"sharpness" poems
The Noise, it drills through me as if I have become the subject of the vicious hammer.
Its piercing din never fades.
As silence looms, and the stillness of nothing hums
It soon begins again.
The sharpness suffocates me, smothers me, chokes me.
And then it’s too late. You chose her and your words destroy me.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 11:12 AM UTC
You have the soul of a lion
Buried deep beneath lessons
Of inferiority and knowing your place
They've told you where you belong
How you're meant to be
But they're wrong
Deep inside you is a predator
Itching for you to see
See the fire in your eyes
Or feel the sharpness of your teeth and tongue
You may not have the mane you want
But you have a mane of fire
Burning from your soul
Pushing free from your skin
No man can stand a lion
You are more powerful than your body
More important than their words
You're the king of the Savannah
And the king of your heart
All you need to do
Is find your roar
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 12:57 PM UTC
A man is like a flower
Starts with a bud
Blossoms into its nature
Natural ecstasy and perfection
In time it wears out too
Finally falls off the tree
A natural process
A natural phenomenon
Naturally the man
See as a flower
All the nature of being
To the base is the same
The intelligence the man puts into saying
That he is only the creature of importance
And everything in the world are the resource
Resource to be consumed by himself
Is the false flag he is raising
And is in the denial of the very nature
Anything which is resonant
And synchronous to the nature
Has the time in nature to the eternity
Whereas if not
In accordance to the nature
Sooner or later
On the verse of decay
On the verse of extinction
I see the human race is in the path of extinction
As civilization denying nature rather than glorifying
Human beings are far from the true essence
And are not synchronizing in the heart
Of the very nature
The so called intelligence
is what humans praise and glorifying
A lot full of ****
And it is a shame
We see the population of human species
To rise and rise
So may presume the statement
I just stated to be false
But seeing the thought processes
And so called intelligence
Is setting the human species
To a sense of decay
The step to the human race to demolish its own race
Is a unjustified intelligence in itself
The truth and laws of nature
Being in shade
Humans incorporating thoughts
As a tool of destruction
Rather than construction
In the field of criticism rather than motivation
In the field of extinction rather than sustainability
In the field of destruction rather than collaboration
And effort in maintaining the continuity
Of equilibrium and resonance with the nature
On the contrary
Making critics and complain about the others
Not realizing all are the part of the whole
Is creating a challenge to the nature
Going off beat with the nature.
We shall know
Anything not synchronous
And not resonant to the nature
Nature wipes out sooner or later
We cannot accept the very fact it is true
Even seeing our own life
As a child
The bud to the flower
The youth
The perfection in being and entire existence
The new ideas and new world
The fruit of generation brings about
The generation to come
To fertilize the seeds of the existence
The old age
To be renewed thoughts
Nature wipes out as per the plan
of its own
Accept it as a reality
As it is the truth
The sharpness of flower
Remembered as the youthfulness of flower
The bud is treated emotionally
With care as it is to be the perfection
In the time to come
The flower to be wiped out is respected
As it was once a perfection
Once roared the magnificence of itself
Upon this very world
The being-wiped flower doesn’t ask
For its claim in the now world
And indulge the new with its now state
But appreciate the perfection once it had
Make believe the youthful flower to blossom
And accept its own existence in the present.
Every species and beings
Are in the nature of being
We are no different from the other species
We are no superior and at the same time no inferior
To the other species
And not the other species to us humans
Everybody and everything
Is the part of the whole
The whole is the nature itself.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 2:33 PM UTC
CHANGE OF ADDRESS
You didn't die
you just changed shape
became invisible
to the naked eye
became this grief
it's sharpness
more real
than your presence was
before you were separate to me
entire to yourself
now you are
a part of me
you are inside my self
I call you
by your new name
'Grief...Grief! '
although I still call you
'Love.'
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC
I pried out my own skin
wide open
with needles dipped
in cheap india ink; I dabbed
at the black mixed with red
staining my fingers.
Do I do this for the pain,
or to get the poison trickling in
to my skin, to my veins?
A symbol, an alphabet.
Vast meanings that I tried to bestow
upon them hours later
really means nothing at all.
There's the cause and the effect,
which really goes both ways.
The pain for the gain
of the blurred out ink under my skin,
and the gain for the pain
of the sharpness prickling
my ankles, both legs
bare the stain of alcohol tinged
nights.
The skin beneath my eyelids
a darkened haze;
but the tattoo still burns
needle-sharp against it all.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
.....before you hurt someone else
With the sharpness of. Anger.
Wash your hands clean of
The past we were given
So that you may hold present day,
Not stained by the rust
Of a saddened heart.
My brother, you are my best friend.
You know my dark is the same as yours.
We carry the memories of
A tainted childhood.
My brother..... Let go.
Some things are better not said
We cannot change them now.
Nothing they could ever say
Could take IT away.
If it's validation, here this,
"My brother, we've survived!"
Look at you. So strong,
And this life made you this way...
Not broken, not ruined, unafraid.
This weight that you carry
Must be. So. Very. Heavy.
My brother,
Let go.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
XXIV
Let the world’s sharpness, like a clasping knife,
Shut in upon itself and do no harm
In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,
And let us hear no sound of human strife
After the click of the shutting. Life to life—
I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,
And feel as safe as guarded by a charm
Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife
Are weak to injure. Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer,
Growing straight, out of man’s reach, on the hill.
God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.
7.2k
I was
once potent, now soft
then twisted suddenly
like a baby thrown aloft
"Pull!"
and then shot
bad habits, tendencies
thinking about money
when I haven't got a lot
I used to think I was
pretty good looking
but
my self esteem took a knock
life is about finding your rock
I am
scarred, dangerous
and outright harmless
when I'm stressed out
my love turns me to calmness
overrated like chrome
a blade lacking in sharpness
turning away from peace
and reverting to the darkness
never liked change
always afraid of taking chances
thought I needed help
but I guess that I'm past it
looking for a home because
I was told it's where the heart is
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 2:22 PM UTC
I don't know what to say
right now.
The simplicity of this page haunts me
It's too easy
I'm used to more options
Endless confusion
Charts spotted with lines and dots and angles
and rights and wrongs and yes's and no's
Mazes with corners and rigid edges
like life is allowed to be put into boxes
like breaths and thoughts and the surface of tears
dripping like melting glass from an eyelash
are meant to be stuffed into sharpness
without the blessing of shadows
not gradual
like
the snap of electricity through an outlet
frying all the atoms in its path.
I'm cold, it's dark,
I whisper.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 3:57 PM UTC
Adore me why don’t you
It’s fine in it’s splendour
And when you turn on me I’ll know
The sharpness of surrender
I miss your kisses and the way you held me close
But that I could have done without
So easily
And so calmly
So adore me please
But when you do
Adore me forever
Not whilst it suits you
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 7:14 PM UTC
C'mon out to the rattled caves
the deep-sea malaise
rested in the grey metamorphs
of an ancient coastal chain
Where Sisyphean slips of tectonic rifts
pull the molding clay
like play-dough
and old rock that turns anew
churned into
great catacomb stele
Babylonian towers far away
from the great
Mesopotamic
interstate
Surrounded by the immumerous trees
the military sharpness of their pine
quills writing their mark in the dirt
for a hundred turns or so
only to be rearranged
into the great intercontinental soil
Truly
multisolipsistual
And on the aggregate
held open the mists
of the vast expanse of ocean
beyond L.A
and stole the fruits of the tiny parceled condominium rainwater
from distance far away
angry men shouting--
"Give us back our life blood, GOD **** YOU!"
Filling the tanks of their fleshomobiles
running around and sweating it out
trading it for cloth and wiping their brow on
brown shirts
perturbed and disobeyed
But that great man with the chin muscatche
brought the rough riders out of their dome
into the frontier, riding trains
Off they go!
Seeking paradise in the sands
and the trees
and the coastal breeze
dreaming
of a world owned and seen
by the world
by man
and by all these things
It would be grand
But that rock has been seen before
in Luarentian islands long ago
or perhaps a great FUJI-SAN of the west coast
worshiped by critters and dinosaurs
You are late to the game, sweet dreamers, you!
These monuments give to honor due
not you,
no sir did you build these things?
did you mold these things
with the patience of a father
with the consequentiality
of the womb
and a motherly affection
for all things true?
the gift is for you,
remember your father's gifts
sweet princes of the earth
because they will outlive you.
And I walk along the stream
stepping upon these little bits of Yosemite
Pulverized mountain rocks
Renal Stones of the diseased
to which the water flushed out deeply
and cured the grey things from all that left them
displeased
hoping for more than just selfies
and sticking it to god's face
laughing at half-dome
climbing it and getting the better of ourselves
Believing we have achieved bliss
When in reality,
there is nothing to this which we can reach.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
dead soldiers from the night before
stared up from their hiding spot still
in their brown uniforms
the snap of the sheath was lost in the
snap crackle and pop of the dying embers
the blade of the axe tested on a thumbnail
cut a satisfying line to proof the sharpness
you turned with precision and gravel crunched
beneath your feet, eyes searching for the
driest piece to feel the point of the heavy head
your whistling echoed from your lips as
trees dance to your tune in the not so gentle breeze
fleshy hands and oak handle embracing
log victim placed on the sacrificial stump
lined up your trial mark 'practice makes perfect'
the swift swinging arm motion followed by
sound from a sudden swing forced a new echo
through the trees landing with a solid thump
and silence
with more whistling eerily into the silence between
the splitting of each one after another, the red painted
axe head was gleaming with each chop while ready
to work again and again and...
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 11:47 PM UTC
You had not joined me
My totem-journey to the wellspring of the Colorado
to seek the source of things uncontained
the stars washed over me with asphyxiation
the breathless gasp of space
--In the deserts;
Rocklands--
the emerald barrel cactus
is watered as the earth
and the passerby
Cheyenne
cut into the crust
to sip the wine-flesh
to be drunk
and exhume the inhibitions of living
Forbidden berries
in the garden of quills, spear thistles
trust upon the air to protect her children
a good, silent mother
does not refuse
the gift of deflowering
as she is stripped
of her sharpness
and laundered
bestowed in salted bison skin of a war-chief's pouch.
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 12:44 PM UTC
They might be few they might be thousands,
They might have set out to conquer the suns...
Their swords dripping blood of their enemies,
Whose bones sharpen their weapons with ease...
Sharpness of their blades are rendered dull,
They cannot cut through that one adamant skull...
They cannot pierce through that cold heart,
Of the one born without fear from the start...
They keep trying to shatter his soul relentlessly,
But each strike deflected time and again tirelessly...
The loss of ichor and sweat not felt as burden,
Because a warrior's spirit is never broken...
Oct 8, 2022
Oct 8, 2022 at 12:34 AM UTC
I am a sound of a humming bird's voice, singing peacefully without no distraction
A dark colored maroon for its unique dullness,
A mountain higher than you can ever imagine,
A swan for its belief in it's own beauty,
And a lamp that shines brightly no matter how dim it gets.
I am a sunflower who blooms toward the sun of my color,
An apple tree who bears fruit for the needs,
A lake that goes deep into thoughts and emotions,
A Minecraft game that all people can enjoy,
A cup of water for its purity,
An A for its position in the alphabet and sharpness in mind.
I am an ice-cream that revives people on certain understandable days,
A volleyball that can be pressured up,
And the Divergent book that shows I can always be different.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC
the poem i resist digs deeper into my chest like a buried soulmate. it grows blurry and distant until i can’t find the sharpness of it, but i can still taste how it made me feel. the feeling becomes a dull hunger. the distorted memory of a bite. still gnawing, lost, hopeful that i will give in to my undoing and gruesomely reveal the bloodied shadow of a bluff that has been called home. neither of us can sleep. my teeth ache. when the sky turns purple with torment, i end up in the woods, collecting feathers, consumed in the uncaging of a fire that will never catch
Dec 3, 2021
Dec 3, 2021 at 9:50 PM UTC
I test the nib of the fountain pen against my finger,
Testing its sharpness, its edges.
Then I place the point against the pale moonlight of my flesh,
And push it slowly between two ribs, skin parting reluctantly.
I carefully work it deeper into the hole created by the head, the nib disappearing into the red secrets of my insides,
Rivulets of blood running past the smooth black edges, designed to be gripped comfortably, ergonomically while writing,
Red falling down past the grasping circle of my white skin.
The tip ****** my heart, still beating too slowly, too wounded, and with a twist blood fills the compartment made for ink.
I am made of paper white and ink black anyway.
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
at first when you take off
the world just looks small
a dollhouse, a miniature world
an amusing punchline to an old joke
a fantasy tinged with g-force and sprite in clear cups
but as the sky darkens and the plane lifts higher
the world seems to drown in blackness
an inky clarity of night not confused by clouds
and suddenly it is as if you are at the top on an ocean
looking at a far away ocean floor
crawling with foreign creatures with all of their bones lit up
over coral reefs of light and movement
parking lots like stationary jelly fish and highways like currents
of neon veins pumping lights and cars
all of the world's exoskeleton is illuminated
and it is beautiful and movable
it is nature's patterns played out in electricity
but the farther out you go
the more the sharpness and geometry of the roads and cities
attack the eye
and the coral reefs turn to computer motherboards
all of man's ingenuity and beauty no longer draping the world
but ordering it
into squares and jagged lines
into distant pixel pinpricks
into maps
until you're not traveling through the world
but over it
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 11:06 PM UTC
We simply cannot be a human race,
Simply because we despise those around us.
We hate how we look in the mirror,
Simply because we see the faults in the curves of our ribs.
We simply cannot be a human race,
Simply because we don't understand those around us.
We hate how the grey/pink wrinkles of our brains looks,
Simply because we don't have an IQ higher than our own.
We simply cannot be a human race,
Simply because we do not like stereotypes.
We hate the sharpness of society's knife,
Simply because the human race isn't that simple.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 6:00 PM UTC
*I folded my cards
after I laid the last hand bare
And got ******* by a queen
and the sharpness of your aces
looking at jacks
a knave of hearts
and prince of diamonds
the choice is not easy
which to throw,
Which to keep
I dont fit in this deck
i'm in the wrong game
because the card closest to my chest is a joker
and it just doesnt figure Here.*
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 4:31 AM UTC
I can't remember
If I told you I loved you
The first time we had ***
But knowing me,
I probably did
My fingernails digging into your back
Your face in my neck
I most likely whispered it into your ear
Said it softly but loud enough for you to hear
I said I love you
Like it could make you stay
Like it meant mutuality
Thinking that maybe the lack of space between us
Could hypnotize you into believing
That you loved me too
A part of me certain that the air particles
Could somehow sew us together
And that the inevitable reality
Lingering in the background
Could never detach us
Convinced myself
That we were an atom in pure form
Incapable of being split apart when we were this close together
***
Is not synonymous with feeling
I knew this to begin with
Love and lust
Like oil and water
Can be separated with ease
Television and movies
Trained me in the art of one night stands
But I never intended to have you for one night
I didn't wanted you for a week
I wanted you for the amount of time
Where we forget how long it's been
Memorizing every single one our limbs
Ribcage
Arm
Hands
Skin
Then ******* the demons out of each other
To rectify our sins
Making love until we have no recollection
Of who we were before we learned each other's bodies
We were nobody
Before the conquer of this foreign territory
I wanted to surrender
From the moment we touched
But making love is so similar to make believe
That it gets hard
To tell the difference sometimes
When I slept next to you on your couch
My back pressing into the ridged corners of the sharpness
It was not out of convenience
It was out of purpose
Believing that withstanding the ache
Would show you how much I cared
Forgetting that your heart
Belonged to someone with a different name
In different city
Yet every night you still called my body home
Coming back to it repeatedly
Like a drunken wanderer
I thought if you did enough times
You would never want to leave
I convinced myself
That letting you **** me
Was one step closer
To getting you to stay
***
Is not synonymous with permanence
We should have never done it to begin with
Knowing quite well you were here
With the intention of temporary
I talked myself into your skin
Thought if I wrapped myself in it
Deeply enough
You would do the same
To me
My body
Was nothing more than a grave yard
For you to hide your secrets in
No treasure,
No gold
I buried my love for you
Into the curve
Of your collarbone
I bet it would still be there
If you looked for it
But I know
You wont.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
He was so still, as frozen
tough he was alive,
his rough skin had color
of mud and rain with dust,
his eyes looking
helplessly obsessed
by the taste of fresh blood,
mirrors of the prey -
like ancient God of Evil,
master of the Nile,
he swam calmly hidden
in the mud and sand...
His open mouth -ready
to **** had sharpness of knife,
A little girl in pink came
in front of his sight,
looking with curiosity
his deep empty eyes,
"Can i take him at home, papa"
she almost cried...
'he isn't alive now, sweetie,
he is just -- paralyzed"
-nour-
June-013
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 3:59 AM UTC
Gazing south as if some wise, well worn fisherman,leaning against the wroughted railed pier in all its victorian, gordy, standing, splendor.
Warmed and held by the summer sun as close as shared spoon-cuddled arms.
On thermal air, calls and laughter rise from towelled steaked plots
blinding and shading the razor sharp hungry sea-gulls eye from flakey white flesh in all its golden battered salt-shuck sharpness,
competeing on the nose with hand-held melting creamyness, as they waft and weave gently by.
Below the slatted sound , the magic hypnotic spell of lapping waves lift and tilt me on a day dream of youthful lost love.
To a day we made our sun run in all its lazyness, dimming the enviour moon in its wake and kissing still the hands on the pasty-face black towering clock
As time slipped way and was some where else.
With worn drift wood and tingleling toes you defaced the sand with a graphity the council tryed but couldn't erace.
And there it lies still, benieth the smooth pebbled shore,
kissed each day with salty tears and remembered sighs.
A fearful screaming siren pieces the soft English air, Its doppled blast, chilling, pushing, demanding its screeching way through the brain, to some others pained, tear filled day,
then fades on the breeze.
A sun blushed child frowns through pink Brighton rock lips and eyes as blue as the sea, a secert smile is shared as if in that innocence I knew that one magic day she will run on skipping painted toes and giggles sweet to etch for him in soft blank sand her love on this dreamy day beach.
So off the sea and off the pier I strole, absorbed and lost among the tripping faced crowd,into the sun dipped west and home alone.
Yet knowing you will remain forever mine, held in crystal dimonded grains, whilst around the bitter -sweet changing tides ebb and flow
down
through
the
years.
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 1:41 AM UTC
A brightly lit room still holds darkness.
Look deeply,
Leopard like sharpness.
In a corner or behind the door.
Look closely,
Maybe under the floor.
Look high, look low.
Bring a friend,
Let the search grow.
Look to the wardrobe,
Maybe you see it.
Pressure building in your lobe.
Look under the bed,
Creepy crawlies,
Infecting your head.
Look in the closet,
Careful there I say,
Untold, unknown,
A ghoulish made deposit.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 4:43 AM UTC
I WANT TO SCREAM AT
YOUR FACE, THE SERIF SHARPNESS
OF WORDS DRAWING blood.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 5:46 AM UTC