"shrinks" poems
I can’t help how my cheeks do flare,
And my smile shrinks and shy’s,
When at me he stares,
With those naughty blue eyes,
Ice blue screams adventure in his heart,
Different shades where emotion lies,
Making me blush his untrained art,
With those naughty blue eyes,
Ice blue eyes have me intone,
I can’t help the butterflies,
From only he alone,
With those naughty blue eyes,
Ice blue eyes plead him wise,
He’s made me a klutz,
With those naughty blue eyes,
Naughty blue eyes,
That so my passion entice,
Naughty blue eyes,
You got me thinking twice,
Ice blue eyes that whispers depth,
Subtly watching me he tries,
He’s got me perplex,
With those naughty blue eyes.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 6:10 AM UTC
Why does the red tulip float?
Why does the flower shine through the window?
The warm breeze shrinks the breathtaking green.
Can't smell a flower, through a cold window.
Springs grow like warm breezes.
Courage, awakening, and blushing in the springtime,
All blossoms show strong, blooming red flowers.
God, such brilliance!
Never smell a tulip through a closed door,
Flower calmly like cotton clouds floating in the sky,
The sun paints red tulips, with an artistic brush,
Red flowers shake like misty sunrises.
Flowering warmly,
The small life calmly desires the clouds.
And reaches for the sky,
Blushing like a shy girl.
Copyright © 2016 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
Fire, water, air; are all
Elements that make man stand tall
Joy, sorrow, grief that burns
Swallows him whole as the world turns
Emotions buried within his heart
Is as marvelous as is art
His mortal body shrinks as it ages;
He does everything he can, so it manages
His blood, his brain, and all parts of his main--
The soul departs but they remain
So why after death does man not stand?
His components are there, don't misunderstand!
If you believe not in a soul beneath
What then is underneath?
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
The evolution of art never halts
Once we began dancing around fire
Our feet couldn't stop
A place in our lives
Where our subpar seeds
Could be seen as glowing trees
That's the way I feel about my poetry
It reminds me a lot of me
I reread it and rewrite it so often
By the end it seems unoriginal and plain
And all I can hope
Is the themes and ideas that were the inspirational genesis
Remain intact
Art walks a tightrope over the most unpredictable factor
The audience
They are the other half of art
Their power cannot be overstated
And as time progresses
Their power grows
And the importance of art always extends an equal distance
But the stronger art becomes
The more it asks of it's audience
In many cases
The audience is not ready to take the call
This is one of those times
Here at the current pinnacle of art
Surfing the web
A wonderful chance as
Art is a reflection of people and society
The Internet is people and society
But just as we listen to songs
To decide what concert to go to
Or watch trailers
To decide what movie to see
We like what we like
And put blinders on to find it
Like moths to fire
We could do amazing things
If we could harness the potential
Of our collective conscious
But the threat of losing our individuality
Is too great for us
Unable to accept
Our individuality is always in the context of our cosmic existence
We are part of something greater
And we can't escape that
Even in death
We feed what lies beneath
The memory of our lives
Shrinks to obscurity
The maggots that cover our corpses
Flourish to maturity
Everything this world creates is art
And we are it's most complex creation
Not necessarily the best
We just have the most parts
And the maggots that use our dead bodies for sustenance
Were once the monsters that roamed this Earth
They had no nationality
Or political affiliations
Or religion
And they're still here
Waiting to reclaim their throne
Once "smarter" species seek suicide
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 10:19 PM UTC
With a face and voice like that you’d never guess
the girl was five foot ten
she walks in and towers above the image
you expected
a girl pushing five feet, dainty, even whimsical
but surely petite
she’s far from petite
This girl sympathizes with transgender bodies
yet envies those who succeed
Hormones and knives can fix gods mistake
but nothing can fix me
so women will sit dreaming of dropping pounds
and she dreams of dropping feet
never complete
Psychs and shrinks digress this to be nothing more
than another disorder
Her views on herself are simply brushed off
as body dysmorphia
yet therapy nor pills shall shake her desire
to fix gods mistake
by freeing her soul of this giant hell hole
leaving it for someone else to take.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
Boredom comes
And boredom goes
Boredom shrinks
And boredom grows
None of you can see
What boredom knows
Can you make it through
What boredom sows
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 1:49 PM UTC
Daisies
Are quite like people
(or perhaps people are like daisies)
In full bloom in the light
But in the shade they hide away,
Wallowing in self pity.
Allowing themselves to be picked on
and trampled into a million pieces,
By letting people walk over them.
So pretty
Yet so humble,
Their beauty goes unnoticed, even by themselves.
Until one day someone treasures it
and falls hopelessly in love with the humble daisy,
Preferring it over the other daisies.
Then finally the daisy shrinks
to a tatty mess,
no longer young and beautiful-
Dead.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
my brain shrinks
at the superiority of yours
it struggles to keep up
but yours has already finished the run
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
Covering ourselves in night cream, we fight our wrinkles, and buy anything that says anti-aging.
We want our skin to stay frozen.
Frozen in a time when we didn't even appreciate the glow of young skin.
Spent our entire youth hating what we saw in the mirror and doing everything we could to keep it covered.
Under thick masks and dark outlines we tried new products, techniques, designs,
Searching for one that made us feel pretty.
We let - no - we pay doctors to stick long needles into our soft features and change them with chemicals making us less human and more plastic
and that's just our face
our bodies? we do so much worse
Starving ourselves till our heart shrinks in the only thing running through our brains is you are fat, you are fat, you are fat, and who is to blame us when everything we see is telling us to believe that
“I run so I can eat” “I work out because I love food”
These words are printed on shirts that we wear when we should feel powerful but instead send the messages that you don't deserve to eat unless you earn it
Burning every last calorie until we are empty again
We work so hard on fixing our bodies, but maybe that's not what's broken maybe the repair work is needed in our heads and in our hearts tweaking until we can find a connection of love between our bodies and our minds.
The same genuine love you have for your mom, or your dog, or your daughter
Unconditional, Everlasting,
When will we learn to love ourselves?
Oct 23, 2021
Oct 23, 2021 at 10:45 PM UTC
There isn't enough I can say about perseverance and doing what you know is right. It doesn't matter how much you want it, you want her, you want anything.
When you know it's wrong, it's wrong. Even if they define the wrong themselves.
Even if all you wanted was what you had, but for a little longer.
If it's wrong, it's wrong. It's never going to work. Even when you know the wrong is wrong itself.
So you persevere.
The days pass, and she still lives a life you wish more than anything to be a part of. And while your heart breaks even more, more than a split in two, you begin to realize, you're better off. Somehow.
You deserve better, you deserve more. Whether it be someone who's there in the morning or a person to listen to the small thoughts that eat you inside, if they weren't there, they weren't enough. She wasn't enough. You begin to realize this now, because your friends have shown you how.
So you work through it. You persevere.
And in time you realize they weren't the goddess you believed them to be but a human with more flaws than you can count. Their smile shrinks and their belly grows and you begin to see their weaknesses in every way. But you can't hate them, not yet. You want to more than anything, but hatred is an easy out. It's too easy to count.
So you persevere.
And eventually you see them, truly, for who they are. Like you, like your friends, like the family you've grown to love, they are beautifully human. And while you may never wish to speak to them again, you understand they have a heartbeat, they are alive in the rhythm of life. And in that, you are the same. And your friends try to tell you you are better, but you cannot believe them, not any longer.
Your heart may never heal as it should, may never beat as fast as it did with them beside you. You long to kiss their lips, long to hold their hand. And when you see them with another man you feel the world is above you, looking down and laughing.
But you know all this, you've seen all this. You know it gets better, someday, somehow, when you least expect it. You hold your confidence and you hold your dignity. And you refrain from calling them names.
Then the sun rises at the end of the night and you think about all the good times you had, all the memories you shared, and all the memories you could have built together. You begin to tear up inside.
And you persevere.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
Thine eyes shall see the light of distant skies:
Yet, COLE! thy heart shall bear to Europe's strand
A living image of thy native land,
Such as on thine own glorious canvas lies;
Lone lakes--savannas where the bison roves--
Rocks rich with summer garlands--solemn streams--
Skies, where the desert eagle wheels and screams--
Spring bloom and autumn blaze of boundless groves.
Fair scenes shall greet thee where thou goest--fair,
But different--everywhere the trace of men,
Paths, homes, graves, ruins, from the lowest glen
To where life shrinks from the fierce Alpine air,
Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight,
But keep that earlier, wilder image bright.
5k
At spawn of first light
Darkness embarks into the recesses of hibernation
And so begins the blinding incline,
the inevitable blonde coiled wreaths frustration is on the rise
forces a discharge so multiple and emanate,
the skyward black shrinks back
from panoptic reaches,
into a delinquent weakened rumor
When this daily task of ridding the black ends a victor
The climb continues upward in a high sky setting
Consequential over the mornings painstaking labors
Wiping from his brow,
in a waving motion
To release mists over global hydration
By welcoming this morning dew,
the earth is one more day new
and can take great relief in this rebirth
Assuring all parched famine will gain resolve
taking in their absolve
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC
There is a wildness still in England that will not feed
In cages; it shrinks away from the touch of the trainer's hand,
Easy to **** not easy to tame. It will never breed
In a zoo for the public pleasure. It will not be planned.
Do not blame us too much if we that are hedgerow folk
Cannot swell the rejoicings at this new world you make -
We, hedge-hogged as Johnson or Borrow, strange to the yoke
As Landor, surly as Cobbett (that badger), birdlike as Blake.
A new scent troubles the air -- to you, friendly perhaps
But we with animal wisdom have understood that smell.
To all our kind its message is Guns, Ferrets, and Traps,
And a Ministry gassing the little holes in which we dwell.
4.8k
The sun is shining and
moonbeams glisten through the air.
Moon, not sun.
While the sun shone
and incinerated the sloshing intestines of
vengeful beasts;
the gentle and forgiving moon
projected from their eyes and
caught the ****** maw of a starving deer.
Suitcases of leather stacked behind us
filled with spruce, pine, elm, oak, cherry.
Ready for induction t
o our paperless society
which consumes the forests of
Hippolyta and Antiope mercilessly.
Burning every leaf
then forgetting to feel
because nothing mattered.
Everything never mattered.
Facts are lie, opinion is truth.
“No one is nothing”
they shriek to the heavens
striving to be limitless
and scorning morality. Embrace death
and all its glory.
Life, while full of happiness
and gorgeous splendor,
refuses to acknowledge the
magnitude of the word. The thing.
Falling and reading and lines
and circles and explosions
and whimpers and screams. Agony suffered
silently, alone; never understood
because how could it?
What could totally encompass
the raging fire that devours the veins
and burns from the inside out
kept in place by the impenetrable
flesh that glints in the forgiving moonlight.
A hostile exterior that
smiles, waves, laughs on cue to
disguise the raging storm
fighting its way through from inside.
The shell which shrinks from the moonbeam
and into the harsh sunlight
that filters beneath the floating clouds.
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
I’ve O’D’d on Glucosamine Sulphate, so much I’m mentally scarred.
It’s escalated now I’m 70… I’ve mainlined on my Senior Railcard…
I bow down to the Norse God Voltarol… He eases all my pains…
and there’s Deep Heat, Germaloids, even Anusol for the other stresses and strains.
The wondrous Winter Fuel Allowance! That’s what lights our lamp these dark days - ahh, those twilight hours!
But after the logs, it’s not Leccy or Gas we crave? No! We buy ***** with ours…
the Whisky, Gin, ***** Wine, a drop of Brandy too. It all helps us numb the cold
whilst memories of happier times gone by - brighten up this ****** growing old.
Supplements, sterols, statins, aspirin, beta blockers… All the heart meds - life’s a battle.
In the 60s it was *** and Drugs and Rock ’n’ Roll… Now there’s less *** and a lot more rattle!
****** fails to make it now - “no more”, after the last time - she said!
These days the only thing it does is stop me rolling out of bed!
The bus pass lets me roam the world… from John O’Groats to Land’s End.
But these days I travel locally Southwick, Lancing, Steyning; oh yeh and a cousin in far Gravesend.
Further afield; abroad perhaps? Well no…Back then it was Newhaven for the Continent.
But now I’m over 70, well, it’ll just be Worthing for the INCONTINENT!
And… did I say? Not that I was ever in the habit of measuring it you understand - or straightening out the kinks
I’m pretty sure that these days - and ’no’ it’s NOT just the cold… but, your once adequate **** - it shrinks!
I'm sorry...Your ******* It ain't so long!
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
My pride, closed my mouth shut.
My pride, is wrapped in a chain towards my luck.
My pride, ripped the curtains off the wall
My pride, has me walking alone, oblivious to them all.
My pride, couldn't even make me shed a tear,
Death is real.
My pride, why couldn't I cry ?
My pride, flips a frown when I keep my head up to the sky,
My pride, shrinks my insides to dry.
My pride, sometimes, breaks my heart.
My pride, sometimes, I do not want.
My pride, kept my soul in shame.
My pride, keeps my spirit in the rain.
My pride, oh I wonder why you make me feel this way,
My pride, no matter what you say,
My pride, I will you put you aside,
And be thankful for what I have today.
©MH
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 9:15 PM UTC
Flowers in spring, me out of bed in the morning, and clean, fresh clothes. The miles in front of a long car drive, and the scenery before the eyes of the passengers. My heart in his hands, or my soul under my mother's gaze. Lawn chairs and lunches on sunny beach days with friends, when water sparkles, the sun embraces, and laughter is prince of the day. Hands held out to help those who have fallen, and vulnerability in the eyes of those accepting the offer. Music from the lips and instruments of men, then from the radio as we dance at 2 AM in the light of the TV. Romance as darkness falls, personal space shrinks, and eyes connect in intimacy. Moonlight as it peeks over a tree-capped mountain, slipping into the bedroom window from between the curtains.
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 2:16 AM UTC
I lurk on social media.
I post all day and night.
It strokes and stokes my ego
to pick a verbal fight.
When I see inspiring stories
or such videos I watch,
my cruel and vicious comments
will take them down a notch.
Oh feel my power and my wrath,
my insults, mean and shocking,
like "Loser", "Snowflake", ****** ***
(do you tremble at my mocking?)
I hate the world, I loathe myself,
my friends all went away.
Girls say I'm scary and a creep.
My rage grows every day.
My impotence consumes me,
I respond with posts of rage.
Anonymous through GMail
and my fake Facebook page.
My hatred grows as my soul shrinks
and so my spleen I vent.
Safe, deep within my bunker,
down in my mom's basement.
Apr 22, 2020
Apr 22, 2020 at 9:23 AM UTC
The road was long and rough
It was a passageway of words
A parade of letters and prose
The touch of invisible pleasure
I moulted like a snake in season
I dreamt on a cruiser of reign as we
opened my pandora box in the cave
The road was smooth and right
It was a third eye paradise of seers
A mire of misery and blowing wind
The tears flew like fireflies on heat
I met the shrinks of souls in salt bed
I waved the rain as it washed my sins
On that sight of the pandora box
The road of wrongness and rightness
It was an unfolded augury of life
An awakened sleeper roared in dreams
The days when I touched the skies
I took the broken house and mended
I saw the clouds as bright as crimson
Inside the box when I met my twin
The road of love, lust, love, longness
It was when the ember coal was wild
A blaze of soul collision and resonance
The days when doubt taunted in mazes
I wrested my mind and the heart knew
I tested the precipice and intuition led
Inside the unconditional pandora box
The road where I hid and felt alive
It was a paradise of shining trees
A place where our loneliness merged
The safest heaven on barren lands
I saw my warrior and he shielded
I sat as he ran away with fear and pride
On that very opened pandora box
The road of unforgotten forever
It was a triangulation of continents
An immersion of difference and indifference
The open table of a scarce connective mess
I shed my naive bed and hardened
I shut the wild untwisted world
On that very inevitable pandora
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 7:09 AM UTC
From the very far dark, deep and beating black,
there’s ghost breath, and blue light after,
where I un-broke myself,
next morning.
I’m under, curled to a pupil
of the bed’s eye,
so I blink the dream out.
Asleep, plants are respiring,
and the loam of their dream
is lifting, thinner.
Then the real interrupts,
erupting as a day,
and shimmering back again.
Like the shore that shares it’s time
between sand and ocean.
A fully open cup
fills up in the moment,
wherein that infinite shrinks,
and the universe grows backwards,
backwards Into,
cold coffee and dog ends.
Strange that.
It's not a nocturne,
It's an echoe of a day,
It's a memory of a memory,
It's a remora on reality.
Strange that.
why when last night,
my ashtray was full of stars.
The clock infinitely deepens
the memory of the dream.
But it’s there,
only just there.
That maybe, perhaps, dreaming of us,
somewhere in the brightest time of the night,
somewhere in sleep,
in the inbetween spaces,
somewhere there,
we left ourselves in mermaid’s purses.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 1:09 PM UTC
The air is burly
trees harvest soldiers on the line
combines, threads, manure, life--
A whole world lost amidst the flats
Saplings are the next season's
Almonds, Apples, Dates,
Waiting for food shelves and stockrooms
packed in banana boxes and given a place
They will find the plates of capitol city dwellers
They will be engorged far away from their origins
The Sierra-- oh the great plutonic mass
They are grey from age, peppered with white whiskers of snow
They are asking to be known as the interior
Pilgrims who traveled over their spines, seeking these fertile swampland
Now airstrips and dirigibles
The edges of clouds on the valley, the deserts and the mountains like folds of a book
they crackle in the sun and the skin of the earth shrinks in its gaze
Migratory birds dance in the fields, the lowly clang of bell
Bleached american flags tell us this is the land
The land of things and endless breadth
This is only California, but the majesty of it
a gem valley encased by the rocks, in silicates
A roaming place for cows, wanderers, farmers, dreams
Where the only edge of things is the mountains, saying
-Climb me, surmount me, lay me under your deeds-
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
The room is getting smaller, slowly but surely.
As the space decreases, my anxiety increases.
Every second, it shrinks a little more.
Smaller and smaller, shrinking
away until it crushes
me; turning
me into
dust
.
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
i am free like the stars and the heavens that make me be..
i am free like the blackness of night that make me see.. i am free..
i am free like the words that swim to become poems..
i am free like those people who learn to love and live in homes.. i am free..
i am free to feel and to think like those mentals who enjoi seeing shrinks..
i am free to be in pain with nothing much to gain.. i am free..
i am free to live and love again..
like the burdens that i carry knows no end.. i am free just to be.. just to be.. i am free..
i am free like when winds touch the seas to create waves..
i am free to live inside crumbling walls and live inside caves.. i am free..
i am free to write and to spit on pens and papers..
used to create isolates spaces and lie on craters.. i am free..
i am free just to be who i am.. and who i am is not as free as i want to be..
pauldeeeeee
5march2011
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 6:19 PM UTC
pap
pap
pap
I can't breath
my stomach is bubbling
like hot cheese
on an fresh oven pizza
my legs feel skinny
I want to lean into a wall
the floor looks spinny
the wainscoting is squint
my vision is blurry
because...tears?
Why is there worry
in my middle?
I feel fine,
my mind is sound
this fear isn't mine
what’s it doing here?
What is this panic?
Fight or flight I understand,
but this is plain manic.
I need to go
at top speed
or maybe hide?
Either way, be freed
from this distress.
pap
pap
pap
Push someone over,
human shield that ****
reduce my exposure
to hyperventilation.
Shallow in,
shallow out,
I feel akin
to sprinting Mufasa
Pure distress
acute discomfort,
a proper mental problem. Nonetheless,
it’s strange to foresee the diagnosis.
It’s as if I’m watching
from someone else’s skin
as alligator clamps are botching
holding my physiology in.
A sunburn on my innards,
a paperweight within
you’d think I’d feel pride
for finally having something wrong.
Hypochondria being accurate
the years of inventing doom,
suddenly isn't aberrant
those fabrications had substance.
Or maybe all these thinks
are symptoms in themselves
after sifting through piles of shrinks,
maybe I can finally get some help.
pap
pap
pap
Look at my pretty framed prescription,
doctor certified, messy handwriting,
this will take some decryption...
don’t worry, take your time,
this pathoreaction won't go away.
I’m told desolation
is a temperament set to stay
until after eighteen simple payments.
I’m inclined to reject treatment
of drugs that fiddle with the mind
I’d rather stay present,
continue inconsistency.
I would like to try narration,
see how many kilometers I can recall.
I can deal with frustration,
so let’s talk about my childhood.
Public transit without destination
sends me on a revere,
an absence of crippling desperation.
I've found peace before
it was between yellow poles,
in the outside pocket
of a backpack on parole.
It smiled at me quietly.
pap
pap
pap
Apparently, it’s the small things
that help you deal with anxiety.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 6:10 AM UTC