"stringless" poems
You have seen those cheerful kids
Flying kites high up above
Bearing a happy heart, lighter than a feather
No worries, just innocent thoughts.
The kites feel like they've conquered the silver clouds
Though they fly many many layers beneath 'em
Their abstract vanity and enduring pride
got them strangled over tree tops.
You have seen those sulking self-haters
Flying kites high up above
With a hope to escape memories of the ghosts
To forget the evil they long ago bore.
The kites, they seem to refuse to speak
Owning souls too heavy to fly,
Urging to die.
You have seen those random kites
Stringless, wandering in the sky up above
Lost their way trying to discover themselves
Ending up somewhere and falling in love.
The kites, they feel they are way too different
To survive with the other ones in a normal world
Hungry souls, creative eyes
In a clear blue sky, they don't know where to hide.
Tangled strings, tired wings
Irritating distractions, infinite other things
Restless kites, not even sparing the dark nights
Worthy ones and unworthy ones
We all know one thing
Kites are meant to fly.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 5:16 AM UTC
What’s the difference between unwanted and unneeded?
You’re unnecessary, verging on disappointment, disgrace
Breaking faith and bond, hoarding intent and hopes false
Unnecessary child
Give me pure existence
And watch me lose my mind
Without meaning
I’m fingerless and blind
Give me pure existence
And watch me lose my heart
Without love
I’m a stringless puppet
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 8:10 PM UTC
When I was little I dreamt I was a stringless kite
flying freely in the sky, I was the out-of-control wild
type you could never manage to keep quiet.
But when I met you, things somewhat changed and
you brought me back on land and showed me that
what I needed wasn't exactly in the sky but rather
right beside you. I decided to give away my wings
for one taste of your witty tongue and dangerous
love. The only problem is that deep within me, and
even though I had legs that I wasn't exactly designed
to use, a hint of feeling out-of-place
would always disguise itself in the most subtle
ways you would always detect and hate, absolutely
hate about me.
The idea of dying so I am finally free was tempting,
I've got to admit it was the only thing left about
that long gone dreamy girl you managed to
change completely. And it's all confusing because
no matter how hard I try to get away, I always
find myself stuck inside my brain thinking
about the way your lips form when you say
you love me. And I bet you hate the way mine
do when I say I don't want you. But baby,
if it hadn't been for you, I would have
probably ceased to exist by now.
Maybe I simply wanted you to love me
with my flaws and pain and sorrow
and everything that's me.
And maybe you cannot do that because
no human can love unconditionally.
F.Z.N
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
Ah, Pinocchio--povero burattino°--
Always in a scrape; always in a jam.
The irresponsible, wooden-headed numbskull
Couldn't help but fall for every scam.
A walking, talking stringless marionette,
Pinocchio really would have had it made
In a modest home with babbo°° Gepetto.
But, instead, the foolish youngster strayed.
Ignoring the advice of the talking cricket,
Pinocchio EVEN smashed it with a hammer.
That right there should have been a reason
To throw the little rascal in the slammer.
The Fox and the Cat had no trouble
Dissuading the puppet from going to school,
Thus involving him in a series of adventures
Which often made him look like a fool.
The Fairy tried to be a good influence,
But Pinocchio's lies caused his nose to grow.
Constantly ignoring responsibilities,
The misguided boy, suffered constant woe.
(Swindled of his money, hanged on a tree,
And saved just in the nick of time
From being eaten, Pinocchio had
Too many adventures to fit into this rhyme.)
Fleeing with his lazy school chum Lucignolo
To the Paese dei balocchi,°°° there Pinocc
Turned into a donkey. Of all his follies,
This one had to be a masterstroke.
Once again a puppet, Pinocchio was swallowed
By a giant Pesce-cane,°°°° and then guess what!
The foolish boy was finally reunited
With babbo Gepetto in the fish's huge gut.
NOT until Pinocchio thought about others
And proved he was an honest and caring boy
Did his fortune start to change for the better,
And the stringless puppet became the real McCoy.
Does Pinocchio by any chance remind you
Of any politicians out there at all
Who fail to listen to expert advice
And thumb their noses at common protocol?
And speaking of noses, we can also see
Politicians' noses grow as they tell lies.
Lying to themselves and to others as well
And ignoring our best interests and flouting compromise.
Such politicians--unlike Pinocchio--
Have strings to pull when performing for the masses.
The more they avoid solving REAL issues,
The more they end up looking like *****
They also love--these clever burattini--
To sell a bill of goods and promise many things.
But someone out there--or some corporation--
Is slyly and cleverly pulling their strings.
Do you ever wonder if these same politicians
Ever think about or care how you feel?
Will they eventually--as did Pinocchio--
Prove they have what it takes to be real?
°(burattino/i) - poor little puppet
°°(babbo) - dad(dy)
°°°(Paese dei balocchi) - Playland
°°°°(Pesce-cane) - shark
- by Bob B
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 2:39 PM UTC
One sleepless night I heard the lark
Chir-chirruping inside my heart;
Got up to find her in the dark
To capture her and set apart
Her stringless resonating harp
On which she played a note so sharp;
My very soul said: "Hark, oh, hark!
What is this iridescent spark
That set my every thought aflame?
For in its sound I heard my name!
That made my ear and eye so changed
That all the world illuminates?
It will not let me sleep again
Until my every breath is spent!"
I looked and looked and looked in vain
But carried with me the refrain
So every time I turned around
The sound was coming from without;
At lenght I closed my tired lids
And heard the lark sing from within;
And this is how I figured out:
I'm not the kindling. I'm the spark!
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 1:16 AM UTC
I fall back to zero
when I try to be your hero
A wasteful approach
Falling back on my watch.
I tried my best,
Till the end of the crest,
Yet the progress,
Was nothing to raise.
Talking to you all night
Once restored my pride.
Now I am holding myself tight,
As now I am nothing but a stringless kite
Now I am the fallen knight
yet I knew I was right
The sleepless glare
Show that I still care
Slowing down is my only choice,
As all feels nothing but noise.
I just need one chance,
Or at least a glance
So I ask you to come back
Cause I see all black
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 3:01 PM UTC
I got it after he was gone
stringless and forgotten
I've picked at it for so long
writing songs of the downtrodden
Lord knows that he probably paid
a fraction of the price
not knowing history its played
without expert advice
My grandfathers guitar
its a National
it might need some work
its action is sub-par
blood stains and dirt
price is irrational
Id rather give my soul
theres no way in hell. . .
I would ever sell.
It is my only heirloom
found by accident
inside of a trashed room
given known Id relish it
Its still worth more than the sake
of what most think is right
and the tens of thousands it would take
is still not worth the price
My grandfathers guitar
its a National
it might need some work
its action is sub-par
blood stains and dirt
price is irrational
Id rather give my soul
theres no way in hell. . .
I would ever sell.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
as if i can't read through the cellophane-covered love letters
from the boy who fingered my throat and saw stars therein
the one who can peel back white paint and whisper into the eaves
and leave in shambles a once fiercely built sanctuary
i prayed to the ceiling in the dimmest of the nights
to uncurse me, to sew me back like sally, sewn like you couldn't be
evidence from your hapless choice to take me in
your chest exposed itself: stringless, veinless, merely a wire-board
fourteen does not forget
don't say i miss you, baby
when you only miss my simultaneously
shut and open jaw
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
Mimes and clowns
Jesters and jokers
Making their rounds
To the chimney chain smokers
All walks of life
In chronological order
Bashful and blushing
Prepositions of stringless intimacy
Hellbent to find release
It's all folly
It's a misguided preface
The ongoing destruction of agriculture
Living under power lines
Filter feeding
Edit that
It consists of accessible ideas
"I ain't pointing fingers
I ain't naming names
But if the shoe fits
You can't call it a blame game"
Polishing off a bottle of Pinot Noir
As per usual
-Tommy Johnson
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
Going inside and out
Compression to stretching
Something like breathing
Exalted expression
Who's playing this squeezebox?
Can I make a request?
Play something lively, loud, and fast
My heart's tied in knots
My brain's hanging on
By the skin of my teeth
For the length of one song
Dance like you're dying
And dance like you're dead
Life is little more
Than a song in your head
Break down the walls and let it all in
Dance as if this moment will never end
Move to the rhythm and jump towards your soul
Suspended stringless puppet under no one's control
Fall down to yourself right on top of the beat
Spinning in the center of where all the lines meet
Slow it down for the break and take a deep breath
Potential energy buildup for what's coming next
Those chills in the moment right before it all hits
Soul body and mind caught up in the mix
Hear it; explode
Supernovate the senses
The death of a star amid a galaxy of faces
To be born again
In a jet stream of limbs
I find enlightenment
At 150 bpm
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
My vessel has been anchored, attacked, and conquered
Leaving the pieces shattered and somber
Stranded within a dynamic society
My lifeless bones still dance with gaiety
Misguided, unrequited, i have lost my light
And here i lie undecided
if sinking is a reward of being silent
Lost in a sea composed of
stringless, seamless puppets
I'm reluctant, broken, cracked and sewed in
Posed and told how to blend within
The flawless flaws of retrospective laws
Oppress what others call a
“Suitable demographic”
My vessel has been anchored, attacked, and conquered
Leaving the pieces shattered and somber
Stranded within a dynamic society
My lifeless bones still dance with gaiety
Attach the wires and deem yourself my master
Superiority begets a systematic wrath of
Powerless demons with a potent strategy
Demand my steps to guide you into the perfect victory
Media-- social media socializing the roles like ghouls of anesthesia
Taking the control, then providing a hole of grief, anger, less goals and lost souls.
My vessel has been anchored, attacked, and conquered
Leaving the pieces shattered and somber
Stranded within a dynamic society
My lifeless bones still dance with gaiety
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 11:16 PM UTC
let's beholden the mask clouded face
o
f
dying gods natural arteries corral brevity
stringless heart sheaf
bask crushed stems
in the crease of love wracked lips
mercury heels slither
to
boundless expanse's delicious meadow hair
wind whispering delicate veins
hard the soft meticulous shivers rooting
)ardent vine
ouy
are the
most
0(
Jun 5, 2010
Jun 5, 2010 at 2:24 PM UTC
Lithia steals away at dawn
From this monolith of calm
No way I can control her
She holds pieces of me in her palm
She fights like a tiger
Drugged and dragged
You caged her and enraged her
There's another one you've bagged
Dragged her into your bag
She pleads in the night
The night becomes her plight
My hold on her is tentative
Listless and stringless as a kite
She fights like a tiger
Drugged and dragged
You caged her and enraged her
There's another one you've bagged
Dragged her into your bag
Lithia holds pieces of me
Lithia holds pieces of me
She's hoping for release
She's hoping for release
She cops to a plea of heart thievery
But I'm still calm and in her palm
She cops to a plea of insanity
And I'm a monolith of calm
She fights like a tiger
Drugged and dragged
You caged her and enraged her
There's another one you've bagged
Dragged her into your bag
Lithia holds pieces of me
Lithia holds pieces of me
She's hoping for release
She's hoping for release
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 4:38 PM UTC
He floated free that small warm day,
and stands accused of poetry,
from underneath the whisper tree.
Its limbs lean down close, as if to say
his only chance has slipped away,
gone.
Like happiness after failure tears
your pride from you and lets you find
the rows of heartache left behind
by others who refused to hear,
and have been gone ten thousand years.
Gone like the smile that pity stole.
Like puppet strings left hanging loose,
by hands and brain that could not choose.
The heart as dwarf, the mind as troll,
the stringless puppet with no soul.
Without the hands the puppet slides
too far down for healing light.
Though he tries with all his might,
no wires to help him stand upright,
he finally quits and soon decides
that crying goes on when cutting is done.
While far away the assassin watches,
and the fire inside exactly matches
the burned out place his fear is from.
No phoenix from this ash will come.
No memories of the finery,
no angled light on sleeping face
in this broken empty place.
These missing crooked lines will be
the last thing that he does not see.
Gone like the words to happy songs;
The puppet knows his time has passed.
The dance he danced has been outclassed,
the gravity was just too strong,
will make him dust before too long.
He knew all this before he wrote his tune,
the whisper tree was quiet then;
He was about to try it when
he floated free that small warm June,
lasted too long, over too soon.
The sadness wins, the winter steals September.
He tries to see ahead for reasons
but it looks the same for many seasons,
as it has been as long as he remembers.
This will be the last thing that he sends her.
And nights, no matter how he tries,
the images so fiercely staring down;
the frightful smile, the menacing frown.
Weary and weak, he still sleepless lies,
no phoenix from this ash will rise.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 1:16 PM UTC
I've had enough of your games
Things change life doesn't remain the same
You think that now you're back in town,
I'll fall to my feet and act a clown?
but don't you know, I know you never stick around.
I've had enough of these games
I'll admit you get by good off your looks,
Boy, I wish you knew it's too late for that, I've hit the books.
All I've ever wanted is something deeper something I'll remember
but the more you walked away, we grew crispy cold like December.
I've had enough of your games
You won't be hearing from me, this silence is the new way to be
I watched you smash what could have been a strong beautiful tree.
You won't be seeing me.
I've walked away. I can finally run stringless and free.
I've had enough of your games
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC
Waste time with me
just for a little longer
and we can finally be free.
Free from the rushing lights,
free from the starless nights,
free like stringless kites
soaring through the vast skies.
Sundays will come
no matter what,
yet let's see if we can
last just a bit longer
and maybe touch me
just one more time
until the long wait
between now
and next Friday.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 10:13 PM UTC
You left our mother a hat full of your songs
Our Pretty Sister - a wish upon a star
Little brother - a stringless guitar
Your other boys - your good looks and some charm
We've never had to bend a pretty lady's arm
With none of this - we've made it pretty far
I don't remember when you left - Dad
I guess I was too young
I've never heard a word you've said
or heard a song you've sung
Like you I was a soldier
Unlike you - I never left my Post
You should have been there for Her
Our Pretty sister - needed you the most
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 4:07 AM UTC
What is this movements to the notes and rhythms,
The breath that breathe life it's essense of eternal ether?
Mourn to moan the formulation of birth to ****** propatuate procreation and then to final destination, cycling the very foundation of life, rebirth, and death in sound that carry over from one another.
Music preformed by guitar, violin, base, cello to piano, or any of the string instruments that symbol the living life strand of the life we wheel.
As our longevity is finite, but with infinite choices to play with strings until our lines are cut or break, and no longer play the songs we so love to hear so dear to our ears.
For a beat that tinker to our muse to the music that linger in the faint of our memories, those memories we try to keep close to our soft pillow and tucked away in our minds to comfort us in our less then pleasant boundaries leaving us empty, like a good age wine to lets us dream.
The empty cups shall be the reminder that sound and tone shall sieze to calm with stringless nights, the song has sang the final tune and forever leave it's mark on the heart good night.
Until that final symphony reaches it final tune, accept the notes as it is a song we live in a moment, for all music good and bad has it's epilogue.
One must choose to play their music, and find their final notes to end their master piece in due time.
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 1:08 AM UTC
It isn't often that the sun refuses to rise.
Lately it seems to need encouragement.
Rising just a little later each day.
And when it is the sole reason that the passing of time is so named.
Everything caters to meet the new requirements.
Disregarding lunar activity.
Heliocentric minds have never felt so embellished.
A chaotic routine indeed.
Favoring those who won the right to stay apexed.
Only when so many fight to stay at the top.
Do all those in the middle lose center.
Compressing the foundation into neat distortions of the past.
Like laughing at irony meant to sting.
Or playing a stringless instrument to a deaf audience.
Captivating all the more.
For beauty lies in the only I that matters.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 9:14 PM UTC
Will the river meet the ocean tide?
Where the mountains end and the sun does hide?
To forget and float away like a stringless kite
Is what I often wish to do.
To see the world in her eyes through sunlight beams
To never question these threads merging into tender seams
As night turns to day and a blue evening leans
My arms are doors that lie open for you.
Today, I wish to fly like birds that brave the wind
To be naked and shed this dying skin
Even though they oft meander, my thoughts are pinned
To a wall of words I raised and drew.
And yet, I arrive only as a letter
Only to be gagged, bound and tethered
Yellowed, unopened and set upon a table
Weather beaten and never to be read.
So find me a place where my bones can rest
In the rising tides, I was summoned by your zest
Now I tremble as you remove your dress
But I’ll hold you close like the words you've said.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
Oh sweet perfection, you will always be just out of reach. From my grasp, from my sight, and from my mind. And though this thought begins to settle in my mind, the simple knowing keeps me forever at the mercy of my dwindling hope. So maybe one more night of stringless commitments or drunken stupors may help to mask the relentless pain that stabs at my oversized heart. One that has been shapped by your ever lack of presence in my life. Molded by the hope that my once ignorant mind could actually hold you in hand and in spirit. But like my hope, my ignorance has vanished from my childish mind and i now see not only the error in my ways but the politics that i will forever battle in the hopes to find the next best thing to perfection.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 11:06 PM UTC
Someone please come, save me.
I’m drowning in a dried up sea.
I can’t handle the broken things.
Stringless puppets and birds without wings.
God tore me down one last time.
As I enter this rhyme,
He doesn’t know that I’m still in my prime.
Why did the all-mighty commit such a fearsome crime?
I have nothing left, I must submit and give in to the chime!
Here I stand now, at the edge of reality,
As the shameless light approaches I take a knee.
“Come now, take me!” I utter in unwavering pride.
How can I fear sleep, when I’ve already died?
The high evening tides can't wash away my blood.
It’s become one with the soil, now crimson mud,
Oh, Poseidon, unleash thy flood!
As my body falls to the ground, hear my deafening thud,
Take out your shovels and dig me a grave, yet better, a spud!
No more oceans and no more seas, just the roof and me,
One lonely whisper, one final plea.
Come back, and I swear you won’t regret it,
Come back before I lose what soul I have, this little spirit.
Cool air and a starry night,
Have I lost the war after this fight?
You didn’t break my heart, you took out an entire bite,
But I will not waver, I will live on, in your spite.
Why do I do this, from the dark evening, until morning’s light?
Try all I might,
You are the only thing, about which, I can write…
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 4:33 AM UTC
in the atmosphere
stratosphere
darkness that we do not fear
we find ourselves alone
where is it
that we visit
at night
this seamless ride on a stringless kite
our universe an endless flight
where time does not apply
we hit the bed and jolt awake
remember not our timeless break
a thousand years on a single snowflake
a blink in the cosmic realm
Jan 17, 2024
Jan 17, 2024 at 4:17 PM UTC
If I was a guitar I'd be stringless
Empty and shallow and cold
Lifeless and loveless, never grow old
I have no purpose, no life
If I was a singer I'd be voiceless
Broken and beaten and still
No sound to whimper, without free will
I am a failure, a lie
You take my hand and run
I hold on tight, bright like the sun
You close your eyes and cry
I kiss your pale face dry
We are broken and loveless
We are beaten and boneless
We are the forgotten ones
And all we have is room to run
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 7:38 PM UTC