"shambles" poems
Your love is algebra
I can't find the formula
If I could find the right calculator,
I could define your euphoria.
Your love is geometry
I can't find the angles
If I could prove your theories,
It wouldn't be a shambles.
Your love is trigonometry
I can't figure it out
If I spent an entire notebook, perhaps
I'd still have doubts.
Your love is a mystery
Just as the greatest math
Although worth much,
Seems irrelevant to my path.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
My piano sits against the wall
Hardly ever played at all
Things are stacked upon her mantle
Where once was music now just shambles
Creaking and clicking keys are everywhere
But no one seems to care
Who could love a piano untuned
My piano will fall apart soon
I look at her from far away
And my piano seems to say
*you too dear, are such a sight
for you see, you and I are just alike*
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 2:42 AM UTC
Catapault me into chaos,
I wish to get a little closer.
Your tainted eyes speak to me.
I wish to get to know you,
just a little bit better.
If I can handle it,
I'll stick around and play.
Too much pain is a killjoy.
If it burns too much,
I'll blow out the fire someday.
Criss-crossdresser,
I'm seduced into your submission.
My identity remains in shambles,
I'll see you on the otherside,
as I walk through this transition.
A possible phase,
or a permanent reside?
I am lost in mindless self indulgence.
If I dance in the rain,
I'll no longer have to hide.
An eternal blue flame,
made of youth and spirit.
Love could only feed the madness.
To remain the same,
is something my mind could never inhabit.
So dance, and dance,
and sing the tunes of duality.
I experiment with composure.
And once I find balance,
my dream will be that much closer
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
This poem is not pretty...
It's real black and white
no one wants to listen to them
few want them
families in shambles
mom was gone long ago
the ***** drug addicted, unlucky
children, adults, black , white, chinese
you name it they are there
no work
no hope
hungry and *****
few notice them
blending into the sidewalks
400 a night fill just one shelter
one shelter of thousands
crazy and sane
the forgotten and the down trodden
it could be you
you just don't want to admit it
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 9:36 PM UTC
I am in a constant battle for control.
I am hard to deal with
because my therapist says
OCD will not rest
OCD does not care what time it is
OCD does not care where you are
OCD does not care who is watching.
Usually when I obsess over things
I see my life falling to shambles
I see people not loving me anymore
I see germs sneaking into my skin.
When my uncle, my aunt, and my friend all died
in a matter of three months,
i performed rituals every hour on the hour
sometimes even more.
My therapist says this will not go away.
My therapist says to come see her so we can try to cope with this.
My therapist does not understand that WE are not coping.
I am coping
not her
not anyone else
me.
My therapist is a sick person
she is still recovering from alcoholism
so how can she help me
if all she sees is a bottle of bourbon when she looks at me.
I am not a bottle of bourbon
I am a bottle of OCD and depression and anxiety
I am a bottle of drugs and alcohol and death
I am a bottle being smashed over your head
I am not coping
I am drowning
And people have stopped loving me
And my life is falling into shambles
And I think I may be getting sick
so what the **** are these rituals even doing for me
anyway.
I have stopped taking medication because
wanting to die has become habitual
and I fear that will become a ritual too.
If I die
all people will talk about is how much they loved me
even if they didn't.
If I die,
there will be no room to have my life fall to pieces
because I will be in peace.
If I die,
I cannot get sick because the soil
will be taking care of my body but
who will perform my rituals
once I'm gone?
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
Hope, simply defined as a feeling of wanting something to happen and believing that it will.
A lot has been broken to shambles, in the name of hope.
Hope has become propaganda for the power hungry.
The corrupt feed hope to the people whilst they destroy all they lay their hands upon.
Principal systems use hope as a blinding face.
Is hope anything more than blatant desire?
Desire with an extreme expectation.
Desire to feel superior and needed.
Is it the desire to attain power regardless of what has to be sacrificed.
Hope is the fruit of religion.
