"shuts" poems
Donald Trump what a Chump
The name makes my blood Boil
His views remind me of
Those poor Jews when ******
Caused such Immortal coil
Trump claims to be against
Extremism yet it
Leaks through his core all the
Way to his Brittle bones
Brainwashing vulnerable;
Led to his Blood stained Throne
No blood shed yet; He speaks
Hell don't be so naive
Trump contemplated by
So many minds in this
Day and age shouldn't be
Building walls make them tall
Then what Is this the way?
Segregation, Racism
Shuts his eyes, Cover's ears
He'll not hear what we say
It's Devastating such
Man claims chance to taint our
Minds with his Bitter taste
A Catastrophe,
Shows no Diplomacy
With 'Morals' formed into
Very Strange Scary shapes
Yes, I agree Something
Needs to change but Believe
Me 'Trump' is not that Thing
Sheds empty promises
Causing controversy
With 'Peace' as the end goal
Trumps No way to begin
His Immaturity
Is so apparent that
He will ruin the world
As we know it today
I think Trump needs some help
Some Mental help to drive
All those Devils living
Within him Far away!
© Karen L Hamilton, January 2016
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
Color floods to the spot, dull purple.
The rest of the body is all washed-out,
The color of pearl.
In a pit of a rock
The sea ***** obsessively,
One hollow thw whole sea's pivot.
The size of a fly,
The doom mark
Crawls down the wall.
The heart shuts,
The sea slides back,
The mirrors are sheeted.
21.3k
627
The Tint I cannot take—is best—
The Color too remote
That I could show it in Bazaar—
A Guinea at a sight—
The fine—impalpable Array—
That swaggers on the eye
Like Cleopatra’s Company—
Repeated—in the sky—
The Moments of Dominion
That happen on the Soul
And leave it with a Discontent
Too exquisite—to tell—
The eager look—on Landscapes—
As if they just repressed
Some Secret—that was pushing
Like Chariots—in the Vest—
The Pleading of the Summer—
That other Prank—of Snow—
That Cushions Mystery with Tulle,
For fear the Squirrels—know.
Their Graspless manners—mock us—
Until the Cheated Eye
Shuts arrogantly—in the Grave—
Another way—to see—
18.5k
why do you act like hamlet,
all depressed and grieved,
for your own heart shuts me out,
and it's you who's deceived?
when did you think like othello,
murderous and violent,
irrational with decisions,
making me suffer with guilty silence?
how did you turn into macbeth,
from the silky words that grace your lips,
to the venomous fangs you bit back at me,
stinging like burning, sharp whips?
because i thought you were romeo,
with your adventurous soul and romantic antics.
now you've faded away,
with all your heroic tactics.
wherefore art thou, romeo?
don't call me juliet,
if i'm just another rosaline.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
i.
not bad,
i commented to myself as i watched you do your thing
for the first time ever ;
not bad was my way to say
extraordinary
still is today
i have standards, you see and —
well...
they were met when i
heard you say,
"that's only half what
i can do."
let's get this straight:
i was the best at what i do until
you came around ;
it's not like i'm mad though —
quite the opposite
in fact.
ii.
here's something else:
i have always liked the way your eyes
shot daggers
even when you were smiling ;
a death stare, they named it and, you know,
i won't call them wrong —
i'm rather fluent with the concepts of
death
and staring myself, after all.
ah,
do you remember?
when we spoke to each other —
it was always a sparring of
eyes
rather than words.
iii.
a fact:
you have been called cold
more often than
you have been called pleasant ;
i know —
it's not like you'd disagree
not like you'd be stupid enough to
deny ;
cold is a comfortable shadow
to hide in,
something people like us
wear as a coat or
a scarf
from july to june.
now,
there's this saying that the addition of
two negative objects
turns them a positive
result ;
i'm not much of a scholar so, honey,
what's on your mind?
iv.
i get it now,
if i'm propellers
you are wings —
rather than a mirror, we're
distorted reflects
a thing evolution knows
a great deal about ;
this yearning is the aspect of you
i'd wish to keep
bottled up ;
"what for?" you'd ask.
