"rivaling" poems
Stick a lolipop
into the mouth of moments
your life is a child
and somewhere in there
you give a flying ****
about the moon
and no it's not cheese.
That mouth knows what dirt tastes like
but that wont stop me from pouring caramel
and cigarettes over it.
I need a fix
of candied dirt
and addiction.
I'm not afraid of the eclipse
because I'm already hooked on the dark.
So lock the door
&
draw the curtains
&
be content.
The tide wont be knocking
no matter how much you
want it to fill the room
or how big is your sweet tooth
because
hunger
is BIGGER
and eventually
anything will do.
So thank the moon we were wearing seat belts.
Otherwise we might be vegetables
eating only exhaust
like Hiroshima
force fed the sun
because
you only make war on an empty stomach
or with an insatiable hunger.
Be content
for the civilians and their children
who only know the taste of war.
Idiot flavored idiots with a hint of
dead mothers
that will bore a cavity so big
it'll put holes in the head
of kindergardens everywhere.
Who write their valentines on bombs.
Who's love murders buildings,
topples families,
plowing through bodies on city streets all to reach
nobody.
Be content
for the people
who aren't
you because when parents ******* in a box
you call a country means
you don't care
you put genocide on the menu
and there are some things that just wont do.
As I grow weary of rivaling chefs pointing fingers
in circles forever
becoming a porthole to the ****** business
becoming the unsuspecting manhole for
the human animal's existence
in crossing.
Mothers may find safe shelter in the sewers
but it reeks of prepackaged liberty
express delivery
to
every where.
Be content.
Because to start a revolution means living it
and what better way,
to ******* a reckless pace
that finishes first in hunger,
starting fist fights with other people's lives
and forgets even sooner,
than
to
be
content.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
BAND concert public square Nebraska city. Flowing and circling dresses, summer-white dresses. Faces, flesh tints flung like sprays of cherry blossoms. And gigglers, God knows, gigglers, rivaling the pony whinnies of the Livery Stable Blues.
Cowboy rags and ****** rags. And boys driving sorrel horses hurl a cornfield laughter at the girls in dresses, summer-white dresses. Amid the cornet staccato and the tuba oompa, gigglers, God knows, gigglers daffy with life's razzle dazzle.
Slow good-night melodies and Home Sweet Home. And the snare drummer bookkeeper in a hardware store nods hello to the daughter of a railroad conductor-a giggler, God knows, a giggler-and the summer-white dresses filter fanwise out of the public square.
The crushed strawberries of ice cream soda places, the night wind in cottonwoods and willows, the lattice shadows of doorsteps and porches, these know more of the story.
3.9k
The passion of my heart.
Could wear the river rocks to dust.
Relentless like the tides of moons.
The passion of my heart.
Could travel any distance.
It knows no barrier like the fading Ozone.
The passion of my heart.
Could melt with invisible fire.
Like the polar ice caps.
The passion of my heart.
Could feed the hungry.
Full of Endless substance.
The passion of my heart.
Could be inconceivably large.
Rivaling the Sun and the stars.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
Poems about love,
Walking through an evergreen forest
Leaves of yellow and orange and red
The morning sky bursting through the canopy as we sit in our tent drinking coffee
Excited with what today's hike will bring
When you love nature you always want to be close it
Because I love you , I always want to be close to you
The engagement ring in my pocket gives me inspiration
I want to be as tough as the diamonds that crown its head
I want to be for you, as consistent and unending as the ring itself
So here we are, getting closer to nature, closer to each other.
You, unaware of even how much closer, I want to get to you.
Hues of black and blue with ambient lights of vintage setting.
Nights in Paris and Marseilles near the water, candles lighting our dinner,
The flame giving my eyes the gift of seeing your beautiful face.
Cheese and grapes, chocolate and wine
Yet, the only taste I crave is that of your lips
To smell your perfume and touch your smooth skin.
Your smile , rivaling every star in the night's sky
Your soul, lecturing the moon on how to glow
Your heart, teaching me how to pray.
Because you exist, I know there must be a God out there.
Because you are here with me. I must pray, that God allows me to stay.
