"sturdiest" poems
Make me your emblem
Adopt my colours
Let them be seen
Through actions and verse
Make me your flag
Fly me high upon the sturdiest masts
Watch me billow with purpose
Catching the wind that forever lasts
Make me your anthem
With truth in words that rings so clear
Sing me loud and true
Sing me always for all to hear
Make me your creed
Pledge yourself to always uphold
My name in thoughts and writes
Emblazoned across as your brand in gold
Make me your home
Your shelter for when the day's done
A safe haven to return to
With the setting of the sun
Or just...
Make me someone...
Anyone...
So at least I know that I exist
Make me a simple somebody in your life
Not just a name on a forgotten list
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 12:58 PM UTC
A little guilt goes a long way
Even the sturdiest oak can be made to sway
Figments of people duped by atavistic views
Waking up from bouts of fervor
A most sadistic snooze
They repose like overgrown fountains of youth
Their dreams rusted, forgotten and that’s the truth
In a lonely forest, oaks fall with the loudest screams
A somberness aided by clouds and defective sun beams
My soul has finally given in to moralistic cracks
For now it’s about as clean as mud pies and tire tracks
I’m wobbling down my lifetime from crutch to crutch
Wondering when to finally whisper **** I’ve seen too much”
So please, return me home, send my spirit way down below
To lands of rusted dreams and toss-turned pillows
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
In an alternate universe,
the light would be more friend than foe.
I need not entrench myself
in the sturdiest foxhole...
The deepest burrow.
In an alternate universe,
shadows would not goad me
into submitting to leverage.
Spotlight would be on,
and I would take centrestage.
In an alternate universe,
the world would perceive
with magnanimous eyes.
With no malicious intent,
with no obscure motives,
all twisted and bent.
In an alternate universe,
I would readily reveal myself...
As an entity and not a martyr.
In my heart, there'll be no worry.
Because there'll be no fangs
amidst the jubilee.
Only smiles that would draw out
the best in each other.
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 9:54 AM UTC
I am a cold, bleak and weary melody;
Forced out of guitar strings, alone,
a solitary piece made by a starving man.
My low notes bring down the sturdiest ship,
dragging its corpse to lay down on the sea-floor.
I am a low pitch plea of woeful "help me";
a drowning man swallowing water as his
mouth seeks the air.
My voice is wispy smoke of years of no use,
contaminating the very lungs from which it originates
from.
And sleep, she is a blissful siren.
Bringing me to underwater caverns-
chanting and humming melodies as the pressure
takes me down under and my eyes close in surrender.
I am more dead than my corpse will ever be;
just an empty sea-shell-
no pearl, no life.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
For those who are in love,
Love is a force of nature
Unstoppable and powerful
Pure and perfect.
But for the brokenhearted,
Love creates the illusion
That everything is good
Love is not blind but it does blind
It blinds you into believing
That the rose has no thorns
And that you can cross any ocean
Or survive any storm.
It creates another version of you
That is vulnerable, accepting,
And forgiving
No matter how many times you've been hurt.
It's a diversion, a dead end.
Love is jumping in a cliff, blindfolded,
And expecting for someone to catch you.
An intricately constructed algorithm-
A subtle lie,
For the brokenhearted.
Yet love is unfathomable
It's a powerful force that changes people
Moves even the biggest mountains
Breaks the sturdiest rocks
And melts the coldest glaciers.
Love is both monochrome and
A kaleidoscope of colors.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 11:43 AM UTC
The nettle stings, scrapes, scratches, and scuffed shoes were
far removed from us; the last worry as we cut,
crisscrossing to create a crawl space
through a wall of flesh-hungry growth -
at first - to gain access to more flesh-hungry growth
The discipline - for me - was an exhorted departure but the
product was worth every scab; an open space where we
could be: undisturbed, unfettered, unchained, and with
a live canopy we were free to create more, build more,
care more and leave a sliver of our growth
Perhaps more than a sliver. Perhaps it has become my
definition of what it meant to be young and to find a fit;
connect with the other forgers - akin to a close-knit
military unit - collecting driftwood, desks, drawers, drapes,
and designated seats to burn or to use as decor
And decorated it was. Spectacularly so! Swings hanging
from the sturdiest branches, discarded rugs coated
with muck, leaves, and filth dragged in to line our atrium,
a place for every member and a code:
"Nobody but us"
Simple society solidified with barbaric politics.
A system preaching tribal nonsense can't last long.
Mostly the damage was done when things got less simple;
when we grew and outgrew and the fences were put up.
The homes and the simple society were moved in shortly after
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 6:09 PM UTC
Just like ceaseless
Drops of water, that
Over time, wear down the sturdiest of rocks,
So can little lies,
Those clever evasions and half-truths,
Erode the most stalwart of hearts.
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 10:08 AM UTC
You are weary, I think
Of endless puzzles and games
And short romantic flames
You have grown disenchanted
With everything
Every stupid girl and foolish fling
You are bored
Of things built upon passing waves
Of all these conformists, these slaves
You have grown spiteful
Against people whining and nagging
And keeping secrets and bragging
And you are exasperated, maybe,
With all your toys breaking
As soon as you take them out of their boxes
It may be you are sick
Of instability and castles of crumbling sand
Of things reeling and getting out of hand
You have grown impatient
With cheaters and capricious ******
Who claim they are forever yours
You are tired, perhaps
Of feeling alone
And things aching through no fault of your own
I may not be
The sturdiest thing you've ever laid eyes on
I am little, and frail
And weak and pale
And I stumble when it's windy out
But I know, without a doubt
That for you I will be strong
That I will never do you wrong
I'll keep you from going off the brink
Because you are weary, I think
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
she's got shadows in her hair
and scorpions hide in there.
her eyes drip venom,
incapacitating
all she glances upon,
turning a summer sunrise
into decay.
she's got shadows in her hair
and scorpions move beneath the surface.
her lips skitter,
chasing down
and breaking apart
even the sturdiest of mountains.
she's got shadows in her hair
and scorpions crawl under skin.
her teeth gnaw,
eroding
all she touches,
turning a broken promise
into gossamer strands.
she's got shadows in her hair
and scorpions dance within her skull.
her chest heaves,
filling up
and emptying out
the horizon.
she's got shadows in her hair
and scorpions bleeding throughout.
her heart roars,
shaking
all she treads on,
turning a lifetime
into dust.
she's got shadows in her hair
and I no longer care about the scorpions.
her hands shake,
holding my
immortal coil
in a death grip.
she's got scorpions in her hair.
Feb 2, 2024
Feb 2, 2024 at 4:40 AM UTC
she was the
cold
cold
queen of the
warm
wild west
sunset hair in
heavy waves
acted as its own personal
masquerade ball
shading the town from her
sincere
countenance
oh, but she could drink even
the sturdiest men
under the table
though even
the sturdiest men
would rather have her
on top of them
rumor had it that she
kissed a boy
by the name of Billy Dorchester
with a pistol
in place of her saint-like
lips
you'd think with the way
she dances on those
tables
high above all the
greedy
& amorous folk
you could catch a glimpse
of the gun at her
thigh
but I ain't seen it once
I think all these
****** people
know how to do around here
is lie
she could burn this place
to the ground
& not do any harm
we all just got some
sort of fever
for the evil ones
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 12:04 AM UTC
Once upon a time in a land faraway
Was a little bird who wished to fly.
Decked on the branch of the sturdiest tree,
He wished to someday soar so high.
He watched the blazing September sun,
and felt the chilly mountain breeze--
But the beauty he wished to the mountain god
Was to finally have his own pair of wings.
The seasons changed and leaves have fallen,
But the little bird has never forgotten.
Someday he'd join his father soar,
in the beauty of the lovely September morn.
The seasons changed and the leaves have grown,
Yet the little bird still wished to fly;
And little has the little bird known,
that the mountain god has already tried.
The god has given the wings he wanted,
and gave it to his father dearest.
But the mighty father with the greatest feather,
has hidden the wings the little bird wanted.
The seasons changed and the flowers mourned,
And the little bird still wished to fly,
and when the mighty sun has finally adjourned,
the little bird was left to cry.
But one strange December night,
the little bird saw his father come,
and up in flames his father light,
the wings that was supposedly his.
The little bird did not understand,
and his father said he did it for love
and the little bird has nothing left
But a memory of the wings long gone.
The little bird did not understand,
for he knew he was born for the sky,
and never again would he feel the land,
And never again would he hope to fly.
The father thought his son was fine,
and showered him with everything:
But then his son, with his piercing eyes,
told his father to remind:
"What's a sun without its fire,
to bring its light to everything?
I'm meant to soar, I'm meant to fly,
But what's a bird without his wings?"
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
I have a tendency
to destroy my surroundings,
Taking apart the pieces
of a perfectly put together puzzle,
Or knocking down
the sturdiest skyscraper,
Or painfully tearing away
every piece of your heart.
m.s.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
Even the sturdiest trees in my backyard quiver like mad in the breath of a strong breeze. I am like them, as I panic over the thought of watching you brush effortlessly past my shoulders, the way hurricane wind has the power to sweep a grown man off his feet. I am cautious, tiptoeing around the idea of your absence like fallen power lines in the rain, trembling as I carry the precious moments I have spent with you in the safety of my own coat pockets so they will never feel the agony of electrocution. I am electrified, as I seek shelter from the storm within the comforting warmth of your arms. There are places where the sun flutters her fiery eyelids against waves that kiss shorelines like familiar relatives. There are places where park benches call us by name and ones that long day and night for our feet to grace their unexplored streets. There are words that hang in the atmosphere like hot air balloons waiting to carry us to newborn horizons. It is strange, how there are places where the skies do not bleed threats or cry in languages we cannot understand. How I know that we are metal statues standing embraced in a field during a lightning storm, and yet I would rather get struck with the energy of a thousand prayers if it meant that I could stay, frozen in time, for an eternity we are not guaranteed.
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
I AM GOING TO WIN, I AM GOING TO WIN, I AM GOING TO WIN, I WON I WON I WON I WON I WON I WON I WON I WON I WON I WON I WON I WON I WON
THIS ROCKS MY SOCKS MAN
BECAUSE I AM THE BEST AND I
DID IT I DID IT I DID IT
YES I DID
YES
I AM THE VICTOR
I HAVE ACHIEVED IT
AND I THANK
PEOPLE
WHICH PEOPLE?
I DON’T KNOW
EVERYBODY, HOW BOUT THAT
A LITTLE PIECE OF GRATITUDE
TO CARRY AROUND IN YOUR WALLET
AND SHOW TO THE PERSON
STANDING AT THE ****** OVER
AND HE WON’T PUNCH YOU
BECAUSE HE IS SHOWING YOU HIS LITTLE PIECE OF GRATITUDE TOO
YOU CAN HAVE A GRATITUDE PARTY
INVITE YOUR FRIENDS
INVITE STRANGERS
INVITE THOSE PEOPLE WHO GO AROUND
IN THOSE GIANT STREET CLEANERS AT NIGHT
BECAUSE THEY LIKE TO HAVE FUN TOO
AND WHEN EVERYONE HAS COME TOGETHER
WITH ALL THEIR LITTLE PIECES OF GRATITUDE
THEY WILL MERGE TOGETHER
AND MAKE THE ULTIMATE THANK YOU
AND IT WILL BLOW YOUR MINDS
AND YOUR SOCKS TOO
SO YOU’LL BE STANDING AROUND MINDLESS AND SOCKLESS
AND I WILL TAKE OVER THE WORLD
AND MAKE EVERYONE WALK BAREFOOT IN THE SNOW
AND THEY WILL LISTEN
BECAUSE THEIR MINDS HAVE BEEN BLOWN TO BITS
YOU SEE
AND THEY WILL DO WHATEVER I TELL THEM TO
SO I WILL MAKE THEM FORM A PEOPLE HOUSE
FOR ME TO LIVE IN
AND IT WILL BE THE STURDIEST HOUSE
THAT WHEN AN EARTHQUAKE COMES
IT WILL ONLY SHAKE IT LIKE JELLO
AND JELLO IS GOOD SO THAT IS NOT A PROBLEM
AND THIS MY FRIENDS
IS WHY YOU MUST NEVER THANK ANYONE
BECAUSE THEN YOU BECOME
SLAVES
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 7:18 PM UTC
Had I not waltzed out into that fair night
And faded off into the autumn air,
As such would be the loss I dared endure
If ever such a life I failed to spare.
If I had been aware of such a place
Where blissful contemplation often floats
About in clouds of radiating light,
Perhaps I would find her there.
But even though the sturdiest of walls
Could stand in front of her, or deepest moats
Rest along her path in peaceful currents,
A barrier is yet a broken limit.
Or had she stood atop the tallest peak
Of ever treacherous vertical slate,
Could I simply stare blindly to that spire
As though she held the sun within her arms?
Or could I put my life to such a test;
Perhaps within a split-second decision,
That light which draws me in may never die
But even so, I still aspire to fire.
Or could my own propulsion bring me up
Along those horrifying mountainsides?
If not the danger, then the fear itself
Would lend itself to me and take its toll.
But had I ever reached that daunting spire
And gazed upon her ever lovely hair,
She’d simply spread her wings and fly away,
And leave me in the howling autumn air.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
So I've missed this,
And you've given me the light.
I write this with your pen in hopes of writing something worthwhile.
You are the reason I smile.
You are the last branch on this tree.
I've been falling for quite some time,
hitting every branch on the way down.
Snagging a few to find out they would snap, break, and bend.
You are the sturdiest of the millions.
With you I am closer to the stars than ever before.
And when the sun shines tomorrow,
I know it's going to be a good day.
Just promise me you won't break,
and I promise I'll never let go because you know,
it takes two to make this tree grow.
Jan 7, 2010
Jan 7, 2010 at 8:50 AM UTC
if
love
is
subject
to
too much
friction
will it
wear
out
as
even
the sturdiest
of
fabrics
do?
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 4:36 PM UTC
The verdency has long been bleached from the grass.
It is now hollow straw and chaff.
It soughs and rattles it's
sorrow in whispering distress.
The livestock, ***** smudges
of skin and bone.
Stand listless, under the stick
bare branches, of the ghost gum .
Waiting for the rumble
of the feed truck to come.
The dust swirls, red fine
and irritating to skin and eyes.
The only creature to thrive
are the buzzing horde of
flies.
The bore pump clanks to life
and the water allotment
flows.
The sheep arise and drink
the trough, bone dry.
Before resettling into hungry
repose,
under the white ghost gum west of Gundagia.
This is drought, this is the
wait for rain, this is the daily
struggle, the farmers lonesome refrain.
All but the sturdiest stock
sold, shot or long gone dust,
to the unforgiving heat. Nuturing the best,
saved from starvations
questing hold.
To rebuild the farm
and complete Job's test.
After the rains have come,
all will be good again.
And if they don't come.
Doesn't matter, soon we'll
all be dead.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 3:52 AM UTC
I destroyed us
To salvage me.
Before accusations fling
About that being a selfish thing…
I had to get out with a shred of sanity.
Remember when storm struck
The sturdiest of ships
Refuse to anchor lifeboats.
Let’s let it go
Let’s let us breathe.
It’s time to d r i f t a p a r t . . . .
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 7:51 AM UTC
They buried a small seed
In a dry parched land
The driest autumn they'd seen
Their aim being to destroy
Winter came, stripped every tree
Of its leaves,
Iced the land
Completely covering the ground
They thought that spring
Would be the thing
That would bury her deeper
Outshine her beauty
As it put blossoms on every tree
But summer's rain fell
She chose to heed
To nature's call to grow
And broke the land
Reached out her hands
And poked her head
Looking for the sun
To their surprise
A number of springs later
She stood among the sturdiest
With blooming flowers
Ready to bear fruit
And once again scatter more of her kind on earth
Miss Fit ⚓
Dec 15, 2022
Dec 15, 2022 at 11:11 AM UTC
I’d taken my friends way off the shore
In my small, glass-bottomed boat,
The weather was clear, the sea was calm
For the sturdiest boat afloat,
I wanted to scan the hidden depths
Watch all that lived on the reef,
But Peter my friend, just wanted to fish,
And so did his brother, Keith.
They busied themselves with their fishing rods,
Were bent on baiting their hooks,
When suddenly something beneath the boat
Made me take a second look,
It only appeared a shadow at first
Came on with a sinuous glide,
It wasn’t a fish I had seen before,
‘Hey, just look at this,’ I cried.
They both turned around and peered below
But then the shadow had gone,
‘What did you see,’ said Peter P.
‘It must have been twenty feet long!’
‘Oh ******* said Keith, ‘beyond belief,
There isn’t a fish of that size,
Not even the great White Pointer Shark,
You must have mud in your eyes.’
‘I know what I saw,’ I said again,
‘It had the most horrible teeth,
It seemed to be looking for prey down there
Across the top of the reef.’
‘I’ve fished these waters for twenty years,
I think I’d have seen it by now,’
Said Peter P. with a smirk at me,
‘Watch us, and we’ll show you how.’
They knew I wasn’t a fisherman,
I wouldn’t know Cod from a shark,
I just liked to watch the fishes swim
Through the glass-bottomed boat in the dark,
I’d rigged up floodlights to light below
That eerie, mysterious deep,
Where seaweed swayed in the land they played
With the rest of the world asleep.
The guys continued and cast their lines,
While I sat reading a book,
We’d be there hours, and that was fine
I took the occasional look,
We drifted over a patch of blue
The sand was clear below,
When back there came that sinuous shape
I said to the guys, ‘HeLLO!’
This time it headed up for the boat,
Less like a fish than a snake,
A massive head with reptilian teeth
And suddenly I was awake.
It shot straight up, right over the boat
Snapping its massive jaw,
And took Keith’s arm from his shoulder blades
Right into its mighty maw.
We just couldn’t stop the flow of blood
It filled the boat as he died,
And Peter P. was distraught as he
Sat helplessly, and he cried.
‘That must be some prehistoric beast
That lived on the ocean floor,
I’ll never go fishing again,’ said he
As we headed back to the shore.
David Lewis Paget
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 2:41 AM UTC