no,
yearning is not a thing
i'm a stranger to ;
i've yearned for many things including
strength
sleep
serotonin
and you —
i've been struggling
to make them mine, though
perhaps because i'm never really trying.
v.
that's how you do it:
you take what you want with
clawed hands
accomplish miracles with
thunderous silence —
an entity of cruel fairness,
icy anger but —
what you want is a complicated
thing
with definite shape to your eyes
but blurry to those of
others.
okay,
i'm neither believer nor seer but
here's a little prediction :
the day you are satisfied is the day
hellmouth
shuts down upon us all and
half of me
prays for it.
vi.
about extremes —
some will say grey is a better shade and
though i confess
it does have its charms,
it still has to paint me a picture more striking
than a soul with
adamentine purpose.
see —
i stare as you pass by,
terrific in beauty
beautiful in hardness and
off —
goes my heart, sanity, ego
and shirt.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
The smile of iceboxes annihilates me.
Such blue currents in the veins of my loved one!
I hear her great heart purr.
From her lips ampersands and percent signs
Exit like kisses.
It is Monday in her mind: morals
Launder and present themselves.
What am I to make of these contradictions?
I wear white cuffs, I bow.
Is this love then, this red material
Issuing from the steele needle that flies so blindingly?
It will make little dresses and coats,
It will cover a dynasty.
How her body opens and shuts --
A Swiss watch, jeweled in the hinges!
O heart, such disorganization!
The stars are flashing like terrible numerals.
ABC, her eyelids say.
11k
I was never looking into you
I was only pouring an image of myself onto your canvas
Of course I didn’t know
it was me looking into me
this was the mirage of my desire
always in the shape of a question mark
and you
a sweeping mystery
oozing something toeing the peculiar line between *** and titanium (cold, edgy, sharp - trembling
between pain and principle
like blazer and tie
or more like halfway-unbuttoned-shirt-and-slacks on-with-no-tie
(it was like you were making an effort!))
It was ***
but it also wasn’t ***
(I am empty
I am full)
I keep building up and up and up
all these images in my Mind
(which never shuts up)
(a never-ending narrative
She spins and spins and succumbs
only in those rare and passing circumstances)
constructing people like buildings
only the scaffolding is imaginary and when
the architecture folds in on itself
soulless
and my beloved figurines come toppling down on me
why do I still get so surprised
so stung
so lonely in that
hollow and distant way
(like your Mind is echoing
in on
Itself)?
My Mind is like quicksand
devouring streams of memory with ease
forever unsatisfied and craving more of the same
sharp edges and all
praying for a satiation in some distant future
She knows will never come
Only here
in this tiny universe
can I spell out anything resembling rationality
from the mess and junk and tangled tendrils of my Mind
Only here
can I extract bits and pieces of thoughts
and try to puzzle them together
until they make sense
until I can separate “Me” from “Reality"
And what doesn’t make sense
what I need to understand
is why I feel so beset
with this heavy magnetism that
overpowers me to the point of
paralysis
(with little to no room for breathing)
and why it was you
who pushed me into this feeling
and you
who is still pulling me along
far past the threshold of my resistance
and I am done
and it stings
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC
stumbling home
in the evening
with my breath
smelling of cheap beer
and cigarettes;
people worry,
I tell them not to;
I do this for me,
not for attention
or sympathy,
I do this to feel
more alive,
because I feel so
dead inside
and my thoughts
are racing;
drinking shuts them up
for a couple of hours
and I feel better;
I feel sick,
but I also feel
great,
like I can do anything;
like nothing can hurt me;
is this what death
tastes like?
god,
I hope so
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 12:47 PM UTC
*The dark sets in
Her mind is calm,
She sheds the skin
Of social harm.
Her heart beats slow
Then picks up the pace,
No longer below,
Peculiar grace.
A falling crown
But safer now,
A crippled heart,
But not to drown.
No more cries
No tears of pain,
Only joy
And wild rain.
She shuts her eyes
And breaks away
From all the lies,
A diamond ray.
No more burning
In her soul,
No more hurting,
Lips unsewn.
A beautiful aura
Of dark and light,
The night will fade
Into the bright.
Her heart lights up
With ecstasy,
Happy, although
A tragic story.
The true meaning
Of being sad,
Lips grinning,
But not glad.
A peek of sun rays
Through the curtain,
A blinding haze,
A painful burden.
She doesn't want
The happy to end,
But in the daylight
She has to bend.
Monstrous faces
Without a smile,
Hunger that chases
Till the last dime.
The day drags on,
A hurting stab,
Her life is a storm
Without a God.
No rainbow or sunshine
In the light,
But colours so vivid
Through the night.*
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
Sometimes during class my brain shuts down
and I keep trying and slaving over these numbers
Unfortunately, these equations jumble themselves in my head,
jamming up the gears and halting all progress
This is how far I was able to work today
until my mind jumped off a bridge and now I'm drowning in a pool of
"WHY AM I SO DUMB?"
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 10:29 PM UTC
You are only happy
When the door of opportunity
Sits wide open,
With signs telling you
How to pass through
You are hopeless,
When the door is open,
But you can't find it
You are angry
When you can find the door
But it is locked
You are sad
When someone shuts the door
Right in your face
You are anxious
When you see the door
But are too scared to go through
You are depressed
When you lie by the door
But lack the energy to get up
And go through
This is why
Happiness
Is so hard to achieve
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
a kiss feels like that smile you have when you first wake up
it brightens up every dark corner of my heart
a kiss feels like a fight over who has to take out the trash
it shuts up every word
a kiss feels like the words you whisper in my ear late at night
it brings me closer and closer to the new beginnings of us
a kiss feels like your hands, your arms, your legs, your tummy, your *** your everything.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
I stand on the scale
I look at the number
I'm fat
I way over 140lbs
What am I doing wrong?
I barely eat anything
She steps off the scale
Walks over to the counter
And opens the cupboard
Peanut butter
She untwists the twisty ties
Grabs two pieces of white bread
Places them in the toaster slots
Pulls down the lever
For ten seconds
Pulls it up
Pulls it down
Waits ten more seconds
Pulls it up
Takes it out
Spreads the peanutty butter across the crisp edges
Starts eating it
Nom nom nom
Her dog moves close to the counter
And begs
She walks away
Drops a few crumbs
And the dog eats it up
And follows her into the living room
And looks up
Nom nom nom nom
She just looks at the dog
Puts her bare foot against his nose
Which is cold
And the dog doesn't even move
Sticks his tongue outside his mouth
And breathes quickly
Stupid
She puts her foot back down
And moves it against the rug a few times
Then walks into the kitchen
And opens a bag
Of salt and vinegar chips
Starts eating them
Nom nom nom nom
Dog catches the crumbs and slides against the kitchen floor
She walks back upstairs
And the dog follows her
To her room
She shuts the door
And the dog starts scratching through the bottom
And barks
She just lays in her bed
Eating
The dog barks again
She opens the door
And pushes him
With her right foot
Down the stairs
He tumbles down the stairs and hits the kitchen floor
He races back up
Gets pushed back down
Dog runs away
She walks towards the bathroom
And uses the other scale
And she sees that it says 141 lbs
I've only been eating for a few minutes
Errrr
She closes the bag of chips
And stomps downstairs
And places the bag on the counter
Dog waits in the living room
Right next to the kitchen
His food bowl is empty
No water
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
After the wolves and before the elms
the bardic order ended in Ireland.
Only a few remained to continue
a dead art in a dying land:
This is a man
on the road from Youghal to Cahirmoyle.
He has no comfort, no food and no future.
He has no fire to recite his friendless measures by.
His riddles and flatteries will have no reward.
His patrons sheath their swords in Flanders and Madrid.
Reader of poems, lover of poetry—
in case you thought this was a gentle art
follow this man on a moonless night
to the wretched bed he will have to make:
The Gaelic world stretches out under a hawthorn tree
and burns in the rain. This is its home,
its last frail shelter. All of it—
Limerick, the Wild Geese and what went before—
falters into cadence before he sleeps:
He shuts his eyes. Darkness falls on it.
6k
A paper with ink that every student hates to do
It’s so annoying when you cant get it
because the teacher didn’t explain to you how to do it so you don’t get it,
but the smart girl in your class said every one gets it,
so the teacher shuts up, but on the inside you want to turn around and scream
“No ones as smart as you!”
but you don’t because you don’t want to be a bother,
but as you sit in your bed you think what the frig
I should have asked,
but in stead of doing my homework I go on something called Facebook
where everyone writes about other people and there problems there having
that no one in the world seriously cares about
so you scroll till you see a fight that is pretty pointless,
but you still get the popcorn and read everything they said
because its better then doing any thing else,
but you see that girl that deals with anorexia
and start to think why does she do that to herself she’s skinny,
I know the mirror can be cruel sometimes,
but she’s beautiful,
she may look unhealthy
and in science instead of looking at the skeleton you look at her
because you can see every bone in her body
because the words people say affected her,
she was healthy,
but people think you need to be **** perfect to be friends or just for them to like you, so she carries this thing that eats her on the inside in pain
with the words that are whispering in the halls,
but then she has that one friend that doesn’t help
she’s to busy wishing for selfish things and too blind to see her friend is dying in front of her,
but instead of saving her she’s wishing for everything
like that new car
and losing weight
and her hair to be longer
and what outfit she’s going to wear tomorrow to impress that guy she has a crush on
and the girl thats been neglected by everyone and everything next to her in the mirror hearing her rant on and on about this she’s wishing I want to be like her,
I want someone to love me like that,
I want friends she always says
I want and I bet it’s the girl in the back of the classroom,
that shy one that sits alone at lunch time
looking around hoping someone will come sit with her
and want to be friends
but it doesn’t happen because everyones too selfish in there own worries and problem to notice their fellow classmates could be crying out for help in front of you but you don’t care because your stuff is to important to help someone else.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:24 AM UTC
I’ve never understood the pull of the nightlife.
I was always content to hang in my cave and enjoy the homelife.
Every now and then I do wag my tail and purse the trail of the pack,
Always lingering right at the back of the queue.
I follow their scent when they descend into the night,
While they ascend the social status stairway.
From my perch at the bar I watch the social sheep dancing to the beat of popularity:
The girls show off their twirls and brunette curls,
Inviting you into the funhouse down under that never shuts for festivities.
The boys weigh up their options with the biceps on display and perfect quiffs held up by ten tins of hairspray.
Hunting through the flocks of feet trying to find themselves a piece of meat for an all night feast.
When he finally finds his muse he bites her lip and grabs her hair, pulling her in without a care about those who stop and stare.
They kiss for seconds and he whispers in here ear,
“I think we should get outta’ here.”
She giggles grabs his hand and leaves through the exit at the rear.
His friends give him a clap and cheer, whilst his jealous rivals sulk and sneer.
After a few too many drinks I leave through the front, holding my head low to avoid a fight.
Bearing the brunt of another unsuccessful night with no young light to take home and ignite.
I fall on my floor with a case of helicopter head as the room spins in circles and squares in front of my eyes.
My lasting thoughts are of the day ahead; hanging dry and feeling as if I’d rather die.
It's just another day in my nightlife.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
she runs up to her room and shuts the door.
she cries blood and tears
because home doesn't feel like home anymore.
she's no longer yelled at to do chores,
something her mother used to do to her,
but without it home doesn't feel like home anymore.
she finds her father's jokes a bore,
and though he tries, she doesn't laugh
because home doesn't feel like home anymore.
she has anxiety that shakes her to the core
and she fears it's getting worse
because home doesn't feel like home anymore.
she's always in her room because she feels ignored.
without her mother there to keep her company,
home doesn't feel like home anymore.
she's fallen hard for a girl she adores
and the rejection by her father when she told him
made her realize that home doesn't feel like home anymore.
she feels lost, sees nothing more to live for.
you can try convincing her, but it probably won't work
because home doesn't feel like home anymore.
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 8:45 AM UTC
Darkness seeps between my fingertips
Even when my hands are clutched to my face as tightly as I can when I am crying alone
Fingernails digging into my skin
To remind myself that it is real
Sleeves pulled over my fingertips
So no one is forced to see the hideous things
Especially me
The way a murderer's mother shuts her son's old bedroom door at night when he has been jailed
To shut out the memories
Concealing what is unpleasant
At night I don't wear makeup
So when I wake up at 2AM to use the washroom
I keep the lights off
And fumble blindly through the black air to find the door handle
So I don't have to look at myself
It's getting worse everyday
A new kind of pain
And I don't understand
Why it hurts so much
But I think I'm going to stop telling people about it
I'm going to stop mentioning it no matter how much it hurts
I'm going to stop being self-deprecating in public
Because it just comes across vain, self-pitying, annoying, attention-seeking and fake
I want people to stop telling me I'm pretty
I want them to stop lying to me
Even if it just to spare my feelings
So I will stop putting them in situations
Where they must lie to me to be polite
I'm just going to be silent now
They already have to know how ugly I am on the outside
No one needs to know
What an ugly mind I have
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC
Come and let us live my Dear,
Let us love and never fear,
What the sourest Fathers say:
Brightest Sol that dies today
Lives again as blithe tomorrow,
But if we dark sons of sorrow
Set; o then, how long a Night
Shuts the Eyes of our short light!
Then let amorous kisses dwell
On our lips, begin to tell
A Thousand, and a Hundred, score
An Hundred, and a Thousand more,
Till another Thousand smother
That, and that wipe off another.
Thus at last when we have numb’red
Many a Thousand, many a Hundred;
We’ll confound the reckoning quite,
And lose ourselves in wild delight:
While our joys so multiply,
As shall mock the envious eye.
4.2k
Wake up
Wash up
Cook
Clean up
Attend class
Scribble notes
Speak up
And eat up
Organize
Sweep
And mop
Repeat as needed
Oh, monotony
You have found me
With your best friend,
Exhaustion
You killed my will to live
Imagination, all gone
Muscle memory keeps me going
Oxygen gives my heart a beat
I may as well be dead
My mind shuts off
The noises all gone
And good ol' monotony comes up to play.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 10:10 AM UTC
come closer.
I won’t waste breath on lullabies.
I’ve gnawed the years,
spat blood and marrow.
If you want the taste,
the true taste,
take it alone.
Drink alone.
Stagger the road alone.
Laugh till your ribs split—alone.
Howl till your lungs tear—alone.
And when sin claws your door,
let it in,
alone.
Alone is the blade.
Alone is the wound.
Alone is the grave.
Guard your fire,
your shame,
your cursed name.
No one carries it for you.
No one shares the dirt.
When the earth shuts its jaw,
it swallows each skull
alone.
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 8:28 PM UTC
my mind is a festival
my mind is a party
my mind is a circus
my mind is a wonderland
my mind contains all inner jokes
and smiles that become laughter
my mind is a journal
my mind is a filter
my mind is a river
my mind is an attic
my mind brings back memories
both good and bad
and times of days past
my mind is a prison
my mind is a vault
my mind is a trap
my mind is an escape...
my mind is never quiet
never shuts up
never stops thinking
and yet
very little gets out
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 12:20 AM UTC
theres nothing i like more a wonderous site to see
i like to see the squirrel jump from tree to tree
jumping between the branches never ever still
bouncing in and out using so much skill
keeping so much balance he does it all with ease
making it look easy on his own trapeze.
then climbs in a hole that is very deep
shuts his little eyes then off he goes to sleep.
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 12:12 PM UTC