"stubborness" poems
I cut my hair,
the tips that you liked curlying around your fingers while you sang are now gone.
I painted it with sunshine rays,
To surround me with all the light I've been needing since the last time I got blinded by yours.
And that flock of hair that was shorter from that time I accidentally burned it trying to light you a cigarrette, the one that made me smile with its stubborness to stay still, the one that reminded me of our first night, it has growned.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
**Can we buy everything from money,
Say me Say me , Tell me Tell me;
Can we buy humans from money,
Can we buy love from money,
Can we buy mother's love from money,
Can we buy relationship from money,
Can we buy our precious life from money,
Can we buy our emotions and feelings from money,
Say me Say me , Tell me Tell me;
Everything in world cannot be buy by money,
Than Why humans are mad behind money,
Than Why money rules the world,
Than Why richest rules the poorer,
Than Why humans LOVE MONEY but do not LOVE GOD,
WHY Humans going closer towards million dollars and going away from GOD.
RACE to earn money and forget our loved and beloved ONE'S.
WHEN WILL THESE RACE TO EARN MONEY WILL COME'S TO END.
Say me Say me , Tell me Tell me;
WHO RULES THE WORLD MONEY OR STUBBORNESS.**
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
In South America, truck drivers are paid collossal amounts
of money, to deliver supplies between towns on
roads, no wider than the width of their trucks.
When you turned up on my doorstep that sunday in the rain,
your eyes told me before your lips did.
Sixty three hundred days is a long long time to wait for someone,
but I would do it all over again,
if it meant I could fall asleep in your arms one last time.
Next Autumn when the leaves turn rusty and fall from the trees,
I'll remember the afternoon we spent in Victoria park,
where you waded to the middle of the duckpond,
just because I said you wouldn't.
Your mother always told me when we stacked away the good china after Sunday lunch,
that your stubborness always got in the way of what was right.
You've been gone eight hours and still nobodies reminded me how difficult I can be at times.
Eight months later and everytime the phone rings I imagine your voice crackling down the line "come get me from the supermarket, I have sugar buns. "
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
evolution
is a souls solution
to grow and nurture
a positive future
revolution
is egos solution
filled with stubborness
pushing forward with blindness
evolution
has an ebb and flow
revolution
has a catapultic show
evolution has a harmony
a flexibility with fluidity
revolution has a warlike stance
with no rhythm in its dance
evolution
is a resolution
for our spiritual growth
with our souls oath
Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 6:05 AM UTC
“He used you,"
said the psychic with a
look of disgust.
He What?
"He used you.”
But, wait!
What about all those magical nights, when the starry indigo sky exposed
our souls - intertwined - endlessly
wrapped in each other’s arms and dreams - believing we
were stopping time?
It was so real,
so authentic – nothing less than Truth.
"He used you."
Nope.
I wanted to scream
in her face -
You are Wrong!
You are Confused!
Your crystal ball is cracked!
(even though she was spot on about every other aspect of my life).
"He used you."
A part of me knew she was right.
(I hate that part).
That part of me that still finds it
hard to breathe when I think about
the sucker punch he slammed
into my heart on the last day
I ever saw his face again.
A perfect swing
right through my soul,
as a goodbye
(good riddance?)
gift.
“He used you.”
Time Heals.
Shut up.
Anger and betrayal are the
hardest to let go of -
as if I’m hanging from the wing of
a moving airplane,
holding on for dear life - not
trusting my own strength.
"He used you."
I won't let go until my
red hot pride ceases to fuel my
stubborness and anger. I won't let go until he feels the same humiliating, soul sucker punch that I did. I won't let go until endless, sleepless nights consume his mind as he obsessively tries to figure out how he could've been so wrong.
Then I can finally release him, and us, and all
of it – the shame the shame the shame -
blow it all away with
one deep sigh!
Like a dandelion ******
upon the wind.
"He used you."
But, he loved me.
"Yet, he used you."
He used me?
He. Used. Me.
I wish she had never mentioned it.
Because he always said he loved me.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC
I have no idea what home is for me anymore.