Give thanks un to the lord, he will bless you with all your hopes and desires.
The leader's lifestyle is maintained by the suffering of the congregation.
Women and hope;
Inseparable entities.
Women hope.
We hope.
We hope to succeed.
We hope to wedd prince charming.
We hope to achieve the white picket fence lifestyle.
We hope.
Hope is a feeling.
Women are feelings.
No matter how many daggers have made her heart bleed.
She remains hopeful of Prince charming.
No matter how many babies she miscarries, she hopes the next one will be the blessing that lives.
No matter how many lies land on her ears.
She will find light where it does not exist.
No matter how many times she's abandoned, she remains hopeful.
Hope is a rope to disappointment.
...But someday: being hopeful will be the reason for all your bliss
Written by: Thuli Nkosi
Edited by: Minky
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 11:23 AM UTC
[Dedicated to Austin Osman Spare]
Have pity ! show no pity !
Those eyes that send such shivers
Into my brain and spine : oh let them
Flame like the ancient city
Swallowed up by the sulphurous rivers
When men let angels fret them !
Yea ! let the south wind blow,
And the Turkish banner advance,
And the word go out : No quarter !
But I shall hod thee -so !
While the boys and maidens dance
About the shambles of slaughter !
I know thee who thou art,
The inmost fiend that curlest
Thy vampire tounge about
Earth's corybantic heart,
Hell's warrior that whirlest
The darts of horror and doubt !
Thou knowest me who I am
The inmost soul and saviour
Of man ; what hieroglyph
Of the dragon and the lamb
Shall thou and I engrave here
On Time's inscandescable cliff ?
Look ! in the plished granite,
Black as thy cartouche is with sins,
I read the searing sentence
That blasts the eyes that scan it :
**** and SET be TWINS."
A fico for repentance !
Ay ! O Son of my mother
That snarled and clawed in her womb
As now we rave in our rapture,
I know thee, I love thee, brother !
Incestuous males that consumes
The light and the life that we capture.
Starve thou the soul of the world,
Brother, as I the body !
Shall we not glut our lust
On these wretches whom Fate hath hurled
To a hell of jesus and shoddy,
Dung and ethics and dust ?
Thou as I art Fate.
Coe then, conquer and kiss me !
Come ! what hinders? Believe me :
This is the thought we await.
The mark is fair ; can you miss me ?
See, how subtly I writhe !
Strange runes and unknown sigils
I trace in the trance that thrills us.
Death ! how lithe, how blithe
Are these male incestuous vigils !
Ah ! this is the spasm that kills us !
Wherefore I solemnly affirm
This twofold Oneness at the term.
Asar on Asi did beget
Horus twin brother unto Set.
Now Set and Horus kiss, to call
The Soul of the Unnatural
Forth from the dusk ; then nature slain
Lets the Beyond be born again.
This weird is of the tongue of Khem,
The Conjuration used of them.
Whoso shall speak it, let him die,
His bowels rotting inwardly,
Save he uncover and caress
The God that lighteth his liesse.
6k
By: Cedric McClester
When Trump and Carson fall
And the foolishness ceases
Rubio will be there
To pick up the pieces
He’s salivating
As his chance increases
He’s now looking at curtains
And White House leases
When Trump and Carson fall
And the race is in shambles
He’ll bet his house
You see. The man gambles
He’s not alone
Cuz there’s many other examples
Of men who’ve picked up swatches
And other samples
When Trump and Carson fall
And they look towards the rest
Rubio’s convinced
That he alone is the best
In fact he’s thinking
Nevertheless
It will be him and not the others
There’s no contest
When Trump and Carson fall
As inevitably they must
And Marco Rubio watches the others
Bite the dust
As they complain
Then spit and cuss
Marco will be the one
To lead the rest of us
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC
Watching night step-sitters staring at each passerby
abiding time as if counting sheep stepping with the city's cadence
Hearing sirens alarming in their BEWARE BLARING;
persistent fearfulness for evil and citizens securities
Staring-walking-bodies searching a barren land prostrating
before the great needle
Patched streets and decaying sidewalks by flooding night lights lay surreal
DECAYING fingers of poverty playing its fingers into every crack, crevice; into every pore, into every cell member
into one's whole being
Sounding the hip-hop generation street corners of hustlers
jiving away the night
The hustled and hustlers' overwhelming struggling for power; being surrounded by red brick and stone; being incased in poverty
Pounding city hysteria;
at times laying silent in sleepless depth
by the waning gradualness;
anytime readying itself to ERUPT
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
there's ethical idealism:
where ethics is discussed...
there's ethical relativism:
where ethics is practised...
there's ethical realism...
where ethics is quantified
as an improbability;
and then there's ethical
absolutism,
where we supposedly
"progress" -
in this scenario are
the laws of physics actually
suspended:
whereby oculus qua oculus
is replaced -
a loss of an eye is "relative"
to 10 years in a cage...
really?!
ethics is
ideal, realistic, absolute or relative...
we're encouraged to live
in "realistic relativism"...
never in an absolute realism,
since realistic relativism
only compares itself
to ideal absolutism...
and nothing more...
ever watched that film
secrets in their eyes?
you ever wonder what
ethical idealism is to the ethnical
consequence that can absorb
a realistic libra?
i can only believe in
ethical absolutism,
ethical relativism is horrid to me...
relativism adorns idealism,
absolutism adorns realism...
a life sentence is worse than
a death sentence,
whether justified or not,
prison is sadism,
but at least ****** is simply ******
a space-time intact,
a ****** penalty is not
inhumane, nor a ouija board...
it's time for time,
space for space,
the actual punishment comes
with the missing adrenaline rush
of the unexpected reception of the wielded
weapon...
either send these jealous plonkers to
siberia, or sentence them to death,
for you are no more than they are,
nay, you are more...
you're akin to cats toying,
playing a sadistic games with half-mutilated
mice...
this is why i abhor
ethical relativism of the crucifix...
hence my belief in ethical
absolutism in the paragraph of realism,
which is perfected, by
being exacted, and never, ever,
being leisurely discussed,
on a farcical palette with a grimace
to boot: ******* a lemon;
compensating the horrors within
minutes, is never compensated
with ordeals that last years...
which is why i find the death penalty
an act of authentic humanity,
and not this quasi-humanitarian
act of pardon, ******* hypocrites -
i abhor the caged rat
more than the rat gladly nibbling
on a dead corpse...
at least there was passion
in the ******
waiting for death penalty is like killing
a vermin with poison,
disposing them with nonchalantly...
the wise maxim states:
ledo ferrum sicut id est calidi -
strike the iron while it's hot...
death is the dawn-broker -
a new tomorrow promise -
left intact, the fermenting process
of ethical dynamism takes over...
then again,
the supposedly "evolved"
preferred moral relativism to moral
absolutism,
because there was no
moral realism to speak of,
since morality could only
be talked about in ideal terms of
the supposedly so, supposedly
fashioned via: it ought to never happen to
me...
and then it might, and then:
oops... argument sinks like a wet fatty ****
into shambles of keeping up with
the presupposed pillar of argument
being "impenetrable";
hey, genius, back to the blackboard!
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
Love isn't a word
I throw around foolishly
Simply because I've been denied the opportunity
Of being held , filled with the possibilities
That one touch can carry
A simple caress
That serves as if to say
You're perfect
I wouldn't want you any other way
No such touches have came in my direction
Causing me to pick apart my reflection
Imperfections, one after the other
Become apparent
Because of one thing that was said
Even if I wasn't supposed to hear it - I did
and those words?
they haunt me
I'm sorry I don't believe it when you say you love me
My head pounds and my knees start to tremble
As a precaution I ignore whatever
It is I'm feeling, burying it so deep
It'll need a shovel
and a rope to emerge
You think it's unbelievable the extent I go to so I won't be hurt
I think it's unbelievable that you claim to know my worth
When I'm not sure myself
Fearing you're just one more of many
Attempting
To take advantage
Of the self image I posses that's in shambles
I'm sorry I can't believe your compliments
Those sweet words you say with honesty
sincerity, unquestionable truth
A rarity in itself, especially coming from you
Inside me there's a girl smiling
Next to the one crying,
bruised from years of being used
poisoned with sugarcoated I love you's
And promises made
With fingers crossed
I'm sorry I don't believe I'm enough
I look in the mirror and I hate what I see
Automatically I think of other girls and the joy they may bring to your life
While I sit happily alone
And I know
I can't possibly love you if I don't love myself
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
Aquarius, why must you make **** hard for yourself? What are you trying to prove by not flushing the ******* toilet? No one cares. You call yourself a rebel, when in truth, you're just a water bearing fool with preposterous ideas of some futuristic utopia that looks a lot like Yu-Gi-Oh! Because of your idiotic rebellion, you seem to smash on about nothing really, declaring the world is in shambles, while scrying your turds for all the answers to humanity. And with such rebellion attitude, the "I don't care, I'll **** in the woods!" *Again, no one gives a **** If you'd rather **** in the woods and run around naked like a feral child poser, be my guest. Why don't you change your name to Nell why you're at it and forget your native language altogether since your such a rebel. I hate to break it to you Einstein, but it's all been done before.
Advice: What's the point? You're not going to listen. Have fun ******** in the woods and remember, we don't care if you know who we are. Truly. Ur **** is waiting, chicka chicka chickabee.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
One year.
It doesn't seem that long.
One year.
I think hard while writing this song.
We were so happy then
deep in the thralls of lust.
It was so much better then
when we weren't just echoes in the dust.
One year.
I'm not much of a writer.
One year.
The past was so much brighter.
A week had past
until we fell in love.
I wished it could last
until our spirits rose above.
One year.
This song is almost done.
One year.
I can't say I didn't have fun.
Now it's gone
and all I can say
is I'm sad I'm done.
I'm sad we drifted away.
Let's stay amiable.
Let's keep in touch.
Let's not end up in shambles.
Let hope shine when there isn't much.
Happy anniversary
Happy anniversary
Happy anniversary
Happy anniversary
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
~
The Giraffe Cries
Dancing on a thread of silk - taut of pain,
balanced deep within the fear…
Swaying to the side in calculated energy,
breathing as the sweat begins to pour
Toeing the line with blinders on
only to face the evil waiting - miles above my last breath
Shambles become my life’s dreams,
as fifty or so exit the compact car below- all doors ajar
Pointing skyward with gloved fingers and flowered bonnets
they gasp - splashing red paint of severed smiles
and floating eyebrows, merely decorations placed by hand
and contractual obligations
The rings add up to three - yet left alone I find is me,
teetering of lost imagination and breath taking nuances,
blanketing the sawdust creations
of worries portrayed in a gallery of netted promises
It is calling now for my end - free falling with wings to spare,
a calliope whistles its crescendo beneath a tent
pitched and heaved in frustration,
riding the rail lines of someone else’s thoughts
Not worth the price of admission - I wave
as I exit this cotton candy dream world in search of the nightmares slowly unfolding
along platform bridges of age
and destined footpaths
The train departs…the giraffe cries
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
A dozen fellows draped in threadbare tread densely,
Profligating goons in obsidian gowns
gathered under rainbow
moonshine shaking bronze hands,
howling and ****** in the shambles of the moon,
rap'n and nod'n to the notes of midnight.
The mellow marines mourned over malice,
lionizing over lost ones,
many howled venerated, exalted in wonder
in favor of their thrilling grace, and delight,
and brilliance, and might!
but some neighboring sticklers,
behaved haughty and in disdain,
of the crowdy Cavaliers bellowing echoes
signaling out
to the seers of the sea,
singing to the wands overwatching the wedding,
and ravens listened,
roving like noble patrolsmen.
Traveleres and trainees at sea
humble and bright
niave, and frieghtened
in traverse,
volatile and toiling,
tireless,
Lunatics, (laughing, laughing, laughhing,)
Rumaging through rain,
fireciely,
rallying and rableroused,
through towering halls of mohogony,
hefty and wholesome were their hearts
though, beast of the woodsy edifice
were foul and benumb
scowling with contempt,
haste to devide and devised to hindrance.
Hence the heroes heed
to the valleys of rose, and violet,
and strawberry fields of forever,
seeking Saint Nicholas,
in the bustling Byzantium,
in the murky shadows of doubt.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 10:08 AM UTC
Dancing on a thread of silk - taut of pain,
balanced deep within the fear…
Swaying to the side in calculated energy,
breathing as the sweat begins to pour
Toeing the line with blinders on
only to face the evil waiting - miles above my last breath
Shambles become my life’s dreams,
as fifty or so exit the compact car below- all doors ajar
Pointing skyward with gloved fingers and flowered bonnets
they gasp - splashing red paint of severed smiles
and floating eyebrows, merely decorations placed by hand
and contractual obligations
The rings add up to three - yet left alone I find is me,
teetering of lost imagination and breath taking nuances,
blanketing the sawdust creations
of worries portrayed in a gallery of netted promises
It is calling now for my end - free falling with wings to spare,
a calliope whistles its crescendo beneath a tent
pitched and heaved in frustration,
riding the rail lines of someone else’s thoughts
Not worth the price of admission - I wave
as I exit this cotton candy dream world in search of the nightmares slowly unfolding
along platform bridges of age
and destined footpaths
The train departs…the giraffe cries
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 4:40 PM UTC
Downfall she claims
Dripping in disease
Her dress ripped
Trees dying
Holes cover the seams
Tattered
Sewage covered
Disgraced
Ugly
Taking her vitality
The mass living upon her soil
Population at a high
Charging her for corruption
Her hair cut
In shambles
Uneven proportioned
Greed is the man in lead
Unfairly held to shame
Her belly rumbles
Earthquakes
Crack her skin
Aching
Oozing her blood
Tsunamis wiping out existence
She violently
Throws tantrums
A twister destroying houses
Seeking attention
Under validated
Unnoticed for exotic jungle humanity
Innocence
Her music lifts
The mountain breeze
Sagebrush rustles
Birds whisper
Squirrels leaping
Her captivating body sings
Weak man made her break
Small art gone
Ice caps melting into the abyss
Taking scraps
Leftover bits
Her soul
Missing
Stipping her clothing
******* her gold
Her shirt selfishly torn
Naked she became
Her animals hungry
Oceans sickened
Our anguish
Is revenge
Knocked out
She's becoming manipulated belief
She's in debt to the population
Mother will reclaim
Her dynasty
We the people will be left
In emptiness
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 8:29 PM UTC
(Why do you look at drinking as such a nasty thing?)
Oh, no reason.
It’s a silly little beverage,
That twisted and turned,
My childhood to shambles,
All because it was who ‘he’ was.
Oh, you’re right,
I’m just being dramatic,
It was just my innocence,
After all,
Silly me.
Nov 2, 2023
Nov 2, 2023 at 10:02 PM UTC
I converse with the insane,
And I see dead people,
I seek no fame,
Or salvation from church steeples,
I am alone,
Yet in my head we are many,
A clamoring of voices,
Above the anarchy of it all,
This world is broken, a place where life is a gamble,
And familial bonds are broken down in shambles,
I am a grateful dead, of a time long forgotten,
And like that I shall remain, till my bones are long rotten.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 7:43 AM UTC
In the shambles of the homestead,
broken light fights through the snowfall.
