoughts all in the blind.
A traveler at heart is mine....
I quickly rhyme...
yet truthful a blessed find..
I'll leave and stray away..
keep my attention far at bay...
Good day...hope you like it..
my paper plane..
sent to a moonlit sky..
Registered.. S.A.M _shardays_Copy Righted notes.
Jun 16, 2023
Jun 16, 2023 at 5:30 PM UTC
Someone left me a *** of marigolds
on my white porch floor
Afraid to pick them up
I left them near the door
The paper boy knocked them over
dirt spilled out on the wood
The mailman stepped in the dirt
and smeared it as he should
I righted the *** and saw it was dry
then left it in the afternoon sun
and the vermilion sky
Days went by and the preacher called
He asked about the plant
I shrugged my shoulders and took
his pamphlets fast
No one ever told me where those
marigolds came from
I assumed it was the devil
as he was the only one
Who knew I killed my husband
and I would go to jail
A trial would condemn me
they would hang me
by a nail
If you receive such a ***
know your time has come
Leave the marigolds where
they are to die
Giving you time to just go on.....
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 4:47 PM UTC
Realization Alliteration Poem
4/23/2013
Radical reforms
Revealed and revered
Reveled in without reserve
Reject rest until wrongs righted
Resistance looks radiant red like radishes
Recently reequipped with righteousness reacting like radiation
Rowdy crowds race like rabbits to meeting rooms
Rain and rapiers can't quell rampaging rallies without recourse
Reserves have been replicated, ready to razzle and rebuke, revenge
Reclaim rusted roofs of the ruins, wrecked in rural rubble's roots
Reality's reign can't be reversed so remember it, refuse to relive it
Run from its reach, relying on the rare reward you've received, a refuge
Recognize that regimes rotate routinely like roadkill riding on rail-cars drinking with rancid rats
Reach for the receiver, become a redeemer, referee your own rehab, require resolute ripples - realization.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 3:12 AM UTC
My muscles tighten, righted after the flight
Goose-flesh ripples as she shimmers past
Licked lips flecked with taste
Hair whispers swishes across the shoulders
Lingering fingertips brush vainly at her arm
She’s already gone
She’s lost among the crowd
Of hopefuls twirling by in the flow
Lost dance in lost lovers’ eyes
Deadened by scent of sweat and alcohol
Lingering touch and fading life
Hard pulses of music flow and ebb
She’s already gone
Lost among the crowd
cc2011
Jun 25, 2011
Jun 25, 2011 at 9:02 PM UTC
there are secrets wrapped up in the blankets
that are thrown haphazardly onto my bed,
all the lies that i’ve told,
all the wrongs i haven’t righted,
those people who i tried out
and then discarded just as easily
as if they were an empty wrapper
i had no use for anymore.
if i keep them bundled up,
the secrets will stay at the foot of my bed,
forever locked up.
but at night they fall over my body,
covering, enveloping me in a warmth
that soon becomes suffocation,
an endless drowning that i can’t escape.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
And the clock aligned, hands pointing
To that moment,
The moment,
When the veil softened
Pliable,
Torn,
Reality,
Was of all and both, secreted
Upon the evitable realities,
They made there moves, limited
Moments upon an unsuspecting
Existence, But they were misguided
That even though they came through
A
Full
Moon
Shined upon them, much like the sun
The light of that upon high,
They scurried to that point,
To that place,
Moments past
And new statues were adorned upon
Grass,
Tree's,
Ground,
They were frozen, living stone
As night gave in to light,
For there are safe guards of old,
When time became fluid,
Barriers between realities sewed
Into the universes fabric, to Keep
Each safe from prying
Dimensions
Realities
Empty,
Places where darkness waits,
"And so on this night where moments aligned"
"If you see statues erected when none before"
"Thinking of them as art"
Know the veil was weakened by this night
But the universe righted this wrong, before chaos
Ruled and realties were once again sewed tight..
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 8:57 AM UTC
I read a story to my son. Really,
I am composing it, off the cuff, but
there is no reason his mother should know.
One day, Elliott built a rocket ship.
His rocket ship was going to take him to the moon.
The boy sees nothing silly in this, and
for a second, I don't, either.
