"strives" poems
Today in an overweight society,
The type of society that deals anxiety,
Anxiety, anxiety, in this overweight society.
Today in an overweight society,
The type of society where diet pills are a normality,
Normality, Normality in an overweight society.
Today in the eyes of an underweight tragedy,
Influenced so greatly by an overweight society,
Tragedy, Tragedy, in an overweight society.
Influenced by a society of fatty foods,
Fear becoming a more common mood,
The fear of falling into the normality
The normality of this tragedy.
The overweight society.
Influence by obesity.
Striving to be what their minds see,
The minds of the children trapped,
Trapped by this overweight society.
Influenced by the skinny girls on TV
Only followed by ads showing fatty foods society demans you eat
Have a cheeseburger, upgrade to a large fry, yet still look like her, it's pounded in her mind.
Young minds believe what they see.
Morphed into the tragedy of society.
A society where eating disorders strive
A society where an 8 year old can consious you starve themselve to feel pretty.
The definition of pretty based simply on TV
Yet nobody questions this more than imperfect society.
Elementary ages childern being fed fat then forced to stand in front of a mirror.
Put a toy in poison and call it magic.
Oh yes, what a fantasy.
A fantasy forcing you into reality.
The reality becoming your worst nightmare.
The reality of your fears driven by society.
I'm overweight, yet pizza is the best choice for a happy family.
A society where mental illness strives.
Why can't people open their eyes?
Spoon feeding childern poison and expecting them to love themselves.
In school teachers force health into thier minds.
At home, parents feed them poison to save time.
Re-creating, reprogramming their fragile little minds, yet still expecting them to feel fine.
Feeling down?
Have a happy meal, gain a pound.
Overweight?
Shame, shame, you must maintain the image.
The image forced into your mind.
This was our greatest fall.
Upon dieting we call.
Skelington stave me.
Anorexia at it's finest.
Anorexia thin and spineless.
Some call you timeless.
But only recently you made your debute.
Make me feel brand new.
Reprogram my mind.
Make me feel fine.
Thank God for thinsperation.
Oh Anorexia, my new inspiration.
Make me feel pretty.
Just like the skinny girls on TV.
Loosing pounds, one by one.
Still weighed down by a ton.
The weight of pleasing it.
The nightmare society created.
Influenced by what we see.
Finally morphed into the tragedy of the normality of this weight obsessed society.
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 3:44 PM UTC
Your soul is your current state of being!
The difference between a good soul and a bad soul; is how much physical and mental effort you are (((compelled))) to put in; to ease the grief and suffering of others.
There's a broad spectrum of soulful and soulless in individuals; and their capacity to empathize with other living things!
So are you a good soul and soulful? or a bad soul and souless?
A good soul benefits the world socially and strives to improve the environment for everyone including the next generation; where as shallow souls; mostly look to benefit themselves and have little regard for anything else.
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 8:26 AM UTC
Anticipation heights within me
I cannot hold this pensive feeling
I'm climbing walls and hugging ceiling
My thoughts won't let me be
This hesitation strives inside me
I can't release this burning feeling
I'm scratching marks and hitting ceiling
My mind hates OCD.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 6:46 PM UTC
I am a girl and I am unique
I am full of silence and mystique
I am humble, mild and meek
I know from my heart I am not weak;
At times I may fall down
And cry myself until I meltdown
But I'll always try my best to not drown
In this life cycle of up and down
Even if life will stain my pride
Or **** me slowly inside
And sway me to the wrong side;
The me I know will hold her head high
The me I know is unique and strong in her own ways
Even if the world turns grey;
Either inspiration or motivation dries;
She will and always strives to survive everyday.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 10:32 PM UTC
My body yearns to die,
but my mind strives to live.
My heart wants to hate,
but only knows love.
My eyes want to close forever,
but are clearly wide open.
My hands want to ****
but are merely a loving touch.
My lips want to poison,
but only know a gentle kiss.
My lungs don't want to inhale,
but haven't stopped yet.
If I wanted any of this,it'd already of been said & done.
Love me for the person I am & the choices I make.
Because I love you enough to make this run.
Crystal Rose.
5/29/09
5:45pm
Copyright
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
The seraph sky on ebony night,
A white marble of placid light.
Casting to the living glass,
Haunting, the feeling's elapse.
A time of gardenia drapes,
Hanging the mourning wall.
Scent of ambrosia fogging,
The pavement covered in moss.
Portraits of Celts amidst,
Drifting upon moonlight mist.
Eyes delving, ears opt to hear,
Voices whisper of ancient fear.
An oracle muses the unguided,
As trees speaks the truth.
Humanity strives to be the art,
Yet only remembers by a few.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 2:45 AM UTC
I
From you, Beethoven, Bach, Mozart,
The substance of my dreams took fire.
You built cathedrals in my heart,
And lit my pinnacled desire.
You were the ardour and the bright
Procession of my thoughts toward prayer.
You were the wrath of storm, the light
On distant citadels aflare.
II
Great names, I cannot find you now
In these loud years of youth that strives
Through doom toward peace: upon my brow
I wear a wreath of banished lives.
You have no part with lads who fought
And laughed and suffered at my side.
Your fugues and symphonies have brought
No memory of my friends who died.
III
For when my brain is on their track,
In slangy speech I call them back.
With fox-trot tunes their ghosts I charm.
‘Another little drink won’t do us any harm.’
I think of rag-time; a bit of rag-time;
And see their faces crowding round
To the sound of the syncopated beat.
They’ve got such jolly things to tell,
Home from hell with a Blighty wound so neat...
. . . .
And so the song breaks off; and I’m alone.
They’re dead ... For God’s sake stop that gramophone.
5k
A paintbrush on fire
it isn't yet done.
Paints in broad daylights
in cool cloudy darks
often relaxes down the line
when the rain pours down
and the flute is on play
it isn't yet done.
The sea at the clement eve
strives to splash over
this rainbow-kissed brush
the moon will thaw the billow
with moonlight
before the waking
sleeping beauty's eyes
and the night will pour over it,
it's full bowl eternally pitch black
only to see lighting up
zillions of stars
on the paintbrush
it isn't yet done!
Apparently that looks only kohl
the night eyes in within a colour
eternally weighed down
out of sight mass hues
looking to visualise a scoop
paints yet one more first light.
Full of colours the paintbrush
it isn’t yet done!
Aug 17, 2022
Aug 17, 2022 at 1:13 PM UTC
Murva fashion collection introduced at Eco Fashion Week has been a life long process for Ivana Knezovic, Creative Director / Designer. This was not only the 29 year old Croatian designer's first collection, but also her first international performance.
She debuted her eco-friendly collection titled Rust & Flow on the runway at Eco Fashion Week in Vancouver, Canada. Her pieces are all made from eco-friendly wool flannel.
Ivana Knezovic made interesting use of symmetrical lines, and I admired the draping from the shoulders framing a dress low-cut in back. One dress had several parallel vertical cut lines on the backside.
Many of her tops had capes, hang from one shoulder or both, paired with slim pants or a skirt. A nice touch of dramatic flare as the models moved down the runaway.
“Fashion design was always in me,” say Ivana Knezovic. Having resided in New York, Toronto, and Switzerland, designing was something she always wanted to do. "Murva is the name of a tree in my village. My company represents a return to my roots, to who I am at my core."
"I like structure. I like hiding the body behind some kind of a structure," said the designer who makes all her own clothes and cosmetics. "Eco is a product of maturity and of wholeness that you can only achieve when you really and truly grow up."
As a designer, she told me that she strives for “pure minimalism,” yet her eco-fashion designs are made for a sophisticated, minimalistic, and determined woman.
Exactly what the eco-fashion movement needs.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
There's an architect designing the world from the skyline downwards, as he believes himself to be a God
The paraffin lamps on Victorian cobbled corners are as dry as the seraph in dust bowls over some arid sea
A portrait exists, of a town covered in mist and the orange cliffs are a thousand bloodied wrists
Somewhere music plays to ghosts, obtuse reverberations of some cave on a mountain... or something
and what a useless skill it is to be a poet, flouting fanciful words as if a single soul cared or could possibly muster anything more than unadulterated apathy
What a lonely life it is, to spend entire days watching *********** and reveling in dissociative stoicism
Watching cam girls for hours on end, swept up in conversation yet never taking part, only watching
They seem as lonely as anybody, holed up in crimson rooms as anonymous DJs play through laptop speakers
Fielding obscene questions with a smile and renting their body in timetables to the highest tipper
and some days the depression becomes so heavy that ************ seems impossible, though it's possible to blame such scarcity on the anti-anxiety meds that have ruined so many-a youthful folly
Is there a more flattering notion, than a story teller being commended for honesty when every word is a lie
Fictional accounts of melancholic lives told in a pulchritudinous verse or a prose of the most regal purples
Using nothing more than psycho-stimulants and a smeared bedroom window for inspiration
There's a writer sat at a desk, typing ridiculous lines of text, as he knows himself to be human
and in that humanity he strives to create a realists interpretation of existence through scattered memories
and derivative styles of his favourite authors whilst using educational texts as footnotes in imaginary diaries
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
By the soul and it's order and porportion given to it
Inspired by it's wickness and righteousness each spirit strives
for it's own clear goal, wether that be nihilistic in some eyes,
or of great worth to others, each soul has been brought with
the greatest of purity at its time of birth.
Corrupting it is as simple as purifying it, but the evil, shades,
seduces tempts and leads astray to which a soul poorly responds.
Desires, wishes, hopes and dreams of them differ in many unique,
fantastic or irritational, preculiar and dark.
However, each spirit of a living being shares one similarity,
It is, as simple as it may appear, just the wish and dream to live
a life in carefree attitudes and a happy manner.
Of course, wealth too is amongst those shared desires, but this
world is cruel, brutal and shows no mercy as others have too much
and others have almost none at all.
Oh you of humble birth, patience, tollerance, compassion, love are
making this world a better place.
So give from your wealth and purify your soul by such,
in the remembrance of the poor, oppressed, depressed, abused,
starving human beings, whom could at least have it a little better.
And each soul runs on a clear course, determined to meet it's fate
when the sunset of its life has arrived and death becomes a cover.
~ Umi
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 3:46 AM UTC
I've always been confused
by media's personifications of Life.
*A beautiful woman
whose skin is flawless
whose face is symmetric
who has no faults*
She, Life, is perfect and clean.
How life truly is not
A depiction of Life I give you now,
one not so perfect as She before.
Skin and features of many
taking in the best and worst.
A being who is strong and weak
visibly ill while being well.
A being who is beautiful in it's -u-g-l-i-n-e-s-s-
or rather,
a being who is beautiful in it's uniqueness.
A being who is not perfect,
but strives to be.
A being who is not commonly pretty,
but true to the mixture of
Pain and Sorrow
with
Ease and Joy.
Now I am sure you depict
Life a different way.
But how truthful all these depictions are
for life is different to everyone.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
That gorgeous gridiron beauty
Strives to be the best
Always training and preparing
She is a cut above the rest
It is no wonder
That her teammates follow her lead
She is a person that inspires
She knows how to succeed
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
I'm an eagle,
that flies high above the basin.
Or, am I a snake navigating the forest floor.
Fate is what answers this.
It's cold reaches high and low.
One strives for the sky,
but walks among meadows.
Not knowing of twig they break,
or the path they wield.
Am I an eagle?
I would like to be,
high above the heavens.
Far from the roots that hold,
and nourish.
Am I a snake?
Meekly making way through thicket.
Always finding passage,
through life's perils.
Yes, only fate can answer this.
Fate will choose.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 7:46 PM UTC
A slow break in the monotony,
As low whispers fill my eyes.
There is a silence on the air with a subtle cruelty,
Redolent of my most feverish nights.
Impressionable though you are,
The fierce desire of each night spent lying awake so the coarse memory of your skin may plague my mind.
The Kiss never seemed so haunting,
So deathly.
I can't believe it would look as I feel even today.
I drink the remedy in silence,
But not tranquility.
Complacency is a mistaken innervation.
Jaded though widely perceived as infallible truth.
Divinity is as tranquility strives to be,
For I have witnessed your gaze,
And know it to be true.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
There's a void.
I recognize the echo
in the lack of sound.
The 3 a.m. world
stares at me through the window.
The snow strives to conceal the void,
though ends dissolved in the warmth of
my blood.
So I stand sensing the void,
embracing the void,
being the void.
I stand serene.
(And the snow falls,
and the blood flows,
yet I stand - numb.)
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
Efforts run a trickling stream and Good Intentions leap a head, Dedication fights the hardy fight
Lackadaisical rides the flow. Respite comes up fare, Desire strives ever forward, only few will
Make the race, but Doing lags behind. Effort holds up, slowing a tiny bit the end not yet in sight
Good Intentions has already died, Dedication surges toward the finish.
The finish line is not so far, Lacky fell off quick, Respite finds one or two, Desire is crawling, Effort
Is right behind, Dedication takes the easy way out. Doing is plodding, trudging up the hill, but, picks
Up Desire before it falls...Effort is gone, some laugh, laugh at the race, but winning is None the Less
with Doing and Desire right along.
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 10:55 PM UTC
Only if you knew…
How it bleeds inside
The baby born of blood and flesh
Just a hideous beast ruined by time.
Single dame- thousand names
Only if you knew,
How the ice burns my throat
How the wills and wants went cold…
Only if I knew,
What the skies hold for me
I didn’t touch the blade,
But the stains don’t fade away..
Why the contrition of yesterday
Still ****** my soul’s edges
Why the sweet reminiscences,
Still a gloomy haze?
Why the memoirs of divinity
Have turned in immoral disgrace?
Why the reaper can’t sing in its solace?
Thee heart keep running but lost in its pace
Why each passing moment moans for the albatross?
Only if we knew…
The curiosities of life
And anxieties open and wide
Don’t stop the eyes
Now open and searching life
Taking my chances,
Hiding my grievances
I risk the curve
Once was jilted and deserted from love
I bask in the glow, soak in the sun
Step out of the low
The Satan takes no pity
Leaves the beast with an impaired heart
Now the eyes are shut, the dark creeps in
The clouds come and lo! they win
The stars now astray in a veiled sky
Feeble and faint
Again leave the beast forsaken
But animal instincts they call it
It strives again..
Only if you knew…
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
A creature not of here or there
With parts that do not fit
Neither fish nor fowl, horse or bear
A bashed together kit
Too many heads, some with horns
Body furred and scaled
Eagles wings and spines like thorns
And as a peacock tailed
Some aspects might bring a smile
While others will repel
One small detail may beguile
Yet another breaks the spell
Each pack or flock it tries to join
Though they seemed akin
And in some facet quite adroit
Another portion can’t fit in
Every time it tries as best it may
To hide an offending section
Knowing that if seen in light of day
The result will be rejection
So the beast remains an alien
Cloaks what's best concealed
Strives to imitate the chameleon
That no misshape be revealed
All creatures hunger for a home
Chimera hungers too
But it wanders doomed to roam
A haven to pursue
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 10:12 PM UTC
*Inspired by As I Walked Out One Evening by W.H. Auden
As I walked out one evening under the blanket of dark blue sky
Thinking about the week to come
Will the days be remembered, or rather wasted and forgotten?
Each tired child thinks the same thought.
Sunday nights slip into Monday mornings
Mondays slowly become Tuesdays;
Yet somehow the days become one
Each tired child unable to differentiate each day from the last
Wake up, brush teeth, brush hair, repeat.
Math, English, read, write, factor, and repeat.
Return home, work, eat, sleep and then repeat.
Each tired child thinks, “Is this really living?”
Stuck in a labyrinth of concrete
Routine forces every move
Taunted by the warm blanket left behind, only to leave a blanket of papers
Each tired child stares at the ticking clock.
Thoughts interrupted by bells at the same time
Routine consumes every thought
Each indistinguishable day
Where each child struggles to lift heavy eyelids.
Same faces seen every day
Same places seen every day
Weeks blur into months, which in turn disappear in the minds
Each tired child fights every robotic move.
Closing doors and opening books
The teachers scream and roll their eyes
Where thoughts aren’t thoughts unless they are in Times New Roman
Each tired child strives to be heard.
As I walked out one evening under the blanket of dark blue sky
Thinking about the years to come
Routine is inescapable while spontaneity is a distant myth dreamt up in the minds
Of each tired adult who forgets what it’s like to be a child.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
I reach to feel your lips
But the net of night discerns
So I adore your cheek
My hand at your side
Strives to pull you in
Like the moon
That drags the waves nearby
Your words to me so soft
They rival a subtle breeze
As your eyes unveil the stars
To display them for the first time
I want to say, "I love you"
And cut the Heaven's floor
But I know time will not come swift
So I will cast my stillborn heart
Until the day we meet again
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 11:18 PM UTC
Streets covered with hatred, a
tainted neighborhood.
Leadership take it as a sign that
everything is good.
People mislead and forgotten
left to carry the note.
Leadership's only concern is
will you give them a vote.
Decayed relations with the city
the green grass has died.
Leadership strives on messages
of conquer and divide.
Death covers the streets taking
one block at a time.
Leadership looks the other way
as if everything is fine.
The city continues to scream loud
in the middle of the night.
Leadership's only concern is that
their name tag is spelled right.
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 4:03 AM UTC
I wonder what it is to be like her
To be shattered,
To be hurt
To be broken
By everyone
And still manage to stand so strong
I wonder how many of us wish to be like her
The one who often goes unnoticed
A woman who carries a storm within her
But refuses to let it show
For it may destroy everyone around
Even before you know
I wonder what it takes to be a woman like her
To be at the receiving end of betrayals,
And forgotten relationships
A woman, being referred to, as someone so ordinary
And yet not complaining
I wonder how it is to be the woman she is
A woman of power
A woman of values and beliefs
A woman, who values faith
The independent one,
Wanting to stand on her own feet
I wonder what it is to be the woman
Who often strives
To be better
Than what she was yesterday
Who puts down her dreams and aspirations for the ones she loves
And yet fails to get the love she deserves
I wonder what would it be
To meet that woman
The woman within us
The one within you and me
The one we look at
Everyday in the mirror
The one we don’t admire
But just see....
I wonder what it takes
To be a woman
Just like you and me......
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 8:17 AM UTC
Death patiently files his nails
And smokes a casual cigarette
Grinning and eyeless
He says so calmly
"Catch you later
Brave little dreamer"
Despite such brittle certainty
Men and women build
Despite such small mortality
Every space is filled
In the midst of death's destruction
Men and women build again
Fear, like a cringing bowel
Exudes an acrid stench
And whimpers and whines
Simpers and cries
"Don't you dare
Don't you ever dare"
Despite this clinging dread
Some will need to dare
Despite the bursting head
Dreams insist on birth
In the midst of our stupidities
Something wondrous strives
By Phil Roberts
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 12:08 PM UTC