There's a fire burning so strong,
you can feel it from beneath the rubble.
Black sunlight shrouds the corpse of the Son,
a catalyst of things to come,
he lay like a silhouette against a blanket of snow,
breath comes out like plumes of smoke.
The tears freeze in his bloodshot eyes,
blood outlines his body,
as he watches for the stars,
twinkling in his frozen eyes.
And it's up in flames,
a catalyst of things to come,
a fire burning out of control,
is it in the rubble or in his heart?
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
I grow sicker
Day by day
As I realize:
Where I once saw a monster
I now see a man.
("See?
I'm just like you.")
It grows more apparent
Each day I'm by your side
Close enough to see into the soul
I didn't think you had.
("I'm not so bad
After all.")
Don't get me wrong
There's not much there.
While my insides wither
I can see that yours
Are already cold and dead.
Empty.
("Come on, my dear.
Make me feel alive.")
Even when you hurt me
I find myself searching
Seeing right through you.
You break me down
While you're in shambles
Reducing both of us to ruins.
("No!
Don't you dare cry!")
But it's all too clear
In those rare moments
Of misplaced tenderness
That, maybe once
You might have known how to love.
("Hey, angel
Where's your halo?")
Sometimes
In the dead of night
When you're still and serene
I try holding you
Lightly tracing all the lines of your face
Wondering who made you this way.
("Shhh...")
Sometimes
I even wonder
If, because of the way things are going now
I might turn out like you one day.
("Don't look so scared.
You know you're okay.")
So I listen to you breathe
And I watch you dream
And sometimes I swear I hear a sob
And my insides cave in when I realize it's not mine.
("Oh, angel...")
I just wish someone loved you
Before you met me
So that maybe --
Just maybe --
We could both be alright
Maybe even meet
Under much better circumstances.
("Shhh...
Angel...")
And, even when you destroy me
I wish that
Somehow
I could love you.
("Please
Don't cry.")
It makes me sicker
Day by day
That I fall back into the arms
Time and time again
Of a monster
Who was once
A man.
("You know you're safe with me
Right?")
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC
Is it my priestly duty
to be denied?
love—time and all else, at all cost!
while he went home alone to watch a movie?
Another victim
sacrificed
having squandered all my pieces in his game?
Trudging home
along the river
slow, in snow
I parse my losses
At the outskirts of a homeless camp
I pause below a viaduct
hauling passion by a leash
warming hands
avoiding hovel-eyes
Flames flicker on our faces
receiving absolution over embers
of a burning embrace
There trace
in glowing holocaust of skids
in human bleatings and crumblings
our smoke rises— pure obscure
Appease with boozy-blur
the icy, stinging God of winter stars...
G’nights inaudible as blessing
Am I derelict enough to be worthy?
Fallen far enough?
from the porches of prosperity?
to escape it all?
That wedding white
the newborn’s head
that numbing denial of decay?
Am I depraved enough to make it?
to the pages of your tragedy— minus poetry?
But the angel said
“The poetry’s more!”
Than leaving me—beyond you
...in the shambles of my words
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 10:16 PM UTC
Could you ever pretend to understand
living in a world that gave you no shelter
from the coarse wind of history
and the coarser rain of rhetoric?
The shambles of those walls offer no protection.
But, after all, they say
why do you need walls in the jungle?
No one has to tell you
out loud
that you were born
to be thrown away.
The ache of rotting teeth,
the feeble acquiescence
to raw sewage,
and the 400 dollar offer
to silence the poison in your veins.
They were loud enough.
I imagine there is a moment
between doorless stalls
and postless football fields,
where children, who grow like
wild daffodils,
see the other side of the bridge.
And then they know
until the end,
that it has always been
someone’s choice.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 3:03 PM UTC
Life is in shambles.
Everything is in ruin.
We all wish for peace.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 6:02 PM UTC