And every spare minute, Elliott worked on his rocket.
When he was at school, he drew out in
blue, and chalk-white, a dream for his rocket.
When his mother told him to do his homework,
he worked on his rocket.
When his mother left him
in the dining room to finish his carrots,
he worked on his rocket.
"I wish I could work on a rocket,
instead of eating vegetables."
Tonight, you won't have to.
One day, Elliott finished his rocket, and he went to the moon.
From the Moon, he heard the earth mumble.
From the moon, he saw the tide hug the shore,
and knock down his sister's sandcastle, left
on the beach from the summer before.
From the moon.
"He saw China!"
And Brazil. And India.
"And he got to see what his school looks like at night!"
He wouldn't know that, as a a boy, I went safely walking there,
and as a foulmouthed teen, I was drunk in the playground, at night.
That I looked down, from the hospital adjacent when my father was there.
He asks if, from the moon, you could see plain
the shadows of the craters on our planet, too broad
to behold, on sidewalks and soccerfields, during a game.
"You could. All the shadows, in the cities and the seas."
And his ruby face relaxes, deeply struck,
and musing, I think, that maybe
shadows aren't all bad.
Elliott came back, in time that his mother,
could wake him up, and he could loudly fake a snore.
And he righted his sister's sandcastle.
He went to Brazil.
He was drunk on playgrounds.
He saw shadows. They weren't so bad.
And often, when he would walk on the
sidewalk, his feet would feel light, like he
was on the moon again.
"Because the Moon has no gravity."
No gravity at all.
When I leave, and land beside my wife in bed,
I admire the helmet on my mantel,
I crumble old moondust in the paw of my suit,
I feel, still, the dimples of the sheets,
light, and shadowed, like the clefts of the moon.
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 6:48 AM UTC
I'm not ready to die
please
I haven't found true love
I haven't righted my wrongs
I don't want to leave alone
not just memories left behind
please
what will they think?
I'm too young
oh this is tragic
I can't handle such judgement
no
Don't do this
I want to live so bad
let me live
I'll do anything
this can't be my path
this isn't me
it's a mistake
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 1:46 AM UTC
We set out on our journey, that one fateful day
The winds of ****** shrieking angrily above our heads, filling our sails
Our ship tossing from Poseidon’s restless sea, sending us astray
As our journey wore on, and as night soon fell
We found ourselves awash upon the Isle of Gael
Venturing from our ship, now sunken
We were met with fearsome creatures, their faces twisted and scarred
Escaping from death, daylight soon broke
The sky turning grey
The thunder rolling in, showed the might of Zeus
His anger flickering with jagged lightning, bringing tales of what once had been
A guide approached us, his face sunken and pale
He begun to tell us the fears of the Earth
A time when titans roamed and the mountains burned
As he finished his tale
He stood and led us through to Mother Gaia’s fortress
We walked, hearing Polyhymnia sing her chorus
The art lining the walls, long forgotten
Depicting tales of battles raged long ago
Between the family that ruled
Four elements would battle for control, the throne would be held by the mighty Zeus
Our journey had soon begun to close
We had learned the history of our past
As we returned home, our minds alight with new history
We found the battles had not ceased
We dragged our travel worn bodies upon the shore
Only to have to fight for our lives once more
As our battle on ground wore on, the gods became angry
The mountains rose up and the tides crashed
Sending the world into darkened chaos once again
We would fight the never ending battle
Until all the wrongs were righted
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
Hard frost and treacherous footing.
Nobody wanting to admit
that the new year
tastes an awful lot
like the old year.
None of our heroes
have been supernaturally resurrected.
There's the same
rank toxicity to our fears.
The jaunty carnival of ****** and maiming
continues unabated.
Death remains as senseless.
The corridors of power
are still slippery with slug trails and viscera,
and all the janitors have been
indefinitely furloughed.
It's cold, and
the bus is late again.
Still we persist in believing that
today will be different to yesterday,
that all those wrongs will be righted,
that the proper order - as we each individually, as
thin-skinned gods of our own personal
nuclear universes, perceive it -
will be perennially restored,
the buses will all
run on time,
and no one good
will ever die again.
