"senders" poems
I've never been to Paris in the spring summer or fall
Nor seen the Champs-Élysées blanketed in winters fresh snow
I've never seen it, Why? As I could never go alone
I seemed to miss the part where two lovers met and kissed or stood for 20 minuites in a passionate embrace
Then slowley walk together hand in hand in the rain, along the banks of the river of romance, the Siene
I'm not in the lovers photographs, beneath the Eiffel tower or the playful Quasimodo pose outside of Notre Dame
You won't see me in any of them, for I was never there, because while my lover travelled I stayed and built a home, a place we could call our own.
But bigger and better was never enough your greed for things was just to much then one day off you went as you didn't hear a word I'd said
To you by now I was simply staff and just like them I was sacked
But now alone I look at things and know what I can do
Change the way I look at life and why I never went with you
For Paris is for lovers and not just those who share the rent
So one day I'll go to Paris, even if I am alone
I shall walk the streets and see the sights that lovers call their own
Who knows If I'm the only one who needs to make that trip
Do others think of it the same in reverence and wish?
One day i'll go to gay Paris and a blank post card I shall send
"From Paris" with a smiley face
"I learnt to love myself".....
A picture of the tower or a snap outside the Louvre
Unsigned
No senders address
From Paris
With Love
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 8:22 PM UTC
Where I live, you see, is the future
which nobody saw coming but me,
and I guarantee, its truth,
I consider ants sentient, indeed.
I cringe for my imaginary Jain friends,
I just smashed another dozen scouting sugar ants,
and I sang to them as I did,
hoping their tiny antennae
knew the deal,
we throw ant-edibles in rodent safe containers,
out past the edge
of the motion sensors,
ants of all common sorts are welcome.
- because our fire ants have some how mellowed
- since arriving from Texas
on waves of dread… fire ants,
maybe that kind never got here. any way
- now, we live with them and all the others
- on the edge of the eastern pacific
- super colony that has no war
- on its inner or outer edges.
But one must consider ants
as sapient sentients,
senders of signals, wireless radio,
wee-tiny antennae vibes,
to sing a song ants can translate that says,
This human says: I shall **** all you send to my kitchen.
It is a thought song, you think it, as you ****
You might try it if, you consider
ants are not just pests, but
interesting life tools, for living in dirt
with no screens, lack so obvious it is
noticed by any with attention to antennae
as intense as
that that of Everest Pax, who in April began his sixth year…
Now, who
can hold the ant mind
long enough to imagine the queen,
with Ender-vision?
Through the eyes that watched me **** the scouts,
and signal boundaries to the Queen.
Jun 12, 2021
Jun 12, 2021 at 4:36 PM UTC
Two aging message senders
and receivers, circumspect
men of reflective thoughts
and words spoken, written.
Wayfarers from divergent
oceans converging.
Both Harpooners of the
unexamined life, seekers
of truths and wisdom.
Kindred spirits different
and yet the same,
A spiritual awakening,
a brotherly bond in the making.
Both touched and renewed
by a voyage taken
upon a common sea
of curious self discovery.
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 8:02 PM UTC
Wandering the streets
Feeling in the rain
Keeps my love
In the air
Gray in the day
Evening keeps my love alive
So I wake up with her in the morning
Unrest at the night
Feeling the sensual senders
Take my angel's breath
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 12:04 PM UTC
The sun fell swallowing the garish light of day,
As the creatures of night came out to play
They were of all sorts, all shapes, all sizes,
But to one accustomed to their dance, there were no surprises.
But young Thomas did ignore these nightly friends
And drifted to sleep shunning the beauty which no one comprehends.
The skeletal folks, with wide eyes and graceful tendril
Did love the small boy, and sent him many dreams oh so tender
This night was strange, something amiss,
And a vile silent creature did slide out from the shadows
For young Thomas was placed in bed without his mother’s kiss.
The poor dream senders shrieked not knowing what to do,
They broke their oath to keep hidden and entered the room
They called forth to their dancing friends outside
All entered to guard the young one in stride
The silent creeper, was of a darker world
In his eye crept shadows, in his tears only blood,
He remained unseen to the human eye.
Muffling Thomas’s screams and cries
His bony arms stealing all the boy’s sweet thoughts
Tying innocent minds into painful knots.
With little success the boy’s twilight defenders,
Did claw and pull at the monsters limbs, attempting forced surrender
But to no avail, in a final attempt, a haggard frightened being, cradled,
And he left into the night as that was all he was able
The others ran after, as the monsters’ fiends leapt up from hell
The night creatures fought and in vain they did yell
For they were outmatched but joys must prevail!
Thomas’s family must not face the fate of dreams gone stale
The frail creature whisked Thomas away to a beauteous place, fairy dust
He worked away the dusk, to be rid of this distrust
But this night could not end, for the hellish beast
Took away a bit of Thomas’s light, just the smallest piece
Thomas, poor lad, brought something dark
That lives on in him, rooted in his soul,
Best love your children, show them, and mark,
Before creatures of hell, not night, do take him whole.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
I know a girl who's not very nice
I know a girl who'll hold your ****
in a vice and
I know a girl who will stay out all night.
I know a girl who won't fly a kite
I know a girl who does things
out of spite and
I know a girl who won't look good in white.
I know a girl who's repulsed by splendor
I know a girl who returns love letters
to senders and
I know a girl who's a terrible pretender.
I know a girl who won't laugh at my jokes
I know a girl who made it all
one big hoax and
I know a girl and I hope she chokes.
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 16, 2011 at 7:08 AM UTC
Letters
With a little paper and ink and the time it takes to think you can tie time and space together
Hearts warmest caring tucked and folded speaking stands in neatest rows sweetest love it shows
Mathematics consoled in problems extolled reaching bearing the load of heavy thoughts they to know
Some lines are like stairs they climb to heights the reader brought so far to enjoy pure delights
Some expression organized in quiet detail meant to push and move the listener beyond normal thought
Or in playful tunes the idea has no other content or purposes it only design is to leave you amused
Some would care to drive the point fast but the object is to assure you find what is urgently sought
Some contend and desire they be perceived with style they stand clothed in grandest attire
Perplexing other seems to go for the childhood game of hide and seek who isn’t intrigued by mystery
Others harder to define surely a secret communiqué these twist and turns truly cloak and dagger
Your mind devises images of stories that are found like currents ebbing and flowing with telling history
Stages are set everything in finest detail is set for viewing and dramatic effect your guest expect the best
Then for the end you must paint with deftness this portrait of words will be kept only in the heart
At first it enters the portal of the mind only the anteroom there the decision where does it belong
Then after careful study to deduce the senders true meaning you search a place for endearing art
What a read in the still quiet the mind smoothly draws the blinds closing you in with sweetest thoughts
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 9:31 AM UTC
the department that handles
all communications
has gone on an extended
European vacation
they wont be back on the job
till sometime in late May
so all senders of messages
will be in for a long delay
should an emergency arise
and help be required
just know that the department
was holiday inspired
they weren't thinking
of our vital exchanges
nor of the distance between
our country's vast ranges
with a bit of luck they'll return
early from their furlough
to get the communication lines
back to a gushing flow
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
Ten fires burn
In the distance.
A man looks behind himself
Before he turns.
Nights fortitude
Mixes
With love.
We Forget.
Forefathers
Of way-senders,
Sifting through old boxes
Of tin made smiles and
Mis-matched fortunes.
A letter rests on the nightstand.
It rests near
The fountain.
We were always so far away.
Like a distant lake.
Like a mountain.
When the lights
Are turned out and the dripping
Ceases
From its
Spout,
Think of me when you are with he.
There is no other place
I'd rather be
But in-between thoughts
Of joy and
Misery.
A candle for
The
Hour.
A light for
The
Minute.
Only in the flame
Do we know
We are truly in
And living in
Time.
I've attached
Every thought I've
Had
To
Electronic
Dream Weavers.
I've got no more
Strength
To give, yet I hear
A whisper.
Another attention getter.
Another bidder.
Another hitter.
Wake for her.
Wake for you.
Wake for her
And you
Together.
Intertwined
In wine
Covered in needles of
Aged' thyme.
The grass on the field
Is
Green. No, don't
Deny it.
I'm weary of stasis.
It's a bird
Upon my shelf.
I'm out of mind.
I'm out of places.
One more time
I look at he and he
Looks at me.
We
Whistle
Through the threshold of this
Modern Day, all the while
Knowing after,
There won't
Be much left
To
Say.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
I am allowing you to tell me what i should write about
It can be a life story
A love story
Your choice
However
There is a catch...
You must message me with #mychoice No. 1527B
The 1st, 5th, 10th, 15th, 20th senders will be chosen
You can send a message 1x per day
These people will be named and recieve a reply
We will discuss your choice of poem
You may help with the writing if you choose so
If you desire to help
Poem must be published on your site as well as mine
Hope to work with many more people
Looking forward to this experience
-Robert **
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 4:27 AM UTC
Brick-wall lobotomies
Self inflicted
Hard Head full of rocks
Cracked into sand mixed into mortar
And The school of hard knocks
Is just you breaking yourself
Rock tumbler thoughts
Chisel questions on diamonds
But any answer is too hard for anyone to write it
Sinking sand
And rock steady
But the stone is too heavy
And it keeps rolling back down
The hill to wear it started
If you're Sisyphus it's your Hades' Tartarus
But since you're Atlas it's the whole world to you
Stalactite tears
They've been falling for a while
Tear stream Grand Canyons eroded into your cliff-stone-face
A mask of jade
Said you were okay
But now all you can do is bring
The rock-wall to your face
But if you climbed it
You'd only see the other side of the mountain
But it's better than stoning yourself
Unless you'd rather dig yourself a hole and stay well-grounded
Be mindful of the Earth benders
Cause lead mined and pistol fired
Makes a mind worse for the better
Brain benders
With bullet senders
Brain blender
bullet benders
Stick to bricks
Hay-and-straw-made bricks
You can build yourself up
From dirt and twigs
But when they try to blow it away,
You are the brick wall
That they are leaning (concussed) against
Knocked out
Stone cold
Rock on
Roll steady
Dig deep and let the moss grow
When you start to feel heavy
I see you in the block of marble
David
**** your Goliath
With a sling and riverbed stone
But don't let Medusa freeze you up
Or there will be hell, fire, and brimstone to pay
And if you win
There is a statue waiting for you
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 11:30 AM UTC
I live in my filth
Making flowers wilt
With the stench I built
Until my life tilts
I meet someone
And have some fun
But once I’m done
Their scent can stun
Our game of anything goes
Gets lodged in my nose
Until I’ve completely froze
Thinking of the path I chose
Long after ***
I can smell their mess
From a cologne flex
Becoming my hex
The sepulcher scent
Of their sulfur vent
Is where I sadly went
For a companion to rent
The foul smell
Of this towered well
Traps me in hell
With its noxious spell
I’m reminded of my decision
By the stench’s incision
Which seems like derision
Preferable to loneliness envisioned
I yearn to be number
After my returning lover
Smells like burning rubber
So I just turn to another
When they’re unfit
I can smell their ****
In an aromatic blitz
Nullifying my wit
Through kisses and licks
Their scent sticks
Quite thick
As the clock ticks
Through the calendar
I smell no lavender
Just the scavengers
Who are crag senders
They try to banish me
But instead of vanishing
I block my nose handily
And continue my caroling
My mouth sings
As a new day brings
A triumphant spring
Meant for kings
Once I’m in a different state
Their scent dissipates
After I let go of hate
And accept their traits
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 10:56 AM UTC