"spoilt" poems
Forget the days we shared
Forget the smiles, the tears, the words too coarse to bear.
Forget the blooms in Spring dancing through the air
Forget the garden we abandoned there
Leave thorns of plenty, and roses rare
Forget the voice of a sweet melody
Forget the buzzing bees tending to honey
Forget the notion of you and me
Forget the spices in recipes spoilt
The taste is a bitter sweet result
Forget what weather we braved together
Forget the cliche that everything gets better
Forget what you want to remember
Forget what should be and what doesn't matter
Revoke your thoughts, the hypocrisy they flatter.
Forget waking up in warming arms,
Seducing me with your charms
Forget whatever you gave me, though it wasn't much
A breath, A kiss, A touch.
Enough!
Forget all that I've said
These thoughts turning in my head
Filling me with dread
The words I've written and you have read
Forget it!
Those days are over my mind is set
Forget we ever met.
Mar 1, 2011
Mar 1, 2011 at 2:56 PM UTC
The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers
Stream from the hawthorn on the wind away,
The doors clap to, the pane is blind with showers.
Pass me the can, lad; there's an end of May.
There's one spoilt spring to scant our mortal lot,
One season ruined of your little store.
May will be fine next year as like as not:
But ay, but then we shall be twenty-four.
We for a certainty are not the first
Have sat in taverns while the tempest hurled
Their hopeful plans to emptiness, and cursed
Whatever brute and blackguard made the world.
It is in truth iniquity on high
To cheat our sentenced souls of aught they crave,
And mar the merriment as you and I
Fare on our long fool's-errand to the grave.
Iniquity it is; but pass the can.
My lad, no pair of kings our mothers bore;
Our only portion is the estate of man:
We want the moon, but we shall get no more.
If here to-day the cloud of thunder lours
To-morrow it will hie on far behests;
The flesh will grieve on other bones than ours
Soon, and the soul will mourn in other *******
The troubles of our proud and angry dust
Are from eternity, and shall not fail.
Bear them we can, and if we can we must.
Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.
8.8k
I live in the basement, never venturing
upon those stairs, I hear her voice...
"Come up and see me its been to long,
Holding my ears singing my favourite song
repetitively until she is drowned out of
my thoughts. rocks tied to her voice as it
sinks out of view.
I use the stairs that open to the outside,
Lingering looking at this place I called home.
Venturing in the old ford, she lets me drive
it when food is but breadcrumbs and eggs
old enough to birth the dead fetes of a partly
grown bird. I look out though a ***** window
screen, this trip takes two hours each way.
I always wonder if my bald tyres are ever
noticed, but I'm not hindered by the thoughts
of this. So much to see when driving in solitude.
I stop at the side of the road picking cherries,
I slump them in the boot. I may eat upon this
morsel or just hang them outside watching
them swaying in the gentle breeze.
My father just looks out the window.
Doesn't talk much these days his eyes are sunken
like the titanic splintered between two pools.
I move his chair and his arm falls at his side.
collecting it, I put him palms resting on a blanket
He's so gaunt now, he was a strong man now but a shadow.
I look at those cherries lingering above the ground,
shaded from just picked to becoming spoilt, but i
just leave them swaying the aroma fills lungs with
life's eroding perfume, I breath it deeply within.
This is my home, "she never calls me for dinner anymore,
I just make my own, the washing up is festering in
my ignorance, like a garden of petrification flowering.
Saying bye to my dad, I get in the old ford.
Its time to pick some fresh cherries, the tree
is looking unkempt. Its blossom is in honour
of a mother, I hang them all there. My
Mother hung there for a long time ,but she's
long gone. So I bring other cherries to the tree
to show that she'll never be forgotten....
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 8:47 AM UTC
I CALL on those that call me son,
Grandson, or great-grandson,
On uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-aunts,
To judge what I have done.
Have I, that put it into words,
Spoilt what old ***** have sent?
Eyes spiritualised by death can judge,
I cannot, but I am not content.
He that in Sligo at Drumcliff
Set up the old stone Cross,
That red-headed rector in County Down,
A good man on a horse,
Sandymount Corbets, that notable man
Old William pollexfen,
The smuggler Middleton, Butlers far back,
Half legendary men.
Infirm and aged I might stay
In some good company,
I who have always hated work,
Smiling at the sea,
Or demonstrate in my own life
What Robert Browning meant
By an old hunter talking with Gods;
But I am not content.
4.1k
If I was a provider of the content I like
Like I wanted to be I’d never have gotten that
Surgery that ****** up my mammary glands
I’d gush a milky **** for all audiences
Even the ones that knew me before I turned bad *****
And spoilt
Even my great aunt and grandma and mom
who have finally befriended me
on Facebook
The ***** in me covers up and cuts off these
Lady parts
But I heat up and cant hide
The spark in my eyes when I see a girl
Unafraid of her ******
Wearing lingerie on IG
Feminism to me is radical or bust
Is ********* your ****** ****** and
Taking lots of pictures as proof
Of your own ****** occurrence,
Reposting if I get taken down,
Moderator of my own **** self.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 1:48 PM UTC
You said you're innocent
and that all was just coincidence
I sneered "Oh, such confidence.."
I feigned my courage
but how could I manage
to taste this cold spoilt porridge?
Why does it hurt more when you say this?
Why does your tears feel like acid on my skin?
Do you see these wounds?
They never healed
You scratched my scars
All those times you pleaded
You twisted the knife you once stabbed
You drilled your nails as I watch it jarred to my flesh
And what else? Drenched them with brine of memories
But where were you all those years?
When this girl cried buckets
Drowned with her own tears?
How I wish
You can put her arms back to their sockets
Maybe then
She will forget how you made her feel
And once again
Hold you like everything was just a dream.
-Twist The Knife, Margaret Austin Go
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 5:18 AM UTC
She was the dream that never ended
Her garden was always well tended
Technicolor flowers and trees
Birds and bees.
But in the distance the shadowman danced
when the sun set in the sky
He spoke about the whereabouts of the moonchild
Their child together
A link they couldn’t sever
For they were divorced and divided
The shadows grew when the moonchild rose
The shadowman had the night, she had the day
But the shadowman kept the child from her
if the child chose it would be midnight forever
and the shadowman was manipulative and clever
His son he always spoilt with many gifts
but his son the moonchild sleeps and dreams of his mother
He will never hurt her or any other.
But sometimes on an eclipse
the moonchild steals the suns light
and his father and mother fight
But he always gives it back.
because the light of the Sun is blinding to the moonchild
and he has to let it go
So the sun will again glow.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 7:23 AM UTC
In the place of your kin I found you,
In the meadow left out to dry
Your porcelain face,
Glazed in white, glassy blood.
No carmine kiss had spoilt it
On the eve of its last breath,
But the flood, the flush
Of bluish-purple life-fluids
Decaying within your chest.
Hydrangeas will grow from the tears you wept,
And the crows will carry off the bones you left.
Is it best for your love to run out,
Rather than be caressed by death?
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC
Why are you doing this to yourself ?
But you are not a slave
You are a free born before now
Yes I know
For long you have been free born
Why this now ?
But she was not a slave
Was she born into slavery ?
Nay she wasn't
But why did she allow to be silenced ?
Like a marble with no life in it
And calm like a dead sea
Ah ! You have been silenced like a grave
They have made your land a desert
A pit hill of the aliens
There you stand
Having your gifts lies in ruin
Hmm,cry and rise for your restoration
Those of spoilt background and greedy mind
Have cracked her skull
And drained her out of life and strength
Day after day
They take away her breadth
Through their shady decisions
Now is the time
I mean the right time
To fight your cause
Wait a minute !
What is your name ?
Answer me
I am Nigeria
A country at Niger side
The giant of Africa
Did I hear you say GIANT ?
Giant don't freak
Common act like one
I am a lion
The precious gift of Africa
In me inbeded lots of natural resources
Then wake up
Act it
And prove it
That you are indeed
The giant of Africa
That should be seen and heard.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 8:34 AM UTC
Celia looked at her reflection
In the back of the spoon;
Her face was blown outward
As if captured on some balloon.
It almost made her laugh;
The memory of it;
How she and her sister Sassy
Would do that as kids,
Before the dark days,
Before her death in a bath.
That drowning, that sad death.
Sassy’s husband had beaten her
Black and blue and green
And she’d hide herself away
So as not to be seen.
But she’d seen her,
Seen the bruises
Like smudged tattoos,
The closed eyes,
The swollen lips,
The hardly able to talk words
Pushing through the mouth
To say: he says he loves me still.
Celia stared at her reflection,
The way her own mouth was distorted,
Her lips blown up, her eyes enlarged,
Out of proportion.
She almost laughed,
But something about Sassy’s sad death
Made her stifle any guffaw
That may have broken free
From her distorted reflected jaw.
There was the time she’d seen her
********** for bed when she stayed
Because Sassy’s husband (the weird freak)
Was off on business, some big deal,
Needing to be pulled off,
And she saw the black and blueness
With tinges of green
Along her naked flesh,
The buttocks welted
Where he had belted.
Sassy had said nothing,
Had not noticed Celia looking,
Had not thought it unusual
To be unclothed as such
Away from other’s peering eyes.
Now Sassy was dead;
Found in the bath;
Drugged out, wrists slit,
Having drowned recorded.
But he had driven her over the edge;
He had bullied and beaten
Like some spoilt cruel child
An unwanted toy.
Celia turned the spoon over
And put it down.
No more desire to laugh,
Just fond memories of Sassy
Before her death in the bath.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 2:04 AM UTC
nothing ever so lovely....
caught my attention so far,
though smeared and melancholy,
its splendor spoilt in mar,
yet they recite in wean,
the lyrical memoir
of the eyes hazel green,
brimming with desire....
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
I am
the red ripe apple of the sinful tree
the honey suckle of the bumble bee
the pink blushed rose of the secret garden
the stubborn spoilt lass never in pardon
the youngest daughter of the shining sun
the castle dream girl in sands of fun
the jealous lover of the crescent moon
the blowing wind in a strong monsoon
the first white swan in the silver lake
the seizmic tremor of a hot earthquake
the scarlet love bird on each window pane
the falling tear drop of clear crystal rain
the candle's flicker of each passionate flame
the mystery madam,mademoiselle or dame?
the copper butterfly in each serene meadow
the Sunday's church girl in snow flake's shadow
the brown eyed maiden of the deep blue seas
the pretty woman of ripe strawberries
the old fashioned girl in sweet proposal
the gold stringed harp in music's motion
the colored smile on a rainbow's face
the flamenco dancer covered with lace
the little mermaid in pirates'streams
the wafting wave in glittered dreams
the twinkling star of black silk skies
the little lantern light of fire-flies
the Cindirella in glass slippers
the happy verse of each romance
the soft wind's voice in a whispered breeze
the wood wind chime in sweet melodies
the Wishing feather of a free white dove
the veiled young lady in the power of love.
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 3:26 AM UTC
A tumultous storm is passing the valley
and I am stuck in the midst
nowhere to hide and nowhere to go.
I try to walk towards home with my rainbow coloured umbrella.
My abode on the hill nearby,
and an uphill task to go,
the gale is growing stronger
i just can't slow.
The heaven has been unfriendly
not answering to my prayers
I slipped a million times as He wanted me to scare.
The strong roots of the trees have held my hand firmly
not gushing me down
as a true friend in poverty.
The rain spoilt my umbrella, the seven colours faded
I faced the heavy drops as my parasol betrayed.
Toiling to crawl up
the rain was failing to stop me from going upstream,
the nimbus this time is ghastly than ever
but i will have to return to my dear ones
albeit bruised from head to toe,
none to hear my scream .
Both rain and me are bleary and had to pause now,
the firmament is clearing up with the sun, peeping through the clouds
and I am nearly near my hilltop house.
The sky was happy to see me alive and
gifted me my rainbow umbrella as return gift from above,
I tasted glory in the rainbow from the hilltop
and my abode.
Bina Mukherjee
May 1, 2021
May 1, 2021 at 9:16 AM UTC
mook was a strange old fella
could blown him over with a breeze
thin as a train track rail and just as rusted
he drank hard but his heart was soft
never had nothing but a kind word
always gave a helping hand
mook was down by the old platte river
fishing with an old line
lazing in the hot summer sun
when lucy happened upon him
now lucy was a fast talking girl
loose with her wares and cared not for a single soul
good lord never carved something as cold
as that woman's heart
mook wasn't no rich fella mind ya
but he always managed to keep his pocket full
and lucy laid into that poorboy with a vengeance
laid him low from behind
never saw it comin
lament the poorboy gone to rest
gathered like spoilt wheat before his time
can almost see him with his old
rucksack and a bottle of wine
laughin like the sun
dancing on summer lake
dancing like you was truly free
his was a time of life to see
always put a feast to the table
even if it was pork-n-beans an sour dough
never let a man go hungry at his table
lament the poor boy now he's gone
fool lucy went into town to the ***** house
laid about with cursing and braggarting her dark deed
she laid him down low with her cold hand
shes laid up in the old jail now
theres nothing to be learnt from this sad affair
nothing good ever comes from dark deeds
but at least 'ole son is resting easy now
walking up the river road with his rucksack and bottle of wine
smiling like the sun
and holding love in his heart for everyone
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 5:25 AM UTC
- I bit upon the shell
It was soft and moist
It bleed candy apple red.
I could feast on it all night,
But I rested for darkness
Conceals deeds not seen
In light.
To long wasted, what was
Full of life now sour,
The core rotting, pungent
Smell of a now hardened shell.
She bleed candy apple red,
Tasted the sweetest I have
Ever had. But now is spoilt,
I threw her away, I took my
Fill and I leave this for another
dinner blind date.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
As a silly spoilt child
Disgruntled I grumble
Throughout my blessed life
Complaining about my loss
That God does not give a toss
But abundantly in my life
Scattered in my garden
Live deep hidden forests
Sacred special spaces
Forgotten mossy places
Things I can not see
In my soft mossy pastures
I am drawn into sound
Soft rich earthy ground
My meddling hands resigning
And my heart softening
To the treasures God is bringing
As a child I am sometimes
still screaming for what
I am not receiving
Even though chosen
But my loving Father
Always refusing to
serve me poison
But he keeps on giving
Life's unexpected gifts
Full of presents and parcels
An unknown cultivated Karma
A forgotten ignored pleasure
Actually look at all the treasure
Everyday a Christmas tree
If I could only look and see
So in my adult days
I learn to look on
In different ways
With a mossy heart
I nourished and softening
receiving parcels tenderly
passed down from heaven
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 10:12 PM UTC
I called her ***** once
When she wouldn't buy my love with toys
The youthful signs of avarice
For hollow, plastic joys
And I wished a void space
In her womb for keeping me away
From my material desires
Her greed upon the pay
For she was my keeper
And with her I was kept
Away from all the joy of youth
From drink and drugs and all that
So now I'm old and spiteful
That she never let me stray
Too far from the path I know
Has saved me for this day
At five I was a monster
At ten a genius with a mouth
And sixteen saw us fighting
With our friendship going South
But eighteen things got brighter
And twenty now I see
That the ***** never meant to hurt me
It was just her way of raising me.
I'm happy and kind
My creative mind
My music, I owe to you;
For telling a spoilt brat
Like me what he
Could and Could not do.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
Like leftovers from an extravagant meal,
I thawed my heart and put it on her plate-
I'd hoped it would sustain her.
It was rejected with vigor.
She infers that she's toxic:
spoilt soil at a nuclear blast site.
I'm starting to suspect the offering itself was necrotic.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:28 AM UTC
a lifetime of anticipation,
I waited for the Great Feast
a lifetime of discipline,
to spare my appetite
not to spoil it
On mere junk food
As the big day came
The Menu was discussed
In exquisite detail
I was told,
About all the dishes
Their tastes and flavours
Hungry as a roaring lion
I patiently waited at the door
Inside the hallowed hall
My feast was being set
Pure white linen
****** crockery
And golden cutlery awaited
At my seat of honour
With tremendous pomp
The doors swung open
The majestic hall
in candle lit beauty
beckoned and welcomed
my every step
The servants showed my throne
Where I sat down.
Gleaming lids covered my feast
With
Candle light dancing on the polished gold
Hors d ouvres first,
destroyed I was when I saw
That someone else
was here before
My wonderful roast
Already carved,
Huge chunks eaten
And dry bones left
Fresh green peas
Were rudely dug in
By filthy fingers
No manners for a spoon
Desert was half eaten
Ice cream left to melt
And of after dinner mints
Only a handful left
Thus then violated,
My beautiful feast!
Others snuck in
And ravaged my table
They left some crumbs
spoilt leftovers
As the Locusts went on
Without a care!
Now I sit hungry
Alone and forgotten
Staring in disbelief
At my desolate table
How I wish I had known,
Before I came in
That the menu was a lie
And someone else had been
Elsewhere I'd have gone and eaten
Or at least not starved myself
In anticipation for a feast
That the Locusts have eaten
Daylight revealed my majestic hall,
merely an old shed
Where the Locusts were WELCOMED!
Far from being the guest of honour
I am instead the lowly servant
No rights or privilege
Left to clean the Locusts' mess
A live cockroach, if I can catch
Sustains me, barely
I fill my chipped cup
With tears of sadness
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
I can smell their cowardly fear
their frantic desperation is palpable
they stink frustration and boiling envy
their lies, scams and foul smears unravelling
coercised crowd seeing them for the scums they are
they garner contempt hidden for fear of not belonging
a lot afraid to tell them they no longer buy into their mischief
behind their wicked backs the immigrants are disgusted and sick
sick of their characters, their indulgences and their empty arrogance
The immigrants know it's all racist hatred
they now know the poor man did nothing wrong
know how pathetic and sick these wanton devils are
know these spoilt ignorant rabbles are souless juveniles saps
laugh at them behind closed doors amongst themselves silently
while pathetic thieves and ****** associates boast of their power
power of cowards and scums and workshy semi-illiterates sad fools
resenting success and hard working people who put in the hard graft
jokers and fantasists too stupid to really see what's happening in light
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 10:25 AM UTC
She's a hand me own girl-
she started off with dreams
and hopes of love
and romance
and ended up
used
and worn by men
who didn't give a ****
about what she's worth.
She begins her night on town
hard arsed and cynical
but after a few drinks-
loneliness shows
from her mask that hangs
akwardly
off her scarred pretty face.
I approach her from my own shy bruised seat and my loneliness finds hers.
When I was a dreamer
patience was easy,
but then again
maybe patience was my blindness.
Everything must happen now!
How do I play this game right?
Man I hate these games.
Cat and mouse,
cat and mouse,
cat eats mouse
and then cat gets poisoned by mouse
and dies infected with bitterness.
I've died a thousand times over
and I still die whenever I meet a beautiful woman.
I try to be suave and lighthearted-
to pretend to be a dream,
a hope,
but my heart explodes inside me
and I stand there naked ad exposed.
I never was a good liar.
Before long I see her
kissing a better liar than I am.
I know she was not my dream to begin with
but still anger burns inside me:
I cant get what I want and i cant settle for what i don't want.
Typical spoilt brat.
I go home alone thinking-
maybe I'm the hand me down girl.
Jan 25, 2010
Jan 25, 2010 at 6:31 AM UTC
They attacked her in mid exploration
Cutting away her golden thoughts
As they cut away her flesh, destroying
A mind that they couldn’t destroy in
Debate, a sparkling old woman
Whose thoughts were spun from steel.
The screaming mob desecrated her tiny form
Dragging it into the dust, through the *******
And **** Tearing off her clothes
The Parabalani exposed her to celestial winds crossing
The arora, rubbing
Spoilt Alexandrian soil into her unexplored ******
She did not die as a philosopher, calculating and
Learning, but, torn apart, the old woman
Screamed out for her father,
Terrified, in sacrificial pain so much worse
Than beheadings and crucifixion. Her modesty,
Kept for 60 years, mutilated by a 1000 killers in a single
Minute.
Her head bounced in the forum,
Her arms thrown to the 4 corners,
Her soul stamped into the gutter,
As the new religion cried out for tolerance.
In a morning thinking became forbidden
Books burnt, laughs ignored and fires built for heretics.
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 6:13 PM UTC