But the truth is, this year
tastes an awful lot like
the old year.
I could be wrong, I guess.
Maybe everything will
turn out
fine.
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 4:25 AM UTC
i listen to Dubstep music and sip tea
i am the Post-Mark
Pondering Gender politics and finishing my tea
i am non violent, a pacifist
But don't put it past me that i won't clench a fist
With righteous grist
If you make me feel alone in my considerations temporarily
i'm not a weak soul am hardy folk
Hardly lost faith when i realised God was a joke
Like a big fat egg yolk splattered all over paper
Christmas hogging 3 months of calendar
A Consumerist campaign, but tell me i'm the miser
Police tend to pass me in the streets, i think smart
Skin colour ain't the first part
One of the mainly white audience at the Public Enemy show
The system as it stands fears me though
If you stop and searched my heart you'd **** me though
i Listen to Deep House and sip Lucozade
Lost deep in this house
i've never worked hard at a job
So **** lucky at birth to have wealth
But that's my parents money (and I'm not in any way responsible for slavery)
Kanye West with his Confederate Flag ****
"I'ts mine now, what you gonna do?"
Little did we know that we were the 'New Slaves'
Contemporary thinker, i read the game cover to cover
After all they taught me from birth how to study
i'm too uninterested in ticking boxes to earn money
To satisy the transferable skills that you want from me
I'll Enjoy a nights alcoholism instead of getting high and writing an essay
Am I getting too wordy?
i'm trying to spit now, can i? can I?
The gender politics on my mind at inappropriate times
i told the guy at the door i wasn't thinking about race
Most people are thinking about 'the race'
White Middle Class kid picked up a mic and tried to rap again...
I listen to Hip Hop and drink water
Hardly faded I'm perfectly sober
I'm energised naturally, words seem to strengthen me
I am the grassroots, I have been wrongly righted
My Parent's deserve this so want me to sit tight
But I'm jumping right into the middle of hip hop (and feminism)
And theres nothing you can do about it.
[For All My ****** and All My *******
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 7:48 PM UTC
I'm not one to hold on,
when I know that I am being let go.
Don't cry and act like I've wronged you,
because you know that's not right.
When I reached out for you countless times
you burrowed deeper into the mud,
and I do not chase crayfish,
because we are not crayfish.
Pretend that I am evil and malicious,
but you know that you can only act that way.
I have a heart and it doesn't lie,
even when it finds a mattress of magpies.
I never had intentions to get you in bed,
I just wanted you to come inside
for some coffee and some sober.
I cannot speed up like a high contrast mix,
I cannot slow down chopped and *******
I can only operate on what my heart feels
and what your heart tells it to feel.
And your heart is telling me to move on,
to churn on the exit ramps.
I have not wronged you in the right way,
or righted you in the wrong way.
Is caring about you the next left?
Is that where the houses knock their feet
on the concrete and the guardrail
at the dead end?
If so, hate me for good,
**** the engine
and idle with your lips on the guardrail.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 6:00 PM UTC
Blurred boundaries whisper,
"Welcome home, son."
Been gone so long, forgot
What words felt like
Softly spoken with tongue so
Gentle and sweet
"Welcome home, son, you
Been gone so long, forgot
What it felt like to
Wrap you up in my arms."
Path was so long,
With each step grew more afraid
Walking up, covered
In muddied shame
Been gone so long, forgot
What your beard felt like against
My tearful face
Arms wrapped around me so strong
No boundaries,
Wrongs are righted
Regrets replaced by a robe
Fully forgiven, now forget
"You've been gone so long,
Welcome home, son."
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 10:10 PM UTC
He undertook
Such a jolly folly
To search for his heart's twin
O'er plain, and peak
Never sparing daring
Mad quest he did begin
He careless spent
All his funny money
For he spared no expense
Heard of a man
said to uncover lovers
Without a recompense
"He's only known
as the Giant Bryant"
For there were none bigger
So off he went
For how dare-he tarry
With the greatest vigor
Within one moon
He did righted sighted
The giant's stone castle
And cautious stepped
Midst the towers flowers
For he was quite facile
With guarded prose
Lest he adverse converse
Relayed his quest of years
And though none be
A more mighter blighter
Tall Bryant shed six tears
"Your search for love"
Reflects gallant talent
And will surely quench thirst
In yonder vale
In a deeping sleeping
A daughter who's born first
A true love's heart
And hair flaxen waxen
Braids tressed with a blue fleur
She longs for love
To keep-her deeper
Hope steels her to endure
It was just so
For he found-her sounder
In the vale with fields green
Her braided hair
In breeze saving waving
With the suns golden sheen
As he held her
In their blissing kissing
Knew he'd ne'er search again
For in her eyes
Shown a growing knowing
Reflecting his hearts twin
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
we have our plots and flotsam
and plod joyless; rain smitten.
we join the heap of foil and protagonists
in the tale of our distemper.
we whimper in the dark of our hard furnace.
fumbling for trinkets of mirth
where no god has birth
even as a dented
trumpet
to a hairlip...
Or a Name that comes First.
and yet we sing. but -
the song is wrong righted. a blight
blighted and a long drum
mumbling benighted
in the silk light
of our simple
worms.
our apples ache. our knowledge, rots .
but our temples, at the core
seed the valley. we famish the mountain
but feed the foothills of our strange
and strum the harps of Oblivion
with our mean thumbs.
constant gardeners of hard loss and flight.
and the Night's Sun.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
the man began by pointing at the spots on the baby’s head and then he looked to us as if we were to answer for each. he turned the baby’s head carefully- it might’ve been an old globe to him. he apologized more than once for his age pocked hands. his apologies were unsettling, each one moreso than the last. his assistant minded none of this and sat reading an upside down newspaper while curling and uncurling her bare toes at no discernible prompt. when the baby squealed the man went pale and dropped it and his coat opened and we saw his naked wrinkled middle turn to ash and we saw the baby scooped up by the feet of his assistant and then saw the baby fit in her mouth. she never moved from her chair to do the scooping or the placing and we were horrified as she righted the paper and silently admonished the man for being momentarily vacant as to the whereabouts of her shoes. he went to his fours and nosed the shoes to her feet and we said amen to the tail of his coat. the assistant then stood and as she did so the man made swallowing noises and because we’d said amen together we were able to form a search party from which we periodically broke to **********
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 1:04 AM UTC
Maybe everything is right
Maybe I had just been wrong my whole life and never knew what it was like to be right
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 8:36 PM UTC
I'll be there
I will be there
for you,
I know i have disappointed you alot,
I wasn't there
by the time you needed me,
Your needs weren't taken cared,
You had no shoulder to cry on,
You had no
paper to write on,
When life gave you a test,
I failed you,
I failed your love,
I made you feel so lonely like akon,
I thought i was an icon.
I let you down before,
But never say never
its time to fix things
like adults do,
I am waiting for
that sweet reply from you,
I know its hard to separate water and salts,
We were meant to be together
as a pair of socks,
Im aint good in photography
but i picture us together,
Me and You,
theres a great picture.
I wrote this poem with a hand crafted together
with a cup full of love.
Hugs and kisses!.
All Rights Reserved
Copy Righted 2016
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 4:14 PM UTC
The sun~poem also rises every evening…
*A.P.U (as per usual):
this testimony~phrase tilts me sideways,
to relieve the condition, needy to be righted
one must expel the belly kicking seedling,
looking to be outed as a full fledged tree,
a poem planted, a gatherer of insects,
giving shade, perhaps shedding fruit
the sun bids adieu, self~same~centrifuge
of our solar system, is indeed alway rising
somewhere, though the light of our naked
eyes weak, incapable of trajectory bending,
to follow its course’s curvature, nonetheless,
we know it but struggle to believe just as we
struggle to complete, compare, and compose
replanted words in your heart, words that trigger,
are the notions inherent, of a center, rarely eclipsed,
that never ceases to offer up nouveau hope in each
of the days, a placenta to fret you blood and oxygen,
once purposed, discarded into darkness,*
b u t
**the words rise again, offering what you seek,
diurnally, need, to find within them, for my child,
is now
our child**…
May 12, 2024
May 12, 2024 at 9:22 AM UTC