"scrips" poems
I hear your heavy footsteps stumbling across the floor again
You've got a can in one hand and a bottle of gin
Your clothes are wrinkled and your hair is a mess
Your eyes are bright red and so ******* lifeless
I would try to help you along
But I've learn from the past that it would be terribly wrong
You'd just push me away and say you're okay
And that I need to worry about how my life is today
Father father for I have sinned- I am not enough for you
Not worthy of your love, or to be anywhere close or near you
I've try to be a doll of a daughter, I've try to sew my lips
I've tried to be the child you want and read from all the scrips
But father father can't you see? The only one you have is me.
When you're mad I can feel the heat
You cuss as storm that can't be beat
Your words are knives and I'm your board
You cut so deep like it's a reward
Because of you my mind is hell
Because of you my confidence fell
One day you'll get what you deserve
Father father for I have sinned- I am not enough for you
Not worthy of your love, or to be anywhere close or near you
I've try to be a doll of a daughter, I've try to sew my lips
I've tried to be the child you want and read from all the scrips
But father father can't you see? The only one you have is me.
This is it, I've come to an ending
I'm sick of your voice and I am done pretending
You ungrateful soul I hope you crash
Maybe then you'll realize my wish at last
How hard is it to do your job
Without drinking and promise breaking?
You've broken my trust by the choices you're making.
Father father for I have sinned- is that what you want me to say?
Your screams make me apologize when things don't go your way.
Im so very sorry when I disappoint you
But father father you're the only one to look up to.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 11:31 PM UTC
to finito my infinito;
a pile of unwrit
scripts, titles, single para,
all mine un~completed children
awaiting to be ejected
and rejected by you dears,
with spit+blood+sea salted tears,
they not understanding why it has
taken so long to exit the
twisty. serpentine birth canal thru
which they were conceived,
then, deceived! by a promise sworn
to be given initiating exposure to our atmosphere
once upon a time
there only forty six
imps and seedlings, now ***
the poem~notions come so fast
that there are more than
76 loonie~loosies,
poetic
scraps and scrapes & scrips,
waiting for
a match, a ******* in of the air
that requires stating:
**Blessed is the Lird,
who inserted crazy potions
within in my eyes to save my
downtrodden soul.
And projectile re-iease them
To your dangerous selves,**
Aman.
Jul 12, 2025
Jul 12, 2025 at 1:53 PM UTC
In a place where entropy collects
my memories of youth
are barely left.
In a deep shiver
I shutter to search
my issues of trust
and limited worth.
There in my program
in bold letters it says
“YOU CAN NOT ESCAPE”
the damages left…
But!
The curtain is closed
on the stages of yesteryears
as we rewrite our scrips
take the wheel and stir!
Nov 27, 2021
Nov 27, 2021 at 3:48 PM UTC
Humans have nothing at their disposal but intention
They only pass and just share their dreams an reveries
They have more stagnant contemplation than action
They pass through centuries with their pastime hobbies
Fortune favors the brave but fate sweeps the cowards
They come on stage with written scrips and pass away
A lion always dominate just on the weak jackals herds
Valiant are being dictated by the light of the eternal ray
Ordinary folk are for ordinary task extraordinary glow
Third rate remain third rate ,people who matter are great
Stage is set by very many but only one is master of show
Constant struggle is hallmark fortune doesn't come in plate
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 3:34 AM UTC
What silliness I am filled with
when my pride gets in the way of life
what anguish do I invite
by thinking is such a silly way
that anything is about what I know about
anyway?
IT's not about me
the AA mantra
though I am as dry as any desert
the AMA might have to check out NA
since they are promoting all their dope
to my Dr.'s with promo trips and dinners
for writing so many scrips of this or that
I wonder
is the silliness, the utter stupidity
not just my vanity, but a little
insanity brought on by being so well?
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 2:40 AM UTC
Joel, just so you know
I have it on good authority that our heavenly poets
are always near exhaustion, as the clean air, and the
distraction-free life gives one inspiration by the unending,
poetry the common language in the babel up above
but to be sure they see our messages and scrips, I forward them upward via Messenger, from down here to their seemingly inactive page, but don’t you poet, disbelieve me, they may not be able to send or reply to you via Fedex Direct, but they are receiving just fine
So I send them poems just so they’re knowing that they are
still on my mind…right Joel?
or do I say,
Write on Joel?
Jul 21, 2023
Jul 21, 2023 at 9:15 AM UTC
all you poets out there,
biting your lip,
writing your scrips,
citing your insides ----
you
will
be
assimilated
by me,
and
mine.
need i say anything
as trite as,
resistance is futile?
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 4:35 PM UTC
Hallow, most serene,
Wooed with words wonderfully woven
Into love scrolls and scrips;
That delighted the pages of her heart...
Suddenly, his wind strayed,
Became the author of all her pains;
Scrambling every word...
Haling, hurling, hurting; till they taunt.
Love died that fateful day,
Buried beneath bosoms of frustration;
Amongst tormenting thorns,
To sprout anew, bud and blossom but....
She lingers, assured someday,
She'll become the bouquet on his gravestone;
Whence fate will cheer and jeer.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
The biggest drug pusher
That there ever was
Never did half the things
That Big Pharma does
But they get away with it
Primarily becuz
Of the billions they make
For their chest of drawers
The biggest drug pushers
Don’ t live in the hood
But they]re the ones
That get locked up for good
But they’re not the ones
Who ultimately should
When the disparity
Is fully understood
The biggest drug pushers
Wear white lab coats
And often are seen
Tacking copious notes
To justify the opioids
That their scrips conote
That we see them issuing
Out like by rote
The biggest drug pushers
Seem to get away
None have been sentenced
To a prison stay
They’ve been successful
At keeping at bay
Law enforcement
To this very day
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019. All rights reserved.
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 4:18 PM UTC
What is art, from the words I say,
to the things I paint...
What do my words mean, they flow and they haunt,
but do they tell the truth?
What is facade but a word said in a nicer way.
The truth spread thin.
What is real in you eyes, may not be in mine,
and lies are too easily said for me to believe you,
or your actions.
The paint from your brush tells a story,
of grief and deceit.
Paint me a life with no more pain,with no more lies...
Would you call that art, or the art of disguise?
If you where then an artist and you died,
would it be a beautiful death, or a sad reunion?
We may be all different colors, none the same,
but that never stops you from trying to look the same.
If I were to tell you to look closer, to look at their faces,
would you notice the mask they ware?
The tears have left scars on their wrists,
and words have left burns on their hearts.
Are the words we say just scrips to please the crowd?
I'm telling you now, make your own art,
one that's never been seen before...
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 6:03 PM UTC