"riling" poems
T- Take all his rules and directives on board
H-Heed them well or he'll put you to the sword
E-Edicts he announces mustn't be ignored
S-Stay within the definition of his pit
I-Indent it into your mind's memory fit
T-Test not his patience nor his fab wit
E-Enter good work that will be a great hit
M-Mad as hell he'll become when he sees a bad post
O-Ousted you'll be if he doesn't like what you boast
N-Niggling him will obtain a certain kind of verbal roast
I-Irking his upright position means you'll be put on toast
T-Travel within the hallowed guidelines he prefers the most
O-Opposing him means debarment at a far flung coast
R-Riling him over his rule's will disappear you as a ghost
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 9:41 AM UTC
The Fool
The grass bows in respect as he passes,
A fool so very unruly,
Spits vengeful passion,
Sets the bowing grass on fire,
Destroying nature with his smile,
Raucous,
Lashing feelings,
Eyelashes flutter in mortified shame,
Curling of their own accord,
In harmony of discord!
Disputed by speech in truth!
Love songs live ,
Castigated fool,
This lyricist,
Chastised for lack of care,
Beaten down,
Darkened magic mind,
Riling by inspiring,
Cauldron bubbles,
Images evaporate,
Eternal gossamer magic,
This fool's a clever fool!
He is such unruly fool,
Will never admit it,
Uncool fool,
Will stand in attendance,
To whims and things,
Main retorts in nonchalance!
Founded in chalice,
Full,
This fool,
Well,
He's no village idiot!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 6:08 AM UTC
falling is all i can do
simple words are being said
the plain, brittle truth
forget about the plain girl he thinks
or so he acts
riling up in my throat is the metallic taste of blood
i can taste daisies, roses, and all sorts of blossoms
he is only slightly aware
sighing causes the petals to float out
and i hide my ink markings in shame
does he call me out?
or even think my name?
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 5:16 PM UTC
Third floor psych ward window lookout,
second from the right on the east side.
Best seat available, padded, from 1934.
Backrest Swingline-stapled to the faux-
Maple leg support 2 x 4s. Beige bedspread,
white walls blend into the door threshold
that people are honeymoon'd
through kicking the aids, clawing at their eyes.
But Téa sat there watching the overcast
shadows sweep the sky heavily
like the watercolor paintings on the group
room plastic table where pissed-off
preteens paint Dad beating them,
or Sis dying in a car crash.
Téa just sat there while the stagnant Valley
tumbled dry low outside, tuning out
a black patient behind her riling-up
another fight with a plastic-hinged
particleboard door.
Swinging.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
The way you show disrespect
Expecting me to be kind
Has negative effect
On the fond aspect of my mind
Dark clouds rolling coolly in
Riling thunder loud
Too proud to allow the other's win
Suddenly two feels like a crowd
Sep 24, 2025
Sep 24, 2025 at 11:09 PM UTC
It's horrible how these things keep happening accidentally.
One moment you feel that the darkness has gone away
And that there's no need to fight anymore,
But in the next second you're curled up on the floor of your
Cupboard with the door locked shut, sharing air
With the monsters hiding there,
All just trying to find some small sense of serenity.
One moment you're laughing with a coworker at the brash
Reaction of your manager and then
In the next second you're in the break room, calling up
Your old friend whom you lost in the darkness,
Begging them to cut the wire from around your throat
Make it stop hurting (your lungs are burning).
One moment you're demanding the earth, the ocean
To give you an out or some kind of answer
To why these things keep happening, why you're suffering
With this stinging boxing ring where you're in both
Corners, riling your other self up
Only to be tapped out after your first step towards the light.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 6:00 AM UTC
I've wondered how it is you truly feel
A little voice whispering
"This can't be real"
These obstacles close appear too large to see around
Viewing from a distance a detour is found
Questions fly back and forth thrown as darts
Aim but never hit the right body parts
Always quick riling
Slow repair
Running circles barefoot
Your shoes I cannot wear
Through deserts and oceans continue to trudge
Hold hand all the while
Gradually building a grudge
My attempts to please you all fall short
I fail to contribute or submit too vague a report
Head hurting from the flaws I have to fix
Given the choice I'd never pick words over sticks
Because sentences weigh more than stones could
What you speak seldom leaves me feeling good
So you paint my imperfections like a mural on the wall
Makes me want to do the opposite and not deal with them at all
How many mistakes until finally you snap and go
Realize the fact that I realized long ago
That I am not meriting the effort you put in
And components are irreversibly broken within
That more time and energy probably are a waste
The middle of your heart no longer for me holds a place
Mar 28, 2025
Mar 28, 2025 at 11:04 PM UTC
The dragon in me
Controls my thoughts and deeds;
At times propelling me forward,
Other times holding me back.
The dragon in me
Is whispering softly,
Building my confidence,
Riling my doubt.
The dragon in me
Does no fire breathe;
He really doesn't breathe at all.
He's merely my ego,
And I the knight
Trying not to be burned.
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 1:20 PM UTC
The sweetness of first love
Pulls and tugs at your heart
Emotions riling and snarling in your ear
Promises
Eventually
The sweet flavor is replaced with a bitter
Foul
Thing also called
First love
Because it never lasts
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
I feel like the stars and the sky
Have eyes
And that they look upon us and see
Straight through to the core
Of every tiny life
Realizing that for every bit of good
There is an army of bad.
Maybe that's why the sky cries sometimes
Fills every crack with tears until there's nothing left
And maybe that's why she gets angry
Furiously scrubs away the roughness
Until all she can see is her reflection.
Perhaps the stars are the reason
Riling up the poor sky
Showing her tiny crimes and tiny lies
Whispered in tiny ears
The stars shedding little lights
On a seemingly hopeless situation.
Perhaps she can't help but vent her frustration
Because the stars are right sometimes.
Then who comforts her, I wonder,
Who gives her strength to show the sun
When the hours of night are waning
And the day still hasn't begun?
Is it the sun, the moon, a god, the wind
Or love as the case may be?
Or does she comfort herself
When she feels that she's in need?
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 8:47 PM UTC
On a road, I don't know where it leads
I don't care that I am lost
Feet are burning but I continue on
Determined to escape at all costs
I will keep going until my knees buckle
Regret following with steady pace
Broken dreams viewed in my periphreals
Cannot be fixed, salvaged, or replaced
Mile by mile, distancing myself
Unable to fully outrun lurking past
Almost is as good as I get
Have the lead for a moment but always come in last
I travel at a safer pace
I'm already immersed in danger
Desperation grows as I lift legs
Lengthy journey stretches riling anger
There is no detour to avoid my confusing thoughts
Maps behind eyes I'm striving to chart
I stumble but I still advance
I'll always follow my heart
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 10:47 PM UTC
I know you have kids to feed,
But I must say what I need,
I am no thief,
I did not steal from you,
And our boss already finished the deal,
I owned what I worked for,
You don't get to carry the sins of the father,
unto the son. Because it suits you.
You curse the dealership for approving deals,
That make you lose money in peels,
But you want my losers,
You have to ask everyone for yours,
I earn mine, and never have to ask anyone.
Please stop accosting me.
Do not tell me, that my father thinks I am Greedy,
Do not tell me that I don't know anything,
That what comes around goes around,
Do not call me, The kinkiest ************ you know,
And say you wont do buisness with me,
Any more,
And then keep coming to me,
And lecturing me,
And riling me up,
And stressing me,
And making my heart burst up,
Leave me alone.
Fight someone else,
To get what you think is yours,
While I'll sleep soundly,
Maybe tomorrow,
Knowing I did what was right.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 5:23 AM UTC
This cosmic canister carries the world’s disarray-
Our destinations different, our feelings the same.
Though we have regular meetings we remain strangers;
Heads down, uncomfortable.
A pattern forms in our lives which none exits, our sacred routine which if changed is wrong.
Empathetic eyes glazed with weariness.
At each departure, a new inhalation of caffeine and smoke,
A new wave of bodies,
A new mass.
We all contribute to the mass, but the mass never goes,
Only waxes and wanes with the seasons.
We travel as one, carried by destinations, riddled with enigmas.
The hour reaches 6:00 and the mass bulges; the kettle is at its boiling point.
We move as agitated atoms riling against one another.
The world’s day draws to a close, as our microenvironment wakes.
A man exhales stale disappointment- no promotion due.
The coarse skin of his fingers caresses
The constant happiness in his life;
Helping him live, hastening his death.
Unable to inhale satisfaction, his suit clad leg
Writhes underneath the table,
Distracting him, but alerting others of the craving.
Although his tie is straight and his briefcase orderly,
A lose thread and weary eyes give him away-
He’s tired; tired of life, tired of the necessary endless routine
Which holds him and his livelihood captive.
It weakens and sustains him simultaneously.
His secrets define him.
A girl sighs, her cheeks wet,
Tears heavy with hurt.
A bruise has settled itself on her forearm;
A warning for the next time she comes home late.
Her skin has become a canvas and everyday more paint is added.
Her permanent ink hides the painful marks
Yet the latter seems to leave the most lasting impression.
Her face is scarcely discernible;
Metal studs line the place where her smile should be-
They are so many that her humanity becomes robotic.
Her secrets define her.
The tube we sit in holds heavy hearts, new smiles,
Old friends.
The mass becomes one as each day our routine returns,
Unchanged.
We get to know our fellow travellers
Without really getting to know them at all.
Their influence on our existence seems insignificant,
Yet they contribute to the steadfast mass that so grips our little lives,
Whilst we hold on to sanity by a single thread.
Our secrets define us.
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 1:26 PM UTC
From a ripple to the roar,
Of desires and desperations,
Hopes and aspirations.
With songs unsung, memories unseen,
Moves undanced, sights unblinked.
They riddle through a riling heart,
Languishing the clod of infinte memories,
Leaving behind a trail in oxblood,
On lanes of the suffering they imprint,
Never-failing pillars,
A Niagara of ambition,
Struggling and chasing,
The ring road of passion.
In this passage of arms,
The wants and these cries,
Shall put up a fight,
The first of its kind.
Moving every mountain,
Warming stiff snow,
Freezing the unforgiving fire,
Chocking the unmoving souls.
With a focus down unshaking roads,
They shall create a nexus,
With the nimbus, the whole universe,
To provoke the storms,
The thunder and the tides,
To hold their arms, to stay on their side,
In this endless unfailing ride.
With the mantra of victory,
And horse-like sight,
They come marching to lead you,
Down this one one life.
But in this march of time,
Through the years that crawl by,
Every road that you take,
Clinging onto dreams you've always dreamt,
Shall engulf a mist--
Some cocainic smoke,
That sting your eyes as they behold,
Your graceless retreat,
From closing doors.
Those million desires,
From burning heartaches,
Shall freeze and founder,
Fall and break.
Only leaves of paper,
Made by a dry-eyed stranger,
Doping human wants--
Most passionate minds.
Rendering them coarse and dud,
Cloudy and undone.
These leaves, they decide it all.
Your breaths, your wants,
The heartbeats, your wish grants---
The forest,
The ones who have most,
Shall foreshadow,
They can foretell,
The end of the roads they choose to take.
And those who have fragments,
A passive flow,
They know not where this journey,
Will allow them to go.
And yet they fight!
They give up their all!
But alas!
In this clientele of cliche,
Will breathe a cradle--
Will live the neverness of the niche,
That bears, where blooms,
From a dying ripple, to the fading roar,
Of desires and desperations,
Hopes and aspirations.
That will not live,
Oh! They die so slow...
As the pillars fall,
The Niagara runs cold.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 5:19 AM UTC
with all the fire bursting within?
will it make sense?
will anyone listen?
with all the rockets,
fading,
with all the roar and wild and the wind
roaring here, in my roaring heart,
in the boat in this storm of a mind,
rocked,
this rocket ship,
will it fade?
Where will it go?
I am fire
I am burning,
not in passion but in thoughts
riling and riding my mind like a bull,
like a the storm that made the disciples run amok
here and there, screaming, at the edge of losing their lives
and Jesus is sleeping.
hasn't taught me how,
or I haven't learned yet.
That's probably it.
The art of resting
in the midst of the thunder,
lying in bed as the sky cracks and breaks into pieces
the art of slumber, of peace, of contentedness and gratefulness
is an art I need.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 9:12 PM UTC
What a miracle spins off the eyes,
Of a master capturer of colours!
For his harlot is the dancing lights-
Of a happy day's golden hours.
What with these attributing sounds-
Of a furiously futile attempt at beauty?
For what a line of poetry gets to stir-
Is foolish beside the language of images.
Words are arch enemies of colours,
Shining vibrantly on a lazy afternoon-
And of the beauty that lies in the sight-
Of the night sky with a cloudless moon.
No poem can ever stake a claim-
Of ever making hearts skip a beat
Or goosebumps riling on the necks,
As portraits of women with rosy cheeks.
If the poet sees what the sun cannot
And the best words need inspiration,
Let this be a reminder to all your faculties
That a picture is worth a thousand words.
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 2:58 PM UTC
Such a dreary mood upon me now
- I wish to be free
From memory,
Hopelessness,
This surging, riling, anxiety
Swirling heart and stomach,
Free from all that I know:
Running away would not suffice,
I wish to be reborn.
I escaped for a moment through another's life,
more suffering than mine, more confused, more lost -
Yet the soft light of hope pervaded
And potential shone, an open door.
Why, when I have so much, does this suffering descend?
No, not descend,
It comes from within.
This waking life in all its glory
Withholds explanation
Focus on the breath, lost one,
"The movement of air,
Into bodies, out of bodies, through lives,...
The great exchange"
Feel the swell and dissolve
The tingling that dances, the pain, the heaviness,
Let it all fall away
Let dreams clear that which lingers now
Worries dissolve into symbols and stories
Slip through the curtain to Morpheus's realm:
This heaviness may yet disappear in the light of a new sun.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC
I got so many friends
Who’d be willing to stand
In an endless line
Just to find a sign
For the end of times
Bathroom reading
The left behind
******** propaganda
Pants wetting
While forgetting logic
Riling themselves up
With biblical justice
From a petulant deity
And that is just
An inkling of what
Is gnawing at me
Programed people
Getting brainwashed to believe
Far out fairly tales
Those poorly conceived
Spiritual explanations
For what we can see
Things that can be explained
If you studied diligently
I got a problem with
Guilt for built in sin
From a god who made men
An all-powerful being who condemns
My family and friends
For what comes naturally
For desires deep and genetic
When preacher teach things that are pathetic
Flood stories and tales of whales
With men living in them
Burning witches and the apostic
Because of some drunk prophet
Who is vile and caustic
Some slick wicked trickster
Who convince you to demean
Our sisters
Said all sin is their fault
And birth is the punishment
That the fruits of evolution
Are seeds of deceit
And this is just a sample
Of why religion is bothering me
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 8:41 AM UTC
and I will love you until the end.
I'm sorry I say such stupid things; I'm so used to riling
people up. and I hate doing that to you.
I guess I've always wanted to affect someone, and the only
way I could do that is by being such a ***** no more, baby,
I can only do you right for ever doing me so ******* good.
I've always been so paranoid that people will hurt
me, and I hate being the one to be left in the dust.
I've always tried, since the beginning, to be the one
who never put her heart in, in the first place,
so I'd never get hurt again, never be the one to
cry over someone else again. I've felt so pathetic
being the one to cry, but in the end, I've learned that
being the one to cry is actually the better end - I would be
the one, in the end, who felt anything at all in the first place,
and through the ******* sadness of it all, I've somehow
convinced myself that hurting, cringing, ******* dying
little by little was the worst thing on earth. "it was never worth
the tears, my god, I wish I had never put my entire self
on the line like this. how will I ever find myself again?"
but his love,
his love,
his love... just saved me, and I feel so mediocre, so
stupid saying something so typical, so average, I wish I could write
so much better, articulate the way my muscles freeze up
when you look at me, without a word, you've got me wrapped
around your finger. how can i
describe the warmth you've torn open in my
chest, from the pits of my belly, you, baby, had
reminded me,
that it feels so ******* good to feel again, no matter what it
is. I've numbed myself for so long, like sitting on my foot,
cross-legged, arms crossed, waiting pathetically
on someone
to tell me to get up, losing all
stupid feeling in my toes, in my ankles
in my calves, and in my legs,
I was just losing interest in ever knowing what it was like
to stand proudly again, like we are meant to do.
but he appeared out of no where,
pulled me up on my feet, yanked me
by the wrist and his fingers found their place between mine,
and somehow he had me standing on my feet again,
static shock through my toes, I felt him on my palms,
silly electric fizz in my calves, I've never felt this
***** smile on my face before.
how can I ever repay you?
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
On posting a most unflattering note
Was decided to scotch the pompous tote
He felt like tearing a she writer down
By plating some of his unneeded *****
Which had been greeted as nothing to skite
Were a constructive message put on page
She wouldn't of seen the flaming bonfire's rage
Why bring his conceited vantage to town
There then was a ceasing of his preaching
Riling her in an extent far reaching
Without thinking such stinging words he chose
On her indigestion they didn't sit well
All managed to be an affront's hell
Lodging deep within her insulted nose
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 12:29 AM UTC
Her body's curves
excite my passion
riling up my heat
At one with the
slithering coils and
serpentine dreams
Inspiration found in her treasure
sensations send me higher
Flowing thoughts delve deep
into a well of lust
never to see bottom
every emotion belongs to her
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 7:24 AM UTC
The mind is a beast
we are all tasked with
taming
But how? When mine
ducks every lasso, throws
me from the saddle, kicks
dirt in my mouth
Is an ocean of riling blood
beneath the throbbing
bruise of sky
Colliding thunderheads
thicker than smoke threatening
a slaughter of rain
And I:
shipwrecked in its mess
A splintered mast and torn
sail swallowed by a wall of
water black as my most
poisoned thoughts
Sinking like a pearl to the
shifting, tectonic floor of
my own body
Drawing breath through
a mouthful of sand, my pruning
hands bound by the mangled
leather of a pair of reins
Yet reins cannot tame the sea.
– mrg
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 4:41 PM UTC