Bright lights and tall buildings as far as the eye can see.
We walk along the Hudson hand in hand.
We keep each other warm.
The autumn winds are cold but I hold your hand in mind. your sweet precious fingers grasp mine
You may not notice it, or maybe you do?
You stare into the horizon but here, I pull you close
I kiss you, as if we were in a movie
Nothing in the world do the Angels pay closer attention to than this kiss
Because as I surely live, so would I die for you.
As surely as my heart beats, it skips a beat when I am with you.
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 6:42 AM UTC
The stitch in mine
Is not like yours
A cut deep down
Into my soul
Am made of dust
From stars below
In shades I flourish
Deep dark I flow
At home I am
Inside my hull
Away from bias
Rubbed in salt
Away from dispute
Hatred immense
Inward I look
In my defense
Observer of time
A soul so old
Rivaling the titans
I stand so bold
Infuriating accession
From exterior advances
Yet trudging along
Onwards alone
I go
Apr 25, 2020
Apr 25, 2020 at 6:35 AM UTC
My love, you are an ocean.
Your arms are jetties, reaching out into the water, encompassing fish and seaweed.
Your fisherman's hands bear a deep roughness, rivaling sand across my untouched skin.
Their scratching surface rubs me raw, chaps my lips and splits them.
You drink the blood.
My life has been hazy until you.
Now it is overcast with fear and timing.
Inside you, a bomb sits, multiplying, increasing.
You pump manufactured time in through those arms I crave so much.
There is nothing I can do to help you.
Instead, I watch shoals swim by, each holding a piece of you.
So desperately I want to scoop them up, and rip their bellies open,
Marvel at their ribs, but not stop until I've ripped them
Skull to fin, and found your ink scrawled along their spines.
To call myself drift wood would be an insult to you.
Your past lovers' eyes shine like sea glass.
In time, and in you, they've become softened chunks of green, brown, and blue,
Shimmering across your hands. Across your chest, they gather.
Their brightness shows in your wrinkled eyes.
How I have come to love the etched time across your face.
Each inch something new I am discovering, yet discovered
In dives and ships alike. Maturity gathered and processed from
Nails and knuckles. Ugly shoes, and screaming babies throwing salt across you.
Cracks run about your legs. You shake. You become
Stable; secure; sturdy.
Drag my body down. I want to flit under your surface, and gasp
Without breath, at the vast depth of you.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
The passion of my heart.
Could wear the river rocks to dust.
Relentless like the tides of moons.
The passion of my heart.
Could break the worldly chains.
That drown us in misery.
The passion of my heart.
Burns with invisible fire.
Molten and ferocious.
The passion of my heart.
Bridges the gaps between galaxy's.
Just to feel you close again.
The passion of my heart.
Inconceivably large.
Rivaling the Sun and the stars.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 11:28 AM UTC
When our gazes fasten together--
our beings recklessly careen forward
a collision course
rivaling the longing of two magnetic forces
& when we touch.....
and we fall,
escaping into All,
falling falling
everything sails past
very rabbit hole-esque
and we vibrate
in the wind--
whirling around
w
i
n
d
i
n
g weeks forward
through time
adrenaline minds heat--
boiling we.... explode ....into everything
Dematerializing
into quarks quaking
primal energies of the universe
Orbiting each other
the rest of existence
orbits us
& we dance--(left--right--right--left)...
twirl
forming worlds within other planes within
& we dance--(to--our--once--beating--hearts)...
beating hearts
echo
throughout this light
we have
embraced.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 2:52 PM UTC
I'm not good at expressing myself, not verbally.
When I say I love you, I might not.
When I say you mean everything to me and that I couldn't live without you, I might mean that I'll forget you in a year.
When I say you are my best friend, I might hate you in a matter of seconds.
Nothing I say is definite.
But when I hold your hand,
and feel your fingers in mine,
and maybe our breathing is synced, and our eyes are locked,
and our hearts beat in a rhythmic war
(rivaling the emotions in our gazes),
maybe then,
I mean everything I've said
(and then some).
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
I was seduced by your tongue.
From the menu in it's ripe pink
bequeathed with syllables
of toxic waste pronounced;
production rivaling the healthiest liver
in this materialistic marketplace.
Still it is a delicate decadence
not for the faint-heart by recommendation
can only be served in it's ****** state
never preserved with age nor maturity
for it's zest for life can never be tainted
even when cooked
it still wags on and on....
churning more poison.
I placed my order
may the best man win,
I was not a coward.
Bon appetite.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
As i close my eyes i think of only you.
A girl who makes my heart beat fast cause she's so beautiful.
Her smile rivaling the firey beams of the sun.
Just the sight of her makes my heart dizzy as if spun.
The thought of her throws my stomach's butterflies into a frenzy.
i never thought such a beautiful being could be so friendly.
Her compassionate brown eyes sparkle with an infinite love.
Her infinite love ebraces all like a cozzy warm hug.
You are a person who should be held and showed the world.
The truth is whether you know it or not, your a one in a billion girl.
Your smart and destined for great things, just knowing you I'm glad.
You deserve the best, not tears and the feeling of being sad.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
Darkness begins as soon as you leave me
My soul rejects me because your not with me
But when I think of you my heart comes alive
Telling me how unigue you are with that angelic smile
And those lips that taste so sweet and feel so soft
If we both were ever alone together
I hope you would surrender all to me
We would make passionate and impulsive love
You have imprisoned my heart forever.
Paul
As Darkness followed my heart, tears held my soul
I felt a pull within your walls, making me want to be alive again
you brought the magic back in my life,
as you kissed me into the night
held me through all the pain, dried my tears,
and made me one with you
You became gold in my sweaty palms,
I felt you breath, and your manly smell
as the intense of your manly calls,
I am foolish mercenary in your fortress
rivaling the greed of a thousand thieves
yes my darling make me yours ...
Debbie
© Deborah Brooks Langford, 2 months ago
thank you Collabration with Paul Brown
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
It is watery, and yet so much like honey,
the height gained rivaling mountains
but peaches frame you –
something more smooth than a kiss,
saliva pinked with blood, drooling down
one chin or tongue, I have touched
close, but not quite smeared with
my fingerprints, not even a wrinkle or
particle of body’s flaking dust,
just a sphere of constant traffic,
you meet the veiny shapes when all
else blackens, the chime of hearts I know
one I have handed to you, chirping
beating with no highlights of an earth
just keeping brunette, blonde baby blues.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 12:55 PM UTC
Stargazer fish, of tactile scope, a firm apparatus of sullen sail
taking on watercrest and nests in song,
in rivaling storyboards hoping children read along
of the pirate’s appendage, the moonlight, the claim rights
every night cries for a villaness to bombard
plunder,
scuttling poetry under
foamy humpback water melted from night sky,
arriving in tides named for our stride
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC
I made eye
contact with a woman
carrying turquois around.
Her pale neck, warm and slender,
contrasted softly, calf-length
shorn cotton colored by
the night. Her heaving blonde
strokes of hair brushed the skin
lovingly and shaded each cheek bone
with dynamic pulsation,
rivaling the fluttering
eyelids beneath my forehead.
I could easily recognize her
before
she told me I could
take an empty seat
facing her
away
to my table, alone.
But then
she held out her hand
gently petting the chest
of another man-- and I was silent.
Wrapping her ankle around his shin
she seemed to stare at me
through the back of his head, but
I was sure I would slide out of my chair
if she saw me watching.
I sat there, feeling her
rough tongue and brittle fingers
from around the world
pry into my mouth and glance my chin,
smiling with teeth
partially inside his skull.
Cooing,
as I had been,
she reached into
my chest
without knowing.
May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 at 3:50 PM UTC
His martinis were dry
His reds were bitter
His lagers were dark
His coffee preferred black
He was stubborn and mean
His insults cut to the bone
He kept his house and record clean
His heart often rivaling stone
He loved few, respected less
He saw things scientifically, with math
Every problem logical, situations chess,
Yet he was lost, knowing no path
You could not touch him beyond skin
Only one or two had seen beyond his eyes
He valued those who held within their sin
And who did not let out cries.
But he did let a few in to his mind
These people saw its fatherly side
To them he would silently act kind
But they didn’t know it was all for pride.
Jan 8, 2011
Jan 8, 2011 at 5:28 AM UTC
Captivated but the light of a blissful day,
waiting to see the next dazzling array,
I have been lost in a daydream far too many times,
turning to words I want so badly to find,
a quiet place to trap my burning inspiration,
thoughts holding great pressure rivaling a meter ton,
pen tips cannot drive as quickly as the stream flows never-ending,
is it one more thing I think or merely my mind pretending,
the process often moves to fast,
making the scribbling of ideas a habit that never lasts.
Hard is it to catch those fleeting thoughts,
but just as devastating when those realizations are finally caught.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
I am a mountain.
Oh, the valley of person I used to be
You remember, I was so deep.
So deep that
You blew off the dust
gently -
From your binoculars
Just to see what was at my bottom
The valley of myself that at one time
Was so rough and so steep
That when you climbed down to touch the
Base of who I really was
Because for you a look wasn’t enough
You came up I’ll admit victorious
But bloodied.
The last of you I saw
Were your red footprints leading away
So since you’ve been gone
I am a mountain.
I have turned myself inside out
Rivaling Everest
Every sore and bump, you can see now!
I have made it so all you have to do is look up.
Now all I do is look down
Waiting for bandaged footprints
To walk beside the red ones
Only in a different direction.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
You found me in darkness
You held me
Despite cutting edges
You stilled me
A lover of dark
Though a beacon of light
You're a paradox, a saint
An angel
Wings ebony bright
What could I give you?
A lone wolf in the night
I live in shadows and blood
While a raven's
Gentle wings
Eclipse heavens height
Your own would disown you
If only truth they could see
What could I give
If I offered
What would there be
All I offer is pain
My Fire
And sweet misery
It is forbidden
So I will guard you
Silently
From my station below
Love you as dark to the moon
Through from a safe distance might
For our fire would be insatiable
Like the sun
Rivaling stars
Burning the night
I will wait, I will yearn
Continue and fight
For a day
The forbidden
May step into light
Realist I am
Some dreams I may never see
But if the leviathan rises
To end dreamers in all
Waiting in depths below
There I will be
To shield you
Catch you when you fall
The only happy ending
From my vantage can see
Burnt in fur and tattered wing
Two broken souls
I will love you in darkness
The forbidden set free
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 5:24 PM UTC
February 28th, 1968 marked the date
Boyce Brandon Harris
(my octogenarian widower father)
purchased a small tract of land
constituting shadowed sliver
once hailing, hallmarking, harkening,
glorious vast "Glen Elm" estate,
which circa 1910 encompassed
a hundred plus acres of woodland
Pooh would Winnie
(including a pond frequented
by migrating Canadian Geese)
eventually zoned for commercial,
industrial, and residential development
(all in the name of productive land use)
particularly put into motion
courtesy Donald J. Neilson,
who transformed expansive woodland
rivaling shutterfly
sprouting like mushrooms towed stools
booming explosively
after ample precipitation
little houses on the hillside
little houses made of ticky tacky...
popped up overnight
transforming landscape
displacing flora and fauna with vinyl city
(minus spit of property papa bought)
manicured bumped uglies with wild wisp
reduced pristine niche leftover jot haven
squawking disoriented geese instincts
thwarted, where drained wetlands
a Arcadian past suburbanization
overlaying (palimpsest like) rural setting
trademark bucolic print Currier And Ives
stock in trade signature prints
landscape sparse human population
country aire sprinkled with family farms
fresh dairy, produce, vegetables
butchered animals free ranging
without synthetic injections
nostalgia faintly recreated here
Highland Manor Apartments
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
a slip of country revered
against a Paul Ling urbanization
nothing appears familiar
retracing roadways now major highways
frequent moments breeds alienation
familiar ground confusing, frightening, and perplexing.
May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 8:57 PM UTC
Let me write about you
Be the ink in my pen
The muscle pulls behind my key strokes
The block of marble which my words chip away at
until you stand rivaling David
I want to break you down into syllables
And string you back together
in a flurry of metaphors, similes, and adjectives
So when I compare you to the cosmos
Tell you how your eyes are like stars
And somewhere is a constellation looking to be completed
You’ll believe for once that beauty is something you are capable
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
I:
Did he know,
gazing within
the first morning’s
reflection of the mirror?
The world was ruled with rapacious greed.
Could he...a simple carpenter’s son hold reign?
Rivaling concepts of malice and hate
with only a vision of righteousness.
What might have been if faith had turned
that one lonely night, praying in the garden?
All we now treasure and know
not lost... simply never learned.
But his belief held fast.
Even as the nails pierced his waiting wrists,
and the breath was filched from offered breast.
His tendered flesh drained of life's essence.
And the world’s foundation shook
from this one man’s belief.
“Most cherished of all ‘The Father’s’ gifts, is Love".
"Love even your enemy...your own butchers.”
Perhaps he knew from the mirror’s silent stare.
But I think not.
II:
Did he know, gazing within
the morning’s first reflection of the mirror?
This man condemned God‘s chosen few.
****** them with imperfect ideals of superiority.
Hegemonies, spawned from purely selfish desire.
Built upon altars of blackened bone,
stained with the purified blood of unnamed martyrs.
Animating his belief with the potency of his voice
and the putrid breath from chambers of death.
His dream blossomed from a nightmare‘s blackened shade.
Millions died as millions more bewailed their loss.
And the world turned once again.
Its very bedrock forever tarnished red.
For this one man’s beliefs were embraced
within vows thought sacred by the masses.
Never again quite the same.
Just one man’s pronouncement of a claimed truth.
“All the problems of the world lie at the feet of the Jews.
Destroy them and all life’s trials will be resolved.”
Perhaps he knew from the mirror’s silent stare.
But I think not.
III:
Should I know, gazing within
the first morning’s reflection of the mirror?
Our world cries for one man’s envisioning truth.
We search to understand the differences,
and to find the similarities amongst us,
before a tired Earth exhales one final breath.
An angel of mercy, hope, and salvation.
Or a demon seeking power,
returning only horror and death.
Fate beckons with a satirical, crooking finger
as the seeking ignorant masses swarm to hopeful honey.
Whose voice will it be rising from the wilderness?
Will it usher in a bright dawning, new day?
Or bring upon us tomorrows
which we wish would never be?
Will it be you, or will it be I?
Perhaps I should know from the mirror’s silent stare.
But I think not...
Fate shrouds Destiny within a dark veil...
blinding clear vision.
All that remains is Belief,
a clouded hope for possibilities.
© S.Loeding
All Rights Reserved
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 8:40 PM UTC
help me if you can, cuz salutary
hans solo impossible missions
fall short asper this mwm to break free,
thus Siam game for heroic measures to wrest
sill loose, gnome hatter
remaining time on Earth
strong arm gull lancing tactics
aye need to vest
from perverted imps stranglehold
upon healthy existence
will resort to extreme thine body electric
(serves as kool aid base sic acid) test
hosting ocd (analogous to a
suckling leech happy fiend)
disallowing this mwm
(similar to Sir Issac Newton) begs to take a rest
nurses nourishment feeding off host
(thyself) linkedin, sans sybaritic symbiotic,
excising unhealthy sycophantic relationship
long term ultimate quest
shucking loose obsessive pest
compulsive disorder moocher
drilled deep into psyche tub billed a nest
which bred a hardy crop that messed
up with my enjoying life tooth ha max,
viz parasitic, opportunistic,
narcissistic fealty must stop lest
asphyxiation undermines ability to jest
as if deadly poison
this chap (as a kid) accidentally did ingest
hence this attempt at plaintive pleading
for mental health professional
took hum at my be hest
a much more welcome guest
versus nemesis grounded rivaling mount Everest
that tis all i write unloading off my chest
an agile, fertile, and nimble sprite
who already out best
this scrivener, now completed poem
confiding bugaboo aye attest.
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC