"specie" poems
Is it stupid of me to like
A person like you
Is it stupid of me to think
You would change
But I guess we’re both stupid
I can’t believe the rush I felt
When you talked to me
Who would've known
It was that easy
But I remembered what you did
I can recall my tear stained face
And all the things you said
Is on repeat
But you’re so sweet
Worrying about me
And so dumb
To think I would leave
I don’t think you really know me
If you do, what were you thinking
I don’t let go that easily
Especially since you mean so much to me
And now I sit cold and afraid
Of what might happen
But then again, I’ve been through this before
Again and again
I don’t care
Can’t you see?
All I want to do
Is to speak to you
Talk to you, love you
Without worrying
That you’ll just leave me
Hanging there
This is the 21st century
Martyrs don’t exist
You might be the last of your specie
A love martyr
Don’t you know
What I need
Is not your protection
But your presence
Sadly, I can’t do anything
You've made up your mind
And I’ll accept that wholeheartedly
But don’t be surprised if I’m gone
You got what you want
And I’m gone.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 8:10 AM UTC
I am a choice
We all are actually..
Even the tiniest specie
But I've always wondered though
Why are there second, third, or so?
We will feel much better if it's not like that
Every one of us would appreciate that a lot
I am a last choice living proof...
Not even second,
Always the last
In the meantime
I just hope everything would pass
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 8:00 AM UTC
Manila is beautiful at night,
Seen from overhead, high above rainclouds in the night sky
with a tantalizing view of car exhaust and the debris of broken dreams
Manila is beautiful at night.
It comes and goes like a shadow in flickering light.
At first, it hides behind wispy rain clouds, playful as a child hiding in his mother's skirt.
If you look closely, it's lights glisten-- golden and teasing
It's incessant winking, an almost promise of what's to come
From your aerial vantage point, you wonder:
"This is what it must be like to be an Angel when they fly"
Below the city, with all it's secrets, sprawls like a handful:
A rich lady's heirloom diamonds, thrown carelessly on a ***** floor.
It will somehow remind you of a creature: perhaps human, or Leviathan in it's wake
Cities, after all, are their own specie of living things
At first it is looks like a Brain, with neurons and synapses electric and active
Certain spots of the city: mall compelexes and large parking lots, like the nuclei of a brain cell
the roads that lead to and fro, the cars zipping up and down in red and yellow lines
remind you of dendrites and axons, stretching far
They communicate with each other in their own language; a code
Your imagination runs wild with untamed fantasy
On next glance, it looks like a heart.
The whole city pulses magnificently in unison it seems.
Thud, thud. Thud, thud. You feel it?
Your heart follows it's tantalizing rhythmic pattern, it's muscle beats
Though and through the city pumps it's lifeblood into each nook and cranny
Oh how it entices your passion so.
At last you seem to hear it breathing.
Listen closely and hear Manila inhale and exhale in steady tunes
Inhale, and exhale-- a silence comes over you,
And it's strangely reminiscent of amazement, excitement and bitter fear
Your ears dull and you listen to the rush of air in your lungs,
the deep drum bass of the pounding of your heart
the dizzying feeling that exists in your brain
Manila really is beautiful at night.
In the shroud of darkness, it rises from slumber;
Vivacious and lovely, it's seductive and free
Manila is lovely. Manila is a woman, as it should be.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
Animals that have one soul, but two faces
Animals that hide themselves in lies and insecurities
Animals that like to overcomplicate life
Animals that will assault each other with words
Animals that have prides, but act alone
Animals that discriminate on each others individualities
Animals that will **** each other of a matter of ideals
This specie is suicidal
They do not deserve to share the Earth with the other creatures
They build and build only for it to be destroyed
One step forward and two steps back
We repeat history, never learning
We may as well call ourselves Chaos and Insanity
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
they say we are all made up of stardust;
an evolved specie from the distant galaxies.
but I think you're a genetic mutation,
an incomplete evolution
for I could still see the stars
reflected on your skin
dancing through your fingertips
and swimming in your eyes.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 3:11 AM UTC
To my best friend who's as good as a stranger now
I wonder what brings us together again
After you left w/o words nor smile or wave goodbye
We meet again today
But you'e cold as ice
Where did my bestfriend go?
Her looks that see me trough as if I'm not in front of her
Her distant gazes
Her words that speak her voice
Her voice that speak her mind
Her mind that's different from what she is before
My Bestfriend, the specie I can't define
We meet again today
Only to bring the pain of the past
You're leaving yet again
This time no turning back
I hope you remember at least our friendship
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 8:21 AM UTC
“Words are beautiful, but emotion is divine” (patty m)
~these are the divine words of a beautiful soul, patty m~
this Missouri grandmother writes and I am willfully, duty-bound,
to comply for she commissions a poem with every insightful pithy and
ever one of her dear hugs, of which these is no limit and each one a treasure of a gratitude that flows contra-directionally, surpassing given-grace and lawful gravity, for all of her words flow simultaneously north and south, heavenwards, and earth planted, east / west, magnetic poles attracting divinity wherever it can be found
and all I can do is proffer
just one more only love poem, which is the blessing and the curse the lord blessed me with, love is beautiful and it is divinely originated in each of our humble hearts, plucked from trees and fed to us wherever fruit of the fields grows, shaped like sweet and **** berries…not all that is divine, of necessity to be beautiful, words, them too, a mixed blessing, vulnerable and subject by the abuse of human weakness and fragility…but this much I assure myself with confidence,
and you too,
her words, well,
limitless, her every poem is hand woven, unhid, in the fooling
plain earthenware that the potter’s wheel created,
all gifts to each of us;
*But my fragility mandates I speak slow and hesitantly of things beautiful that contain the white glow sparkler light of divinity, for I have attracted and deserved many failures, far greater than the rarer success, so my knowledge yet oft suspect, is mostly merely well imagined but know this:
her skill,
her expertise
her intimate comprehension
within the beautiful and divine expressions of her kind appreciation she deigns to share…words like a mighty, beautiful like a powerful Missouri river, driven by all specie of love…but none more powerful, more divine than that of a loving womanly grandmother*
this, yes, only a love poem to be sure,
for the beautiful,
The Divine Miss (Patty) M.
Jul 24, 2023
Jul 24, 2023 at 5:44 PM UTC
A man's pet
is a female dog
Outing with others,
is a specie of fox,
Every day night.
A man is worrying,
and, fumbling in the
darkness of a night.
Looking for his cutest,
is a beautiful *****
.............
Jul 17, 2020
Jul 17, 2020 at 4:55 AM UTC
An old man cries in a home
Bleeding all alone
Young plays in the woods
There'll be no dawn
A monster hides inside a man
Whispering for a lost cause
Beauty lay dead and cold
Covered by the moss
Sin looks for ugly
Creed Is his greed
A saint preaches words
And words breed
An army of cold eyes
Marching on every night
Breaking every wall
That stands against its might
An island engulfed in flames
Oh , water so nigh
Tears lost to an ocean
Can't even cry
No bird without wings
Dosent matter if one can fly
You can fly in your dreams
Dosent meant you can fly
And kiss goodbye
All hope is lost
And now it's time to die
Without a fight
Only the forgotten tries
A home broken and ruined
By the years and cold
Outlived the ones who lived
And lost its soul
Dragons fly in yesterday's
Tommorow is for man
Stories written and lost
Stories he didn't understand
History is a mystery
Not knowing a misery
Hidden but still free
Beauty is so ugly
And ugly so faithful
Better friend than foe
Young is so fast
And the old so slow
But where did the young go
Without a direction he runs
Old sits back and enjoys
The warmth of the fading sun
And can guns Destroy
If its not for the man
Man in ocean , man on moon
There isn't a place where he didn't stand
And whisper his hatred
While holding a gun naked
And ghosts hoot for the mother earth
In a hope she'll make it
But stranger knows she's already dead
God knows 'cause he's in his head
Animals can't know for they're too bored
But science knows she's not dead but just unwell
From a bad disease
Called human specie
And when he's destroyed
She can re-grow freely
And the old sings the songs
Few words for his legacy
About the green and old mountains
That the young did not see
They left nothing for the young
Now that the old songs been sung
Lets all get numb and dumb
And **** for fun
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC
Quando tra estreme ombre profonda
in aperti paesi l'estate
rapisce il canto agli armenti
e la memoria dei pastori e ovunque tace
la secreta alacrità delle specie,
i nascituri avvallano
nella dolce volontà delle madri
e preme i rami dei colli e le pianure
aride il progressivo esser dei frutti.
Sulla terra accadono senza luogo,
senza perché le indelebili
verità, in quel soffio ove affondan
leggere il peso le fronde
le navi inclinano il fianco
e l'ansia dè naviganti a strane coste,
il suono d'ogni voce
perde sé nel suo grembo, al mare al vento.
1.6k
Il manicomio è una grande cassa
con atmosfere di suono
e il delirio diventa specie,
l'anonimità misura,
il manicomio è il monte Sinai
luogo maledetto
sopra cui tu ricevi
le tavole di una legge
agli uomini sconosciuta.
1.4k
Great collision you bring inside my mind
Like a comet landed all over my domain
Endangered specie, you're so hard to find
Missing you makes me want to shout your name.
Memories we share, I always treasure
But meant to be buried down the ground
And dig up just to seek pleasure
Missing you makes me wonder in every sound.
Phenomenon, I carved at that evergreen tree
In a peaceful land, noise has been slain
While drinking a Japanese green tea
Missing you gives me emotional pain
Should have cease and execute these butterflies
Instead of wanting you back, I beg on my knees
Should decipher closely, going to finish this wise
Missing you is like looking for a lost puzzle piece.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 6:02 AM UTC
Cara beltà che amore
Lunge m'inspiri o nascondendo il viso,
Fuor se nel sonno il core
Ombra diva mi scuoti,
O nè campi ove splenda
Più vago il giorno e di natura il riso;
Forse tu l'innocente
Secol beasti che dall'oro ha nome,
Or leve intra la gente
Anima voli? O te la sorte avara
Ch'a noi t'asconde, agli avvenir prepara?
Viva mirarti omai
Nulla spene m'avanza;
S'allor non fosse, allor che ignudo e solo
Per novo calle a peregrina stanza
Verrà lo spirto mio. Già sul novello
Aprir di mia giornata incerta e bruna,
Te viatrice in questo arido suolo
Io mi pensai. Ma non è cosa in terra
Che ti somigli; e s'anco pari alcuna
Ti fosse al volto, agli atti, alla favella,
Saria, così conforme, assai men bella.
Fra cotanto dolore
Quanto all'umana età propose il fato,
Se vera e quale il mio pensier ti pinge,
Alcun t'amasse in terra, a lui pur fora
Questo viver beato:
E ben chiaro vegg'io siccome ancora
Seguir loda e virtù qual nè prim'anni
L'amor tuo mi farebbe. Or non aggiunse
Il ciel nullo conforto ai nostri affanni;
E teco la mortal vita saria
Simile a quella che nel cielo india.
Per le valli, ove suona
Del faticoso agricoltore il canto,
Ed io seggo e mi lagno
Del giovanile error che m'abbandona;
E per li poggi, ov'io rimembro e piagno
I perduti desiri, e la perduta
Speme dè giorni miei; di te pensando,
A palpitar mi sveglio. E potess'io,
Nel secol tetro e in questo aer nefando,
L'alta specie serbar; che dell'imago,
Poi che del ver m'è tolto, assai m'appago.
Se dell'eterne idee
L'una sei tu, cui di sensibil forma
Sdegni l'eterno senno esser vestita,
E fra caduche spoglie
Provar gli affanni di funerea vita;
O s'altra terra nè superni giri
Frà mondi innumerabili t'accoglie,
E più vaga del Sol prossima stella
T'irraggia, e più benigno etere spiri;
Di qua dove son gli anni infausti e brevi,
Questo d'ignoto amante inno ricevi.
1.4k
What Will Happen If
01/27/2019
The Human specie disappeared
The earth will still revolve around its axis
Causing day and night on its surface
The planet will still elliptically circle the sun
Causing the seasons, life's nourishment
The rain will still fall, and the rivers flow
The plants will still grow and fruit and flower
The birds will still sing, and the insects hum
Mammals and the animals will still roam amid
The forests that will still lushly cover the land
The oceans, where the life began, will churn
Continuing with its amazing eco system
Of abundant blue green algae, krill and coral
Teaming with microbes, fish and mammals
Life will continue to evolve with each passing day
Causing birth and rebirth and survival above all
And upon extinction of one, others will be born
Alas! The annihilator, we humans are still here
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 11:45 AM UTC
#*Unbeknownst to the human eye
The tiny frog, lived in the forest, anonymously free
Dewy, evergreen its home
Its existence it knew
In its ecosystem
It grew
Caught unaware
It landed onto the palm
No not the leaf
And that’s when the discovery
Made news
Until then it lived
And so did its ancestors
Free
Of speculations
Unbothered
By its size
Until it was
Branded
A new specie
The human
Classified*#
Apr 29, 2025
Apr 29, 2025 at 2:39 AM UTC
Vignettes
every read is not a feather
but a fearsome weight,
every poem~repast unique.
the desert,
toujours la même chose,
always the same thing,
self~loathing,
for now
thy questioning overwhelms you:
now what, what's next, what's left?
~~~
French bread speaks only in one tongue:
the earthy brown crust language of
soil and sun, announcing I am the flavor,
white flour is but a process
~~~
when the
breadwinner
can no longer provide,
he suffers twice:
once,
the hunger pains he inflicts,
felt more keenly,
then again,
for the dishonorific the world
does crown him,
man of no value,
bread-loser
~
my favorite raindrop is
the one that lands on my
nose and rolls slow
onto to my tongue:
a nose drop twofer!
~
all art begins with stimulus.
stimulus breaks the comfort of habit.
habit is the blackout shade
that strains out the light of creation
~
no two dancers will dance
the same choreography
exactly the same way,
no two poets will employ
the same words
exactly the same way,
the small differences
are the heart of the origins of our specie,
great art,
Vive la difference!
~
Let us give our worst performance,
Write our worst essay,
If it pleases but one,
Its success makes the great ones tremble
with envy
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
A lost specie of youth
Her hands calloused before birth
She became a withering dream
Destined to be played by a propagandist's tongue.
Child round her thigh
Her veins still cry for justice
In the form of New York's
Impure snow.
Blood shot and restless
Torn and corrupt
Young and yet old
Fixed yet disrupt
She'll walk amongst the streets
Chameleon by emotion
She'll wear a carved smile
She'll respond: "I'm fine."
- N.C
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 7:14 AM UTC
Sometimes I feel her creep the edge of sleep
Where the city is burning,
I dream her mouthful of ashes.
I taste her starfish nova against the tide.
Her body is a book of matches;
Mine, a text, highlighted and underlined.
She weeps the sea-scuttle into an undertow.
Her fulsome wing, span of nightshade,
Weight-casts the lure to take flight,
Carrying her two shadows into the valley.
He says: *Yes, I live in paradise.
The red tide is mine.
The bioluminescent. The drowned,
The ungainly specie God has set aside.*
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
"When the pious Cabbalist Rabbi Simon ben Jochai came to die, his friends said that he was celebrating his wedding." — C. G. Jung
I loved away my youth,
Mistook passion for a truth
By which one's will is lead.
The journey of the "dead"
Replaced my singular life,
And Death became my wife.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 3:29 PM UTC
I see myself as emotionally damaged, soul damaged.
Selfish, Clingy, Miserable, unnecessary baggage.
I get these emotions and questions randomly.
I wonder if you forgot, or if i'm just too clingy.
I ask myself a question, my answers always blame,
but is it me? Am I just too confident to take the shame?
I wonder how you talk to me, what do you want with a girl like me?
I wonder how these people deal with a child like me.
wanting so much from the world, everything perfect,
spoiled little brat! why are you dumb! you haven't worked to deserve it.
You knew she was going to have a high chest!
I blame you! myself! for not being the best.
Why didn't you come back the same time, did you forget!?
do you get tired of talking to me, did you forget?
maybe i'm not your girl, i'm too messed up, greedy for the attention,
I forget you have a life too, looking for love you mentioned.
Popularity, Wealth, Branded Cars, A money Making job, A movie husband are all the things I've wished for.
To be liked by everyone, respected, looked high upon, smart, rich, beautiful, I want more.
Insatiable specie, what do you deserve, want nothing good, nothing bad, why cant you be normal!
OK
OK
I despise the word, it breaks my train of thought, my vibes.
you say it, ill only say it back, it might not have much of an effect on you. To be queen perfect I try.
You need someone who stays normal. I have my random behaviors,
all I really want is for you to play the script right, go on with the routine, tell me how wrong I am, be the...
Too strong of a praise. Only God can get, I deny I pushed him away, forgive the lost one I beg.
Soul surgery, I need to be fixed.
fixed so I can stop worrying, dreaming, failing.
All have been the battery that keeps me going, gives me power, i'm paling
dreams, failure, something I avoid, because both are related some how.
Failure, is your dreams crushed, and you dream not to be a failure.
Sometimes you wake up.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
Have you ever thought why people say, "I am one with the sky," or "Flowers are the best gifts for occasions"? I have a theory. A theory on simplicity, on matter and on souls. I think our souls are made up of matter which is simple and undefined. To put it simply, our souls are made up of many things. Many simple things.
Maybe that's why we feel comfortable, we love the most, and we accept things as they are, even the most plain ones. The simplest things, which stir the deepest and heaviest parts of our souls, matter the most. Our souls are consciously and unconsciously attracted to those things which widen and deepen our existence and the search of its meaning.
Whether it's holding the hand of the one we love or staring into their eyes; gazing at the celestial moving bodies above; watching a sprout grow out below; betiing which raindrop would win the race down a window pane; smelling the earth's freshness and the sea's salty breath; catching a whiff of freshly brewed coffee or tea; finding out the hidden meaning behind every flower specie; a friend's embrace or a stranger's courtesy. Even the most mechanical yet natural thing-- sleep-- we appreciate it all.
It's these things which awaken us to love and feel grateful, all the more. We know these little things belong to the simple matter that makes up our souls, and vice versa-- we belong to them; we are home with them. And it's by these little things which prove that the simplest can make a soul feel the greatest.
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 4:50 AM UTC
I'm a rat inside a cage, struggling to escape;
Unless my body turns cold, they'll not let me out nor let me plead my health.
Squeaking loudly, calling for help, but they just can't
— If they go out from their hiding place, they'll reach the same ending as I am.
A specie that almost everyone hated— rats,
A four legged warm-blooded mammal hiding behind walls or below the stones;
Stealthily looks for something to eat: anything even a false meat
As long as there's something that can fill their empty stomachs.
Although I saw countless of my kin dying, not returning home
To our haven with a safety of a hundred percent unsure,
We still go out during the night, battling with the phantoms in the territory,
We both are seekers, the only difference— humans and food.
My father sacrificed himself by climbing the thin wire and fell;
My mother sacrificed herself by climbing the fence and had been stabbed;
My brother was just eating when a wild dog caught him;
And now I'm imprisoned in this cage where I thought human will feed me.
The world has turn its back on us,
Now I'm here, dying for something I wanted to ask:
“Were we made by just one God?
Or were we only here to suffer on this land?”
The night comes once again and stars filled the sky,
I'm breathing heavily, I wanted to cry.
But my tears dry before it can even fall
Until I heard ‘someone’ weeping with a hopeless call.
“We both are one, being imprisoned in a cage;
You're in the mirror while I'm in the reality.
Dec 21, 2020
Dec 21, 2020 at 5:46 PM UTC
They say faces are the real image and reflection
I have seen most of the lies written on the faces
How can we find real sentiments and passion
Eyes in their own domain do take some chances
Every action tells a different story with a stance
Faces do take very many covers just to conceal
Whatever is hidden deep in the heart to enhance
Love with different shades becomes just a deal
Humans are a strange specie with idiosyncrasies
What they portray is based on lies and falsehood
With real breeze they just open up crease by crease
This is just mockery of world with no bad no good
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
Notice that the male specie is a dictator group.
If it does pleased them.
Or ruled completely by them.
Then its wrong.
Even in faith worshipping.
Notices the roles of the females.
They surrounded by words of submissiveness.
Dictated to follow and not lead.
And if they do,
Then we strong men acts afraid.
That our image of a man will fade.
Our sexuality is dictated by society rules.
And when someone gets abused.
Then we act completely confused.
Women's are the strength of the world.
Remove them and watch the men complain.
While only a few would the other way.
You must be you to feel complete.
And while doing that you will expose the weak.
Those males that feel the need to control.
But comes across struggling to be more than they seem.
Sometimes, you stands up to the bullies in society.
Because they hides in the shadows of fear.
Trying to be stronger than anyone.
Except weak when it comes to love.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 11:07 AM UTC
Men, that specie that loves to control.
That specie that can't stand a woman standing on their own.
Reminds many of the caveman.
Men, where many are call head of the household?
Mainly, because they might bring in the dough.
Reminds many of those golden days.
Where the woman stayed at home?
And you know the man of today that had a mother's that way.
They tries to dictate those habits to the independent ladies of today.
Women, that out spoken specie that strives in today's society.
Women, who's more determine to succeed?
The type that certain men seeks.
It's amazing that some men feels insecure.
If a man told their daughter's she couldn't make it.
He would assure her that she could.
All because he wants the best for her.
And it was because of a man.
Who wanted her to believe?
She couldn't do it.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 7:16 AM UTC