"searches" poems
the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.
there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.
nobody ever finds
the one.
the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill
nothing else
fills.
71.8k
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."
The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.
What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.
That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.
As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.
The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.
I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.
Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.
Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.
Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.
69.3k
Nothing can compare to the feeling of
caressing just blossomed sunflowers.
They reflect their warm gaze upon my cold,
freckled cheeks while their golden hue
searches onward for other souls to bless.
Nothing can compare. Except for you.
They remind me of you and your warm gaze
that always seems to settle upon my eyes.
They remind me of your hands and how they
feel when they’re pressed against my face.
And how our faces press against each other’s while
our lips are safely locked together.
No feeling can compare to freshly blossomed sunflowers.
Except for the feeling I get when I’m with you.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC
Our own meeting has no end , no outer shell, it does not float.
It only searches within its depths to find a bottom to pitch its anchor
and looses itself within the colours of an ever changing earth.
Without air it gets carried away and shines like a fire,
unquenched and remote from evil tongues and envious eyes.
Ostracizing dark thoughts and delighting within its womb.
It remembers from always and lives on forever
and within the moonlit dust it travels upon wings.
An aura which is immaterial and wonders intoxicated
it sings you an icy lullaby..
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
vicious revenge feel its strain.
Engrained forever on a decaying brain.
For its a plague with no andetote. No cure.
Nothings sacred. nothings pure.
No honor here to gain but a grasp of guilt, sorrow and pain.
A trench deep seated with animosity.
Hearts too blinded by hatred to see.
Its walls engulfing like vines round a tree.
But no vegeance shall set you free.
In realising its errors and fate
The soul desperately searches to escape.
Weary, hollow, it longs to retire
But hatred enslaves as its walls grow higher
For this is one prison sentence that will never transpire..
If you fight fire with fire.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Crippling depression
Is not good for you
Even though you think depression is good
The crippling makes it not very good
Jake searches up crippling depression
But then he finds that he is depression
You may think that this poem is bad
You probably wont live to see another day
So just be happy, and don't be sad
Go follow @devenpawarr on instagram to remove your possible symptoms of crippling depression
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 1:03 PM UTC
...
While
Warm water as the geyser
Gives the skin a new taste
After the sudden rain
The sun peeped behind the clouds
As if a fire peaks in the red flamboyant forest
Then purple flowers of Jarul's
Silently washing the suffering of long pain
Worship to God with drunk
Late afternoon in front of the house of crow
Cuckoo calls repeatedly,
Wings fluttering,
Not unnecessarily
She searches her left offspring
Alongside a small river (Kumar) flows
Small dazzling waves,
With a Cold gentle breeze
Flows over my sweet sweat
Ah! Another form of Heaven
Seduced far away from the darkness
Furious within a dream,
I bathe
...
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 2:13 PM UTC
There is a legend
about a bird
which sings just once in its life. more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth,
From the moment it leaves
the nest it searches for
a thorn tree,and it does not rest
until it has found one.
Then singing, among the savage branches, it pales itself upon the sharpest spine. And dying, it rises above its own agony
to outcarol the larkand the nightingale.
One superlative song,existence the price.
But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles.
for the best is only bought at the cost of great pain....Or
so says the legend.This resonates deeply within me
because being an RHO negativeMother every Gyno MD advised
termination of my unborn a malicious prejudice
even called me hybrid race! the medical database is WRONG
I SAVED three of my children they were born
they live the loves of my life
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 11:39 AM UTC
Fantasizing
Feeling
Needing
Something scarce is eating at my melancholy.
As I deliberate, a vigor burns beneath my blood.
I get so warm thinking about his hands griping my hips.
My cheeks flush at the thought of his skin pressed heavily against mine.
Unalloyed ecstasy
His subsistence is the key that reveals my coffer.
I beg to feel his breathing
For him to cognize how much I want to gratify his every desire.
Slow motion when I fantasize.
A room bursting of fine riches I could erupt with gratification.
A gentleman who can pleasure me both with innocence and sensuality.
Rarity that comes as one.
He demonstrates loves configuration, he bestows complexity and certainty.
One could ****** with the thought of his supportive charisma.
I weaken at the awareness of his reciprocated needs.
The definition of love is embraced through his actions.
Bleeding perfection, he is untouchable.
He makes me feel amity.
He is the dream I want to feel as I shut my eyes at dusk.
I can sense him so close,
yet when I open my eyes
I’m alone.
He is what every women searches for.
Jul 12, 2021
Jul 12, 2021 at 10:41 PM UTC
Broke
Unable to finalize any purchase
Checking
For change in the last places that one searches
Insufficient
To the point I'm unable to ward off the throes of destitution
Bankrupted
By devaluing those who have not made restitution
Insolvent
To the point of having to fight off the urge to curse
Disallowed by the prose that places value and give credit....to verse
Denied
Any credit accrued....maybe even unearned
Reevaluation
With no accounting for the time you
SPENT
Learning what you have learned
Depreciation or Appreciation
Cannot be quantified by the lack of someone.saying thanks
Interest will eventually be of value
Once accrued... but for now I must accept
That I'm simply overdrawn at my memory banks
Investment in my own value
Will allow me growth
In my own ...
......personal
Checking account
Helping me in balancing the books
Keeping me payed up and happy
BY
Always giving others their true valuation
So that ego doesnt become a currency
That is subject to... such a devastating inflation
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 4:24 PM UTC
The wisdom of God has always wanted big things to come in small packages.
And like grace in unlikely places,
so is the story of a child.
In us (children), God shares His experiences with Humanity (patience, love, discipline, leadership, etc). Its a practical class.
For In our heart is the possibility of Heaven
And like us are those who live there.
We are the glory of God concealed and it is your honor to find us out.
We are the heritage from the Lord, a weapon of defense, and a great company for comfort.
The most blessings of any family is hidden in us, by God.
Like an arrow in The hands of the mighty,
the one who shoots us, as directed by God will never miss his target.
We come into your lives, you love us, we grow, we learn, and we love you back.
We are that godly seeds the great husband man searches for.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 4:15 AM UTC
The vicar's knickers look so fine
As they hang upon the line.
Flapping wildly in the breeze,
They're as sassy as you please.
They used to be a shade of grey,
But on the line, in the light of day,
They sparkle white as they hang about.
Even Mr. Clean would scream and shout.
People in the street stop and stare
As they admire the vicar's underwear.
Hanging there for all to see,
They seem to cry, "Look at me!"
The gathering crowd gives a sigh
When the vicar's knickers seem to fly
As they dance and twist upon the line,
Looking white and clean, and oh so fine.
Inside the house the vicar pleads,
"Dear wife, some underwear I need.
Without my knickers I cannot say
My sermon in the church today."
The vicar's wife has had enough
Of viewing her husband in the buff,
As he searches for another pair
Of sparkling, clean, white underwear.
"I know where to find a pair!
They're on the line, those underwear,"
Says the vicar's wife with a grin.
"I'll just go out and fetch them in."
The poor man waits and says a prayer
And hopes she finds those underwear.
He really wants to finish dressing
And go to church and say the blessing.
She snatches them from off the line
Where they've hung and looked so fine.
The crowd watches her take them down,
Those knickers, the whitest in all the town.
They'll have to come another day
To gawk and watch those knickers play.
The vicar needs that elusive pair
Of sparkling, clean, white underwear.
The vicar's just as pleased as punch
Because he had a sneaking hunch
He'd never see that last clean pair,
And he'd have nothing else to wear.
Now he's dressed and ready for the day,
And he can go to church and kneel and pray
Because he's wearing a lovely pair
Of sparkling, clean, white underwear.
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 2:28 PM UTC
should i shave my head female
symptoms of a psychotic break
amber rose twerks to *** drop
hot bald women
how to will your hallucinations away
should i shave my head quiz
what does it mean if i can't feel anything again
borderline personality disorder and psychotic breaks
bipolar disorder and psychotic breaks
ptsd and psychotic breaks
jeremih down on me
facebook
overcoming bitterness ptsd
how to force yourself to stick to the goals you set
malaria
tegan and sara walking with a ghost
sad people smoking cigarettes youtube
how to **** myself and not make anyone sad
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 4:02 AM UTC
Well, you're my favorite one, my favorite person to look into, my favorite person to think when i can't sleep,my favorite name to see appear on my phone. My favorite person to spend the day with. You're my favorite place to visite when my mind searches for peace. You're my favorite to talk with.
You? You're my very very favorite person obviously You're my happiness and my sadness sometimes mostly my happiness. You're my favorite distraction. You're everything good.
You're my favorite everything.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 2:14 PM UTC
Glance at the bullied survivor with no hair left at all,
Look twice and you'll notice
She's still standing tall.
Watch the former gang leader, walking submissively,
Look twice and see the trail of tears,
As he searches for the winding road to recovery.
Observe the old man scrawl a name in the snow,
Look twice and see a father,
Mourning his murdered daughter buried down below.
Admire the woman you love for sure,
Look twice and realize that,
Due to her past abuse, she's still insecure.
Witness the beating of a man done in vain,
Beneath his unruly hair and dark eyes, look twice-
Don't you see pain?
I recognized the quiet woman, generous to the core.
I looked twice and saw my mother,
Still tortured by memories of the Vietnam War.
Dismiss the endless news reports of crime and abuse,
Look twice and understand,
Violence starts with the power to choose.
Awaken and see the world through new eyes,
Look twice at society and find out,
You've been telling yourself lies.
See the disabled, the victims, those who made the wrong choices,
Look twice and listen,
Now can you hear their agonized voices?
I realized the world was never the cordial society I'd dreamt it to be.
I looked twice and found out,
Stopping violence begins with me.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 9:44 AM UTC
We're going on an adventure,
A wonder we may find.
For in this corner we may see,
Another heart like mine.
Her deeply troubled anguish
Scares me to the core.
For I can see how she is insecure.
I know what she searches for,
Deep within my soul.
She's a scared little angel,
One that's rare indeed.
But it seems no one can find her,
Or even looks, you see.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
Her arms semaphore fat triangles,
Pudgy HANDS bunched on layered hips
Where bones idle under years of fatback
And lima beans.
Her jowls shiver in accusation
Of crimes cliched by Repetition.
Her children, strangers
To childhood's TOYS, play
Best the games of darkened doorways,
Rooftop tag, and know the slick feel of
Other people's property.
Too fat to *****
Too mad to work,
Searches her dreams for the
Lucky sign and walks bare-handed
Into a den of bereaucrats for her portion.
'They don't give me welfare.
I take it.'
6.5k
electromagnetically
feelings occur,
responsive to going ons,
pineal gland awakens the senses.
and almost every woman has heard it
"you're so emotional."
so electromagnetically aware
and we don't remember this,
now,
the womb,
the beat maker,
she tunes the
energy of the babe.
mothers wave of
waves fractionally
lay a deep foundation
of the babes waves.
I tell my children
if they can't find me
to look in their hearts
I reside there…
my rhythm, my beat, my heat
lives on.
my womb
charged that spark
that started the parting
of molecules
fractionally
creating its imagine
time and time again, (as we do)
until, begin again,
a new life.
rest your head upon my chest
child
for a recharge.
in our civilized world
we send mothers to work
in a make believe cycle of need.
babes heart searches
for mamas tone
she only cries short
cautious of overspent energy
first dose of sickness.
and EVERY woman has heard it…
"you're so emotional"
notably more so
during some part of her
moon cycle.
so obviously the moon
is more electromagnetic
than we guess.
and women are more emotional
because we are the heart
of the species.
we co-create the heart
of the species.
we require the emotional
antenna
to summon the essence of the heart.
we didn't come from a rib…
our ribs vibrate the
harmony of life through our time!
our hearts beat
the pulse of the
sun
and the dark side of the moon
and infinity.
we are electromagnetically
inclined to emotions.
systematically processing
the energy of existence.
perhaps the first title I will accept
a claim upon my being,
the feminine sensitive.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
*Wrestle me well, my love,
For we were star-crossed enemies,
And I miss you.
My shoulders miss your caring arms,
My lips crave your pale-red tongue,
A slice of refreshment, watermelon,
My chest searches the rise of your chest,
And my torso longs only, and is only,
For your leg locks.
Grapple me and my lightweight heart,
As the backbone of this world breaks,
As the sun sinks into final submission,
But I will never tap on this love out.
Never.*
© 2017 J.S.P.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC
Maverick ex-cop (Green Beret /Navy Seal /SAS/Ranger)
Twiddle of the fingers to crack a 64 bit hexadecimal code
Shot but can still beat up bad people and run
15 people firing automatic weapons and they all miss
Database that searches the planets population in 2 seconds
And has photos of their children and plans of their building
Regardless of the crime scene sample, always a rare element that pinpoints location
Car chase where a truck can keep up with a Ducati motorbike
Organisations that only employ attractive people in lead roles
Ugly people are tech specialists sometimes allowed to be ‘quirky’
Even the uglies are attractive people disguised with glasses and bad hairstyles
‘I dream of genie’ gendre were they flirt but never get it on, unless it’s a hospital series
Watchable, funny programs that always succumb to sloppy sentimentality
High schools complete with intolerance, marginalisation, bullying, and hell on earth,
The most disturbing and darkest crime sent to titillate mid evening family viewing
Endless humiliation for fatties, chefs, performers, builders, restaurateurs, and troubled teens
Dysfunctional law enforcement agencies that never work together under any circumstances
Enough, if we need this thick coating of unreality, perhaps its time to switch off?
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
I don't live here
I'm only camping
On this planet
I didn't plan it
Yet I feel the need to explain it
As the plaintiff
To the sheriff
Imposing tariffs
Money is their concern
While my emotions burn
They are somewhat surviving
At the price of dying
That's the cost of lying
It makes us stop trying
Only commodity buying
While silently sighing
And violently frying
Through fruitless searches
No matter what we purchase
Or how much we spend
The gripping grief never ends
When there are no hands to lend
There are no problems with these items
When we willingly refuse to sight them
They are from where our problems erupt
For we neglectfully allow them to disrupt
The connections that our hearts yearn for
And our wallets burn for
When we spend our emotions on inanimate objects
To avoid the intangible subject
Of love
We're frightened of phantoms
A life heightened by tandem
Is not in the cards
We buy for each other
They don't begin to cover
The way we feel
They are a shield
For our true emotions
Objects can't evoke one
Yet that's our language for expression
Consumerism acts as our lethal injection
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
I am something everyone searches for
No matter who you are,
Deep down, you crave me.
I can make your sun shine
Or I can bring you grey clouds
I can make you feel high
I can make you feel on top of the world
Like nothing could ever harm you,
Like you're invinvible
Or I can tear you down so low
I can make you do things you swear
You'd never do
I can turn the strongest people weak
The bravest people into cowards
I can be the reason behind your smile
When you wake up
Or I could be the reason you cry at night
When your head finally hits the pillow
What am I?
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
This is the Devil’s hour.
It’s when George Lutz hears the ghosts
And murders his family in Amityville Horror.
Shia Labeouf get’s high on acid at 3:15.
I decide to write a poem.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
For 4 hours
I’ve been trapped in the Internet.
From Facebook posts about feminism
To related searches on Google.
“Mexican **** Takes Huge American ****
A video of a man receiving oral from
An eighteen-year-old Hispanic girl.
After ******* on her face,
He spits in her mouth
And slaps her with a foam finger
That says, “America is #1”
The cameraman then says in Spanish,
“Still happy you’re doing ****
------------------------------------------------------------------------
As I watched this woman degrade herself
It became hauntingly aware
That I could have stopped watching at any time.
The men in the video were pigs
But then what does that make me?
A ****** A lonely man?
Not to say I gained pleasure from this.
I don’t get off on
Women being demoralized by
A ***** (the true icon of male dominance)
For the ****** entertainment of others
Man is not a wolf,
Man is a parasite.
(My self-included)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
My eyes are made of glass
My head like a bag of hammers
Insomnia got the best of me.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
*One must admit the soul searches
high and wide for others to see
as sorrow weeps, small happiness creeps
remorse is afloat, in our silk coat
emptiness appears, silence leers
fading shadow, is falling far below
Begging forgiveness, with lots of emptiness, it seems............
Cemented dreams, gone to extremes
Song of despair, not knowing who cares
Tears grabbing, hands jabbing
Wisps of cries, light up the sky....
Soul searches but disappearing
cries please help,
Holding lifeless, so breathless
Sobs of redemption, seize upon preemption
Full fledged devastation, marks no exemption
Temptress aching, no remaking......
Soul Searching Indeed!*
Debbie Brooks 2014
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
The demon in me
It feeds on
************ rituals
***********
****** day-dreams
It searches
For prey
Finds
Sappy men
Who can't aquire
Someone their age
The demon pounces and recieves
It flaunts it's
Power
It's pride in the
Wrongness
And when
The real me
Returns
She is
A little
Less alive
And a little
More evil.
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 12:50 AM UTC