It's not the third house this year, with new housemates and a pile of bad memories on the shelves. I don't care about the twentyfive pairs of heels in my closet. I never feel content with travelling home.
It's not my mothers place, not since years. There's a mixture of scents in the air there. Fights and anxiety, depressions and stubborness. But I still come there all the time.
It's not even the place where we go camping, though the rocks feel like freedom and I feel far away from all ********
I used to think it was in somebody else's arms, but I can no longer believe such.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
striving for simplicity
has starting seeming
quite similar to settling
for much, much less.
i suffer this stubborness
like some plague;
some ***** scared of searching
for a saviour, or a cure,
unwilling to forgo the laws
that make him shout, 'impure!'
or 'unclean!' or 'run away,
******* run away!
i am death and his son hopeless,
and we've come out to play.'
an answer waiting underneath
every leaf and stone
and every molecule he breathes
on the wind when he's alone,
tickling his seeping wounds
and begging him to see . . .
i'm here, i'm here . . .
look here . . . see me.
but instead of living hopefully
looking for answers
that want to be seen,
just writhing in pain at the sting of the breeze,
and cursing and moaning
and spraying forth death
so stubborn and stupid with every breath
that's me, that's me . . .
that's me . . . that's me.
a leper's disposition
on a long dead, lifeless heart
afraid of hoping for a change,
a cure, a fairy's pond
stubborn like a stone
so stupid and stubborn with every breath . . .
a glass of porter left behind on the bar,
flat and forgotten,
forsaken, weak, and wasted . . .
that's me, that's me . . .
that's me . . . that's me.
so stubborn and so selfish,
never reaching, never finding
the simplicity i supposedly
believed might save my life . . .
an excuse to surrender
and to squander and forsake
every opportunity
that would ever come my way
until my talents are just rusty tools
in the back of some toolshed
in some swamp in new new orleans
in the background of my head.
i have long since lived too many years
to believe i am owed more
and i have yet to do one single thing
that's been worth fighting for,
and sticking to and seeing through
and working at until
it pays off and releases me
from my hopeless, bankrupt will.
a ***** with a strange and stubborn
sense of salvation
my days are leaking right through my skin,
and dripping their decaying death
along a trail stretched out behind me . . .
a path that's leading nowhere,
made from nothing, with no one along its way . . .
potential in hunks littering both sides
in different stages of decay.
stubborn, and selfish,
but some will must still remain
in the corner of some toolshed
in the bog that is my brain.
a cleansing of the soul, or a
katrina of the mind
my freedom must be lurking somewhere,
for i am still alive.
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
Holding the mirror as it cuts me,
young distorted beauty.
I hear the lurking as you say,
"Hello It's me your guilty friend,
I've come uninvited moving in."
Slowly eating away my body until I disengrate.
Perhaps you may think you have the superiority over me,
Dismantling me taking away my abilities.
Sadly, you do not know the perseverance and **** stubborness fighting in me.
Good bye anorexia.
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC
In time's ebb and flood
we are like puppets
falling down
and being pulled back up again
by the powerful strings
of our own primeval stubborness;
Yo-yoing back and forth
while the shooting gallery
shots of fate and fortune
hit or miss.
Tragicomedy in the full!
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 6:08 AM UTC
My poetic muse in times of love.
The colour of my passion, the centre of my inspiration.
With your eyes you inspire me towards the stars, with your crystal shine you light up my mind and inspire me to write.
Your words and love have become my ink, your stubborness and pride the fire to my dreams. You carry me further beyond my limits, break my borders of normal thinking.
My muse.
My inspiration.
The epitome of my poetic nature.
Mar 18, 2010
Mar 18, 2010 at 10:00 AM UTC
We've stood togther at the crossroads
I've always been ready at the fork in the road
With my boots strapped tight and a map in hand
Trying to help lessen the weight of the load
We are never there alone though
So my offered guidance you refuse
You hand half the load to stubbornness
And one of you two choose
My choice is to follow along cautiously
Or head down a different road alone
Leaving you and your friend stubbornness
To venture off with all I own
Before I know whats happening
I'm following in the rear
Lead down the path you've taken
On a dark road to despair
It's the same story everytime
You eventually regret the choice
It's always here, in the middle of no where
You start to hear my voice
Miles back, in the light of day
I stood to block the way
But it wasn't my decision then
So you chose to ignore what I had to say
Here in the darkness, surronded by danger
Huddled next to me, your friend stubborness becomes a stranger
Suddenly you depend on me
I'm looked at as the game changer
Thats when the tables turn
Now I'm handed all the gear
The strength you both had earlier
Has crumbled into fear
I get us to the otherside
We are grateful to be alive
For a short time I'm the hero
I'm the reason we survived
But like a circle goes around
The cycle starts anew
At the beginning of another crossroad
I'm left following stubborness and you
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
Captured there in orange
beneath the old street light
a cloud of breath exhaled
hangs heavy in the night.
Waiting on the 409
has never been this bleak
the fierce wind nips your ear lobe
and ice cold stings your cheek.
I watch you turn your collar up
your back against the bite
one hand on that coffee cup
the other out of sight.
Each morning
getting colder
the forecast is for snow
in fleece and wool you face the frost
and how I'll never know
I see you’re green
my blue faced friend
the green before the fall
you've never been about the perks
it's conscience above all.
The last thing on your mind just now
would be to get a Lynx
traffic is lame
road rage insane
And air pollution stinks.
Don't EVEN get you started
on the SUV
spews out nitrous oxide
and guzzles Texas tea.
Public parking,
another rare find
for what you get,
they rob you blind.
and what they miss
the vandal takes
leave you with migranes
the car alarm makes.
better for all
we all take the train
or one car per family
'stead of one car per brain.
Watching you stand there
with ice crystals forming
I despise all your stubborness
you NEED global warming!
I know you're no girly
my Ever-Ready mate
but my Duracel is waiting
and the 409 is late
I get out of my car
and approach you from the rear
my work cut out, without a doubt
the ice lymric is near
poetic license pending
I call for a herione's ending
like a frozen filet, without word or delay
I can lift you without even bending.
Once inside and thawing
you start in about the gas
I turn down the heat,
but turn up the seat
that's warming up your ****
I'm all for the planet, I tell ya
and doing whatever is best
but for mornings like these
with your jewels in deep freeze
come with and we'll heat up the Quest!
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 1:54 AM UTC
Oh, god.
Please not this again.
But here we go.
Can we please just talk this out,
through this imaginary friendship of ours that I've made up in my delirious mind.
I want to you stop hating me,
or if you do not hate me, to stop giving me death glares every time I walk by?
You're so beautiful and you have no clue. His sister said you should be a model and I think it's true.
Ugh, how I envy you. How I wish to be even a glimpse of you.
I wish I could be you, but I know it isn't going to happen.
So for now, all I ask of you is to be my friend...
But that will never happen either, for neither of us will give up our stubborness and be the first to say "hello".
But I'll be the one asking over and over again in mind, "Can I be you...? Please...? Or can we be just be friends?"
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 2:39 AM UTC
You'll never know that I miss you.
Even if I could find the words, the strength
I don't deserve to try and reclaim us
You're better off keeping me at length
The distance may hurt, but no wounds
will be made fresh. That's best.
If you read this, you'd call me out so easily
You'd remind me I was the cause of
this pain that lies within me.
"No pity for self inflicted wounds."
If only I had not replied to your angry words.
Maybe you'd be awake with me now,
making me laugh when I just couldn't cry
Pointing out beauty I often miss somehow...
But i distanced myself in a thousand ways
Choices piled up, unstoppable.
My stubborness to blame for this haze.
I want to give you this, but I won't.
So...you'll never know that I miss you.
Sep 19, 2011
Sep 19, 2011 at 3:22 AM UTC
I don't love you
not completely
at least not yet
but I can feel my soul
reaching to entwine with yours
it's tied in a nice neat knot
I love your smile
I love your laugh
I love your stubborness
and everything in between
I don't love you
not completely
at least not yet
not until the knot becomes a tangle
and I love you to the point of stupidity
to the total loss of sanity
to sacrificial limitations
past where I could never forget you
irreversibly wicked
I don't love you
not completely
at least not yet
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 5:12 PM UTC
half toothless and half truthless
his stubborness can be ruthless
living half a century ago
not up to date with what we currently know
he move's so slow you wonder if he's ever passed go
calls current truths propaganda
he look's for knowledge in outdated memoranda
living in the past because modern days are too fast
a young fellow shouldn't listen unless he wants to end up in last
but he still has some soundness
what he says is sometimes the profoundest
he can make you think twice
and doesn't care if it isn't nice
but he'll still show compassion in his outdated fasion
long lost was his life filled with passion
the young and the old will continue to clash
but it's up to the youth to not act rash
because at one point that old man was like you
so decisive that his convictions were absolutely true
wouldn't the world be perfect if we both only knew
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 6:41 PM UTC
In the big and blue
Are people swimming
With watershoes
Transparence is the colour hue
Of this ocean
It has waves of many sizes
Rock and sand as well
Shoals of fish that swim
Together in vast numbers so swell!
There is a cycle
That cannot forfeit
To be broken
Or destroyed yet
There's yet so much to discover
But our stubborness overpowers
Many tropicals
Many corals
So much to see
In the big and blue
What lies at the depths of it
Is still a mystery
Even if we search and search
We won't find what we're looking for
But what are we looking for?
Why are we looking for this?
The sky is like a person
And the sea like a mirror
To discover the skys true beauty
It uses the sea's reflection
Making this water
Either blue or green
The sky beautifies
The magnificent sea
There are fantasies
Oh so wonderful dreams
They make us believe
That's it's not what it seems
They hypnotize, cover up
But the beauties
Are amongst us
In the big and blue
Are animals of many kinds
There are waves
That will break
On the sand
There are rocks
That and homes
Fish and plant
In the big and blue
You'll find colours so true
It's like a rainbow
Underwater now!
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 8:39 AM UTC
Ninety-nine percent of the time
The truth is brutal
It'll knock you on your back
You'll lie there positioned fetal
Praying it cuts you slack
As for me,
I continue to bear my soul
While most fear truth
I disclose the untold
My ninety-nine percent
Consists of a night owl
And a midnight snack
Laughing until my gut wrenches
And researching odd facts
My truth
Subsists of stubborness
I blame my dad for that
Tears form when I get angry,
But I forgive, rather than fight back
My reality
Reveals clearly
I'm a dreamer wandering an offbeat path
I've been told my goal's improbable,
But I believe in magic after solving the math
And honestly,
My heart falls swiftly
For the one I can't have
And to the ones who wanted me,
I can't force feelings that I lack
Ninety-nine percent of the time
The truth is brutal
It'll knock you on your back
I've shared my proportion,
And it's worth enduring to reach
My one percent of liberation after that
© JL Smith
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 10:07 PM UTC
behold your mother bent over with age,
who washes still your clothes over the tub,
and he whose joints now more frequent he rubs,
behold your father as your mirror gauge,
for what he is, that also you will be,
and how he leaves, you likewise will, so see
her old curved spine slight twisted won't deter,
the mighty worker from her daily chore,
of caring for the child-like man she bore,
for love, her duties she will not defer,
for still she will admonish what is right,
until she leaves your unattentive sight,
the once invincible and wise father,
now frail with muscles atrophied and weak,
persists beyond your stubborness to speak,
whose sage advice, to heed you will not bother,
oh dear, with aging horns yet still a fawn,
at whose feet will you sit when he is gone?
remember well your parents while they are,
while wrinkled trembling arms may still embrace,
to whisper in the ear and kiss your face,
before their mouths and ears will be too far,
for one day you will find yourself alone,
until your aging flesh departs from bone
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 7:46 PM UTC
Get in touch with the other side of yourself you fail to seek.
Your stubborness; the inconvenience it never fails to bring on me.
"She's dead to me, She's dead to me, She's dead to me," I preach,
for there is nothing left of me, I'm drowning in my sleep.
Please let me breathe.
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 12:30 PM UTC
Standing here lost
pride, what cost?
greeted with frost
looks glaringly crossed
Forgiveness
no, stubborness
feeling powerful
no awful
I never take what’s
not given willingly
my own moral code
righteousness spilling
Do I now feel bolder
no, just a little colder
I could have lay on his shoulder
but my heart as hard as a boulder
I stand here alone and weep
probably tonight, no sleep
I’m feeling like a creep
looking at myself, not a peep
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 7:54 PM UTC
Captured there in orange
beneath the old street light
a cloud of breath exhaled
hangs heavy in the night.
Waiting on the 409
has never been this bleak
the fierce wind nips your ear lobe
and ice cold stings your cheek.
I watch you turn your collar up
your back against the bite
one hand on that coffee cup
the other out of sight.
Each morning
getting colder
the forecast is for snow
in fleece and wool you face the frost
and how I'll never know
I see you’re green
my blue faced friend
the green before the fall
you've never been about the perks
it's conscience above all.
The last thing on your mind just now
would be to get a Lynx
traffic is lame
road rage insane
And air pollution stinks.
Don't EVEN get you started
on the SUV
spews out nitrous oxide
and guzzles Texas tea.
Public parking,
another rare find
for what you get,
they rob you blind.
and what they miss
the vandal takes
leave you with migranes
the car alarm makes.
better for all
we all take the train
or one car per family
'stead of one car per brain.
Watching you stand there
with ice crystals forming
I despise all your stubborness
you NEED global warming!
I know you're no girly
my Ever-Ready mate
but my Duracel is waiting
and the 409 is late
I get out of my car
and approach you from the rear
my work cut out, without a doubt
the ice lymric is near
poetic license pending
I call for a herione's ending
like a frozen filet, without word or delay
I can lift you without even bending.
Once inside and thawing
you start in about the gas
I turn down the heat,
but turn up the seat
that's warming up your ****
I'm all for the planet, I tell ya
and doing whatever is best
but for mornings like these
with your jewels in deep freeze
come with and we'll heat up the Quest!
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC
Begin, start, go.
It shouldn’t be this hard
my nemesis beckons,
I shall not comply.
The interest is mine,
I am quite capable
little effort is needed
I will not comply.
I will not give in,
It stares from afar
I lose, although still
I do not comply
It does not win,
and neither do I
this failure because
I cannot comply
In this stubborness
neither benefits
It is the deepest loss
I did not comply
and here I stand,
holding on to a bittersweet triumph.
while crushed by a loss
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 4:24 PM UTC
Stubborness was a trait defined acutely at your birth. Some rogue star endowing you with a will beyond my own. Till now. Each stagnant pause, each inaction is infact an action forging reactions upon me. Sealing a resolve upon my heart to forsake you. All that remains is the molten wax with the words inscrpited access denied. your new monker imbeded upon my skin. And it seeps darkly red in every corner displacing even the last hope. My heart star has faded.
And i dont care. Are you satisfied now?
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 7:19 PM UTC
*There is an absence of light
screaming around me
It is the first of February
the night crawling, an obituary
Conspicuous and hung with death.
A blackout
the local electric company
has yet to be friendly
I didn't mind
The air was young and a tease
Through the windows it approached
Like a growing fire
Closing in on my bare ribs
Soothing my sore mind
Out on the receiving territory
Comes the warm excess
Like oranges hilted on wax
It was sad claiming
They wage brighter wars
Than my soul
But I inhaled their spirit
For a quietness lived in their glow
Barks scrape against the summer dread
Unable to shut their stubborness
They connive with the crickets
For a night of overture
I can smell ambivalence
In the starless skies
Will it cry?
Or will it die along as with everything?
I'd embrace the cold with
My equally hostile arms
It treats me with dignity
From outside the cars screech
Like a wailing woman
Stalling the witch's eye
With fragments of yellow and white
Onto the oblivion of the roads
And the loneliness of a night just
Coming to life.*
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC