"scenerio" poems
I always liked rain since childhood. But since my adolescence I have come to love it. I have always made an attempt to analyse the bond between rain and earth. One evening in monsoon, rain slashed the ground large and heavily. It seemed like earth and rain were trying to converse and I silently tried to listen to their chat.
Rain was questioning the earth, "Whenever I aarive, all life on u gets cheered with bliss. Seeing this, I generously give u more and more water, but then, u get upset. I try to give u as much love as I can but u dont react rightfully. I need to know the reason for that. Will u explain me.?"
Earth gazed at the rain for a moment smiling at the rain's interrogation. She politely said, "You are always magnanimous to me. Due to u life on me survives. YOUR LOVE DEFINES MY LIFE. The water bodies, green life and all the mortals are pleased at ur presence. But u speak about giving more and more, and for that, I only have one thing to say, More water destroys life on me causing floods and if u shower less then it causes draughts. But an ample amount gives 'Life'. Love, either more or less, causes irritation or Pain. But tenderness in love helps one live with contented heart. Rain Vowed to earth that it will always remember what she said and started its showers slowly. Earth Smiled. The sun sparkled, its rays gently touching the earth's surface. Light dispersing to reveal the monsoons most beautiful scenerio, the Rainbow. Dew drops glittered on the leaves.
But that piece of glass pumping in my chest disbelieved the oath of Rain. It knew that, Knowingly or Unknowingly, Promises are always made to be Broken. :-)
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
shall i compare thee to a summers day?
i admire shakespeare for being such a yaknow, writer
and i wish i could equate to his flowing of words and make hidden messages between the metaphors
i try my hardest
but amogst the other angsty teens who bleed tears and numbness
it's hard to compare thee to a summers day when thats what everyone is doing
but it's so true
you are the flowers that bloom out of my ribcage after winter has been in my lungs for some time
and you are the sunshine that peaks through to warm my heart
you are the summer rain and wind that makes me flutter like the butterflies in the south
but you are also a human
and sometimes you turn to winter
or spring
or fall
but i love thee til mine death
and theres something poetic about the old english
this modern english makes me feel less of a romantic lover and writer all together
i want to compare thee to cold bedsheets after a sweaty day or the splash of water onto my feet when the ashpalt gets too hot for touch
i want you to be my metaphor for everything
i want it to be simple and complicated and use really big words because im pretentious
but i just want to love you
and as we progress into the robot era
i still sit here writing my love for you
bleeding for you
this is not romeo and juliet
and i never really know what im doing
im actually quite a mess
and this doesnt make sense
but the spark of light for my love of you will never dim to darkness
and i will hold the candle to the heavens as an offering for you to be the eternal light
this is rambling on and on probably
but i love thee
je t'aime
ich liebe dich
i love you
do you compare me to a summer day?
am i colorful like a meadow and soft like a cloud?
am i your greatest living, breathing, loving figuruative language?
or am i another hopeless (hopeful) romantic that is another page in a story that you wont speak of or analyze enough to understand
will you skim me?
i sometimes doubt your knowledge of love for me
i wonder if it's surface love
or if it pulls your heart to your stomach to ache when my touch and laugh is unavailable
i wonder if you mourn at the thought of my pain
and if romeo and juliet is a plausable scenerio
ha ha- joking
i sometimes doubt
but i know thee loves
and im sorry that im like this
but at the same time im not
anyways,
and yes, anyways is a word (at least to me)
(english breaks its own rules all the time)
i shall compare thee to a summers day
and thee shall be loved
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 10:04 PM UTC
this poem is only a degradtion
of the scenerio I have manifested on the border line of my sanity
words
that seem to absorb deeper words
when the thought of feeling the flesh
under your mind comes into correct place
yes
movements please and
light sighs
breeze
through the thin air
strong and ambiguous
my lines to
you
I am thrown
sprawled on the floor
and I move through the rooms in your house
I kiss every corner
and press my chest against every celing
I bathe in every shower
down pouring of your technique on my
small body
I walk outside
I take the plunge into your unirverse
and interact with all the evil in it
I let it consume my very core
in the deepest part of my womb
how beautiful,
as we explore
every
downpour
.
.
.
this this
is something that I never understood before
and now I cant ignore
I lay and praise in the mirror
the ****** *****
I feel you now
the winds move fast
I whisper to them
to ease and slow
to caress me completely
and then the waves come again
and I am washed on shore
powerless and wanting more
as I stare into your skies
my hands are trembeling
on top of your child like
eyes
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 6:48 PM UTC
Hes never been less, than clever and fresh.
The final test is to out dress,
Kanye West, in a versace vest.
Not his sunday best, but always on a quest
to add zest to his chest, and possess
clothes that leave lookers in cardiac arrest.
Always unimpressed, making days stressed.
People think hes blessed, a sickness infests,
needed bed rest, but instead felt possessed
Thoughts of civil unrest, led him to his ammunition chest
I suggest you know where the tale is going to end, my friend.
Days later he violently expressed, which led a big mess.
Forced to confess, now hes in the coocoo's nest.
Distressed, now force to digest nasty chicken breast,
but thats what happens when you become obsessed.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 3:54 AM UTC
He's an arrogant son of a *****
Who likes the way it feels
When pills trickle down his throat
In a river of lemon iced tea
And the way the smoke from
***** and american spirit cigarettes
Fill his chest
He thinks he knows it all
He tells me stories of when he was a kid
Always breaking the rules
And doing what he wanted
As we sit outside by the fire
And he puts a glass bottle of beer to
His mouth
And I sit back with a smile on my face
Wishing times like these
could last forever
He tells me that what we behold
Is sacred;
That not many people get the chance
To bestow it and cherish it.
He told me that no matter what
He's here for me.
I came up with every "what if?" Scenerio
Never actually imagining that one day
He really wouldn't be here for me
But he reasurred me that there was
Absolutely not a thing I could do
To make him love me any less.
Now that was a long time ago
That was before our lives fell apart
And the words he said
Quickly faded
Just like the remains of the
fire that july night
I remember him also telling me
That sometimes things happen
And sometimes people change
Well,
I didn't ever think
That my own father
Could change his mind
And to think he said
He'd always be here,
Is like saying july nights last forever
And that fires never burn down to embers
And fade away
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
Add another sleepless night to the endless tally,
I will burn the midnight hours still hungering your touch
never finished what we started probably never will.
desires locked in the throes of passionate thoughts,
we can not speak of it at all.
silence...
Oh hell,
Clenching sheets and tossing aches
Ive torn and twisted up every corner of this bed
made every scenerio of it ending in my head
nothing holds up to the great expectation
a pregnant endless pause...
will this night ever end?
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
As i scrolled through these job questions...
...taken to an actual place in my mind where...i see
where a picture baffles me and is engraved into thee
....when i think of overcoming struggles
i think no more Michael, everything will be perfect, i will never be jealous again...
...i think of an actual scenerio...as if i'm the starring act of a play
....as if i have already gathered up my script for the day
today...reading to children...hmmm i thought
...a fear faced...but with a thought..and a script
yea of done this before...thing is I havent
....no matter how much you practice the math or study the text...
...what happens in the next few seconds isn't guarenteed...
...sometimes it is luck that we find our expectations to have been met
...but truly i think fate
...this summer...my goal is to move forward...to learn the art, to expand my mind, do new things
...
something holds me still...
...
girl you don't know what happens next please comprehend this
...the most useful bit of advise
expectation or may i say the vision....
how can you love or be passionate about something...if its planned
...
my thing is fear of being without the words...being hurt...misguided
I am vulnerable without the words...
the words bring comfort
...trying to make a platform out of thin air
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
I still have that little blue container
The one with the green sharpie heart on the lid
Full to the brim
Of the **** you grew
My mind plays
Through a brilliant scenerio
Where I open it
And the smell takes me back
To taking **** hits
While watching a live TV performance
Of the Gorillaz (my favorite)
That you recorded while I was at school
Or making hash with ice
Taking turns stirring
Until our arms got tired
Reruns of South Park playing for hours
Or when you came to visit me at college
And we went to eat at a busy restaurant
Standing outside on a busy street
You say "We can smoke here right?"
Or when I was in Japan
And you forgot where you parked
So you reported your car stolen
And traded my friend a joint for a place to crash
Or sneaking out to the alley
During breaks at our gig
And you getting so high
That you can't remember how the next song starts
It's been two years now
Since I've opened the container
It's likely getting stale
and becoming un-smokable
But I'm waiting
Until I can think about you without crying
Until the happy memories outweigh
All of this emptiness in me
But everytime I think about
How I'll never smoke a joint with you again
I realize no amount of time will stop the hurt
An no familiar smell will bring you back
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC