"screamer" poems
armed and dangerous, 20 oz. of hot hot coffee, tablet on lap,
sitting on the deck overlooking the bay, and once again,
unusual for me, I am touched by the sanctity of the serenity
pervading, assuaging, by waves just loud enough to sway to,
the off/on chatter of the early bird's convocation of the morning's
blessing, have survived another night to greet greatly the outlines
of loveliness in the all~of~surroundings, which hacks my brain,
for I am by forty years of habitation more accustomed to a rough and tumble city boy trader, screamer of:
buy/sell/straddle/strangle/crush/kill/mercilessness, no quarter,
no mindfulness in me naturally, until nature robs my tools of
denial, and I smell the sanctity of fresh sheets laid on bed, the
warmed blood, vein coursing, suggesting just listen, listen,
the hot shower water eradicating the prior day's sinfulness,
the highly valued sensations of sensational emptiness, and
words drifting from the surround movie theater of a vista beloved,
coming for to fill and fulfill this always~in~mourning soul by the
overhauling of a crisp, cleansing day break
I, familiar with notions of perpetuity, and at best, conceptual, though
my mind permits a drift to the thoughtfulness that this place, this moment, this performance art of spectacular breathing of another
dawning day, after thousands upon thousand of its predecessors,
and the possibility, not remote, but not promised, to anyone, just may
occur at least once more, and one must learn contentment from but
that idea, and sip the cooling dregs of coffee, the sounds of human
interference, car door slamming, the heaving breathing of morning joggers, the wind rising, the white caps snapping, precursors and
signs that natural perfection is never permanent, always in transition,
and a whispery smile crosses my cheeks, as a silly thought invades,
nature is so very human~like and yet, immortal…
composed between 6:30 and 8:30 am this day
Wed Aug 20 twenty twenty-five
Silver Beach
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 8:34 AM UTC
neither very social
nor I'm vocal
silent screamer
a lonely dreamer
neither a mood swing
nor in a bing
don't mind
if you don't find
as I'm in my cocoon
may be back soon
but for a while
let me hibernate in my style
not a saint
just complacent
ridicule not, I'm not a clown
on a journey unknown.... my own
deep ponderer
solo wanderer
not a wayward
just traveling inward
judge me not O dear!
for you I'm there
but let me be insignificant
an abstinent.....
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 2:35 PM UTC
Oh Baby, you've done.
Captured my essence
and made me think
that
I
exist.
For a
slit-wrist second
in "time".
Until them sparks
make fire.
& take you up in his flames.
A bad dream.
Filmed right between my
starry-eyes.
Soul Photography,
uhhhh
Flashbacks of missin' you.
Until then,
I will be all black
& nothing more.
Than a wannabe-writer in the
mourning.
And a secret-screamer at night.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 1:30 PM UTC
for KA
There is something in this for both of us. We have chemistry, let's be lab partners. Help me with problems like which would make a better poem: a pandemic, a wolverine, or a broken heart? You know I only chose you because you enjoy my fondling your blond *** as you lean over the Bunsen burner, because we have flammable *** on the periodic table, but this is more serious than calculations or ******* As a poet, I need to access the deeper moaning of reality, but you are a screamer, not a moaner. Let's experiment anyhow. Lift that skirt and let's explore something elemental, make a new molecule, feel the reaction. Help me probe the fundamentals of creation and I may love you, though surely not enough, as we are both non-valent. Even though we may never bond, we are in this together, partner. Lift your beaker to my lips. Outcomes are never certain.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 6:22 AM UTC
On the first night
of the full moon,
the primeval sack of ocean
broke,
& I gave birth to you
little woman,
little carrot top,
little turned-up nose,
pushing you out of myself
as my mother
pushed
me out of herself,
as her mother did,
& her mother's mother before her,
all of us born
of woman.
I am the second daughter
of a second daughter
of a second daughter,
but you shall be the first.
You shall see the phrase
"second ***
only in puzzlement,
wondering how anyone,
except a madman,
could call you "second"
when you are so splendidly
first,
conferring even on your mother
firstness, vastness, fullness
as the moon at its fullest
lights up the sky.
Now the moon is full again
& you are four weeks old.
Little lion, lioness,
yowling for my *******
rowling at the moon,
how I love your lustiness,
your red face demanding,
your hungry mouth howling,
your screams, your cries
which all spell life
in large letters
the color of blood.
You are born a woman
for the sheer glory of it,
little redhead, beautiful screamer.
You are no second ***
but the first of the first;
& when the moon's phases
fill out the cycle
of your life,
you will crow
for the joy
of being a woman,
telling the pallid moon
to go drown herself
in the blue ocean,
& glorying, glorying, glorying
in the rosy wonder
of your sunshining wondrous
self.
2.2k
Hold my hands above my head
Push me down into the bed
Bite me harder, rip my flesh
Put my sanity to the test
Do it harder, I like it rough
Do it faster, you know I'm tough
I'm a screamer baby, so you know
For you, I'll put on a show
You can ruin me and torture me
I won't charge you, do it for free
Rip out all my feelings deep inside
**** me baby and make me cry
Harder, faster, stronger, please
Make me beg til I'm on my knees
I'm a screamer girl, that you know
For you baby, I'll put on a show
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
I am what I am no changing that,
I was once like you, but that was
a diffrent time no longer am I that.
I walk all day and in to the night,
If you meet me alone you may be
shocked that I look like that.
My hair not brushed my teeth not
White now, but are yellow and black.
My clothes are filthy, you look and
Say is there brains on that. I walk
Never run, I cant be doing with that.
Have you met my friends, they don't
Say much except aaaahhh, and a gurgle
But thats the food swallowing back.
You can run, you may even hide, but
One day you,ll be one of us, it only
Takes a bite. I love flesh in the morning,
Noon or night, doesn't bother me if
Your a screamer or lie there like a sack.
When I'm finished you,ll not have
To worry as you,ll soon come back.
The life of a zombie is walking long
Distances, not a lot of chit chat, but
When I see food you better run as
I,ll be wanting a piece of that.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
I write about you alot.
Shh.
Don't tell anyone.
I don't want them looking for my words.
There is a reason i don't where shorts.
I have to hide the words.
If people see the words,
I can't be a poet any more.
My poems are words.
Unspoken words.
Everything i wanted to say.
Everything i never said.
Don't ask to read them.
You won't understand.
The only person who can read them are me.
For they are my memories.
I am a poet.
I write things people don't understand.
Nobody reads my storys.
Because there are no words.
Just soal.
Just pain.
Just scars.
Just love.
I am a poet.
A silent screamer.
My words are powerless without sound.
I will scream with my life.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
I turn to approach anywhere for a person who could be my friend. A close friend.
I am surrounded by acquaintances. I am blind. I cannot feel the presence of a friend, no-one to lend.
I plead with a tender sense of hope in my eye, I crave to change myself for others to accept me. I want someone to scream with me.
Scream,scream and scream until I feel their presence.
Scream, scream and scream until I feel of some value.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
I am a half-smirk grinner
an addict and a sinner
I am lonely and broken
a screamer yet soft spoken
I am dead serious
could be delirious
I am not one to eat food
on words I'd rather chew
I am a running joke
the fire and the smoke
I am the forgotten
lost and unwanted
I am the last one picked
I am twisted
And I am sick
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
Jay-Z sounds like he's underwater. And the showerhoses tilt shut and the bathroom door opens to reveal - well, what I thought was a sealing wound thankfully turned out to be headphone covers and my brother's obscured big toe. Trembling.
He walks as if he was the rapper himself - chest hunched, back lurching forward like that of a street cat who doesn't know he's made it. Shaky feet, wet hair, darkened eyes that hadn't been shut for days.
''For my father was black, and beautiful, and beautiful, therefore, black. There was a blackness to him that was beautiful. A blackness entirely clear and his own.'' -James Baldwin, Notes on a Native Son (paraphrased).
His legs if you roll up the pajama bottoms are filled with quilt patched mosquito bites and blacks and blues. Self-inflicted. Eyebag patches punched back into his face resurfacing in the hidden contours of his thigh. Trembling. Allow me to reintroduce myself. Trembling.
He is and he isn't. No native son of ours black but yellow covered, yellow but eyes tinged with red, and awash in shadows black and blue - he is beautiful - puffy eyed, brickfaced boombox carrying screamer of profanity and tongue tied silence all and still - he is black, and he is beautiful.
An underwater mixtape taking shape to be a broken record anthem.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
im a jumper
im a thumper
im a bear
im a pear
im a hopper
im a stomper
im a eater
im a steamer
but i am not a screamer
im not a cryer
nor a laugher
not a surgeon
not a garbage man
but i am me
and thats all that matters
me
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 10:09 PM UTC
The porch light barely illuminates the overflowing ashtray
Moon, abandoned home, smokestack, alleys: view
Orderly circles of leaking lunar spectrum serve as steady sight
Otherwise torn by my mouth like a hooked fish to the angler-night
The streets are full of holes like the stories of conspirators
Kitten of gender nondescript plays in the corner, jubilant
Clouds pass and pay no mind, don’t associate with our kind
I hope she doesn’t find me foolish when I interject
Approached by vendor of the thieving sort with stolen radio offered cheap
Promised to turn potential customers his way as I planned retreat
A character amongst graffiti and gritty blacktop, the type I always meet
Nobody waited for us as we signaled from the crosswalk
Back to the quarters, friend needs a ******
Try to concentrate and write despite the bang on the walls
Distraction from *** I’m not having; she’s a screamer
Dark brewed beer is a bitter taste for bedtime
Mar 18, 2011
Mar 18, 2011 at 10:04 PM UTC
I can’t help thinking
that almost every girl I meet
could possibly, potentially be,
yes, a screamer in the sack,
or better, a soul mate in the sack,
or even a confidant in a coffee shop, or anywhere.
And then they could jointly rule my kingdom
imperiously, like the Queen of Babylon,
or maybe Bathsheba, who was having a bath
when David espied her and then jumped her in his boudoir.
I suppose an exhibitionist needs a ******
Gee. But it wasn't kosher for David, the King of Judea,
to then have murdered Bathsheba's husband, Uriah,
so he could afterwards marry her.
What? Yeah, this is all in that whodunnit,
the first tabloid, the Old Testament.
But look, I'm getting away from the path here.
What I'm talking about is girls that I innocently meet
without trying to get them in closer.
I don't spy on girls in the bath or the shower
and I don't have anyone murdered for *** or for power.
Or for anything! I'm a writer, see?
I simply imagine, inside my head,
that we all fall fabulously in love,
and blow our minds instead.
Mike T Minehan
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
Crawling thing with six legs,
I'll keep you in mind...
Flying thing with big eyes,
I ate you just in time,
Now crawly-bug I eat you too,
I lap my face to clean off your goo,
Screams from heaven, I must hide!
Yesterday my brother died...
I slither into pile of leaves,
I hope the screamer didn't see,
Stay still, prepare and lick the air,
I smell more crawlies over there...
I get too cool and run for rock,
To sun myself,
And in my sluggish state I lie on rock...
“Ahhhh!”
I'm grabbed and now I'm in the blue!
The Screamer eats me and my last crawly too!
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 10:08 PM UTC
i am a screamer.
I love the beat of the drums. I love the high pitched screams. I love my bands. but somehow i am not accepted. I wish people could hear the beauty in BMTH's lyrics, the real talent that people just push aside because the performance is different. I scream. I know how to do what i do. and it hurts that so many people hate on the art. The music.And the reason is that "screamo" saved me
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 12:52 PM UTC
a poet is a silent screamer
silent feeler, silent doer
thinking, tinking, toying brains
reveals life through an expulsion
of ink on paper
with a mind whose thoughts
trickle down like racing raindrops on a car window
a painter of words on a heart-canvas
dreamer of the unreachable
unrequitable
unforgotten.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 3:45 PM UTC
in the song of robin and blackbird
Creator signs His Name
A name that can be seen and heard
by those who shun acclaim
in the work of scribe and artist
shines the inner being
in the music of drum or harpist
speaks the soul all-seeing
in the works o' nefarious schemer
in darkest destruction 'n death
in the silence that shouts like screamer
in absence of life-giving breath
walks the many-faced serpent schemer
for those with eyes to see
the signature of the anti-redeemer
antithesis of eternity
for every person stamps their name
in the deeds they do
igniting hellish fires 'n flame
or letting G-d shine through
so don't be flummoxed by this world
keep your eyes on your goal
for as cherry, almond, or walnut burled
your acts bespeak your soul
May 3, 2022
May 3, 2022 at 7:59 AM UTC
an empty scream is heard
it comes from the side of the road
and flows down the highway
ignored by all that knows
the screamer keeps on whispering
and no one really cares
she sits and cries her helpless moans
whimpering without a care
but no one can help her
her precious torn up soul
for she is past redemption
for she has reached her core
it came to most like a shock
possibly a silent cry
but the most powerful realizations
are the ones who lose it all
and so everyone watches
but no one seems to care
because the screamer sits and cries
her helpless moans, so helpless
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 9:50 PM UTC
I am a Ghost
A lecherous imp with a golden heart staring from a distance at nymphs
in the blooded shine of sunset
Watching from the shadows;
Dreaming in the dark.
Desiring not to disurb
but desperately longing to be part of their world
Desire.... it is a curse
But one I am born to bear
I am a rogue
But one with love in his mineral heart
And joy he wishes to share
I dwell in a dark cave of phantom memories
Haunting me every day
I seek out Queens for company
But harbor a secret desire
to hold them as slaves
To keep them...
And ravish them....
Eternally lock them away..
To creep and crawl like an insect;
Devour the pain that they hide
Possess their body and mind...
To Physically,
Emotionally,
Mentally linger inside.
Yet, I am but a child
Though deep in our hearts, aren't we all?
And if we aren't, how tragic,
That the magic should die at all.
And still, I am a man.
A man who knows what he wants.
A man who doesn't believe in borders,
A man with a purpose,
A man who is lost.
I am an angel,
A demon,
A passionate rambler indeed,
I am a dreamer,
A midnight screamer,
A farmer sowing his seeds.
I am imagination,
Wrapped in slight intoxication,
Disguised in a young
but aging man's body,
A plain tornado of human emotions.
So I write,
For I am a writer,
and I sing, so I am a singer,
and I live to perform,
(Which makes me a performer)
Wandering blind towards a sense of identity,
But my journey has gotten no warmer.
Despite this harsh truth,
my path remains clear
& I refuse to surrender to fear.
I have a destiny,
I can see it.
Even if plagued with unusual needs.
A complex person?
Indeed.
But who am I?
No idea.
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 5:20 AM UTC
The scream is silent
But everyone hears it
The scream is sufficating
But everyone ignores it
The scream is building
But no one cares
The scream has gone
But the screamer is too
Nov 22, 2019
Nov 22, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
To be here as I am
I had to be there as I was
a perpetual dreamer
sometimes a singer,
but often a screamer
my ever-fleeting memory
of past life
feels like pollen in the beehive,
was I always the same
or just another empty name?
maybe asking questions
just made me mad,
as there were
days I've been sad
days I've been glad,
living was always the grey area
between good and bad.
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 8:03 PM UTC
*"You be the hurricane
I'll be the eye"*
Your too often silent lips whisper against
The soft inside of my thigh
Just before you send me over the edge of your teeth
I moan and writhe from your sharp attention
The storm of release leaving your mouth wet
**** aching
Somehow it is never rough enough
"Bite harder" you grit out
"Push deeper" I beg
Our back and forth battle to leave marks
Crescendos into a category 3 screamer
After glow sets in, wide you-rocked-my-world grin
"Next time we will try for a 5"
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
Hello poetry
Is a place
For dreamers, realist's, believers, trolls, soul's, spirit's, tarot's, screamer's, bleeder's, laugher's, cryer's, want's, desire's haiku's, free writing, anger, love inviting, all enticing, all poetry, Shakespearian's, poe-soul's, lord of the ring readee's, fashionista's, prophetic poetry, weirdies, goofies, strange one's, disgusting things....
All real
All MAKE BELIEVE...........
This is a place
Called hello poetry.......
And as for me
I'm just writing for mine queen....
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC